See Them Run (Lucy Kendall Thriller Series #2): A Lucy Kendall Mystery Thriller (The Lucy Kendall Series)

by Stacy Green

  John looked the part too. He didn’t give me his last name, his expression was permanently grim, and the stress creases in his forehead looked like craters. He kept the heater on and his knit cap pulled low over his ears, his coat zipped. Ready to jump out at a moment’s notice.

  After nearly an hour of silence with the exception of the occasional idle chit-chat, I was still trying to figure out who I was more leery of: the Senator with his agenda, the surly investigator sitting beside me, or Todd Beckett and whoever was breathing down his neck.

  “So you saw the exchange with Riley and the client at the hotel?” I broke the silence before my head burst.

  John gave me a cursory glance. “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He expanded to an incredulous stare. “Really? Aren’t you a P.I.?”

  “Right.” Even my neck flamed. “You didn’t want them to see you.”

  “Smart girl.”

  Boiling with embarrassment, I tried again. “But Riley left when my friend showed up. Surely by then you knew I was on your side.”

  “I never count on anyone being on my side.”

  “Nice attitude to have.”

  “Keeps me alive.”

  I rested my head against the back of the seat and tightly crossed my arms, jamming my fists under my armpits. “Were you an undercover officer, then?”

  He jerked a nod. “During the nineties, yeah. Vice and narcotics.”

  “Police don’t rely on undercovers as much anymore,” I said. “Too expensive.”

  “Informants are better. A rat is a rat is a rat.” This time he attempted a grin.

  “After years of being on the good guys’ side, you don’t mind trolling with the rats?”

  “Not if it’s for a good cause.”

  We fell silent once more. I watched the street hoping for a sign of Riley. Parked in a strategic lot that gave us a nice view of both sides of the street, we were just a few blocks down from the Rattner and a two-minute walk to the subway station where she’d met up with Preacher. John had spent days following first Preacher’s and then Riley’s movements, resulting in our supposed prime position.

  “So how did you guys find out about Preacher?” I asked the question that had bothered me since meeting with the Senator. I had no intention of telling either man about my private conversation with Preacher or my invitation for a call girl tryout. The Senator informed me they believed him to be close to the head of the organization, and I admitted Sarah had told me as much. But that’s where I left it.

  “We got a lead on him a while ago.”

  He’d bite off his own tongue before he’d reveal his source, so I tried a different track. “What exactly do you know about the guy?”

  John’s mouth twitched, his eyes shooting to my side of the car before focusing back on the street. “His real name is Roderick Reed. Lives in a shitty place in Strawberry Mansion with his mother and another female believed to be his sister. No priors, which is shocking. Attended CCP for a semester and then dropped out and came back to the ghetto.”

  “Roderick, huh? No wonder he goes by Preacher.” Community College of Philadelphia had multiple locations and tuition was relatively affordable, but I wasn’t surprised Preacher had gone back into the Strawberry Mansion fold. It’s hard to escape when family is left behind. “Any idea where the nickname came from?”

  “Nope. Probably gave it to himself for some asshole reason.” John leaned forward and peered at the busy sidewalk. “That’s one of the kids I see with Riley a lot. He’s older and got a real attitude problem. The one in the blue cap.”

  Immediately I spotted the boy in the blue cap. “I saw him with Preacher in Strawberry Mansion,” I blurted out.

  “What were you doing in Strawberry Mansion?”

  My turn to smile. “I’ve got my sources too. He and Preacher and another kid were hanging out on a corner. Preacher wasn’t dressed in his business suit and tie. He was dressed like this kid, and he wasn’t the leader. The short kid was.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You have any idea who this boy is?” I asked as blue cap passed us.

  “No details. But I’m guessing he’s a P.I.T.”

  “A what?”

  “Pimp in training.”

