Black Escape

by C. J. Thomas

  “Kendra, you’re not alone. We can get through this together.” Alex’s voice of reason reminded me of the things I wasn’t ready to lose. “Where are you?”

  “I almost did it.” My lips trembled.

  “Are you home?”

  I turned my head and stared at the revolver laying on the floor next to me. “It’s still here. On the floor in front of me.” My words choked in my strangled throat. “I don’t want to die.”

  “I’m outside, baby.”

  My head was light as a balloon when hearing her words. Pushing myself up off the floor, I glanced to the front door. Swallowing down my misery, I picked up my bricks for feet and headed into the hall, rode the elevator down, floating past Mr. Anderson as if he wasn’t there, and met Alex outside. She ran into my arms.

  “You can’t do this to me.” Her eyes watered like a pool. “You can’t leave me. You’re all I have.” She squeezed harder and I cried more.

  “But it won’t stop,” I said into her ear.

  “What won’t stop?” Concern coated her words.

  “They’ll keep getting to me.” My arms tugged to the ground as my shoulders rounded. Feeling my foundation crumble beneath me, I felt my knees begin to bend, threatening to give.

  Alex looped her arm around my back, perching me up, keeping me from falling. Bystanders stopped to look but I didn’t see them. Twisting me around, she walked me in the opposite direction. Feeling like I’d just run a marathon, I blinked and caught sight of a white van parked on the side of the road. Not thinking much of it, I watched the door slide open.

  “We need to get you some help,” Alex said.

  When I saw who emerged from the back of that van, my heart leapt to my throat. Digging my heels into the concrete, fear widened my eyes. It all happened so fast, by the time Alex realized I had stopped, she’d already been flung backwards, recoiling into my arms.

  Spinning her head around on her shoulders, she followed my gaze just as Rob Jones said, “Ms. Kendra Williams. You need to come with me.” He reached for my arm and I jerked it away. “The DEA would like to have a word.”

  46

  Kelly

  I had to see it to believe it.

  Keeping one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shifter, I sat staring at the front of my house with the engine off, wondering if this call was a set-up.

  Glancing to my mirrors, it made sense. The way O’Brien dangled a carrot out in front of me as a way to bring me in just so he could arrest me himself. Rolling my gaze to my phone, I did a quick mental drive on which route would get me to the bar, Whispers, the quickest. That alone should have been enough to calm my heart. I’d chosen the place—told him where to meet with me. I counted my blessings for the small win.

  I slid the key into the ignition and cranked the engine over. Listening to it purr, I leaned over and opened the glovebox.

  Suddenly, my heart stopped, remembering my gun, it was gone.

  Not wanting to believe that Kendra had taken it, I worried what she might do. Still, I had no idea where she was or where I could find her.

  The next second my cell chimed with a message from Giselle. It was Kendra’s new cell number. I put in a call and listened to it continuously ring with no end. “Pick up, c’mon, pick up.” Frustration seeped through my teeth.

  After several minutes, I reluctantly ended the call, unable to leave a message.

  Without wasting any more time, I backed out of the driveway and drove. Soon, my thoughts weighed heavily on me. The police confiscated the video of the break-in at my penthouse and I needed to know why. I questioned why I was part of their investigation, what exactly they were looking for, and kept circling back to the same conclusion: it was all to protect Oscar and Madam from future prosecution.

  Anger welled in my chest as I drove.

  I passed the time thinking of Kendra and what I could have done differently. Thinking of what she’d said, I blamed myself. By the time I parked and stepped inside Whispers, O’Brien was already at the back of the bar waiting.

  He was leaning over the bar with his head hung between his slouched shoulders—a shoulder bag of modest size dangling down his back.

  I treaded in his direction slowly, tucking away the USB memory stick inside my pocket, wanting to make sure he was truly alone like he’d promised. Even from the side, I could see his face twist and twitch with what I assumed to be stress from the job. Catching me out of the corner of his eye, he lifted his head, stood tall, and thanked me for coming.

  “I hope what you have is worth my time,” I said, my hands casually stuffed inside my pants pockets.

  He motioned to an empty table nearby, taking his Jack and Coke with him. I followed his lead, and once we were seated I noticed the dark circles under each of his eyes. He had the look of a man who was doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing. Wanting to hide in plain sight, he kept glancing to the entrance which kept me on edge. Though, strangely, it also instilled a belief that my time wouldn’t be wasted.

  “I was pulled over not long after speaking with you,” I said.

  He arched his brow.

  “They harassed me and assaulted my girl.”

  Pulling at the loose skin on his neck, his eyes bulged. An awkward silence settled between us before he muttered, “Shit, this is worse than I thought.”

  Bringing my elbows to the surface, I leaned across the table. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’ve angered a lot of people, Mr. Black.”

  “No shit.”

  He leaned back and sighed. “Look, the reason I called is because I think I might know why you’re being targeted.”

  I watched him tilt his head and dig through his shoulder bag. Bringing a tablet computer up to the table, he fired it up. Then he turned the screen to me and said, “If anyone asks, you didn’t get this from me.”

