by L. T. Ryan
He fully emerged from the vehicle and turned his head to the left, then the right. His eyes moved constantly, scanning every house, every car. He stopped on ours, watched for a few seconds, and then moved on. Were we not a threat? Or was he good enough that he identified us and knew not to give it away?
I looked over and saw that Frank had his left hand on the door handle, and his right hand wrapped around his pistol.
"Easy Frank," I said.
"Making sure I'm prepared," Frank said.
He had a point, but the fact was that we were closer to the house than the man who stood next to the car.
The guy closed his door and walked around the back of the red vehicle. He didn't move fast. He didn't move slowly. He rounded the trunk and came to a stop next to the back passenger's door. He opened it and leaned over and then his head disappeared inside the vehicle.
"What do you think he's doing?" Frank said.
"Probably getting his rocket launcher. Then he's going to aim it at us and end our beautiful partnership."
"Asshole."
"Isn't he?"
"Not him, you."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Stop being so uptight. We've got…"
The man emerged, and he wasn't alone. After his head popped back out, his right arm remained. A few seconds later, I could see a smaller, thin arm being pulled out. The body of a small child followed. The kid was maybe seven or eight years old. Of course, I'd always been bad at judging that sort of thing.
"You see that?" I said.
"I see it," Frank said.
"How old you think that kid is?"
"Nine or ten."
I shrugged. Frank had kids. He'd be able to tell.
The man and child started walking toward us. Even from this distance, it was obvious they were not related. The man had a dark beard, and dark hair stuck out from the edges of his cap and whipped in the wind. The kid, on the other hand, was pale and blond.
"Think they're related?" I said.
"Not a chance in hell."
"Maybe he's babysitting."
That, also, had no chance of being true. The kid let his body drop in an effort to break the man's grasp. It did nothing but enrage the man, who yanked the kid up and proceeded to drag him along with the kid's knees scraping along the pavement. Fortunately, he had heavy jeans on.
Frank and I both flinched forward. My hand raced to my holstered pistol and I pulled it out.
"Easy there, Jack," Frank said.
I leaned back and turned my head toward him.
"Let's see where they go," he said.
Looking at the man's eyes, it was obvious where they were going. He had tunnel vision, and the reward at the end of the tunnel was the house we were staking out. The kid still fought and pulled back. The man finally reached down and picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder.
"Pretty damn ballsy walking the kid in like that, don't you think?" I said.
Frank nodded and said nothing.
"Maybe he's had the kid around a while?" I said. "You know, neighbors are used to him. That kind of thing."
Frank still said nothing.
I let a few moments pass without talking while I watched as the man walked up the cracked driveway, his foot trampling grass that struggled to survive in a concrete wasteland. He reached the door, and then reached into his pocket. His hand returned with a key, which he inserted into the knob. A moment later, man and child disappeared into the house.
"Seen enough?" I said.
"Let's watch for a few minutes. If I think rationally, I can explain what we saw. That could be the guy's stepson. He could have adopted him."
Frank's waffling emotions had started to concern me. Here he was neutral and calm, normal Frank. But not too long ago he had been ready to storm the neighborhood.
I shrugged. "Guess that's possible."
We sat in silence, watching the house and the street. No one entered. No one left. The sun was deep in the western sky and long shadows enveloped the house and the yard and our car. The vehicle's tinted windows now worked against us, making it harder to see with accurate detail.
"Want me to call for the van?" I said.
"Let's give it a few and if nothing happens we'll head back to the office and work on Pablo some more."
Ten more minutes passed, and with it, the light faded further. Then the glare of headlights reflected off the side mirror and caught my attention. I reached out and tapped Frank. Tension filled the car.
"I see it," he said.
Both of us hunched lower in our seats and waited as a van passed and then slowed down in front of the house. The right blinker flashed rhythmically, as if telling us, come on in boys, we got just what you're looking for.
Inside our car, it was dead quiet. We both held our breath, afraid that any noise or movement we made would scare off the van.
The vehicle turned onto the driveway and stopped near the garage door. The driver's side was blocked from our view, but the front passenger's door flung open and a man hopped down onto the concrete drive. He had on a green coat, but it was impossible to make out any facial features or even tell what his race might be. He faced our direction for a second while he arched his back and twisted side to side, then he spun around and reached for the sliding side door. He grabbed and pulled out and back, whipping the door open. The man that I assumed was the driver now stood at the rear of the van, his back to us. The other guy reached inside and pulled out a child. He pushed the kid toward the driver, then reached in and yanked out a second kid. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his jacket and led him to the side of the house. The four of them walked past the garage. Large hedges provided cover and they slipped past our line of sight.
"Christ," I said. "Start the car and move slowly."
Frank already had his hand on the ignition, and he fired up the engine and dropped the transmission into drive. We inched along and almost came to a complete stop once we had a full view of the side of the house. We were too late, though. We passed by as the last man entered and slammed the door shut.
Frank raced toward the end of the street and whipped the car around in the cul-de-sac. Again, he floored it and we hit fifty by the time we passed the house again. A stop sign approached fast. Brakes and tires squealed.
