“Natalie did have some success, I suppose. I saw her in a D Magazine realtor ad. I also saw her in a locally produced commercial about the Texas lottery. It was kind of cool, but neither paid much. From what I could glean from Natalie, big opportunities weren’t knocking on her door just yet. And that didn’t fit her supersonic master plan.”
Alisa used air quotes and I nodded as she continued. “I really believe she thought she’d go straight from Dallas to the runways of Paris, or even Hollywood or New York, with everyone begging for a piece of Natalie. She was damn naïve. Clueless.”
Alisa’s perspective seemed harsh, but when I thought about my Samantha going down the same path, it would be difficult to watch without trying to steer her in a different direction.
I glanced up and noticed a gray and black plaque affixed above fifteen-foot glass and wrought-iron double doors, flanked on either side by black wrought iron lanterns dangling off the side of the granite building. The small sign read Established in 1932. I’d seen this structure at various stages in the last few years, from abandoned and rundown to cranes and debris littering the area during an extended refurbishment project, and now serving as a contemporary high-rise residence in the art deco building that once housed the offices of Lone Star Cattle.
I held the door for Alisa, and we both gazed across the lobby full of black and white marble.
“What floor?” I asked as the elevator doors shut behind us.
Alisa dug in her purse and found a piece of paper. “Four. Apartment four twelve.”
“You’ve never been here?”
She shook her head, her eyes glancing at the floor. “I think it’s been a month, maybe two since I last spoke to her. A quick phone conversation. Sounded like she was drunk, at some party.”
The elevator dinged, and we stepped onto the fourth floor landing and veered left.
“She’s only nineteen. Anything besides alcohol?”
Alisa’s hands found her hair, but this time she just flipped the mess back over her shoulder. “Like a lot of young people, I think she experimented, but I’m only certain about pot. I caught her smoking a joint one night at my place. She was in the bathroom, but my cat Chloe was in there with her. The cat actually got high and couldn’t stay upright long enough to make it into her litter box.”
Lifting her eyes toward me, we both held back a chortle. I gave her a wink as I knocked on the door.
“Yeah, what you want?” The door flew open. A young man dressed in a 1990s mesh T-shirt and running shorts held an arm behind his head. His skin tone made me look like an albino.
“We do have the right place?” I looked at Alisa.
“You must be Dominique?” Alisa asked.
He shook his head. “Girlfriend, you didn’t just call me Dominique?”
I saw Alisa’s eyes shift to mine, a signal that she didn’t have the patience to deal with this crap.
“I guess you didn’t talk to Dominique earlier?” I asked Alisa.
A quick shake of her head. “Natalie’s other roommate, Sarah.”
“You two got something going on?” He wiggled a finger covered in white paste at both of us.
“Nothing for you to worry about, Dominique,” I said. “We’re here to—”
“My name is Monique. I dropped the Dom. Don’t forget that.” Now he pointed a finger while he arched an eyebrow so high I thought it might merge with his hairline. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t make the connection. Someone from my hood back in the day?
“Dominique, that’s Natalie’s sister. Let them in, asshole.”
The raspy demand came from inside the apartment. A third of Monique’s upper lip lifted like it was attached to a pulley. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”
“Seriously?” Alisa stuck out a hip, then pushed by Monique.
I followed my partner-assistant down a short hallway, passing a small utility room on the left. Framed black-and-white photographs lined both sides, each set off with dramatic lighting. Turning left, I spotted the door to one bedroom as we spilled into a giant room that included an upgraded kitchen with granite countertops and black appliances. White framed windows outlined the two walls of the living room and what I assumed would normally be a dining room, but I only saw sheets covered with a rainbow of paint colors, a sculpting wheel, and more crap scattered on the floor than I thought possible.
Monique padded by in bare feet just as Sarah made an appearance from the far bedroom. I think my eyes bugged out. Besides her pajamas with a puffy cloud print, she could have doubled as a mime.