  I held his gaze for a second before lowering my eyes to the computer. He tapped the screen and a video from my apartment building began to play. It didn’t take me long to recognize the face in the footage. It was the same detective who came harassing me about the shooting, asking about my concealed weapons permit. “What’s his name?”

  “Detective Matt Fletcher.”

  My stomach clenched. The dots connecting the web of corrupted public officials suddenly got stickier. I flicked my eyes back to the video and wished I was more shocked then I was. It all made sense. The reason Internal Affairs was investigating him—how Oscar managed to kill Mario without getting his own hands dirty. My harassment and why Madam was bold enough to be doing what she was doing.

  O’Brien sipped from his drink, keeping one eye on me, the other on the door.

  Fletcher was alone as he moved through my building, taking a ride up the elevator. Trotting down my hall with a cocky smirk plastered to his face, into my apartment as easily as if he lived there. Two minutes later, he was out the door with nothing to show for his efforts. Then, finishing his rounds at the front desk and talking to manager Milner—

  Without warning, O’Brien reached over and paused the video. “Seen here leaving my card to throw us off.”

  I knew O’Brien wanted to clear his name. But what I didn’t know was, “Why did Fletcher choose you?”

  With both his hands wrapped around his drink, O’Brien looked me in the eye and said, “Because I’m a good cop.”

  “There are dozens of cops like you on the force,” I argued. “Yet he chose you. Why?”

  “About five, six years ago, this city changed. People changed. And so did the mood in the department.” O’Brien went on to explain how the recession impacted cops’ lives, how new opportunities were made to be able to keep up with the increasing costs of living. It was Blake Stone who created those opportunities, but now it was Madam directing the same cast of characters. “It was then I made the conscious decision to not get involved with the many things others were doing in the department.” He turned his head as if needing to briefly collect his thoughts. “Fletc
her is dirty. We both know it. But what I didn’t understand was why he was targeting you. I’ve looked into your history, Mr. Black. You have a solid reputation with the mayor, making generous donations to schools, and seem to genuinely care for the city despite you being a criminal defense attorney.”

  I felt my lips curl. “And maybe that is part of the problem.”

  “Touché,” he chuckled.

  “My office was raided today.” My tone picked up a bit. “A search warrant issued by the judge. Any idea what they’re after?”

  He narrowed his sharp eyes. “I hadn’t heard.”

  I told him about what happened with Mario Jimenez. “He was my client charged with the death of Maria Greer, a young film intern working with legendary director, Nash Brooks. I’m sure you’ve seen it in the news.” He had. “You see, what makes this most interesting,” I jabbed my finger to the tablet, “is Fletcher was the arresting officer who put the perp inside to kill him.”

  O’Brien’s thoughtful detective eyes were glimmering. “Is the perp still locked up?”

  My brows raised. “Let go because of a mishandling of paperwork.”

  O’Brien’s neck muscles tensed as he stared into my convincing gaze. “I’ve known Fletcher to take bribes, let perps go, orchestrate turf wars in his favor, but never plan a murder.”

  “Believe it,” I said, “because if you knew what the district attorney was up to, then you would understand why he would want my client killed.”

  His head jerked back before shifting in his seat.

  It was a split-second judgement call, but I saw an opening and I had to take my chance.

  Reaching into my pocket, I hid the flash-drive inside my palm. Sliding it to O’Brien, I said, “The cops want to get Sylvia Neil on the murder of Maria Greer, but she had nothing to do with Tonya Craig.” I lifted my hand to expose the drive. “It’s all there. Dates and time stamps, the before and after of what Oscar and whatever detectives—probably Fletcher—did to tamper with the original evidence I saw for myself inside Sylvia’s apartment.” O’Brien placed his hands over the rectangular file and I continued selling my theory. “They’re using her to take the fall. Make it look good for Oscar’s re-election campaign. But it was all bullshit. Sylvia knew it, too, and that was what they didn’t want anyone to see. The map she laid out, proving she wasn’t the only guilty one of committing serious crimes.”

  “Why are you entrusting this with me?”

  “Because I have no one else I can trust.”

  O’Brien brought his hands into his lap. Staring at the disk, he said, “It will never stick. Not if you took it illegally.”

  “You need to make it admissible. Because, if you don’t, then this asshole,” I flicked my gaze to Fletcher, “wins. And so does the district attorney.”

  47

  Kendra

  My heart thumped a dull, dead beat against my sore ribs.

  Sitting in the back of the stifling hot van with my hands clasped between my knees, I asked, “Where are we going?”

  Rob Jones stared ahead without responding.

  I wasn’t surprised to get no response. When I would normally be frightened with being taken against my will—especially after dark—I wasn’t. I didn’t care. Wasn’t concerned with anything other than knowing where I was being taken.

  The van tumbled along, driving the speed limit, heading to the heart of the city.

  Lowering my gaze, I kept Jones in the corner of my eye. A bloody reporter. I shook my head. Of course an undercover agent would play the part. He was the one to make sure Kelly and I knew he was aware we were at Echo.

  I gave a thin-lipped smirk.

  All this time I’d thought he was creating the theory to sell to the public that Kelly and I had murdered Maria and Tonya. Instead, he was building his case against me for having done Madam’s chores.