  Two lives. Preacher was lower on the totem pole in his neighborhood, likely dragged back by family pressure or duties. He hadn’t been able to rise to a leadership position with the boys he likely grew up with, so instead he took one with the man selling kids for sex. Instead of being another wannabe tough guy waiting on a rap sheet, Preacher was a bona fide business man in a four-hundred-dollar suit and all the power he’d been denied by his socioeconomic group.

  Two lives, two different roles. One very good actor. A spark of admiration dredged its way up for Preacher. He knows how to play the game.

  “When I first talked to the Senator, he didn’t seem as interested in what was going on at Exhale because it looked more like clear cut prostitution. What changed?”

  John pushed his hat back, revealing a large forehead and thinned hair. “Your intel was good. Matched up with a couple of other tips I’d received but hadn’t been able to act on.”

  “So what’s your take on this operation?”

  “Hard to say. Some of these kids, like this Riley, are probably runaways from bad lives. Preacher does what every pimp does: makes himself the hero and latches on to her. Maybe she says no to selling herself for sex, maybe not. But,” he glanced at me, “after the tip about the young boy behind Exhale, it’s looking like a lot more than local prostitutes.”

  “As if that’s a minor thing we should all ignore.”

  “I know it sounds shitty,” John said. “But we have to pick our battles, and after decades of watching these girls go back to their pimps no matter what I say or what a counselor tries to tell them, no matter what kind of shelter or safety we offer them, you get pretty jaded.”

  I craned my neck to see the boy disappear around the corner. “Where do they live?”

  “Isn’t that the big question?” John said. “I’d hope they were all together in some sort of subsidized place or maybe a hotel, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. I think they’re carefully parsed out. Finding a nest is looking like a small miracle.”

  “A nest? You sound like they’re parasites.” The term was better suited for the pedophiles paying to have sex with them.

  “Bad word choice. But it sure would make the job easier.”

  “How do you raid without going through the proper legal channels?”

  This time his smile was full, revealing dimples that took ten years off his age. “Come on now. If we had the time, sure, we’d go through the system. But it moves slow and these people are paranoid. Preacher or one of his lieutenants get a whiff we’re coming, they’re gone.”

  “His lieutenants?”

  “Like I said. The older boys.”

  My fake laugh made my throat sting. “What does that make Preacher? The admiral?”

  “That’s Navy,” he said. “Preacher’s the captain. His boss is the general.”

  “You were Army?” I knew the answer already, but asking made the conversation keep flowing.

  “That’s right. Served in Desert Storm.”

  I thought about all the images of the Iraqi wars we’d been bombarded with over the past decades. “Which is worse? Being a Philadelphia cop or war?”

  “Being a cop is war.”

  I saw Riley before John did. She came from the same direction as blue cap kid, her chin tucked against her chest and her hands jammed in her pockets. She wore the same faded knit hat, and wisps of her dark hair fluttered in the freezing wind. A young, dark skinned boy walked with her, clutching her hand. Every limb tensed. Was the boy a victim too?

  “There.” I pointed.

  “You’re up,” John said. “If she runs, don’t follow her too far. I can’t give my position away to cover you.”

  “Right.” I stepped out int
o the frigid air. At least the wind had slowed down today. But the still, cold air embedded its way through clothes within seconds. Even my eyelashes were cold.

  Dodging equally freezing passersby, I stepped into Riley’s path. “Hi Riley. Do you remember me?”

  She stopped as if someone had yanked her from behind. Her wool hat was worn through in places and her coat much too thin. Surely she made enough money to buy something warmer at the Salvation Army. Riley took a step back. The boy mirrored her stance. On closer inspection, he was even younger than I thought, perhaps eight. He didn’t have anything on his head in this miserable weather. Riley glared at me, “What do you want?”

  “Just to talk to you.” I cocked my head toward the end of the block. “There’s a tiny coffee shop. Let me buy you something hot to eat.”