“Sorry, you caught me in the middle of my face-cleansing routine. Gotta wear the mask for another hour.”
Monique lifted a finger toward Sarah’s face, as if he were going to edit her face painting effort. She swatted his hand away.
“Whatever, girl. You go ahead and do it your way. Don’t make no difference to me if you turn out looking like the Beast from the East.”
“Funny, Dominique.” Her eyes rolled so far I only saw solid white across her face.
Monique disappeared behind us.
“I’m from Tyler, which is why he felt it necessary to give me that unflattering label. I’ve heard it many times before. Too many.”
Alisa’s eyes wandered across the large room, taking in Natalie’s world. The whole place had a very Bohemian, artsy vibe. I also caught a waft of Italian spices. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed a bevy of unwashed plates on the counter, scattered remnants of spaghetti and meatballs.
“We might ask to take a look around later, if that’s okay, but for right now, can you tell us the last time you saw or spoke with Natalie?”
Sarah pushed a breath through her nose, then carefully sat down on an ottoman, placing ashen hands on her knees.
“Natalie blew through here early Monday morning last week. I even think she was wearing some type of mink shawl. It was all very strange. I was getting ready for work…my day job, so to speak,” Sarah said, her hands moving as she told the story.
“What do you mean blew through?” I asked.
Sarah gazed at Alisa. “I’m assuming you’ve seen this before.”
Alisa nodded. “Natalie has her moments.”
“What moments?” I didn’t know her, so I didn’t understand their code.
“Where Natalie is in la-la land, a tornado of motion,” Sarah said. Her arms mimicked ribbons blowing in the wind. “If you don’t know her, you think it’s all this positive energy, and you want to be around her. But after about fifteen minutes, you realize she’s so wrapped up in her own world, her own fabrications, that she’s not aware of what’s really going on in the real world.”
Resting her arms on a beige, low-back leather sofa with more than a few cigarette burns, Alisa nodded. “That sums her up, yep. But do you know where she’d been, where she was headed?”
“God knows where she’d been. Probably partying all night—”
“Even on Sunday night?” I interrupted.
“Every night’s a party night for Miss Natalie Lopes.” Sarah craned her neck, as if she’d heard that repeated a few times. “I can give you a pretty good description of what she was wearing if you want it. Besides the mink, she had on a gold sequin dress; it hugged her body like most of her clothes. Barely covered her ass. More makeup than you’d see at a circus, enormous gold hoop earrings. She looked like a million bucks…or five, depending on what you’re shooting for.”
Sarah paused and almost touched her chin, then quickly realized her face was still coated with goo. “She was wearing a dangling bracelet. Looked like diamonds.”
Alisa glanced at me, then back at Sarah. “Who would have given her that type of gift?”
“Natalie actually is a pretty smart girl. She used to be able to pull together an outfit on less than a hundred bucks. She could find the coolest costume jewelry. They looked handmade. But a few months ago, she started dating this high roller who zipped her across the country, even out of the country a couple of times.”
“Natalie Jane Lopes traveled outside of the country? I didn’t even know she had her passport.” Alisa poked a finger into the old leather couch, her brow nearly as crinkled as the sofa.
I moved next to my partner, put an arm on her back.
“You never said where she was going. Last Monday morning?”
“Headed out of town again. I think she said DC, but she indicated she’d be back in two or three days. Then as she ran out the door holding her Gucci bag, I thought she said she’d see us in four or five days. I used to get worried about her, but it never did any good. She’d usually show up. I’m almost thirty years old, and I don’t have kids. Last thing I want is to babysit a nineteen-year-old.”
Alisa tightened her jaw, and I could sense her emotion building up inside again. She didn’t need to take it out on Sarah, not when she was our best link for information on Natalie.
“Dumb question, but why don’t we just call her? For the girl who has everything, I’m assuming she has a cell phone.” I held out my hands, knowing I’d made an obvious comment.
