“Why don’t you go home?” the girl asked.
Even Jamal looked at her like she was crazy. “Yeah, then what? These fools track him back to his house. You know what they do then? They fuck shit up over there,” Jamal said. “You can hang here for a little bit. But I’m not gonna be you’re babysitter. You feel me?”
Relief filled Esteban’s face and the girl let out a gasp when she saw his body inflate. Esteban couldn’t tell if she was laughing at him under her breath or that was just how she breathed. Jamal got up from the coffee table, lit up a joint, and left to the back of the apartment. He returned in a few minutes still empty handed but when Jamal bent down in front of Esteban to rub out a dropped ash on the carpet, Esteban saw a gun hanging out of the back of his pants. Jamal dipped into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
“Let me just make one phone call,” he said.
NINETY FOUR
Klein kept laughing when I cocked my gun and firmly aimed it at his forehead. I could hear sirens approaching in the distance. A passerby must have alerted the authorities. I was still sitting on Klein’s stomach not caring for how much pain he might be in. He was still spitting up blood every few breaths. I finally stood up, still straddling his bleeding torso.
“Where’s Esteban?” I asked for the third time. His response was the same as the first two, despite how close I came to shooting him in the upper lip. Since I knew Klein was too injured to go anywhere I wasn’t too worried about turning my back on him. I checked his pockets for weapons anyway. I felt a cell phone but figured it was irrelevant. My gun was at a safe distance in my left hand just in case. But as I checked the inner confines of the van I missed Klein going into his hip pocket for his phone.
There was nothing in the back of the van since the dead guy rolled out somewhere back on the highway. However, streaks of blood were throughout. The other shooter Klein had with him was dead in the front passenger seat. He was bleeding from several areas of his forehead and face. That and the fact that he was slowly being swallowed up by the flames engulfing the front end of the van. Help him? He was dead already so what did I care?
I turned back to Klein only to see him fiddling with his cell phone. He looked to be typing in a phone number or manipulating the screen to select an app. The fact that I was watching didn’t seem to faze him in the least.
“I don’t know,” I heard Klein say from his spot on the ground. I walked back over to him. “The van wouldn’t start and the little bastard must’ve run off.” He tried to sit up but leaning up on his left elbow was the best he could do.
“Did you send more of your goons after him when you saw he was gone?”
Klein laughed again. “Ah, what the fuck do I care? He was worth shit to me anyway. I let the little bastard take off.” He slumped back onto the ground, too weak to prop himself up on his elbow. I stood over him again with my gun raised to his chest.
Go ahead, do it! Don’t you see how good it feels to shoot someone? Just like riding a bike. Now pull the fucking trigger already!
My conscience was scolding me so aggressively that my knees collapsed a bit beneath me. My arm was steady enough to keep Klein’s chest in my crosshairs.
“You are one sick son of a bitch” I said. “Is that why you became a principal? To scoop up kids like Esteban to be your fucking lackeys?”
“Esteban never worked for me but I did know what he was about. I’ve built myself quite the empire over the last ten, fifteen years and once I found out Jamal was trying to push his petty shit into my areas I figured Esteban would give me some inside information on how to get rid of him,” Klein said.
“The kid’s just twelve years old. Innocent kid getting caught up in your shit games. Manipulating weak and vulnerable minds,” I said. The smoke from the burning van was beginning to make my eyes water. The heat from the flames made my back sweat. Klein tapped some more on his phone and suddenly let it drop on to his chest only to slide off into the grass. The screen was facing me and I could see a timer rapidly ticking away. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
What the hell was that for? What was going to happen when that timer hit zero? Klein propped his head up off the ground and caught me looking at the phone. “Oh, that? I’m sure you’re wondering what that’s for, right. Am I right?” He coughed up blood, spit, then continued. “When that device hits the zeroes that little bunker you so conveniently discovered in my house goes kablooey.”
I was stunned. “What do you mean? You’re going to blow up your own house?” I considered how he’d figured it out it was me inside his house but that was not an important question at the moment.
