“All right, Chooch. Make sure he gives us what we want,” Garvey said before hanging up. Lindsey knocked on the door. I could hear the chair rolling on the linoleum floor and Garvey grunting as he hefted his girth out of the chair. Knowing he was on the move I faded further into the dark closet to conceal my identity. I felt like Batman lurking in the shadows. Garvey was taken aback to see one of his staff members waiting for him at the door.
“Mrs. Barnes, what are you doing here?” Garvey asked when answering the door.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, especially on a Friday night. Believe me I’d rather be at home with my husband but I need you to let me in the front office,” Lindsey said.
“Of course, of course. Let me just grab my keys,” Garvey replied. He did and they left. That was simple. No questions asked.
Once they left I sat at Garvey’s desk and hit star- sixty- nine to retrieve the latest incoming call. I wrote down the number. I pushed a few buttons on the phone to figure out how to check for numbers that Garvey might’ve dialed out. I found it and wrote down the latest numbers that weren’t interoffice direct lines. I browsed through the drawers of Garvey’s desk as quickly as I could but I knew Lindsey would need to keep him occupied until I came and got her. One drawer was neatly organized with binders. The next was filled with file folders of what appeared to be the personnel files on all of the staff members in the building. I saw Lindsey’s but left it alone. The bottom drawer had some miscellaneous folders and reference books. Towards the back of the drawer were some files that were made to be hidden. I found a file with Esteban’s name on it. I slid it in the back of my waist band under my shirt before I left.
I found Lindsey talking to Garvey in the front office and I gave her a nonverbal cue that I was ready to leave. Garvey turned to see me and gave me a fake politician’s smile. He shook my hand. “Mr. Barnes, I didn’t see you come in. How are you?”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked Lindsey, ignoring Garvey’s question. She shook her head.
“I did,” I whispered to her on our way back to the car.
FORTY EIGHT
I could sense the anticipation in Lindsey’s gait.
“What did you find?” she quickly asked.
“Maybe a lot, maybe nothing,” I said.
“Chase Barnes, the super sleuth.” We laughed. I told her about the phone conversation I overheard and shared my thoughts about what it might mean, which wasn’t much. I included my Batman- like moves to sneak into the closet to hear more of the conversation. She listened while I told her about my thoughts of checking for phone numbers and the file I found in the bottom drawer of his desk. We stared at the folder resting on her right thigh while I drove.
We listened to Billy Joel sing about all the ways he would make the person of his dreams feel his love, the amount of sacrifices he’d make just to get someone to love him. He’s convinced he could make anyone happy, I thought. Every time I heard this song it made me wonder what a man has to do to achieve such a sense of confidence. If everyone just lived in a musical fantasy land. However, it did remind me of all the things I was willing to do just to get Lindsey to love me.
Watching Jake die certainly didn’t help your causes.
I tapped the folder on Lindsey’s lap, gesturing her to peruse it. She used her thumb to quickly flip through the pages. Hoping she’d find something interesting, she licked her thumb to ensure she flipped through each page as quickly as possible. People who licked their fingers to sort through papers and leave gobs of spit behind was one of many pet peeves of mine but I didn’t mind when she did it. I tried to watch her and the road at the same time. It was times like these that I hated making all the lights.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Give me a second,” she said.
I had trouble keeping my eyes on the road.
“This is it. This is Esteban’s social history. I wonder why Garvey kept it under lock and key in his office and not in the IEP binder where it’s supposed to be. He could get into so much legal trouble doing something like this.” Garvey didn’t strike me as someone who cared much for legal troubles.
Lindsey then read the entire social history out loud to me, beginning with the basic demographics and where Esteban was born and a brief description about the pregnancy and delivery. There were no reports of illegal drug or substance abuse during pregnancy and the mother carried to term with a normal delivery. Esteban was six when his teachers started to notice “abnormal” and “atypical” behaviors begin to surface. He threatened to stab several students with scissors and pencils, connecting and puncturing skin on two occasions. Esteban began exiting the classroom and even the building on a daily basis. After not being allowed to participate in recess Esteban picked up a chair and threw it at his teacher. This educational rap sheet was enough to order the child study team to administer a psychological evaluation, which revealed that Esteban was classified with a behavioral disorder.
“I’ve read about the psych evaluation and heard through the grapevine about the laundry list of incidents at his other school but I’ve never actually seen this document. I don’t know what I thought I read in his file then,” Lindsey said. She continued to read, “Esteban exhibits hyperactivity on a frequent basis and has difficulty coping with difficult situations and often exhibits dangerous and aggressive behavior when expressing his feelings. Esteban consistently allows his thoughts to control his emotions and actions. He has low frustration tolerance and a poor ability to control his verbal impulses.”
“Damn, all that at age six. I can’t imagine,” I said. “What would cause a kid like that to suddenly act out?”
“Could be a number of things,” Lindsey said.
A thought immediately crossed my mind. “I think I know who might have a good idea.”
Equally puzzling was the question, Why was Garvey so protective of Esteban?
