by Bella Knight
“Yes, Sir,” said Keiran. He hopped up, and Ace went to pay the bill and pick up the prescription.
The cop followed them to the desk, “Were the people tall? Short?”
Keiran held out his fists, “Swab my skin,” he said, “you’ll get DNA.”
“Um, I’ll call a tech,” she said. “Or, the station is around the corner.”
“Is the Amber Alert out?” asked Ace. “I’ve got pictures from the entire day on my cell.”
“So, do I,” said Keiran. “Pavel is wearing a red T-shirt and jean shorts.”
“Amber alert?” asked the cop.
“Yes, Officer Champas,” said Ace. “Pavel is fifteen years old, and alone in a foreign country.”
Ace had never seen anyone move that fast. They were out the door, down the street, and in the police station around the corner. All before the ink in Ace’s signature for the bill and the script for the meds had time to dry.
On the way, he saw people hanging up signs that read:
AMBER ALERT, PAVEL KRIKOV, 15. LAST SEEN BEING KIDNAPPED FROM A FRENCH QUARTER HOTEL. REWARD $5000 FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO HIS RETURN.
There was a picture of Pavel from that day, with his red shirt, and shorts on display.
“Your people work fast,” said Officer Champas, as she led them into the station. “Need a tech with swabs NOW!” she bellowed. The desk sergeant made a call.
“Where’s Mike?” the desk sergeant asked Champas, ignoring the bedlam around him.
Full of prostitutes, mugging victims, and a woman complaining about a dog.
“Interviewing a guy named Dimitri Ridelov, the third vic. The first victim is the missing boy, Pavel Krikov, aged fifteen. Second is this boy here, Keiran Dolan. He says he has the blood of the perpetrators on his hands.”
“Probably his clothes, too,” said the tech, a man with buzzed blonde hair, blue eyes, and a scar on his chin. “Hold ‘em out straight in front of you, kid.”
Keiran did, and the tech took a swab out and started taking a sample.
“Then we’ll take your shirt,” he said, “and a sample of your blood from your head so we can eliminate your blood.”
“Cool!” said Keiran. “Don’t know how to get another shirt though. Figure our hotel room is a crime scene. There’s glass from where they went through the window as well as the door.”
“That’s good,” said the tech, who put the swab in an envelope and labeled it. “Maybe one of those yahoos got cut on the way in.”
“That’d be nice,” said Ace.
The tech swabbed Keiran’s head; there was still plenty of blood on it. He put it in an envelope and labeled it, and then turned back.
“Now the shirt,” he said, taking out a paper bag.
Keiran took it off and put it in the outstretched bag. The tech labeled it, put it in his case, and snapped the case shut.
“Nice doing business with you,” he said. “I’ll get this to the lab, then go help them with the crime scene.”
“Thank you,” said Ace.
“Thanks,” said Keiran.
A very large African-American cop with a shaved head, a wide nose, and very light feet approached them.
“Detective Lyssop, Major Crimes,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll take your statement.”
“She already did,” Ace said, pointing to Officer Champas. “My brother needs a shower. As you can see, he’s covered in blood and has head trauma.”
“Okeydoke,” said the detective. “I’ll follow you, and we can talk at your hotel. I take it you’re not from here?”
“Vegas,” said Ace, leading them out of the police station. “Here on vacay with a bunch of our friends.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked. “I know you told Officer Champas here, but I need to get up to speed fast.”
Ace started the story. “We were around the corner finishing our ice cream when Dimitri took Keiran and Pavel up to wash their hands after getting ice cream all over them.”
“Keiran’s your brother, and Pavel is…” Both the detective and the officer were taking notes.
“My best friend from school,” said Keiran. “His parents live in Russia. They gave permission for him to come before summer session starts.”
“And the school is in…”
“Arizona,” Ace said.
New Amber Alert signs were now on the doors, windows, walls, and street lamps. People were stopping and looking at them.
“Your friends work fast,” said Champas. “Must have got them done at the all-night printer around the corner.”
“That’s the precinct number,” said Lyssop, “for Missing Persons Division.” He sighed, and pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial. “Davis, it’s me. Get over to Missing Persons and tell them to split up the calls about the missing boy between us and them. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Um hmm. Thank you.” He hung up.