“I tried already,” Sarah said just before Alisa jumped in. “She leaves her cell phone on the dresser half the time. It’s in there right now. I tell you, it’s like raising a teenager.”
“She is a teenager.” I was Obvious Man right now.
“True, but she wants us to be believe she’s a worldly lady, full of experiences and wisdom that should make us in awe of her presence.”
Sassy response, but Alisa didn’t fight it, so I assumed there was at least a degree of realism to her comment.
“We need to figure out who she went with on this trip. We do that, and we’ll probably find Natalie,” I said, thinking out loud.
Sarah looked antsy. She got up and walked to the kitchen. “Can I get you guys a drink? This is all too much. I need something to calm my nerves.”
“No thanks,” I said as Alisa simply shook her head while she bit her lip. I think she was deep in thought.
Sarah popped a cork on a bottle of white wine, then clinked it against her glass, but stopped the pour at the halfway mark of her oversized wine glass. “You sure?”
“We’re good.”
She filled the glass to the rim, then licked the edges like a puppy, ever so careful not to spill a drop on her freaky mask. She reentered our space, the glass already a third empty. “Listen, I need to be honest about Natalie, everything in her life.”
Alisa leaned forward.
Exhaling through puffy cheeks, Sarah used one hand to frame her words. “I…I think Natalie has gotten into drugs the last couple of months.”
“What makes you think that?” Alisa asked.
Another exhale, her voice subdued. “I know.”
“How?” I jumped in.
“I’m a pretty even-keeled person. I got a day job as an admin for a law firm, enough to pay the bills around this place. But a few weeks ago, I had one of those days from hell. A lawyer who makes a thousand bucks an hour made me feel like an idiot in front of the whole staff. I didn’t know how to deal with it.” Her voice trailed off.
“And?”
“Later than night, Natalie saw I was kind of down. She tried to comfort me for a change. So she went into her bedroom and came back out, and we both shared two lines of coke.”
Alisa’s head rocked back, then she closed her eyes for a brief moment, her cheeks on fire. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry. It was a moment of weakness. I did a little when I was younger. I just needed a little pick-me-up.”
Alisa glared holes right through Sara, her chin quivering.
“Wait. Aren’t you a former cop? Am I going to get in trouble for doing this?” Sarah set her glass down, her voice suddenly despondent. Apparently, Natalie knew a bit of Alisa’s life.
“Cop?”
I turned around, locked eyes with Monique, who was holding a paper sack. He hesitated, then darted down the front hallway. I heard a door open and slam shut. I looked at Alisa, then Sarah, wondering what I was witnessing. Both shrugged their shoulders. We could ask questions later.
I took off, reaching the front door after about ten quick steps. Outside the apartment, I jerked my head in both directions, but no sign of Monique. Still for a brief second, I heard a bell. The elevator. Reaching a dead sprint in under a second, I rounded the corner just as the doors shut. Monique, the arrogant asshole, waved and smiled as the crack closed.
“Dammit!”
My eyes searched the area. An exit sign. Slamming against the metal door, I spilled onto a landing then grabbed the railing and launched myself halfway down the first flight of stairs. I kept taking giants leaps, five, seven stairs at a time.
I had no idea if Mr. Mouth, Monique, had anything to do with Natalie’s disappearance, but the former cop in me knew that running automatically made him a prime suspect—not that he wouldn’t have been considered anyway.
My feet landed on concrete at ground level. I cut right, popping out of the stairwell door, wondering where I was in proximity to the front and back doors. A white T-shirt just on the other side of the glass back door. I hauled ass in that direction, passed a meaty security guard with his head buried in a book. He didn’t bother looking up. Must be a good book.
A middle-aged couple, apparently just back from an evening jog, came through the door wearing matching gold and black running outfits, headbands and all.
“Look out!” I yelled as I lunged between them.
“What the hell?” I heard the man exclaim.