FORTY NINE
Esteban couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything to eat. The whole scenario was beginning to genuinely scare him. Klein had held the gun to his head on several occasions but made even more false promises. Esteban was starting to get permanent dime- sized indentations on his temples and cheeks from the amount of pressure and time Klein was holding the end of his gun against the kid’s head and face.
Klein knew even he couldn’t kill a kid. Esteban’s resiliency even surprised him. He continued to withhold information because he truthfully didn’t know anything but Klein wasn’t buying it.
Klein returned after his round of golf. On his way he put a call into his partner, one Glen Garvey. Garvey didn’t answer the first time and Klein left an urgent message for him to call at once. The call was returned within a few minutes.
“What the hell is going on, Klein?” Garvey asked.
“Will you cool it. Everything is fine. The kid is in a rented storage unit I paid cash for and I got Source on him when I’m not there,” Klein asked.
“What’s he saying about Jamal?”
“Nothing. He keeps saying he doesn’t know anything. I’m starting to believe that he really doesn’t know anything about him,” Klein said.
“Well, I don’t give a shit. What about the others? Have they given you any information?”
“They won’t budge either. I’m gonna give Esteban another try.”
“All right, Chooch. Make sure he gives us what we want,” Garvey said then ended the call.
Esteban watched Source check his phone after a text message must’ve come through and Source instantly unlocked the metal door and lifted it up. A sudden burst of air, not hot or cool, just air, wafted through the expanse of the storage unit. He had no idea what number night this was. He sat up as straight as he could in his folding chair with his hands tied behind his back, swallowed hard, and prepared for what was coming.
“How’s my boy doing?” Klein said to Source as if he were a proud dad returning from a too- long business trip. Source shook his head. Klein remo
ved the gun from his waistband and studied it the way some people examine fruit at a supermarket. “That’s not good,” Klein said. “This is what we’re going to do, Source. Move Esteban to the other spot. Turn up the heat and let him sweat the information out.”
FIFTY
The other spot wasn’t even a storage unit. It had been at one time before the entire facility was renovated. Now it was a free standing unit on the opposite end of the parking lot and the rusted out unit’s primary purpose was to store lawn and maintenance equipment for Treasure Island Storage. Another goon named Trigger met Source at the original storage unit on the second floor of the facility. Together, they held Esteban under the elbows as if he were a high- profile criminal being brought before the judge. Esteban’s hands were still knotted behind his back. Trigger was about three inches shorter than Source but carried much more upper body muscle. He walked like a scarecrow. Trigger had a shaved head and large diamond earrings dangling from each earlobe and several moderately- sized scars scattered all over his forehead, neck, and exposed arms. Visible signs of hard living.
Esteban was dragged from the first storage unit down a lengthy corridor and down a flight of stairs. Trigger and Source kicked Esteban’s feet to the right after exiting the stairwell and dragged him down another dingy corridor and finally outside and across a moderately sized parking lot.
Esteban felt dead inside from the torture and punishment he’d experienced and was using this as an opportunity to exhibit some of his defiant behaviors. The unit was already open and Esteban could see the glow of light. His impulses forced him to consider making a run for it but he eventually came to his senses and reconsidered. Even he knew there was no way of escaping the death grip of Goon 1 and Goon 2. It’d been the first time Esteban had been outside and had a breath of fresh air in a week. The wrists tightly tied behind his back wouldn’t do him any good.
Inside the unit were four chairs, one in each corner, facing their respective corners. Three of them were occupied by other kids of about equal age, also with their hands laced and tied behind them through the folding chair. Two were black and the other was Hispanic but because of their positioning Esteban couldn’t tell if they were anyone he knew. Each corner had a space heater hanging the way some people caddy- corner small televisions for all to see. But this was no sitcom. Each space heater glowed a bright orange and the heat was streaming out of it. They were angled downwards, blasting each seat with hundred- plus degree heat.
“I’m tired of this shit, man. I told you I don’t know nothing. What the fuck?” The impulsive rage was starting to rise in the back of Esteban’s throat.
“Shut the fuck up and have a seat,” Trigger said and shoved Esteban across the floor of the open expanse and into the only vacant seat. Trigger’s muscles were bulging out of his short- sleeved shirt like a hippo in a tutu. He was just under five and a half feet and his shaved head was instantly glistening with sweat from the thick layer of heat.
Esteban felt the intense heat.
The sound of Trigger’s voice startled one of the other boys. He turned his bleary eyes in Esteban’s direction but quickly dropped his head back down to his chest. Esteban attempted to kick Trigger in the shin but Trigger quickly side- stepped the blow and returned a swift back hand to Esteban’s temple.
“What the fuck Chooch gonna do with all of ‘em?” Trigger asked. Trigger been a late recruit of Klein’s but Klein liked his work. He had only been a runner for a few short months before Klein noticed his potentials were being wasted on such juvenile work. Klein bumped him up in the ranks and now sat as one of Klein’s right- hands. Some promotion.
Source said, “Fuck ‘em. I don’t give a shit what he do with them.”