“Then,” said Keiran, “we washed our hands and faces and were about to go back down. Dimitri was in the bathroom. The door smashed in and the glass broke. I got in front of Pavel and started swinging.”
He related the story about how he and Pavel had fought, about how Dimitri had run out of the bathroom and pulled a guy in a ski mask off Keiran. And then how they got past them and out the door after they brained Keiran, with the butt end of a machete. Ace cringed, happy that they didn’t use the business end of the machete.
“Fuck,” said Ace, reaching the hotel. Cops and crime scene techs were on the north side, where windows had clearly been shattered.
“Your room is right next door, isn’t it?” asked Detective Lyssop.
“Yeah,” said Ace, pointing to the room next door.
“Let’s get you another room,” said Lyssop.
“No need,” said Ace, walking around to the back of the hotel, off the street.
A very large man stood in front of the door on the ground floor, “Ace,” he said, in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Scorp,” said Ace, and they bumped fists.
“You okay, little man?” asked Scorp to Keiran.
“Head hurts like a stone mother,” said Keiran, “but we got some hits in.”
Detective Lyssop whipped out his phone, “We’ll get on the hospitals.”
“Already on it,” growled Scorp. “Henry’s got everyone out in a grid, in pairs.”
“Any word on Lily and Dimitri?” asked Ace.
“Lily says Dimitri has broken ribs and his head bashed in. Like Frenzy here.”
“Frenzy,” said Ace, grabbing his brother’s shoulder, “needs a shower and some meds.”
“Give me the scrip,” said Scorpion. “I’ll get it while he’s in there.”
“I’ll get it,” said Ace. “You guard him while I go.” Scorpion nodded gravely and opened the door.
Inside, Henry had a map of the city on a wall. Ivy was next to him, putting little flags on the map.
Ivy ran over and touched both Ace and Keiran’s shoulders and said, “Little man, you take a shower. We’ll find Pavel.”
“Frenzy,” he said, standing taller.
Ivy beamed at him. “Good name. Now, get. There’s a mess of shorts and shirts in that suitcase there. We’ll re-tape that wound when you get back out.”
“Henry, Ivy, this is Detective Lyssop and Officer Champas.”
“Thank you so much for helping us,” said Ivy.
“Usually that’s the other way around, and we don’t let civilians help,” said Detective Lyssop, “but you aren’t civilians, are you?”
“A lot of us have civilian jobs, but we really aren’t,” replied Henry. “Most of us are ex-military. I’ve also called the Iron Knights; they have a chapter here and one in Baton Rouge. I said, ‘Amber alert’ and six of them were here to pick up flyers and were gone.”
“Iron Knights?” asked Officer Champas.
“Motorcycle club,” said Detective Lyssop. “Ex-military, motorcycle; cops, paramedics, firefighters.”
He looked at the map,
there were grids running out from the hotel.
“Whoever took Pavel kicked an anthill.”
“Filled with fire ants,” said Ivy. “Fucking idiots. We will find them and get Pavel back, give them to you to play with after. Pavel comes first.”
“He’s not your kid, or your brother, or anything, is he?” asked Champas.
“He’s family,” said Lily, coming in the door Scorpion opened for her. She was half-carrying a bandaged and sweating Dimitri into the room. Ace rushed to help Dimitri get on the bed.
“Keiran okay?” asked Lily, as she helped Dimitri to bed.
Dimitri cursed in Russian as she propped up pillows behind him.
Lily said, “Stupid idiot here wouldn’t stay in the hospital after they bandaged his ribs and sewed up the head laceration.”
“In the shower,” said Ace. “Give me Dimitri’s prescription, and I’ll get it. I have to pick up Keiran’s anyway.”
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Give me Keiran’s.”
“So, this is Dimitri?” said Detective Lyssop.
“Who is this?” said Dimitri, his Russian accent very obvious in his pain-laced voice.
“Detective Lyssop and Officer Champas,” said Ace. “They’re helping us find the kidnappers.”
“Don’t like police,” said Dimitri.
“Get over it,” said Ace, “we’re going to find Pavel.”
