Congregations of the Dead

by Moore, James A. ; Rutledge, Charles R. ;

  Griffin looked at Irene Chandler. She had backed into a corner and was staring at him with wide, dark eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Griffin said. “I’m going to get you some help. You believe me?”

  Irene nodded. “Just don’t... don’t take me home.”

  “You don’t want to see your mother?” Griffin didn’t blame her.

  Irene made a noise in the back of her throat and shook her head. “She brought me here.”

  “Your mother... brought you here?” Griffin felt something cold in the pit of his stomach.

  “She brought me to this place. Sold me to that man.” Irene pointed at Greasy.

  Of course. Griffin had thought that perhaps the girl was working off some debt for her drug-addict mother. He felt like a fool for not realizing the truth. For a moment Griffin had an image of himself kicking the fallen man until he was a bloody mess. He took in a long, slow breath and released it through his mouth, pushing the air downward, willing himself calm as his sensei had taught him. He wouldn’t kill the man. Not here. Not now. Get the girl out. That was what mattered.

  Griffin said, “Come with me. I know someone who can help.”

  The body builder was still on the floor when they went through the front room. Griffin resisted the urge to kick him in the head as they passed. He was dialing on his cell even as he helped Irene into the truck. When the other end of the call picked up, Griffin said, “Carl, it’s Wade. I’m heading your way. I need your help, man.”

  * * *

  “I still wish you’d called me,” Carl Price said.

  Griffin said, “There wasn’t time. Once I realized Missus Chandler’s conversation with that lowlife probably involved Irene, I figured the guy was heading for where the girl was. Thought I’d see what was what before I called you, and when he pulled into the massage parlor I realized he was going to move the girl.”

  The two men stood in a hallway outside an interview room in the Sheriff ’s Department headquarters. Griffin was aware of the dull drone of the air conditioning and the smell of stale coffee.

  “Yeah, I’d have probably done the same,” Carl said. “I wish I could have gotten my hands on that guy though. I sent a car over after your call but the place was empty, as you’d expect.”

  “They’ll turn up again. I can’t believe I was that slow on the uptake. I’ve certainly seen my share of human trafficking. I guess I just didn’t want to think a woman would sell her own daughter as a sex slave.”

  Carl shook his head. “It’s a problem that just keeps getting worse. Even out here in the boonies. Thing is, Wade, most of the stuff that makes the papers is about illegals being brought into the country and forced into slavery. The homegrown variety doesn’t seem to get as much press. Hell, people have tried to sell kids on fucking Craigslist.”

  Griffin said, “You ready to talk to her?”

  “No. But we have to. I’ve got Thelma in there with her now. No one’s better than Thelma with scared kids. We just need to go easy as we can. How would you feel if a couple of big bruisers like us came in and started asking you questions?”

  Especially you, Griffin thought. You look like hell warmed over and left out for a couple of days. Carl opened the door. Griffin stepped inside and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Sixteen-year-old Irene looked about ten with her hair washed and a Sheriff ’s Department blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders. Griffin felt that cold spot in his gut again. Someone needed to pay for this.

  “Hey Irene,” Carl said, his voice gentle. “I’m Sheriff Price, but you can call me Carl. How are you doing?”

  Irene shrugged. “What’s going to happen to me? Am I under arrest?”

  “No, sweetheart. You haven’t done anything to be arrested for.”

  Griffin stepped forward and the deputy, Thelma, shot him a look that said, you just watch yourself mister. Griffin liked her immediately. He said, “Carl’s a standup guy, Irene. He’ll see that you’re looked after. You can trust him.”

  “Do you trust him?” Irene said.

  “With my life. Now, do you want to tell us how you ended up at that place?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You don’t have to tell us anything. But if we’re going to see that those men are punished we’re going to need your help.”

  Irene said, “I wished you’d killed Tadpole. I wish you’d shot him in the head and killed him.”