FIFTY ONE
I saw it was pushing eight- thirty when I pulled up in front of Esteban’s house again. I dropped Lindsey off at home on the way. I needed to find out what happened to Esteban when he was six- years old that caused him to suddenly begin his aggressive, impulsive behaviors in school and I certainly didn’t want her to be any more a part of this than she already was. This wasn’t something I could let fester until morning. I mean I hated my fair share of teachers, tests, and homework assignments but never so much that I picked up a chair and hurled it at a teacher. The thought surely crossed my mind but I knew I’d never do it. I began to wonder how many chairs he’d thrown at home, how many broken windows he’d punched, and how many times he threatened his siblings with a pair of scissors. From what I gathered thus far, it was probably a regular occurrence.
While I waited for Ms. Cruz to answer the door I looked up and saw a large patch of gray clouds hovering above.
I suddenly had a waft of rain- soaked air fill my nose. Ms. Cruz answered the door in a bathrobe and holding one of the babies. Shocker. There was a dimly lit exterior lamp above the door that was in desperate need of repair. She didn’t seem surprised to see me and allowed me to follow her into the house without a word.
“I see you ain’t found my boy otherwise you wouldn’t be here alone,” she said. “So what you want now?”
I love it when people exchange such nice pleasantries. Makes me feel like I’m doing the world some good. I stepped inside just before the raindrops began to fall even harder.
“We need to talk.” I even surprised myself with the amount of command that was behind my voice. “Can we sit?” I asked, gesturing to the kitchen table. She agreed.
“About what?”
“Esteban,” I said.
“I told you everything you asked already. Just find my damn boy!” she yelled. The baby Ms. Cruz held didn’t flinch an eye muscle when his mother screamed.
“That is true, Ms. Cruz. You did answer all of the questions that I asked, and I greatly appreciate it, but now I have more,” I said.
“Fine, what is it?” Ms. Cruz lit a cigarette.
“According to Esteban’s file at school he started acting out and misbehaving around the time he was in first grade. Is there anything in particular that might’ve caused him to suddenly change his behavior?”
She sat, smoking her cigarette, and had her thinking face on but, to me, it looked like an act. I let her play it out to see where she’d go.
“I don’t remember,” was all she said.
“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth. The file said that you declined comment when the school psychologist who tested Esteban asked you some background questions,” I said. I leaned in closer to her as a comforting gesture and said, “I know this is hard, Ms. Cruz, but this information will help me find him.”
She began to cry and I began to feel awkward and uncomfortable. Crying women was never my thing. “He’s really a good boy,” she said through her sobs. “If I knew it was happening I would have stopped it and killed him myself.”
“What and who are you talking about?” I asked. She hesitated and lit a new cigarette off the end of her old one.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Can’t do that now. The cat’s out of the bag and clawing at everything in sight. Let’s have it,” I said. I leaned away from her to give her more personal space.
Ms. Cruz took a drag off her cigarette. “My brother. He was sexually abusing Esteban for a few months back when he was living with us. He was out of work and I felt bad for him, you know, he was- is- my brother. So I took him in and gave him a place to stay for a while.”
Was? Is? What the kind of door did I open up here?
“Who is ‘he’?” I asked.
“Pedro. Pedro Cruz.”
“And why did you say that he was your brother?’”
“It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to say it,” she said.
Pedro Cruz rang a bell. It took me a few seconds but I realized where I’d known the name. Pedro Cruz was killed in 2009 by one Hector Machado, now recognized as Esteban’s father. I remember the story being all over the local news and plastering the papers and media websites. Hector Machado had returned home early from work
one day to hear sobs of sadness and agony coming from the back of the house. Hector quietly approached only to find Pedro Cruz forcing young Esteban on himself while both were naked from the waist down. Hector screamed in horror and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find- a medium- sized kitchen knife lying on the counter. Hector pulled Esteban away and, through Esteban’s sobs, Hector stabbed Pedro, from head to toe, thirty- one times. Cutting off his penis as an added bonus- all while Esteban looked on in a state of panic and shock. It was a sight no one should ever have to witness, let alone a six- year old boy. That added to all of the drug exposure Esteban had seen from his older brother would be enough to send anyone to the nuthouse. Hector, however, was eventually acquitted of the murder charges on the grounds of temporary insanity due to the horrific scene he walked in on that day. In addition, were the repeated signs of bruising witnessed by both of Esteban’s parents at various times as well as the psychological evaluation. The Machado/Cruz family was never the same after that.
Now connecting some of the dots, between the sexual violence, being the product of a murderous father, albeit murderous for the purpose of saving his son, and the exposure to drugs from an older brother, Esteban didn’t stand a chance.
“He was killed, wasn’t he?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. She nodded her head once. “I remember the story. I just didn’t put two and two together because Esteban’s name was kept out of the papers due to his age,” I said.
“I wish it would all just go away.” Ms. Cruz lit another cigarette off the end of her current one and stubbed out what was left of the first. “I thought it all did go away and now you’re asking about it.”
“Do you know any of your brother’s friends or any one he associated with that might want to get back at you for killing him? Maybe other family members?”
“No.” She said it a bit too quickly, I thought. Almost as if she predicted the question was coming.
The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) Page 14