by Linda Ladd
The movie action eventually spilled out into the parking lot in an overambitious phony fistfight. Dialogue ensued in short pauses between the aforementioned peacock actor and what was supposed to be a couple of bad guys, judging from their black outfits. Probably extras who borrowed their wardrobes right out of Daddy’s criminal gang, no doubt, maybe some of Judge Locke’s employees moonlighting for sonny boy. The crew took forever setting up cameras and boom mikes while Stephen lounged about in the shade, his assistant hovered around nervously, meeting his needs while the actor waved desultorily at his swooning fans. The big fight finale was coming up. When everything was set up, the director called for action, and who should jump up but Stephen’s stuntman, who proceeded to knock the holy hell out of anyone who ventured near, one combatant at a time, of course, as rumbles always went down in movieland. Novak scoffed at that idea. Any bad guys worth their salt would attack from all sides at once and overwhelm a single guy, but he supposed that didn’t translate into good cinema.
Meanwhile Stephen drank copious cups of ice water and Diet Coke brought out by several awestruck production assistants while he sat on his name-embossed camp chair and blew kisses to the girls. Everyone else busied around doing that scrawny jerk’s work for him. Novak was eager to find out how Stephen performed in a real live fight with actual fists and hard stomps to fragile kneecaps, and/or brass knuckles to handsome noses. Hell, Stephen Locke wouldn’t even last two minutes against Lori, bum arm or not.
The choreography of the fight took forever. The stunt guys practiced a bunch of times, lots of run-throughs and multiple takes, over and over again. Stephen was finally called to action, took a couple of swings that didn’t come within a mile of his targets, ducked a few blows, and that was it for the day. He went back and sat in the shade in that special tall canvas star chair. Sweat rolled down Novak’s face and into his collar. Three hours dragged by, some of which they spent sitting in the air-conditioned van with the motor running.
At long last Locke was done watching people doing his job and leapt athletically back into the driver’s seat and drove out slowly through the crowd of his screaming fans. They lined both sides of the street, shouting his name. His sunshades poked back on, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist, Locke gunned the car and sped off down the street. One weeping teenybopper ducked under the rope and ran after him. All in all, it was the stupidest damn spectacle Novak had ever seen in his life.
Within minutes, they were in the van down at street level and on Locke’s tail. Novak sped through the traffic until he gained about a four-vehicle length behind the red Jag. He slowed down and shadowed him. Stephen whipped through traffic among BMWs and Cadillacs and Porsches, palm fronds designing lacy patterns of sunlight and shadow on top of his head. Scottsdale appeared to be a prosperous community, a nice secure roost for Stephen to cat about in his shiny automobile while overseeing cruel and inhumane child trafficking in his secret life. Citizens strolled along well-kept sidewalks with well-groomed dogs on fancy leashes, well-mannered rich folks who didn’t have a clue what Stephen Locke was doing right under their noses.
Locke finally hung a left into some connecting affluent neighborhoods, streets lined with beautiful homes, most sporting red-tiled Spanish roofs and tall majestic palms and mist-cooled patios and tiny emerald yards behind tall tan stucco walls. Eventually they passed through streets that boasted a big lake colored artificially to a rich deep sapphire blue. Lori called it Lake Serena at Scottsdale Ranch. It was a lovely place to live, no doubt about it. Beautiful homes were built along its shoreline on lots of private inlets that acted like cul-de-sacs but were made of water. Tall walls between the houses gave privacy from too-close neighbors and hid sparkling pools, hot tubs, and lush beds of climbing bougainvillea and every other sort of flower imaginable. Every kind of palm tree was represented, and each lakeside residence sported its own private boat dock where party barges awaited their owner’s pleasure. All in all, it was a veritable lush and splendid Garden of Eden smack-dab in the middle of a giant, hot, arid desert ringed by those blue humps of low scrub mountains.
