by Eli Constant
He stares at the car, his mouth a hard line. “It’s not, Tori. I can’t write a report based solely on the word of a citizen that can’t tell me how she knows what she knows. You know that.”
“But it’s the truth, Terrance. This is the car. This is the car of the man that hurt Lilly. And you said you saw it on film, on some surveillance camera. That’s not just a coincidence.” My voice rises and falls, urging him to agree. Desperate for him to agree.
“I believe you, Tori. That don’t mean the entire world will though.” His fists are clenching and unclenching at his side. “Come on.”
I follow him to the bar in silence. I’m angry and sad and tired. My gift is no good if people don’t believe the truth when I speak it. My gift is fucking useless.
Chapter Eight.
When we walk through the bar door, we’re greeted by the smell of piss, booze, and cigarette smoke. It’s not usually so bad or so quiet. Most days, it only reeks of spilled liquor and there’s the moderate buzz of drunken slurs and weak flirtations. The relative silence is unnerving.
My eyes find Jim. He’s standing next to a corner booth where two people are sat, the only other people in the bar besides us. The light above the table is unlit and swinging gently, as if someone had reached up and purposefully unscrewed the bulb enough to turn it off. When Jim walks away, he’s holding an empty serving platter down by his side. A stained white towel is tossed over his shoulder like a surrender flag ready to be put to use.
He sees me as he turns to swipe crumbs off a table. He seems angry and the slight jerk of his head toward the table he’s just left is a little too obvious. My answering nod is minute. “Let’s go sit over there,” I point at two tables away from the corner booth. Before I can choose a side, Terrance slides into the bench that faces him away from Don and the person he’s meeting.
Once we’re seated, Jim makes his way over to us. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a rum and cola.” It’s my standard order for when I don’t want to actually drink, but also don’t want other patrons to know I’m intentionally staying sober. Jim gives me soda and ice, miming pouring in the rum. God though, I’d really rather have vodka with a lemon twist… something that burned and made me feel.
“I’ll have the same.” Terrance stretches and moans as his back cracks. He’s good at acting casual.
“That’ll be four twenty-five a piece.” His voice is strained, anger still playing in the wrinkles of his face.
I fish out all of the cash I have on me, which is only thirty-two dollars, and I hand it to Jim. He won’t expect even that much, not with the police involved now. When he turns to leave, Terrance’s voice makes him pause. “Can we have that basket of peanuts?” He nods at the table one space closer to the corner booth. The skin around Jim’s eyes tighten, but he walks the few feet over and transfers the red plastic basket to our table.
Terrance picks up a peanut and cracks it open. I know for a fact he hates peanuts. The little kernels fall from the shell into the basket and Terrance reaches into his jacket pocket to extract a small black button-like object. Soon, he’s squirrelled it away inside the emptied shell and set the shell back into the basket. Fake-eating a few more, Terrance smiles at me. “So, how you been?”
“Good. You?” The small talk feels stupid. All I want to do is stare at the two men in the darkened booth.
“Not bad aside from a bit of sleep deprivation.” Satisfied he’d made enough show of eating the nuts, Terrance picks the basket up and perches it on the booth dividing wall behind him. It’s closer to the corner table that way.
Jim returns with the glasses then and I take the soda he offers me with a grateful smile. Drinking will keep us from having to make small talk, at least for a little while.
I take a long draught of cold soda. Terrance plays with the already-sweating glass, using the coaster to slide it across the table back-and-forth between his hands. “How’s work?”
“Fine.” I murmur.
“Business is good then?” Terrance is gazing past me. I’d forgotten there was a large mirror on the wall there. He can see the corner table nearly as well as I can, but he’s not facing the potential bad guys. Maybe he was worried that Bonneau’s Chief of Police might be recognized. Don’s local, so he probably would have known who Terrance was, if he’d been paying attention when we’d entered.
He was engrossed in conversation though, talking to the man who’s facing away from us. Atop his head is a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses. The red of a shirt collar is peaking out above the dark hue of his jacket. He could be the same guy, the one Don handed off Lilly to. But what would be the chances of him wearing the same shirt?