  “How long have you been watching me?” I asked.

  He blinked and kept his gaze forward.

  Jones didn’t say anything more than that the DEA needed to speak with me. Never flashed an ID badge and, suddenly, I wondered if he was who he said he was. “Are you even DEA?”

  His stone face didn’t provide any clues.

  It hurt to think, but the coincidence was convincing. I hugged my waist, willing myself to push the thought out of my head but couldn’t. Did Alex set me up? Was this her way of helping? It was she who led me straight to them. The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. They came for her once, and came for her again—this time specifically to get to me.

  Dropping my head into my hand, I closed my eyes, feeling the pressure headache build.

  I knew my head wasn’t right. Trust, all but erased. My ability to read emotion and make decisions based on gut feel, nearly gone. Though it was possible I might not be remembering things exactly how they’d occurred. I flip-flopped back and forth between cursing my friend, hating her for putting me inside this van without protest, then snapping back to numb feelings of not being surprised to have those closest to me turn their backs when I needed them most.

  The driver made a right turn.

  My phone rang.

  Jones looked at me for the first time since agreeing to travel to wherever with him.

  The display screen lit up and I recognized the number. It was Kelly.

  Without saying a word, Jones opened his palm, demanding I give him the phone.

  My heartrate kicked up another notch, debating whether to answer the call or not. But, before I could, Jones swiped it out of my hand, making the decision for me.

  Slouching in my seat, I didn’t even put up a fight.

  The lights from the city illuminated the night and I found comfort in knowing that I was being taken somewhere downtown instead of to a remote location I couldn’t escape from. Rolling my neck to Jones, I inhaled his heady cologne. “Did you know the cops pulled me over tonight?”

  His body rocked with the bumps from the tires bouncing over the pavement.

  “You probably knew.” I turned my head away. “That’s why you’re not talking.”

  My skin crawled, reliving the nightmare. It was still fresh in my mind and I could feel the way the cop’s hands pressed, cupped, and squeezed areas of my body that only Kelly should be touching. For all I knew, it was part of the larger plan to break me down in an effort to get me to talk sooner.

  Rubbing my wrists, they were free from the shackles of handcuffs. I hadn’t been arrested yet, but after what I was ready to reveal tonight—especially if it meant taking down Madam—I was prepared to be booked.

  The van pulled behind a large building, parking near a door in the back. Jones reached over my lap, sliding the van door open. He walked me inside where he was greeted by another waiting suit. They sandwiched me between them, leading me down an illuminated corridor so bright it could burn. We came to an elevator and took a short ride down to the basement. There, we walked down another hallway until I was told to enter a windowless room.

  A middle-aged woman wearing a gray suit stood from behind the table. Her silver badge was clipped to the same belt she holstered her weapon. “Ms. Williams, thank you for coming at such a late hour.”

  I glanced at my own reflection, not recognizing the face staring back from what I assumed was a two-way mirror. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Our eyes met. “I’m agent Katie McGurk. DEA.”

  She extended her hand but I didn’t take it.

  “The FBI is also in the building, listening in on our conversation. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, maybe? It could take a while.”

  Catching the camera’s red light in the ceiling corner, I said, “I know why I’m here.”

  “Do you?” McGurk’s hands landed on her hips.

  Lowering my gaze, I gave her an arched look.

  “Have a seat.” She stepped around and pulled her chair back. “Maybe you could tell me why you think the DEA and FBI would like to speak with you.”

 
As my feet scuffled over the cheap linoleum, I couldn’t stop thinking about the room being wired, wondering who else might be watching—listening—in on our conversation. Dropping my tail into the seat opposite Agent McGurk, I stared into her amber eyes, debating where I should start my story. As if reading my mind, she said, “Why don’t you begin with how you found yourself working for the woman who calls herself The Madam.”

  Inside my head, I could hear Kelly telling me to keep my mouth shut—don’t say a word until I had a lawyer at my side to counsel me through the interrogation. But I didn’t care. I just needed this to be over. Slowly, I began telling my story.

  Over the next hour, I freely spoke without fear of repercussion. I mentioned Alex’s debt, my need to bring excitement to my life, knowing that what I did might not exactly be legal. “In the beginning, I had control, made decisions for myself, and was never specifically instructed to sleep with clients,” I remembered saying at some point. “It was a legit escort company. Then, overnight, everything changed.”

  Agent McGurk listened, scribbled notes, and laid out photos to corroborate my timeline with their own. There was a photo of me with Madam. Me out on delivery speaking with Emmanuel. Tonya Craig with Timothy Parker. Me at Mom’s house. Marvin. And even Kelly made the cut.

  By the time I finished, my entire body was weighed down by exhaustion. “So, are you going to arrest me?” I asked, thinking about the earlier roadside harassment.

  “That depends.” McGurk’s eyes were as awake as the sun.

  “On?” I asked as I heard the heavy door behind me open.

  McGurk’s gaze lifted to the man standing behind me. “Him.”

  48

  Kendra

  Holding my breath, I turned to find Drake Goodman staring down at me.