  “I do too, kiddo,” Griffin said. “But Carl here wouldn’t have been able to help you or me if I’d done that. Was Tadpole the man I took you away from?”

  “Yes,” said Irene.

  “How did you meet him?” said Carl.

  “He started hitting on my mom at a bowling alley one night. Just walked up and started flirting with her. They went out a few times and then he started coming over to the apartment.”

  “Just to visit?” Carl said.

  Irene nodded. “He started doing things around the house. You know, fixing things like my dad used to do. And he gave mom gifts and... stuff.”

  Carl said, “Drugs?”

  Another nod. “One day mom told me that Tadpole had been so good to us and was helping pay our rent and that I needed to... I needed to...” Irene looked down at the floor. Thelma shot Carl and Griffin a look that was pure fire.

  Carl held out both hands in a ‘wait’ gesture. After a moment had passed, Irene, still looking at the floor, said, “She said I needed to be nice to him. Do things for him.”

  “She made you have sex with him,” Carl said, his voice a whisper. Griffin knew that voice. He knew that whoever Carl was thinking of just now had no idea what they were in for.

  “What happened after that?” Griffin said. “How did you end up where I found you?”

  “Tadpole started telling mom that he could make some money with me. Mom acted like she was shocked, you know? Like she would never allow it. But all she really wanted to know was how much drugs she could get. That bitch.”

  Griffin gritted his teeth. Those words from one so young were like a cold knife in his heart. How had Irene’s mother allowed this? Griffin had seen more acts of cruelty during his years as a mercenary than he ever wanted to remember, but there was something about this that still managed to get through the outer shell he had developed. This wasn’t supposed to happen in small-town America.

  Irene said, “So Tadpole took me to that... that place.” She put her head down and started crying.

  Thelma said, “That’s it. Interview’s over.”

  Griffin said, “I need to ask one more question.”

  “No,” Thelma said. “You two need to clear out.”

  Without looking up, Irene said, “He can ask. I owe him. He saved me.”

  Griffin said, “Irene, do you remember Lynn Traylor?”

  Irene looked back up. “She was my best friend.”

  “She’s gone missing, Irene. Run away. I’m trying to find her. Do you have any idea where she might go if she ran away?”

  Irene’s eyes looked cold and empty. “She got religion. That’s when she deserted me. Said she couldn’t hang around with me anymore if I did that Satanic Goth stuff.”

  Griffin said, “You mean she joined a church?”

  “She wandered into some sort of revival tent one night. She said she’d found the right way.”

  She had found what was important in life. That’s what her father had said. Griffin said, “Thank you, Irene. You going to be okay?”

  “No,” the girl said, and looked away again.

  “Okay, seriously,” Thelma said. “I want you two out of here.”

  They went. Out in the hall Griffin said, “Carl, do you ever want to just say fuck the rules and just go kill the sort of sons of bitches that would do that to a kid?”

  “Every single day,” Carl said.

  “Good. I k
new I liked you.”

  “What are you going to do now, Wade?”

  “Guess I’m going to see who was holding a tent revival in the Wellman area within the last few months. You?”

  Carl rubbed his jaw. “Well first I’m going to send a car to pick up that Chandler bitch.”

  “Don’t suppose you could send Thelma?”

  “Tempting, but right now I think that would be worse than sending me or you.”

  “What about Irene?”

  “That’s a tough one. She’s still a minor. I’ll give Susan Ortega a call down at DFACS, see if she can help me.”

  Griffin turned to go. He looked back and said. “You all right, Carl? You don’t look so hot.”

  “Lot of things on my mind, man. I’ll handle it. I always do. But do me a favor. Don’t go hunting this Tadpole guy in your spare time. The DA is on my ass and I don’t need another bloodbath.”

  “Right now, the Traylor girl is my main concern. I truly hope she is staying at some church somewhere. I don’t want someone like Tadpole to recruit her.”