“Yes, sir,” Klein said and coughed some more. His voice was weakening and I could hear his chest wheezing now. “I’ve always had it ready to go. Just in case. Most people line the walls of their basements with insulation; I lined mine with C4. The entire basement is lined with it.”
This guy really was one sick fuck. I thought about lunging for the phone and attempt to stop the timer but I figured it wouldn’t do any good. He must have the phone rigged somehow, I thought. At the same time, I wanted his house preserved for when the cops get in there to gather up what I saw. I didn’t want his entire arsenal of illegal drugs and guns to disintegrate. I didn’t want Klein to get off that easy.
Suddenly, a clan of police cars pulled up around my Santa Fe. Of course, they were all caddy- cornered, blocking the right lane of traffic. Didn’t they know that that was one of my pet peeves? Fitzgerald exited one of the unmarked cars and made a bee line straight for me. His facial expression told me that he wasn’t too thrilled with the situation and the scene that had unfolded and was somehow going to blame me for it. I was still standing over Klein’s crumpled body with my gun raised.
“What the hell’s going on, Barnes?” Fitzgerald yelled.
I put my gun back in my jeans and stepped away from Klein while a couple uniformed cops I didn’t recognize forced Klein to his feet. An EMT assisted getting him to the ambulance. Fire trucks and a slew of firefighters ran through the process of dousing the flames of the van. I was too focused on the timer casually ticking away on Klein’s phone.
Nine… Eight… Seven…
Fitzgerald beckoned me again like a master disciplining a disobedient dog. He used his left hand to wipe sweat off his upper lip and forehead. “How the hell did you get wrapped up in this?” He used his right hand to pan the scene. Traffic began to congest as drivers became intrigued with the scene on the side of the road. I showed and explained the phone to Fitzgerald and he instantly entered panic mode. He began tapping the screen frantically but apparently once the detonator was triggered there was no override button or any way to pause the timer.
The bomb was going to blow the house and the rest of the block, if not the entire town, to bits and there was nothing any of us could do about it. We were at least forty- five minutes to an hour from Klein’s house.
Four… Three… Two…
Klein was perched up on his right elbow, casually glancing in our direction. I saw an ugly smirk on his face.
One…
That must’ve been it. There was nothing anyone could do about. Somewhere in the distance a massive explosion just rocked the quiet block of Ringwood. I was convinced I could feel the vibrations of the explosion in my brain.
As we walked back to my car, I unfolded the entire story. Fitzgerald was always good at listening to reports, despite how outlandish and ridiculous they may have been. I told him about Jerry Finch. I told him about Klein’s use for each of the two storage units he purchased. And I told him how we ended up in a high- speed car chase and the fiery crash.
“So, where’s the kid?” Fitzgerald asked when I was done.
“Klein doesn’t know. He said Esteban took off when he was loading them in the van. None of the kids were in the van. Klein said they were put in another car when the van wouldn’t start,” I said.
“Well, where the hell are the other kids?”
“I didn’t
get that far,” I said.
“And where the hell would Esteban run off to?” Fitzgerald asked the question more so to himself.
“I think I might have an idea,” I said and pulled out my phone.
NINETY FIVE
I hadn’t checked my phone since I killed Source and saw that I had six missed calls and two voicemails. Four of the missed calls were from Fitzgerald. I had an idea what he was calling so many times about. His message demanded that I immediately call him and let him know what was going on. Done. One missed call was from a number I didn’t recognize. The other message was from Jamal. He insisted that I also immediately call him because he thinks he has something I had been looking for. Vague, yet intriguing.
Fitzgerald was talking with the two uniformed cops that picked up Klein then made his way over to where Klein’s injuries were being tended to. As much as I’d wished Klein bled to death in the midst of the crash or burned to death I also wanted him to live and suffer a miserable lifetime in jail. I wanted him to know that his true identity was revealed to his family, his faculty, and his students.