“Earth to Tori,” Terrance’s fingers thrum quickly across the booth table to get my attention.
“Business is too good.” It’s enough of an answer; at least I hope it is. Enough to say- ‘hey, I’d rather not talk about work right now’.
Terrance nods slowly, taking the hint. “I guess I could say the same about my work lately. You know,” now he does pick up his glass, cradling it with two hands like it’ll provide him some comfort besides slacking his thirst, “sometimes buying a shack on a deserted island sounds mighty appealing.”
Jim comes back then. “Anything else I can do for ya’ll?”
Terrance beats me to a response, “Yeah, we’re done with the nuts if you want to put them back. Thanks.”
Jim stares at the basket that’s sat on the booth’s ledge. He’s not stupid. “Sure.” But he doesn’t sound sure at all. I know what he’s risking to help us.
When the basket is in place, Terrance and I finish our drinks. I think we’ll sit a while longer, see Don in action. But the duo in the corner booth are speaking so softly that I can hear nothing intelligible and, so far, they’ve done nothing suspicious. When Terrance stands, I do too. He walks over to my side of the booth and throws an arm over my shoulder. We walk out that way, like we’re more than friends having a drink.
It seems like a fruitless, silly excursion into the bar. I don’t know what I expected. You’d think I would have come to terms with how these things go by now, but I haven’t. All I can see is the victims who need justice. And all I want is to bring that justice to reality.
Steve is drinking from a mega-sized coffee cup when we open the white van’s barn doors. He has a pair of oversized black headphones over his ears and he gives Terrance a thumbs up as soon as we come into view.
“This is about as damning as it gets, Chief. No money exchange or anything yet, but there’s no way he can talk his way out of what he’s said.” Steve falls silent for a moment, listening to the conversation we can’t hear. “Don gets the girls for the guy he’s speaking with—calls him Mr. Thorn. Thorn’s pissed because Don’s wanting to quit. He didn’t like that the little girl died.”
“We’ve questioned Don before on other petty cases and gotten nowhere. You sure?” Terrance climbs into the van. I stay standing, wishing I had warmer clothes on.
“Positive, Chief.”
“Good, I don’t want anything that can come back and bite us in the ass. No vague statements, nothing they can back-talk their way out of.”
“Chief, this is good.” Steve points to the recorder. “If I was a betting man, I’d put my money on the prosecution.” It’s only now that I notice that Steve’s face is pale. I’d forgotten that he has a little girl, only a little older than Lilly. I’m surprised he’s holding it together as well as he is. But that’s because he’s a good cop.
Terrance nods. “Let’s bring these assholes in then.” Terrance turns to me. “Now, Tori, I use my Chief status.”
I feel like this is all too easy. Terrance and I don’t really go together. I mean, we’re not the most blend-into-the-crowd pair. And there hadn’t even been a crowd in Jim’s. Just the five of us. One cop, two bad guys, a little old necromancer, and a bartender with a bloody past.
I’m listening to Terrance and Steve continue to talk about how to app
roach the duo in the bar, biting my lower lip a little too hard. Any harder and I’d break the skin. I’d taste blood, which wouldn’t be good. When Terrance addresses me, I realize what’s bothering me about the situation. “Terrance, I think we should wait until the other man’s gone.”
“Why?” Terrance has his cop face on, eyebrow quirked, mind working furiously.
“He looks like he has money and I’ve a feeling if you take him in tonight, he’s just going to zip lip and lawyer up. I bet he’ll protect Don too just to save his skin. If you take Don alone, you can pressure him to give up this Thorn guy.”
“I don’t care how good a lawyer he gets, this,” Terrance cocks a thumb back at the recording device, which is still rotating slowly. “Jim can witness, back up the tapes and...”
“No, Jim can’t.” I reply, interrupting Terrance. “He’s always putting his neck out there, getting me intel to pass to you. Take tonight—he called me, put himself on the line, to help us snag a perp. He could lose everything he owns if he’s labeled a cop lover. Worst case scenario, someone might decide he’d look good in a shallow grave. No, he’s an informant and he needs to be protected.”