  Griffin looked back through the window where Irene still sat with her face turned toward the wall. ‘He saved me’, she had said. Under his breath Griffin said, “Not yet, I haven’t.”

  * * *

  As a general rule when Wade Griffin made comments about how he looked, Carl knew he was looking like a rough patch of road. Felt like one, too. He could have blamed it on not sleeping. He could have blamed it on Tammy, but no. He could have blamed it on the coach getting hit with cancer, but that wasn’t it either. No it was both of those things and a lot more.

  “No. Fuck it. It’s that damned bitch coming back around here again. I could do the rest of it.”

  He’d almost told Wade, but he knew better. Wade had been the first to tell him he was better off without her the last time around and he would be the first this time around, too. It wasn’t that Wade disliked Tammy; they got along just fine most times. It was that he knew Carl was a useless lump whenever she was around.

  Not fair. He couldn’t judge what Wade knew. He could only suspect.

  Using the phone, he got in contact with Hennessy over at the records office. He could have walked, but it was too damned hot and he wanted to calm down before he looked anyone in the face. Just now if Hennessy made a comment about how hot it was Carl was likely to shove his face through a wall.

  “Seriously, boy, you need to get a little sleep. You’re just being bitchy now.” He spoke to himself as the phone rang and then made sure to put on his happy voice. “Hey, Hennessy. What’s new?”

  “Hot enough for you, Carl?” Oh, yes, that wit. “I think I could fry eggs on my desk.”

  “Probably could, but like I told you before, you should actually use a frying pan. Your desk is messy enough.”

  “What can I do ya for?”

  “I need to know if we have anyone with the alias ‘Tadpole’ listed in our active records.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t take but a minute. You know you could look this up on your own, right?”

  “Billy, if I did that I’d have to make you get off your ass and actually do work.” He made sure it sounded like he was joking. He wasn’t.

  “Well I can’t argue your logic on that one, now can I?” There was a pause and a series of key taps. “Got three for you. What sort of tadpole are we looking for?”

  “White. Fat. Stupid.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Seriously? They come in both sexes?”

  “Deadly serious, pardner.”

  “Male.”

  “That gives us only one. Boy’s name is Michael Norris. Got a long list of drug offenses, all small time. Looks like he’s been busted a few times for solicitation.”

  “Sounds like just the winner I want. Shoot me his file will you?”

  “Got it, Chief. Say, when are we going to the range together?”

  “Maybe next week? I have too much shit on my plate this week.” Recertification time was coming up. That was Hennessy-code for time to warm up my skills and yours too.

  “Cool beans. See you then.”

  “Probably sooner. Gotta make sure you actually do work now and then.”

  “You pretend to pay me, I pretend to work.”

  Carl killed the call. Hennessy was okay. He was just too damned cheerful for Carl’s current disposition.

  Another phone call. Hennessy answered quickly. “Now what? I’m trying to sleep, Carl.”

  “I got a car with your name on it, boy.”

  “I surrender. What do you need?”

  “We had any permits filed lately for tent revivals?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tent revivals. You know, churches without all those annoying walls? They get up and scream about hellfire and brimstone and ask for money?” A deliberate jab. He knew Hennessy’s folks had tried their best to raise the boy to be a Southern Baptist. He also knew it backfired.

  “You ask the goddamnedest questions.”

  “I’m the sheriff. I’m supposed to make your life harder.”

  “Bet that’s what you say to all the girls.”

  “Hennessey, if you’re the only option I have for a sexual harassment suit, I’m just gonna go ahead and castrate myself right now.”

  “Damn, Carl, that’s just cold.”

  “Truth hurts. You need to cut back on the donuts and the cheeseburgers.”

  “Man’s gotta eat.”

  “Eat a damned salad, boy.”

  “Two this time. Eight if you count in the county fair and the usual permits for carnivals.”