Jamal answered on the first ring and told me about the intriguing discovery that he thought I’d find to be so interesting. Esteban. This kid was much smarter than I gave him credit for, I thought. I told Jamal I’d be over there to pick him up as soon as I could. After ending the call I met up with Fitzgerald again. He looked at me with the same fierce look he delivered when he initially arrived on the scene. The uniformed cops were trying to direct traffic in a there’s- nothing- to- see- here fashion. The EMTs were bagging up the body of one of Klein’s goons from the front seat of the van. The fire had been contained. Smoke was still rising from the smoldering van and the ashy scent stuck in my nose.
“I don’t know what to say, Barnes,” Fitzgerald said to me.
“About what?” I asked as if I didn’t already know. I watched him eyeball the crispy van and everything in and around it as his answer to my question.
“I don’t know how to answer that, Fitz. I’ve never been in a predicament quite like this one.” I kept my answers short and flat because, despite the thrills of the last couple of hours, I still couldn’t shake my conversation with Drew and what he told me about the politics behind kicking me out of the department. Fitzgerald gestured like he was going to say something but I didn’t want to stick around for it.
This was the first time I realized how dark it was getting outside. I had no idea what time it was.
“I gotta run,” I said. Fitzgerald was off guard and it didn’t matter to me.
“Where the hell you going, Barnes?”
“I can’t stick around here. I have a job to do. Besides, it looks like you have everything in order here. I’ll come by your office later on,” I said as I drifted off to where my car was parked. Fitzgerald knew he wasn’t going to get any more out of me so he let me go.
I made it to Jamal’s apartment in about fifteen minutes and he buzzed me in when I told him I was there. Jamal led me to where Esteban was sitting on the couch. I wondered if Jamal told Esteban who I was and why I was going to be there for him. Esteban fixed his gaze on the television and didn’t acknowledge me when I sat next to him. I couldn’t blame him since he didn’t have a clue as to who I was. He wore clothes he got from Jamal because they hung loosely for his scrawny frame. Jamal turned the television off. He stood near both of us.
“Hi, Esteban,” I said. He met my eyes and nodded his head in my direction. “Do you know who I am and why I’m here?” He still didn’t say anything. “My name is Chase, Esteban, and I’ve been trying to help you since you were taken. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Well, you didn’t do a very good fucking job of it, did you?” Esteban said.
“Sometimes it’s just not that easy. The guys who took you were tough and tricky to locate. But I’m glad to see you are here and safe. You’re very smart to be able to escape on your own like that,” I said.
He perked up when I said he was smart and was aware that he handled himself pretty well. “Don’t you fucking know it. Gotta get shit done right on my own.”
“Man, your mother was right about your mouth,” I said. He was startled at the mention of his mother.
“Fuck you know about my mother?”
“I’ve been by your house a couple of times to talk to your mom. I was trying to see if she had any clues or knew anyone that could help me find you.” I debated telling Esteban that I had talked to his friend Joey Alvarez on his Facebook page but I opted not to. “And on my way over here, I called your mom telling her that you were safe and that I’d take you home. She’s expecting you.”
“Fuck you do that for? Who said I wanted to go home?” Esteban said.
I looked at Jamal. “Where else you gonna go?” I asked.
“I don’t give a shit,” Esteban grumbled.
“That’s where you belong.” I said it a little too firmly but the message must’ve been received. Esteban reluctantly got up from the couch and I escorted him out of Jamal’s apartment.
NINETY SIX
Fighting crime apparently causes you to lose track of time. I saw it was after seven by the time I had finally persuaded Esteban to get in my car. Esteban refused to sit up front with me in my Santa Fe and claimed a seat in the back. The ride across town was a short one but it felt like an eternity. The awkward silence thickened the air in the car. Esteban stared out his window watching the sights as if he were seeing them for the first time. I caught periodic glimpses of him in my rearview mirror and realized how my original image of Esteban had changed.
