by Rachel Rust
I shook my head.
He smiled, producing a wave of wrinkles around his eyes. “Start at the beginning.”
I smiled back, coercing my muscles to relax. He listened with little expression on his face as I told him about the school assignment and Victor’s text about Mason being taken. He made a few notes as I told him about going to Little Bobby’s house and my interactions with Ramon and Leon, though admitting that I didn’t know anyone’s last names or even if those were their real first names.
I sidestepped any mention of Krissy, not wanting to cause trouble for her. I didn’t like the image of cops knocking down the door with the spring wreath and pointing a gun at Emily after she had been so nice to me. And I figured if Krissy’s name cropped up eventually, I could play the role of stupid girl and say I forgot to mention her. The night was so horrible and all, who could blame me for forgetting a few things?
“So, what happened after you left this Little Bobby guy’s house?” Diaz asked.
I engaged in underage drinking, then paid a visit to my pothead brother.
I decided to skip a few more details.
“Victor got some information that someone at Kennedy High School is dealing pot for this guy called The Barber and then—”
Diaz put his hand up to stop me. “Do me a favor and wait here. I’d like to bring someone else in on this if you don’t mind. Someone from our—someone who deals with this type of thing.”
“Oh, okay.”
Did Rapid City have cops who dealt specifically with drug dealers? Before that night, I would have doubted the city needed such specialized law enforcement. But before that night, I had no awareness of the seedy world that was right in front of my face, all around in the city I thought I knew so well.
Diaz left the room. A couple of minutes later, he reentered with another guy. The new guy was tall and white, although he was so tan his skin tone was darker than his sandy blond hair. He smiled a big toothy grin and offered his hand to me as he entered.
“Miss Mancini, I’m Detective Novotny,” he said.
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He grabbed the other cheap chair next to me and dragged it to the other side of the desk to sit next to Sergeant Diaz. “Sergeant Diaz here tells me you’ve had one hell of a night.”
I nodded, picking at my fingernails.
“Why don’t you go ahead and start from the beginning,” Detective Novotny said. “Tell me what’s been going on.”
After a deep breath, I told my story again. And once again, I left out Krissy, the wine, and Josh. But this time, unlike Diaz, Detective Novotny scribbled nonstop on a pad of paper as I talked. He made no eye contact, only nodding in understanding every so often.
“And after Little Bobby’s house? What happened next?” he asked.
“Victor got some information that someone new at Kennedy High School is dealing pot and we went to a place called McNally’s south of town.”
“The closed up mechanic shop?”
“Yes.”
Novotny continued to scribble. “And what were you hoping to find at McNally’s?”
“Mason, mostly, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well, yes,” I said, “that’s why we were there, to find Mason.”
“And you don’t think this Victor kid had any other motive to go down there?” Novotny asked.
I paused. “No.”
Novotny raised his eyes my way, as if he had smelled the dishonesty wafting off me.
I exhaled hard, trying to convince myself that being completely honest, though it may get Victor into trouble, could actually help save his life long enough to get into trouble. But the problem was that even if I wanted to tell the truth, I didn’t know what the whole truth was. Victor said he needed to know what The Barber was using McNally’s for, but why? Maybe Victor did have another reason for being there, and maybe I wasn’t as smart as I liked to believe because I couldn’t figure out the motives of a low-level drug dealer.
I decided to start slow with the little bits of truth I actually believed. Maybe things would start making more sense as I talked. Or maybe the police could help me connect the facts together.
“Victor used to work for this guy called The Barber,” I said. “But he didn’t want to work for him anymore so—”
“Where’d you hear the name The Barber?” Novotny asked.
“From Victor.”
He began writing again. “And what’s Victor’s last name?”
“Greer.”
“And what did Victor Greer do for The Barber?”
I hesitated, refusing to go that far. Refusing to go on the record, directly implicating Victor in anything. Although, it was clear from Novotny’s tone of voice that he probably knew exactly what kind of activities Victor participated in.
“Natalie?” Novotny said, waiting patiently for me to come back to the conversation. “What did Victor do for The Barber?”
I shrugged and lied. “I don’t really know. He never told me.”
“Where can I find this Victor kid?” he asked.
“I have no idea. He got hit on the head and that’s why I’m here. The Barber’s people have him and they dragged him away and—”
Novotny put a hand up. “Where does he live?”
My fingers curled tight around the now-faded black pen marks of Victor’s address on my palm. “Somewhere over by the mall, I think.”
“You don’t know his address?”
I shook my head, wondering how many times I could lie to the police before their cop senses picked up on my bullshit.
“Did this Victor talk to anyone else this evening?” Novotny asked.
“No,” I lied again.
“Did he see any old friends? Did he talk to anyone from school?”
Yes and yes. “No.”
“Who does he hang out with? Who are his associates?”
I stared at Novotny’s pencil, tip to paper, waiting for information. “I don’t know.”
“Who else knows what’s being going on tonight?” he asked.
His question sent a tingle up my spine as thoughts of Josh and Brody flooded my mind. “No one. Just Victor and me…and Mason, I guess.”