Novak remained about a block behind Locke, sometimes pulling over to the curb or waiting a few minutes longer at a stop sign. He did not want the actor to realize he was being followed. They needed the element of surprise to hold up. Locke didn’t seem to notice anything, probably too busy staring at his face in the mirror. He drove blithely along until he hung a right off Lakeview Drive into a gated driveway and pulled to a stop in front of a security box. As they passed, he was scanning a security card, and the barred gate was slowly opening. Inside was a real cul-de-sac with maybe five or six houses, the backs of which faced the big lake. All were made of stucco and beautiful, with the garages out front and walled patios guarding the front doors, in case intruders got past that vehicle gate. Sidewalks led up to fancy oversized front doors.
All in all, it appeared to be a safe, affluent, and spotlessly clean place in which to live. No fallen palm fronds or McDonald’s boxes could be found littering those curbs, that was for damn sure. Novak wondered if all those nice normal folks living around Locke’s house realized he was neck-deep in the sex trafficking of underage girls. Probably way too smitten with Locke’s good looks and celebrity status to consider what depravities he might enjoy in his spare time. Privacy was the name of the game nowadays. Maybe that’s why Stephen had chosen the lake life.
They drove on and spent some time meandering through the surrounding streets until they found the one that gave them a good view of Locke’s backyard. Novak pulled over to the curb and stopped. Across from them, the watery inlet was lined on both sides with lovely homes. There were no empty lots; this lake community was no doubt a coveted place in such an arid landscape. Across the street from the van, a waterfall gushed down into the lake but there were no walls or fences discouraging entry into all those backyards. A short walk across the street, a stroll along the shoreline, and they were behind Stephen Locke’s house.
Frank was raring to go, probably this very minute if he had his way. “No problem getting inside his house, but you can bet these homes have top-notch alarm systems, so we’ve got to be careful.”
“I can disarm them, Frank,” Lori told him. “I learned to do that when I was sixteen. Super easy.”
“So did I,” Frank told her.
Me, too, thought Novak. So getting inside is not going to be a problem.
Surprisingly, no one stirred inside this lovely Shangri-La in the desert. Nobody sat on any of the outdoor patios, nobody sailed about on the plethora of available party barges, and no one swam in the water. That was probably not allowed. Besides that, they all had pools. Then again, it was winter and late afternoon in Phoenix and hot. Probably not as hot as in the summer, but hot enough for Novak. But it was dry heat, not the humid misery of the Louisiana bayous. Blinds were drawn tight across the windows against the sun, and the air conditioners were trying to keep up. Maybe everyone was at work.
Or, maybe these people didn’t have to work, already retired or too stinking rich to have to do anything. Maybe it was basically a retirement community or a conclave for Canadian snowbirds. The lake shimmered with that dark indigo sheen. The lawns behind the houses were miniscule and would take maybe ten minutes to mow. It took Novak four full days to mow the grounds at Bonne Terre, and he had a tractor.
“OMG, look—there he is,” Lori said softly, sinking down a bit in the seat.
Novak and Caloroso slouched down, too. Locke had exited his home by a glass slider and was standing on the flagstone patio. He wore some kind of short white terrycloth robe. His place was on the right side of this arm of the lake. While they watched, he slipped off the robe and stepped butt naked into a hot tub at the back edge of his pool. Novak wondered how the residents opposite his place liked that spectacle. Maybe they did. He was a celebrity. Maybe they sold his nude pictures to the National Enquirer.
“Nobody lounges around in a hot tub o
n a hot day in Scottsdale, Arizona,” Lori remarked. “Is he stupid, or what?”
“Maybe his muscles ache from watching his stuntman do his work,” Frank replied, and yes, it was sarcastic as hell. “Or he puts ice cubes in the water.”
They waited a few moments to see if anyone else came outside to join him. Nothing happened. Instead, what they observed was movement at the house next door. A sliding glass door opened, and a man appeared. He had a young woman in tow.
“Lori, you need to snap some pictures of them. I think they’re headed over to see our man Steve.”
“Better yet, I’ll get us a video.”