From what Lindsey and his file told me, Esteban appeared to have a rough, rugged exterior with a lot of pent up anger waiting to be displaced on others. But seeing him in the back seat, his body seemed incredibly deflated and weak. I wondered what was done to him during his time under Klein’s watchful vengeance.
We pulled up in front of Esteban’s house. He still hadn’t muttered a sound and didn’t appear anxious to run up the steps and leap into the open arms of his mother. I didn’t expect his mother to be waiting with an affectionate embrace either. I got out and opened Esteban’s door. He turned the other way.
“Look, Esteban. We’re home and you’re safe. Is there a reason you don’t want to go home?” I said. “Was being out wherever the hell you’ve been better than this place? If it were me, I’d sure as shit be thrilled to be at home,” I said.
“Just leave it alone, man,” he said. His body was still turned away from me but I didn’t care since I finally had him talking. “You don’t know shit,” he added.
“I can help you, if you just tell me how.”
He finally faced me and said, “How? You gonna tell my mom to leave me the hell alone? You gonna get my baby brother and sister to stop screaming in the middle of the night and waking the whole house? You gonna get my grandmother to stop yelling at me for every little thing and hitting me with a belt or a broomstick? I didn’t think so. So just leave me here and go about your business.”
My god. What a life for a twelve- year old boy. All of that on top of the severe physical abuse he suffered at the hands- and other body parts, I’m sure- of his uncle.
“If it were only that simple, Esteban. See, I’m a guy that likes to help people, especially kids. So, I’m offering a way to help in any way you think I can. I may be able to talk with your mom about some of the things you mentioned. Or maybe I can get your teacher, Mrs. Barnes to do it.”
“You know my teacher?” Esteban asked. His face brightened a bit.
“I’m married to her,” I laughed. He actually laughed to himself a little bit, too.
“That makes sense. You both are a pain in my ass,” Esteban joked. I let him have that one.
“C’mon, let’s get inside and show your mom that you’re safe,” I said and lightly tugged Esteban’s elbow to get him out of the car. The door slams must’ve been enough to trigger the eager nosiness of Esteban’s younger brother and sister because they opened the fro
nt door and screamed Esteban’s name.
We walked up the front walk and climbed the steps to greet the little ones. They each embraced a leg, making it difficult for Esteban to walk into the house and he patted them both on the back.
“What the hell is this?” Esteban’s mother was charging through the center hallway, wondering what all of the commotion was and why the front door was open. She couldn’t see us through the evening darkness but as we approached up the center sidewalk Esteban’s mother said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Are you all right?” She pulled Esteban in for a hug that seemed too forced and Esteban waited a few beats before accepting the embrace and wrapping his own arms around his mother. Definitely awkward.
Ms. Cruz invited me in and thanked me for bringing her boy home. We sat at the kitchen table and I told her what I knew and Esteban told her everything, including how he’d escaped and made his way around town all by himself. After a half hour, Esteban wanted nothing more than to take a shower, something substantial to eat, and lie in the comfort of his own bed. I stayed a little while longer and spoke to Ms. Cruz about some of the things Esteban told me about outside in my car. She was resistant at first and told me more or less to mind my own business. I believe the actual words she used aren’t suitable for young ears.
“Look, Ms. Cruz, Esteban’s a good boy. You’ve even said so yourself. I want nothing more than to see a kid like Esteban just be given a chance for once. Not saying that you don’t provide for him and give him a place to sleep but with your permission I’d like to help a little more,” I said.
“How?” She lit a cigarette while holding one of the twins on her lap. He was preoccupied by a coloring book and Sesame Street stickers.
“Again, I’m trying not to overstep my boundary here, but I’d like to come by once or twice a week to check on Esteban and make sure he’s ok. I’d like to be a sort of mentor for him. Maybe help him with homework or something. Be the big brother that his big brother couldn’t be,” I said. The last sentence seemed to uncontrollably fall out of my mouth and the words were too heavy to pick up and shove back in. I watched her for a reaction. She took a long pull of her cigarette and turned her head to the right to blow the smoke out of our direction and disregarded my comment.
The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) Page 25