Outside, a lot of concrete, but well lit. A few people walked the streets. Squinting, I spotted the white T-shirt racing up South St. Paul. I continued the chase and caught a glimpse of him in a full-on sprint, his arms pumping as his feet bounced off the ground. This guy was frickin’ fast.
A guy laid on his horn just as I jumped into the street. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw a white European sedan, but I maintained visual contact with the suspect, Monique.
Just then, he cut right, at about a forty-five degree angle, at Commerce. Nearly five seconds behind him, I reached the same point and noticed the park. I’d forgotten about Main Street Park, the only piece of nature in downtown, outside of Klyde Warren Park.
I spotted Monique just across the street, dodging a man and his dog. The Doberman lunged toward Monique, releasing a juicy growl, his canines chomping up and down. Even though the pooch was on a leash, Monique tripped over his own feet, then hit a two-foot stone border around the park and wiped out like he’d just attempted the downhill ski jump on Wide World of Sports.
Before he got back to his knees, I jumped over the wall and jammed my knee into the small of his back.
“Ahh!” He ate grass as I heard something crinkle under his body.
“Why the hell did you run, Monique?”
I pulled the sack out from under him.
“That’s mine. You can’t have it.” He tried snatching it out of my hand, even with his chest on the ground. I transferred more weight into my knee that crunched his back.
“Shit, bitch! Police brutality.” Grass filled his mouth, so the words weren’t very clear.
“Yeah, whatever. I’m not the Dallas Police Department, so shut your pie hole. I want to know what’s so damn important. Does this have anything to do with Natalie?”
I opened the bag and found a plastic baggie filled with weed.
“I was just holding it for her, I swear. Hand on a Bible. My momma’s Bible.”
“If it’s on your momma’s Bible then that makes all the difference in the world.” If he could have seen me roll my eyes, I’m sure he would have offered another lie.
Taking hold of his upper arm, I pulled Monique to his feet. “Stuff this in your drawers. I’m not getting caught with it. And if authorities think you’re dealing, you’re up shit creek, and I don’t have a spare paddle.”
“You not taking me in?” he asked while stuffing the bag inside his shorts like he was a professional at concealing illicit drugs.
We walked across the street, back down St. Paul. Approaching the single tower of the apartment building with its detailed stone work casting ominous shadows, it felt like we’d time- traveled to another dimension—where Gotham City existed. I looked up at the top for gargoyles, realizing David, former investment swindler and now a full-time entrepreneur-chef, could probably create a theme and cuisine with this setting, maybe adding a restaurant in the lobby of the Lone Star Lofts. He’d call it Creped Crusaders.
I snickered at my marketing attempt, following Monique up to the apartment.
Exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, sweat cooled against my forehead and chest. “By the way, did you happen to run track?”
“South Oak Cliff High School 4x100-meter team. Won state. Broke the record my senior year. Just four years ago, but it seems a lot longer.” His voice sounded almost normal. “I’m not really into that athletic stuff anymore.”
Back in the apartment, Sarah spared him no mercy.
“Monique, where the hell do you think you were running off to? You look like a drug-dealing hoodlum when you do stupid shit like that. They’re not going to bust you for a little weed.”
“Oh, Sarah, shut yo pie hole. It’s all good.” Monique gave me a nod, but his attitude had returned.
Again, I thought his swagger reminded me of someone. Still couldn’t make the connection.
Alisa approached me, holding a cell phone and a T-shirt.
“Sarah gave me Natalie’s cell phone. It’s password protected, one of those fingerprint deals. But you never know…maybe Josh could figure something out.”
There was hope in her voice, which brought me a sense of relief. Finding Natalie wouldn’t be easy—not based on what we’d heard tonight—but if Alisa had given up hope, her negative attitude would only drag the investigation, which would lessen the chance of finding Natalie…alive. It was difficult to say in my mind. I certainly didn’t want to address that alternative with Alisa.
BOOKER Box Set #1 (Books 1-3: A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense) Page 73