“Da,” said Dimitri. “Those motherfuckers will regret it.”
“I’m sure they do,” said Lyssop. “Now, Mr. Ridelov, can you tell me what happened?”
“I was in bathroom. Hear breaking glass, broken door. Walk out. See boys fighting men in ski masks and covered head to toe in black, like ninjas. Boys hit men, I step in, men hit me. I am not good fighter. Boy hit one, Keiran. Then he fell down, not get back up. Pavel taken out door, Keiran chase him. I talk to man on floor, I hit on head, not move fast, so I hit him and ask who boys were. He say not know. I hit him twice, no answer. He pass out. I take pictures.”
He handed over his phone, showing the young man. He saw his all-black outfit, his tattoos of black webs and spiders, and black tears and crossed swords.
“Have you ever seen these tats before?” asked Ace.
Lyssop shook his head, and passed the phone to Officer Champas.
“Nope,” he said. Champas shook her head as well. “Have any of you?”
“Nyet,” said Dimitri. The others all said no as the phone was passed around to them.
“Well, it seems what we have here is a mystery,” said Lyssop.
“Not for long,” said Lily. “These guys better run. We will find them.”
Ace left to get the scripts and some Cokes and coffee. It was going to be a long night.
Ghost Walk
Ghost and Leticia went to the streets, to the worst neighborhood they could find. The ones with hookers and crack dealers on every corner. They asked where they could find one thing or another, looking for more; who might run a corner or some girls. They asked about the tats once Ivy sent them the picture; no one had ever seen them before. They asked who they could ask higher up the food chain, crisscrossing the neighborhood, ending up back in the Quarter, at the office of Baby Fats.
Baby Fats had an ice-cold killer named Tamara in the entryway to his court, a literal courtyard in the middle of a building with a lot of doors. They probably led to hotel rooms or apartments. Tamara had long black hair in braids, scarlet nails, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Whatchu want?” she asked. “You all wanna turn yourself out, LaShawn on the corner might take you, but you’re a little scrawny.”
“We talked to LaShawn, and Jumper, and Gorilla. They all sent us here.”
“Why?” asked Tamara.
“Money,” said Ghost. “Russian money.”
“Whachu sellin’? Drugs, guns, girls?”
“Lookin’ for something,” said Ghost. “Russian boy did gone missin.’ Cold hard cash for any info that lets us get da boy back.”
“Green da only color,” said Tamara.
“Word,” said Ghost.
“Your girl talk?” asked Tamara.
“I be Ghost, this be Killa. She don’t talk ‘till she kills.” Alicia gave Tamara a dangerous stare, one she had learned from an angry Ivy.
“Then keep her silent,” said Tamara. “Nobody gets to do no killin’ roun’ here but me.”
“Word,” said Ghost.
“Whatchu still here fo? Go in,” said Tamara.
Baby Fats was huge, covered with Aztec tattoos in a glaring red on ebony skin. He wore no shirt, white boxers with blue stripes, and jean board shorts. He had a double-chain silver necklace from neck to groin, and black shades. His beard and mustache was as bushy as his head was bald. The table next to him had an Uzi sub-machine gun. The table on the other side had lines of cocaine on a glass. There was a razor lying next to it, two bottles of pills, and two guns; a Glock and a Ruger. Ghost wondered why he bothered with Tamara. He could clip anyone while they were staring at his tatts.
“Baby Fats,” said Ghost, “heard you were the man to go to fo’ info.”
“No shit,” said Baby Fats. His voice was high-pitched, with a slight gravel undertone, like a huge version of the late Michael Jackson.
“Word,” said Ghost. “We lost ourselfs a white boy, Pavel, taken out de Bon Temps Quarterline Hotel.”
“I heard,” said Baby Fats.
“Someone find him, or tell us where to get him, they get Russian money. His momma done got money.”
“I wanna favah,” said Baby Fats. He lit up a joint, blowing the marijuana smoke into the air.
“Name it,” said Ghost.
“Need somfin you kin git fo’ me,” said Baby Fats. Ghost nodded. “Be some charges I wan’ dropped on onna my girls. Harriet; we call her Rhetta on the street.”