"Christ!" Frank shouted.
"Want me to drive?"
Frank slammed his hands on the steering wheel and said nothing.
"First day of driver's ed I remember them telling us to never drive angry. Or maybe that was never drive drunk?"
"Shut up, Jack."
I grinned at myself for a couple seconds and then let my feelings turn somber. I knew what we had witnessed. One man and a kid was a coincidence. A van showing up with two more kids was evidence. Evidence of something I didn't want to believe was real. How had this gone on for so long completely undetected?
"This shit's legit," Frank said.
"Yeah," I said.
"I want to go back."
"Let's do this right. Get a team. Decide if we need to consult the feds or the cops."
"And hammer on Pablo," Frank said as he pressed on the gas and peeled out on to the main road.
CHAPTER 4
"Wake up, Pablo." Frank kicked the table hard enough that it slid to the wall.
Pablo had been sleeping, his head down on the wooden surface. He jolted upright, lifting his chin off the table in time. "What the hell, man?"
"I should be asking you that," Frank said. "Who are the men at the house?"
Pablo smiled and shrugged. He turned his palms up. His eyebrows rose into his forehead. "What house? What men?"
Anyone could have taken a single look at Frank and realized the man meant business. But for some reason, Pablo must have felt like he could string him along. It didn't work out that well for him. Frank lifted his right knee and drove his foot into Pablo's chest, sending the man and his chair careening backward into the wall. The chair hit first, colliding with a clank. Pablo's head followed, smas
hing into the wall with a thud. He slumped out of his chair and to the floor. A long smeared line of blood followed him.
"Shit," Frank said.
"Shit is right," I said. "Better hope he's not dead."
Frank took three steps forward and leaned over. He reached out and felt along Pablo's neck. "He's got a pulse." Then he stood, turned and walked to the door. "Hey Doc, we need you."
The doctor shuffled in holding a half-eaten bear claw in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. White specs of the sugar glaze from the pastry stuck to his dark mustache.
"What happened to him?" the doctor asked.
"He fell," I said.
The doctor nodded and grunted his affirmation. He handed his pastry and coffee to Frank, then squatted down next to Pablo and began his evaluation.
Doc had it made. None of us knew his name. We called him Doc for his own protection. We all figured he didn't have a job, because he was on-call twenty-four seven for us. I could only imagine what we paid him for his services.
"If you want to get any more info out of this guy, I'd recommend you stop beating him." The doctor took his time standing. He turned and leaned back against the wall. "Otherwise he ain't gonna 'member nothin'."
"Got that, Frank?" I said.
Frank set the doctor's food and coffee down on the table and pushed his way past me and out of the room.
"What's his problem?" the doctor said.
I thought about it for a second. Frank had been taking this operation hard. I grew increasingly concerned that he'd go into the raid with nothing but vengeance on his mind, instead of fulfilling our actual purpose there. The whole point would be to neutralize the men in the house and get the kids out. After that, we'd bring the men back here and go to work on them, finding out the details of their little program.
"He's on edge with this case," I said. "I am too. It's not pretty."
"I don't want to know any details."
"Yeah, I know you don't, Doc."
"All righty, well, I'm going back to my office." He grabbed his coffee and pastry and walked past me through the open doorway. "He'll be up soon. No more hitting him. If you need him to talk, come get me. I'll inject him with something that will have him singing the blues like he was on stage in a dive bar in Kansas City."
Sure he will , I thought. The only thing this guy had going for him was the fact that he led us to the right house. I had no idea if he'd be useful to us anymore. Worth a shot, though.
I pulled the table to the center of the room and sat down at the far end, giving me a view of Pablo as well as the lobby. Pablo started to stir, but hadn't come around all the way yet.
Harris and McKenzie, both SIS agents, entered the lobby. We were expecting six more to help plan and carry out the raid. I wasn't sure who, though. That was up to Frank.
Harris poked his head into the room. "Who's that?"
"Name's Pablo. He fed us the intel that led to the house."
"What's going on at the house?"
"Frank didn't tell you?"
"Wouldn't be asking if he did."
I paused for a second before responding. Frank had a reason for not telling them what we were doing. I had no idea what that reason was, but I felt like I should respect it. "Frank'll go over it in a few. We got a few more questions for this guy."
"OK." Harris turned and walked away.
Pablo opened his eyes and crawled toward the table.
"Hey, Harris?"
"Yeah."
"Mind telling Frank I need him in here?"
"You got it."
By this point, Pablo had managed to get his forearm up on the table and began pulling himself onto the chair. The man looked like a prizefighter who'd lost his final fight. Left eye swollen shut. Lower lip split in two spots. His nose was crooked and dried blood caked on his upper lip.
"How you feeling, Pablo?" I said.
"Gimme' a smoke, man."
"Give the man a smoke, Frank," I said.