“You haven’t talked to anyone else about this?”
“No.”
Novotny grabbed my unfinished police report form off the desk and handed it to Sergeant Diaz. “Do me a favor and go make a copy of this?”
Diaz stared at him for a moment before finally taking the sheet and stepping out of the room.
Detective Novotny leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. “Thank you for bringing this information into us, Miss Mancini,” he said with a thousand-watt smile. “It will certainly help.”
“Wait, what? I didn’t even tell you everything yet.”
He glanced down at his writing. “We’ve got enough.”
“No you don’t! What about Victor? He got hit on the head! The Barber has him!”
Novotny put a hand up. “We have all the information we need.” He stood then walked to the door. “Thank you for coming by.”
I stared at the open door. “But what about Victor and Mason? Who’s going to go looking for them?”
He motioned with his hand for me to stand. “Come with me, Miss Mancini. I’ll walk you out.”
“But—”
“Now.”
He had definitely picked up on my lying bullshit answers. Or was there was another reason he wanted to get rid of me?
I stood and walked through the door. My hip hit the stack of papers in his hand, sending them scattering onto the floor. “Sorry,” I said in what I hoped was an authentic tone. As he stooped to pick up the papers, my eyes scanned everything. His chicken scratch notes were hard to make out. The other papers were print-outs, easy to read. Name, addresses, associates: Leon Cartrette. Ramon Jimenez. Robert John Bender (aliases: Little Bobby; LB). And a few other names I didn’t recognize.
One unknown name was circled
in thick red marker—Eduardo Martinez.
I racked my brain trying to think if I had heard anyone mention an Eduardo or a Martinez that night. But I knew I hadn’t. The name meant nothing. Probably some stupid punk selling meth out of the trunk of a shitty Monte Carlo.
Or maybe the name meant everything. Maybe Eduardo Martinez was The Barber.
Detective Novotny scooped up the remaining pages and stood up. I followed him back down the hallway, through the reception area. I wanted to ask him about the name Eduardo Martinez, but something inside me said not to give the detective any more information.
He opened the station’s front door for me. “I want you to go straight home, Miss Mancini. It’s a school night after all.”
“But what about Victor?”
Another thousand-watt smile. “We’ll take care of him.”
My eyes narrowed. “Who’s we?”
Novotny half-laughed, looking around. “The police, of course.”
“The police. Right,” I muttered, walking out the door. My feet flitted down the stairs as fast as they could. The entire past hour had been a huge mistake. Victor hadn’t wanted to involve the cops. He had been right to think they would be of no help. Or worse—the opposite of help.
At the bottom of the stairs, I glanced back at the doors. Novotny was watching me leave, phone to his ear. Victor’s words rang in my head…people are only as good as their greed allows them to be, including cops.
Chapter Seventeen
The leather seats of Brody’s car were cold. After starting it up, I tapped around on the screen until I found the controls for the seat warmers. Within seconds, my butt warmed up, but my arms shivered. I turned on the heat.
I mentally replayed the past hour. Novotny’s fake smile. His change in demeanor after hearing The Barber mentioned. His insistence in knowing whether Victor and I had talked to anyone else that night. The name Eduardo Martinez circled in red. My body quivered despite the rising temps of the car.
My phone buzzed and I jumped. With shaking hands, I brought up the text message. It was from a restricted number.
Corner of 15th Street and Savannah Avenue
I clicked out of the message, then clicked to bring it up again, searching for more information. Maybe the message had been cut off—someone accidently sent it before they had finished typing. I did that sometimes.
I waited for a second text giving me the rest of the message. Like, whose address it was or what was located at the address. Was the text even meant for me? It could’ve been a misdial. But given the circumstances of my horrible night, that didn’t seem likely.
The clock on the dash showed 2:51 a.m. Common sense said I should be tired, but sleep was far down my list of priorities in that moment. If I ever wanted to sleep again, I first had to keep myself alive long enough to make it back to my bed.
My phone buzzed again.
Go now before they can follow you. 15th and Savannah
My phone dropped into my lap. My heart beat hard. The parking lot was quiet. All around me, the black night was still and silent, except for an occasional car driving by on the nearby street. The only other cars in the parking lot were empty—dark-colored cop cars without lights on top. I never understood why unmarked cop cars were the same kind of car as regular cop cars. They were always easy to pick out in traffic, which probably defeated the purpose.
I re-read the text.
Go now before they can follow you.
My arm shook as I put the car into reverse. I drove out of the police parking lot, unsure if I had left early enough.
They may have already seen me. Whoever they were.
****
The corner of 15th and Savannah was on the east side of town, not far from the police station. But rather than going straight to the intersection, I circled around a few blocks, driving slow, unsure if I had made the right decision. Going to an address from a cryptic text message in the middle of the night was not a smart move, this I knew absolutely. But my options were limited at best, and no single option felt completely safe—not even going back to Josh and Brody. I didn’t want to put them at risk. I felt bad enough for having involved them at all.