Terrance nods slowly, his large head floating up and down like an apple suspended in a bobbing bucket at Halloween. I think he’s going to say something intelligent, relevant to the situation, but I find out pretty quickly that I’m wrong. “You really have no idea what you sound like when you try to talk like a cop.”
“Hey, I’m very police-y.” It’s a ridiculous thing to say, but I feel like I’m starting to hold my own around the cops. I might not have a badge, but they need me. I wondered sometimes what would happen if an outside entity took a close gander at Bonneau and how the police department operated. I’d probably be out on my laurels faster than you could say ‘zombie’.
“I trust your instincts for the most part, Tori, but this time you’ll have to trust that I know what I’m doing as a cop. We take them both.” Terrance turns around and swings open the barn doors to exit the van.
“Fine,” I shrug my shoulders. “Let’s go collar these bastards. It feels too easy though.” There, I said it. This whole thing feels too easy.
Collar. See, I’m very police-y. I try to ignore Steve’s low rumble of throaty laughter as I follow Terrance out into the brisk evening air. Even though I can’t see his face, it’s not hard to guess that Terrance is wearing a smirk.
Hey, at least I’m good for some laughs?
The man named Thorn is gone by the time Terrance and Steve reenter the bar. He hadn’t exited the front of the bar… we hadn’t seen him leave; Jim hadn’t seen him leave. I keep my distance from the action, hovering near the front door. Don puts up a fight. He seems out of it, his eyes rolling in their sockets until only the white is showing. It is almost like he’s having some sort of out-of-body experience. Yet he continues to fight, with every ounce of strength he has.
I get the very distinct pleasure of spraying Donny boy in the face with mace when he tries to break for the exit, knocking down Steve in the process. Terrance is right behind the perp and he almost cracks a grin when Donny wails in agony as the biting liquid stings his skin. I don’t stop depressing the mace until I have the grown-ass man whimpering on the floor at my feet.
Jim didn’t pull out his shotgun to help, which is probably smart since it likely isn’t registered.
It’s odd, but as Terrance and Steve drag Don out of Jim’s bar, I can’t help but notice that the light over the booth where Don and Thorn once sat is now on again, shining brightly and banishing the shadows.
It swings like a pendulum, like it is counting down time. The time the girls still have left before they are whisked away to some god forsaken place, their bodies used for pleasures too advanced for their undeveloped anatomy.
Again I think how tired I am. Or maybe I’m just tired of what I am.
Chapter Nine.
I’ve been lounging on Terrance’s stiff brown couch in his office, several steel springs pushing hard against my body. Steve had gotten me a cup of coffee about a half hour ago. I’ve not touched it and now it’s sitting, ice cold, on the wonky side table that’s so structurally poor I’m surprised it is supporting the weight of the disposable cup.
Restless, I stand and walk around the room, eventually stopping near his desk and staring down at the files he’s spread out across the scratched pecan wood surface. The 3rd. The 8th. The 20th. The 25th. There’s a picture clipped to each file. Just the sight of the taken girls, their beautiful innocent smiles on full display as they pose for school pictures, makes my chest tighten and tears threaten. It’s not just Lilly I’m doing this for. It’s for all of them. The fifth file, the most recent, boasts Lilly’s face. I have to turn around as soon as I’ve seen it, because seeing her makes the tears actually begin to fall. I watch as the first wet drop splashes against the floor.
“We’ll take it from here, Tori. Thanks for the help.” A deep voice makes me start.
I turn around to find Terrance’s frame filling the entrance to his office, blocking the light. He doesn’t comment on the fact that I’m standing by his desk, obviously being nosey. I already know so much about the case. Maybe the other officers would say something, but not him.
“I really didn’t do much.” I shrug, standing, my knees protesting. They’d gotten a bit creaky when I’d gained weight. I’m small-boned and not built to support extra poundage. They’re getting better though, less achy, the more I work out. “Just spoke with Jim and waited for his call.”