The girl looked plagued by anorexia, her body so skinny it was almost skeletal, but she had long dark hair and a pretty face. She looked around sixteen years old at the most. She wore a black string bikini, but no robe, and her bathing suit had less material involved than one of Novak’s bath cloths. The man gripped her elbow in a nasty kind of way and jerked her along with him, but she continued to try to resist, which eventually earned her a slap across her face. He pulled her down to the back wall, and Novak lost sight of them momentarily until they appeared again outside the back gate. Novak lifted his binoculars and focused on the guy. He had never seen him before. They came out onto a grassy area just above the lake and walked next door to Locke’s gate. Then they climbed the steps to Locke’s patio. The two men spoke for a couple of minutes before the girl was shoved toward the tub. She stepped into the water and sat down beside Locke. He immediately had his hands all over her. Her escort turned away and walked back next door.
Lori was incensed. “My God, what’s he going to do to her? Molest her right there in broad daylight in front of the neighbors? No way is she doing this of her own accord. They’re forcing her. This is disgusting. We need to do something right now.”
Novak agreed with most of that. “Yeah, we do, but we can’t intervene yet. We can’t prove anything against Stephen. Not with credible evidence. We get that tonight.”
“We’ve got this video.”
“Which means nothing if the girl says she’s willing, and she will because she’s scared of them.”
“Meanwhile that girl is left helpless in that tub with him,” Lori said, angry.
“We’ll get her out, don’t worry. Tonight. We just can’t do it right now.”
Frank was more interested in the setup. “He’s got two houses right there, side by side. He must keep girls next door. Lucy might be in there, too. She was last seen with him. I’m not waiting until tonight. Let’s go in and knock down his front door. He can’t go up against us without his body double to fight us.”
Novak became annoyed. His companions lacked something important to him. Patience. Reckless haste ended up with somebody dead. “So you want to barge in right now in the light of day with all the neighbors watching? Do that, and we end up in jail. We don’t know how many men he’s got in there or in the house next door. For all we know, he may have people in the house on the other side of him, too. We can’t be stupid here. We make our plans and hit him at night when he least expects it. We can’t stay parked here, either, but we’ve seen enough to get in there.”
His companions lapsed into silence but weren’t satisfied with his decision. Novak took off and drove around the lake some more, figuring out the best exit routes if things went sour and working out a plan to rescue any girls they found inside. They’d been lucky so far, but that kind of good fortune never lasted long. After they’d reconnoitered, Novak drove straight back to the hotel. They needed to arm themselves, relax a bit, and wait for dark. After that, Stephen Locke was dead meat.
Chapter 21
Around ten o’clock that night they drove back into Scottsdale proper and cruised around the Lake Serena area. Some homes were dark, but more houses had lights on. Both houses abutting Stephen Locke’s place looked deserted, no visible lamps or outside lights to be seen, but the shutters were closed tight, and they were pretty sure the young girl and the goon who’d pushed her around were still inside. It seemed that Stephen Locke was at home. The people living across the inlet from his place had their drapes pulled tight. It was unlikely they were peeking out the windows. Stephen Locke was the only pervert in this kind of neighborhood.
Novak had no qualms about breaking into the house where they were holding the girl. Located right beside the through street, the gushing waterfall would blunt any sounds they made. He’d done similar infiltrations before and under more difficult conditions. This place was tailor-made for intruders with ill intent. There were walls behind which they could conceal themselves if Locke decided to sit outside on his patio. They were good to go and wasted no time getting on with it. They drove the van to a busy community center just down the road and parked among the other cars in the parking lot. Then they walked back as if out on a late-night stroll under the stars. Lori entwined her fingers with Novak’s, which he didn’t mind in the least. Despite the set of handguns hidden inside the pocket of her hoodie, she played the part of his lover rather well. Novak realized that he was beginning to like her a lot, probably more than he should. She was young and impetuous at times, and there was the ridiculous slang, but she was standup. She’d proved herself to him and to Frank.