Frank stepped into the room and let the door fall closed behind him. He walked around the table and stopped behind Pablo. What was he planning to do? Strangle him? I held my breath, preparing for Frank's next move. I didn't want to rush to Pablo's defense, but we weren't done with the man, and I'd do whatever I could to keep him alive. Until we had the kids, that is.
Frank reached into his pocket. For a second I thought he was going to pull out a wire, but instead he produced a pack of cigarettes. He grabbed two and stuck them between his lips, and then flipped the lid of his lighter. A two-inch flame shot out and he waved his head side to side. He removed one from his between his lips and handed it to Pablo.
"Gracias," Pablo said.
Frank said nothing. He continued around the table, behind me, and then sat directly across from Pablo.
The room felt heavy. It was quiet except for the sound of Pablo's labored breathing.
Finally, Frank spoke. "What should we expect, Pablo?"
Pablo shrugged. He took a long pull on his cigarette and held the smoke in for what seemed to be two seconds too long. He exhaled a stream of blue smoke into the air then said, "I'm thinking it's gonna be a white Christmas, man."
Frank's face turned bright red. He leaned forward. His fists were clenched tight. It looked like he used every last ounce of self-restraint to keep himself from flying across the table and smashing Pablo's head against the wall, again.
"We're done screwing around," I said. "Doc will inject you with something that will hurt worse than any pain you have ever felt. And as a side effect, you won't be able to resist answering us."
The half-smile on Pablo's face flattened. He turned his head in my direction, but kept his eyes on Frank.
"My partner wanted to give that to you right from the beginning," I said. "But from what I can see, you've been pretty straight forward with us. I'm willing to give you another chance. If you keep screwing around, we'll have no choice but to inject you."
Pablo shifted his eyes to me, then Frank, and then back to me. "You guys are gonna get me killed."
"Not if we get the guys you work for," Frank said. "The guys in that house."
Pablo chuckled. "You think it stops there?"
"I think it begins there," Frank said. "And we'll kill half of them, keep half of them alive. Bring them here. Question them. We'll get to where we need to go, eventually. Here's what I want to know. Are you going to be there with us? Or do you plan to work against us, leaving us with no choice but to dispose of you? You saw how we've been able to detain you without so much as a warrant. I've checked your background, Pablo. You're clean as a whistle. Totally legal. Not so much as a parking ticket. If we can do this, then surely you must realize we can dispose of you in such a way that no one will ever find your body."
I found myself impressed with how composed Frank handled himself. Two minutes earlier he was ready to kill the man, and here he was rationalizing with him.
"Just say you're ready to talk and we'll get down to business," Frank said.
Pablo nodded. "What happens to me if I do talk and give you what you want?"
"Then we keep you around a bit longer in case we need you again," Frank said.
"And then what? What happens when it's all over?"
"I'm sure we can work something out," I said.
That was the best I could offer. The truth was neither Frank nor I could guarantee him anything. Once we completed the operation, our superiors would decide what to do with the prisoners. Some would be killed. Others turned over to local or federal law enforcement. Some might even be let go. It wasn't up to us, and frankly, I didn't care what happened to them.
"OK," Pablo said. "What do you want to know?"
"Start with the house. Describe the interior."
"When you walk in the front door, the staircase is right in front of you. Dining room to the right, living room to the left. The dining room opens to the kitchen. The kitchen connects to the garage on the right and a family room on the left. A short hall lead
s from the family room to the front door and living room. Next to the door to the garage is the door to the basement."
"What about upstairs?" I said.
"Five bedrooms, plus a room over the garage."
"Who stays upstairs?"
"They do."
"What's in the basement?"
Pablo's eyes shifted and his head lowered and his voice dropped to a whisper. "The kids."
Frank's face darkened a shade. His jaw muscles rippled.
I continued with the questioning. "How many kids?"
"Uh, I haven't been there in a week."
"How many were there last time you were there?"
"A dozen."
"Twelve kids?"
"Yeah."
Frank turned to me. "We saw three go in yesterday. So we're talking fifteen."
I nodded. "Maybe more. Who knows how many they brought in since he was last there?"
"No," Pablo said. "There won't be many more than a dozen. That's about as much as the basement can handle. If you saw them bringing in more kids, that means they moved some. I was supposed to bring one, too. Based on what you say you saw, they shipped at least four out."
Frank looked like he was ready to explode. He placed his hands on the table and inched forward, subtly.
"Frank, leave," I said.
He looked at me, eyes narrowed and mouth partly open. "What?"
"Leave for a few minutes. Get a drink and then come back."
He got up, slowly, and made his way to the door. I waited for him to exit the room and then continued.
"Where do they take them?" I asked.
Pablo shrugged. "Dunno."
"I'm only going to ask one more time. Where-"
"I'm telling you, I don't know. I don't stay at the house. I'm not that far up the ladder, man. All I know is when I bring a new kid in, ones that had been there are gone."
I decided to change it up a bit. "Who were you targeting at the bus stop?"
"It's not like that. It's random. We're not looking for ransom or anything. All kids sell." Pablo stopped and grinned. "Well, some sell better than others."