“No, you did. We had no idea where he might be conducting business, since there wasn’t a trace of that side of things online. We’d followed him as best we could with the manpower we had, but he somehow kept slipping our tail. I was a hot second from calling the Feds and asking for help.” Terrance ran a hand across his face, obviously tired and feeling the effects of not getting his full pre-home nap.
“Calling the Feds, huh? If I were to suggest that, you’d consider them fighting words.” Once. Only once, had I ever had the nerve to suggest Terrance call in extra help. But that murder had been bad, all signs pointing to a methodical kill. And when the victim had risen again, he’d made it clear that the killer had boasted about getting away with murder twice before. Bonneau’s finest had never caught the guy. It had been swept under the rug with all the other unsolvable bullshit that should put our city on the map as a place tourists should never, ever visit.
“Yeah, well, it’s always harder when kids are involved.” Terrance’s words hang in the air between us, until I can’t stand the unpleasant thoughts they elicit any longer.
“Besides,” I clear my throat, forced a small quirk of my mouth, “Jim knows everyone from around here. Everyone who… tends to play on the wrong side of the law, I mean. Asking him if he knew Donald wasn’t a long shot. It was as easy as it gets. It’s not like I was beating feet on the pavement running down a perp.”
Terrance smiles. He doesn’t say it this time, but I know he’s thinking it—I’ve really got to work on my police jargon. “Still though. Jim wouldn’t have talked to one of us. And you might have been right about bringing Don in alone. He broke easier than a turkey leg. I’ve sent someone over to where he was storing the van he used to transport girls.”
“What about Thorn and the girls?” The question makes my heart pound erratically. Kids. I didn’t want to keep thinking about kids being hurt.
Terrance sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like they trusted him with the important details.”
“Or he’s still holding out on you.” I swipe at my outfit, I try to rid it of some of the wrinkles it’s gained from sitting in the car and now sitting in the station. My motions do nothing but further crumple the textured, dark fabric.
Shaking his head, Terrance steps back out of his office, giving me room to exit. “No, Don’s not the head of this thing. You go home and get some rest.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing el
se I can do?” I’m walking out of his office as I speak. The station is small, only the size of an average rambler. The breakroom is barely the size of my walk in closet at home.
“I’m sure. We’ve got to do what we can to track down this Thorn character now. We went to tow that car from Jim’s and it was gone. And the license plate was stolen. Belonged to an elderly woman’s station wagon in Georgia.”
“Do you think you’ll find the other girls?” I don’t say the rest of the words that are pushing against my teeth. Do you think you’ll find the other girls before they end up like Lilly?
“Yes.” He says it firmly, no malice only determination.
“I hope so.” I don’t want more mothers having to decide what color dress their baby girls will wear in their coffins.
Terrance stays with me until I reach the main entrance. “Thanks again, Tori.”
“You catch the bastard, Terrance. Lilly was beautiful.”
“All little girls are beautiful, Tori.”
As I’m walking out the door, I hear the click, click, click of Terrance typing a number into his old fashioned flip phone. I hear him speak when the receiver of his call picks up. “Baby, I’m sorry I’m so late. I’m coming home in just a bit. Are the girls already asleep?” A pause. “Can you go give them kisses for me.” A pause. “Yeah. Bad night.” The door to the station closes, blocking out his voice. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a family at home, thinking about all the things that could happen, wondering why other parents experienced loss and suffering while my children stayed safe.
When Adam died and I fully embraced my gift, moving home to take over the family business, I decided it was all for the best. A woman like me has no business becoming a mother. Adam wouldn’t have liked my choice.
But he wasn’t around to protest it.
The Victorian is silent as a tomb and very chilly as I walk through the side door. I’ve parked the black sedan in the covered freestanding garage behind the house. The hearse was already tucked inside of it, gleaming like a chunk of obsidian beneath the automatic light that flared to life as I remotely opened the garage door. The boys must have cleaned it up before leaving, even though I’d told them to go home and worry about it tomorrow.