Along 15th Street, I parked by the curb in front of a tan house. The corner of Savannah Avenue was one block up, lit by only a single street lamp. The neighborhood was nice. Split-level homes with double-car garages and mature trees. Nothing about it screamed bad things were about to happen. Which is exactly why I hated it so much. False security was the worst kind of threat.
My mind raced with possibilities, good and bad. The text could have been from Victor—he had gotten free from The Barber’s people and needed to meet up with me. Or Josh had remembered something useful about whoever was selling weed at Kennedy and for some reason used someone else’s phone to text me. Or else the message was from someone intent on harming me.
Common sense put money on the bad possibility.
I put Brody’s car back into drive, ready to leave, when movement caught my eye. Someone was walking the next block down, headed away from me—a slight build wearing a red hoodie and baggie jeans.
I crept the car slowly forward. At the corner of 15th and Savannah, I ducked down in my seat, as though that would help if someone had plans of sending a hailstorm of bullets my direction. Pretty sure BMW didn’t include bullet-proof armor as a standard feature.
I made it through the intersection without being killed.
One hurdle down.
The red hoodie was getting closer. The rhythm of the person’s walk was off, favoring one leg over another. I pulled ahead of the figure. The face was hard to see, darkened by the red hood, but it was definitely a boy. Wearing white basketball shoes.
I slammed on the brakes. The boy froze.
After shoving the car into park, I hopped out. “Are you Mason?” I shouted, ignorant of the fact that if there were people nearby who wanted me dead, I was giving them the perfect opportunity.
The boy didn’t respond. He stumbled back a couple of steps.
“Mason?” I asked again.
He turned and began hobbling the other direction.
“Mason, wait!” I ran up behind him. “Mason! Please, stop!”
He turned to look at me, but kept moving. “You’re one of them.”
“One of who?”
His pace increased. Just before he stepped into the intersection, I grabbed his arm with both of my hands and yanked him to a stop. He spun around and pulled his arm free from my grip. My off-kilter body weight sent me plummeting down onto the sidewalk and my elbow smashed into the concrete.
I attempted to pull myself up, only to be met with a sneaker. Pain and heat seared through my shoulder as Mason’s foot kicked me back down. I landed on my back, half on the sidewalk, half on the grass.
“My name’s Natalie,” I said, my voice barely registering. “I’m friends with your cousin Victor.”
“You’re lying,” he replied, hovering over me.
My arms flew up in a surrender position. “I am not lying. I go to school with him and we’ve been looking for you all night. We even went to see your friends, Michael, Cooper and Jordan.”
He took a step back.
“Mason, please,” I said, pulling myself up. The blow from his kick eliminated my sense of balance, and it took a few attempts to gain solid footing. “You need to come with me. Your mom’s probably worried sick and Victor, he’s gone. They took him. Whoever they are, they’re still out here somewhere, so we need to get in the car and leave.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I got a text from someone telling me to come to this intersection.” I glanced around us. “How’d you get here? Did you walk?”
He shook his head. “Someone dropped me here.”
“Who?”
“No idea. I was in the trunk. They had masks.”
I took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. No matter how much I willed my muscles to relax, the events of the night twisted them into tigh
t pretzels. And like a pretzel, all the events of the night were one gigantic knot I couldn’t get undone. Nothing made sense. Why would someone tell me where to find Mason? If they had the balls to kidnap him, it was weird that they would suddenly care enough for him to get a safe ride home.
My mind feared only one good explanation—they wanted Mason and me to be together. We would be easier to watch as one unit. I glanced around again. The windows of the cars parked along the street were dark. It was impossible to tell if anyone was inside one, watching us.
We needed to get out of there and fast. Which meant I needed to gain Mason’s trust. I had no idea how to do that other than simply talk to him and calm him down.
“What happened?” I asked. “How did they take you?”
Mason crossed his arms. Hard to tell if it was from cold or unpleasant memories. “Yesterday morning, I went to the bus stop, but the bus never came. Then this guy who said he’s a friend of Victor’s said he could give me a ride to school, so I went with him. He gave me a bottle of water. I drank it and the next thing I know, I’m tied up in a basement.”
“Well, I am a friend of Victor’s, for real. And I’ll take you home. I promise.”
“What happened to Victor?” he asked.
I wanted to tell him a polished version of the truth. That someone had asked Victor to get into a car and then drove him away, or that Victor had voluntarily walked into McNally’s. But I couldn’t. The left side of Mason’s face was streaked with dried blood from a cut over his eyebrow. Whatever had happened to him throughout the evening, it was his ticket to hearing the truth. He deserved to know.
“Victor and I went out to this old mechanic shop south of town,” I said. “People there, they work for The Barber.” I paused, waiting for Mason to have a reaction to the name. But he had none. “These guys with guns, they hit Victor over the head and dragged him away. They have him now, which could be why they let you go. Maybe they don’t need you anymore.”
“Why did they need me in the first place?”
“Victor owed them something, or at least that’s how they saw it.”
“Owed them what?”
I studied Mason’s face under the blood. His eyes were dark, shadowed by heavy eyebrows. He had a solid, square jaw, making him look older than thirteen.