  Riley glanced around, eyes wide and face chapped with cold. “You trying to set me up with the cops?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The little boy stared up at her with wide brown eyes. With his long lashes and plump lips, he was too pretty to be a boy. My heart ached at the idea of the life he might be leading.

  “I’m babysitting,” Riley said. “He’s too little to be hearing this.”

  “That’s no problem. This place is kid friendly. He can hang out in the little toy area while we talk.”

  “How am I supposed to trust you?”

  I took a chance. “Because I knew Sarah too. And I’d like to find out who killed her.”

  Riley didn’t tell me the boy’s name. After making sure he was settled with some worn plastic toys and dog-eared books at the shop’s kid zone, she sat across from me, suspicion rolling off her.

  “What do you want to eat?”

  She shrugged. I ordered us both black coffees and warm, gooey banana nut muffins, plus one for the little guy.

  She raised her eyebrow. “Coffee for a kid? Nice.”

  “Somehow I figured you for a coffee drinker.”

  Her answer was a noncommittal shrug. She ripped off a piece of the muffin and stuffed it into her mouth with an appreciative moan. “So good.”

  It was good and worth every carb. I let her eat and thought about how best to approach her. “Who’s the little guy belong to?”

  “A friend,” she said. “Can’t get out of the life, but that doesn’t mean her kid needs to see it.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad you’re trying to shield him.”

  She didn’t seem impressed with my compliment, instead staring me down with dark eyes that had seen enough bad things for two lifetimes. “I don’t think you were Sarah’s friend.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you tried to catch me. You wouldn’t have done that if you were Sarah’s friend.”

  “First off,” I leaned forward. “I never said I was Sarah’s friend. I said I knew her. And I wasn’t trying to catch you. I was trying to help you. Believe me, if I wanted you caught, I’d have done it.”

  She laughed. “Right. Because your pretty boyfriend had to save you.”

  “Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.” I let the words sink in. What would she think if she knew she sat across from a woman who’d killed several men? Would it matter that I’d saved countless children? Or would she see only in black and white?

  “So why do you want to find out who killed Sarah?”

  Because I’m a suspect, and I’d like to clear my name. “Because she didn’t deserve to die.” The lie came smoothly, as so many others did. “And because I think she was killed by the people you work for.”

  She stiffened. “You don’t know who I work for.”

  “Preacher.”

  Her dark eyes gazed at me over her still full cup of coffee. Steam swarmed her young face, creating an off-putting picture of a half devil, half lost child. “You know Preacher?”

  “I know of him. So do other people.”

  “Your mistake.”

  “You don’t like him.”

  She finally took a drink of coffee. “Tastes better with cream and sugar. You don’t know what I think, lady. Unless you’re a mind reader, and if you are, you’re in the wrong business.”

  “Nope. I’m just observant. I saw the way you looked when I said his name. Voice got a little harder.” I pushed my cup aside and leaned across the table. “You don’t like him at all. But do you think he killed Sarah?”

  Riley jerked back. “How the hell would I know? And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

  “You’re scared of him. But you’re also loyal, because he saved you in some way. He takes care of you. But I bet he also takes care of your ID and your money, right? Keeps your clothes and whatever personal belongings close in case you decide you’ve had enough?”

  She glared at her coffee. The muscles in her narrow cheeks flexed.

  “I don’t blame you. He seems like an intimidating guy.”

  “He likes being boss.” She unconsciously rubbed her arm and winced.

  Preacher was a nobody on his home streets, but here, he was a captain, second only to the general. Watching Riley rub her arm and brood into her coffee, I wondered how far Preacher liked to take his much relished authority.

  “What happens if you guys want out?”

  “Why would we want out? We get easy money.”

  I couldn’t play the social worker here. Riley didn’t want to listen to me tell her she was worth more than this, that I could help her if she would only allow it. And I certainly couldn’t threaten bringing her to the police. She needed to be considered an equal with something important to say. And she needed someone to listen.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “But what if you do change your mind? Decide you want to move on to something else?”