“Gonna get her out,” said Ghost. “Where you wan’ her?”
“Here,” he said.
“Done,” said Ghost. “Where our boy at?”
“Done heard ‘bout those tatts you be spreadin’ ‘bout town. Only one setta assholes got that, the Useless Boyz. Call themselfs U-Boyz. Sell meth worth shit, dat don’ even get you high for long. Sell guns, too, but mine betta.”
“Word,” said Ghost. “Can see that.”
Baby Fats stroked the Uzi, “Best babies in town,” he said. “Ya’ll need some?”
“Two Glocks, untraceable,” she said. She moved slowly, and removed a wad of bills from her bra. She counted out five hundred. “Five c’s good?” she asked.
He laughed, a high-pitched guffaw, like the bark of a small dog.
“Throw in a Sig,” he said.
He snapped his fingers, and a young woman came out; hair dyed blonde, and bright against her cinnamon skin.
“Cinnamon,” said Baby Fats, “gimme two o’ dem Glock 17 and one Sig Sauer P266. And thro’ in some holstas, girl, ya heah?”
Ghost nodded to thank him and her for their trouble.
“Nice doin’ bidness,” said Baby Fats. “Them Useless Boys like the docks, but donno where. Most o’ dem done dead, offed selling bad meth, and some more o’em dead turned into barbecue runnin’ from po-lice last year. That boy ya’ll killed, name is Chino. I know bout Boom and Chino, and Tigra. Dem boys dumb as a box o’ rocks. And all that,” he said, guffawing again.
Ghost smiled a deadly smile, “More o’em be dead,” she warned.
“Good,” he said. “Bad fo’ bidness. Ya’ll get me my woman. Need her in my bed tonight. Dem at de docks. Not shaw which one. Youse be looking for a yella house.”
“On it,” said Ghost. She took the guns, strapped the ankle holster and slid her foot back in the boot. She did this while Alicia put one in a shoulder holster and one in a hidden small-of-the-back holster. Her movements were perfect; Ghost figured she’d been watching Leticia, her old Vegas boss, way too closely.
“I’ll take that one, if ya ever wanna change,” he said, pointing a chin at Alicia.
“Word,” said Baby Fats, and gestured for them to leave. They did, nodding at Tamara.
They waited until they had turned two entire corners before Ghost pulled out her phone and called it in.
“Henry, we found ‘em. By the docks, a yellow house, some idiots called the Useless Boyz. Half their gang’s already dead; they sold some bad meth and had both their distributors and the cops after them.”
“What you need?” said Henry.
“Need the cops to spring a prostitute called Harriet, street name Rhetta. Need it done right now. Got the info in exchange for the girl.”
“On it!” said Henry. “Call you back.”
The girls sped up, moving towards the riverside. Henry hung up the phone, sent out a 911 text that the Useless Boyz were responsible. Everyone would know that they were on the docks in a yellow house. Since there were a lot of New Orleans docks, he wasn’t holding his breath.
“Useless Boyz took them,” he said to Detective Lyssop, who was questioning Ace and Frenzy while Dimitri glared at Officer Champas. “They’re on one of the docks, but don’t know which one, in a yellow house.”
It was like he’d flipped a switch to turn on a tornado. Both Champas and Lyssop pulled out their phones and started yelling at them. Both of them went out the door, presumably to talk to the other cops out there. The lights from their vehicles were blue and red on the edge of the window.
Ivy quietly read the 911, and re-worked the grid, bringing everyone to the waterline in a series of texts to the Nighthawks and the Iron Knights. She read a text, and showed it to Henry. Henry nodded. Ivy grabbed Ace’s shoulder. He nodded at the question she asked with her eyes, that said, “Are you okay?”
Ivy turned. Lily was on the other bed, sitting next to Frenzy, who had begun to shiver with the adrenaline rush wearing off. She wrapped him in a sheet, while Ace kept a hand on his shoulder.
“Frenzy,” she said, kneeling down. “Ghost has a line on the guys who did this, and we’re going out there. You can’t go, ‘cause you’d slow us down with your head wound. Ace and Lily will stay here, and Scorpion will stand guard.”
The boy nodded, “Go get ‘em,” he said.