Frank walked a couple of yards behind them, armed for bear. He meant business tonight, but they all did. Something about watching that girl forced into that tub with that abusive cretin stuck in Novak’s craw. He carried his .45 in a shoulder holster under a navy windbreaker and wore a backpack with four handguns, a ton of ammo, duct tape, and Novak’s well-worn lock pick kit. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that snotty little actor. Both his colleagues looked intense and pretty much had bloodlust in their eyes. Novak would not want to be Stephen Locke when they got their hands on him.
Careful to keep within the deep shadows hugging the back wall, they crept along in single file. The first house’s gate wasn’t locked, so making it to the back patio was a breeze. Frank took his penlight and disconnected the security system in about a minute flat. Novak jimmied the sliding door.
Inside, they were met with pitch black. Utter silence. They cleared the first floor within minutes. No cars were in the garage or outside parked on the street. When they moved up the stairs, they found all the bedroom doors secured with padlocks. That meant these guys were holding multiple prisoners. The rest of the house was clear, so that meant the guards had gone off somewhere. Novak listened a few seconds and then tapped a knuckle softly on the first door. Nobody answered. Not a sound.
“Police, open up,” Lori belted out, never known for her patience.
That did the trick. Female voices started yelling inside and beating on the doors. Novak waited for a minute. If guards were there and hidden somewhere, this was when they’d show up. Nothing happened, which was surprising and worrisome. They could come in at any time. Frank was in a hurry. He knocked off the lock with his rifle butt. Inside the first room, they switched on the lights and found three teenage girls who looked well underage. There were two girls in both the other bedrooms. Lucy Caloroso was not among them. They were scared and hungry and crying with relief and edging up on to hysteria, just like the girls in the warehouse had been. Two of them sported black eyes. One had been beaten about the face and neck. Lori herded them into the large master bedroom that stretched across the back of the house, made sure the shutters were closed tight, and turned on a bedside lamp. She stayed there with them, calming them down and telling them they were safe, they were going home as soon as they could get them there.
Frank and Novak left her to that task, more interested in taking out Stephen Locke. They found an upstairs window that looked directly down into Locke’s master bedroom. He’d conveniently left the shutters wide open. They could see him well. This guy didn’t understand the word modesty. He was primping in the master bath, butt naked, prettying himself up for a night out on the town, no doubt. Fifteen minutes later, he was fully dress
ed in tight gray pants and a loose white silk shirt and backing the Jag out of the double garage. They waited until he was out of sight and then went outside and through the back gate onto his property.
His patio door had been left unlocked, too, no unwanted violent company expected. All the shutters stood wide open in every room. For a hardened criminal, Locke was either stupid or felt invincible. Probably the latter. They didn’t have that luxury, so they snapped the shutters shut and switched off most of the lights. Not long after that, they got some beer out of his fridge and settled down to wait for him to return, where an extremely painful lesson awaited him. They sat in the family room and watched a football game with the sound turned off until they heard a car pull up next door where Lori was still with the girls. Novak put down his beer and stood. “That’s the guards. Stay here, Frank, in case Locke comes home. Lori’s going to need some help.”
As it turned out, Lori did need his help but not as much as he’d anticipated. When he got inside the kitchen and flipped on the light, he could see that she had one guy down on the floor in the front foyer, unconscious and bleeding from the head. The second man was down on his knees, arms up and palms planted on the wall. He looked up at Novak. He was bleeding from his nose and saturating the floor. Spilled fountain sodas and McDonald’s sacks were scattered all over the place. Bad news was that Lori sat propped against the opposite wall with blood coloring her arm wound and trickling out of the hairline at her temple. It looked as if she’d been slammed against the wall and then slid down to the floor. But she had her Glock beaded on the conscious guy, and she had his weapon in her other hand. He knelt beside her and took the guy’s gun out of her hand. “You okay?”
“Been better. They surprised me. Stitches busted when I hit the wall. How about securing this jerk so I can patch up my arm?” She was clutching her shoulder now, and he could see blood seeping through her fingers. She wasn’t finished talking. “The girls upstairs? They’re freaking out. They want to get out of here, Novak, because they say more bad guys are going to show up. We need to get them somewhere safe.”