  “Not a lot of options out there for kids like me.”

  I bit back the lecture. “But if you thought there were, and you told Preacher you were done, would he let you go?”

  Riley took another bite of her muffin. And then another. Bite, chew. Bite, chew. I waited.

  Finished, she folded the crumb-covered wrapper into a neat triangle, smooshing it flat. “I swear you seem familiar.”

  I made a show of raising a single eyebrow. “That’s because we met the other night at the Rattner.”

  “No, before that. Something about your voice.”

  My stomach twisted in knots. “Honestly, I don’t know how you remember any details given the amount of people you deal with. Can you stop avoiding my question? Would Preacher let you go?

  She ripped the triangular shaped paper in half. “He says so, but most of the girls don’t try to leave. They’re all like me. But there was one kid…”

  She chewed a nicely manicured fingernail. Did Preacher do that himself or did he actually take her to a salon? Obviously she’d been around long enough to earn enough trust to venture out on her own. Riley rubbed her arm again. “She came from western Pennsylvania, and she did well enough for a while. Then her mom got sick, and she wanted to go home. Preacher said she could go. Even helped her get a ride.”

  “Really?”

  Riley nodded. “He knew a guy from Ohio passing close enough to her place and got her a ride. Some long haul semi driver in a truck the color of a nasty booger. Pulled up at the motel we were staying at and took up half the parking lot.”

  I kept my face still as stone.

  “And some of the boys,” she glanced at me, watching for my reaction, “they’re from other places around the country. He doesn’t let us talk to them much. We don’t really see them. But I heard about one boy who wanted out and was going to go to a safe house for troubled boys. Knew a lady there that would help him, no questions asked. He disappeared.”

  “You don’t think he’s at the safe house?”

  “I know he’s not. A few weeks after he left, I went and checked. Wanted to say hi.” She squashed the mashed paper with her knuckles. “Maybe I was thinking about starting over too. Lady who wanted to help him said he never showed up. I left. When I got back to my place, Preacher showed up a
few minutes later with Sam, one of the older boys. Total asskisser and wannabe. They kept asking me questions about my day, like they were suddenly concerned I was running loose in the city. Preacher looked pissed, and I just got this feeling. Bad feeling. He hasn’t hit me in a long time, but I thought he was going to.”

  So Riley was already a career girl, as I’d thought. Preacher probably watched her from a distance for a while, making sure she was worth the approach. He was good enough to know he had to snag her at her most vulnerable. “Where do you live now?”

  “Not telling you that.”

  “Does it at least have four walls and a roof?”

  “Yeah. We all do. Preacher makes sure of that, even if they aren’t worth a shit. Got hot water too.”

  “Does Preacher know about your little friend back there?” I watched the boy crawl on his hands and knees pushing a tiny, yellow dump truck.

  “No.” Her voice was hard. “He don’t like girls with kids. And he’s not getting to this one.”

  “So you think he forces kids into this life?”

  She shrugged. “Probably. They all do it. You know how many sickos out there would be interested in him?” She jerked her head toward her busy charge. “I know he’s got stuff online, a big website full of kids I’ve never seen.”

  I leaned forward. “How do you get to the site? Do you know the name?”

  “I only saw it once,” she said. “He shut it down and yelled at me for spying on him. I think you need a password.”

  I had at least a portion of her trust. Sarah must have treated her kindly, or Preacher had given her one too many beatings. Or maybe she just wanted out and was feeling around for a solution. I decided to keep pushing. “I don’t know how old you were when you got into this life, but the little kids you’re talking about, they’re not being coerced or convinced to believe they’re doing what they want to do. They’re being taken and flat out forced. Just like what you’re afraid Preacher will do to your friend’s son if he finds out about him.”

  White-faced, she shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

  “If you wanted to help them, you could get Preacher’s laptop and bring it to me,” I said. “I could take it to people who could–”