  “Just revivals and anything that sounds particularly weird.” Some of the revivals might try a different name if they’d gotten a bad rep in the past. In this case the numbers did not change. Carl had the information sent to his phone.

  He was heading toward reception when Mike Lazenby cornered him. “Carl did you beat the hell out of three teenaged boys?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Mike.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I beat the hell out of two of them. The first one didn’t resist, didn’t swing at me and didn’t pull a knife.” He looked the man up and down. “Thanks for asking. I’m fine.”

  “Carl, how old were those boys?”

  “Sixteen. All three of them. They were also high as kites. Got blood tests being processed right now. My guess is it’s one of the new synthetics, you know the ‘legal’ ones.”

  “You break a kid’s jaw?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know how that looks?”

  “Like I was stopping three little fuckwads from beating the shit out of a man they decided they didn’t like on the side of highway 41?”

  “Jesus, Carl, you aren’t making my job any easier.”

  “Mike, damn it, it’s not my job to make your life easy. It’s my job to enforce the law of the county and state. Three kids beating on a man is against the law. Two of them trying for felony elude is a crime. Assault on a county law official is a crime. Assault with a deadly weapon is a crime. Resisting arrest is a crime. Most of those are felonies last I checked. I am all for civil rights, Mike, but I’m not gonna let the fact that they were under the age of eighteen stop me from defending myself or protecting their victims.”

  “It’s almost time for elections.”

  “Two fucking years from now. Both of us are on the same ballot. Two years. Stop worrying about the damned elections and handle those boys. You got the damned paperwork on your desk.”

  “Calm down, Carl.”

  “I’m very calm, Mike. Hell, I’m positively chilly. Want to know how I know?”

  “How do you know?” Mike looked at him with a dubious expression, fully expecting a punch line.

  “I didn’t just shoot the little fucker with the kni
fe. That’s how I know. See? And you thought I wasn’t looking out for your job.” Carl put on his brightest smile and headed for the door. He needed to go look for a man who was named after a baby frog and have a chat with him about how you were supposed to handle teenaged girls.

  No, damn it. He did not. Just now he’d be as bad as Wade. He needed to actually leave the fucker alone. Instead he told Austin to put out a call on the man as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation. Anyone running across him was to bring his ass in. It would be best if a deputy handled the matter. Preferably one who didn’t know exactly what the asshole had done.

  One more phone call. DFACS. Turned out there were a few good people around. Susan Ortega managed to find a place for the Chandler girl that was local and basically anonymous. A safe house where she could get proper protection and where she could be kept safe from Tadpole and his ilk.

  No men were allowed on the premises. Carl was an exception to that rule, of course, but he didn’t like to bend the rule anyway. He let Thelma make the arrangements.

  With that taken care of, he went back on the road and headed for the massage parlor Wade had told him about. Despite his run-in with Mike he had no trouble getting a warrant. Not that he was expecting to have any luck, really, but he wanted the place at least rooted through before it was too late.

  The sun was finally starting to set and that was a good thing. It had been a damned long day and Carl was looking forward to the darkness and maybe even a little respite from the heat.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Griffin reached his house he went straight to the room he used as an office. He booted up his PC, and after checking email he clicked on a bookmark and brought up a link to the Wellman Tribune website. He felt a slight pang, thinking of his lifelong friend Jerry Wallace. Wallace had been a reporter for the Tribune until the previous October, when he had been murdered under bizarre circumstances. Griffin and Carl had found the killers, or some of them anyway, and gotten revenge, for what that was worth.

  Griffin clicked on the archives feature. Back in the day he had spent hours in the Wellman Library, scrolling through the old microfiche files of the Tribune. Now he could access the entire archive of the paper from his desk. Hell he could do it from his phone. Griffin typed in ‘tent revival’ and hit enter. Lucky the first time. There was an article about a revival that had been staged for three nights at the old fairgrounds in May. That would coincide with the sudden change in Lynn Traylor almost exactly.