Wait. Kate had said something to me that night just before she got out of the cab. I couldn’t remember, so I shook it off and went back to trying to use logic to find a way out of this haze.
“Brandon Fletcher” wasn’t an uncommon name. I needed a picture of Brandon to show Chantel, just to make sure he was the same guy. Just made good sense to double check.
“Ozzie, I know this is tough on you, but you can’t discount what she said.”
I opened my eyes and saw Ivy, Chantel timidly standing behind her.
“I’m sorry, Chantel. I went to school with a Brandon Fletcher. Hung out with him, did all sorts of things. This doesn’t sound like the guy I knew.”
She appeared to try to shrug or shake her head, but it came off as just an awkward movement. She wrapped her arms around her thin frame as her body became stiffer by the second.
I moved closer to her. “From the bottom of my heart, I’m so sorry you’ve experienced all this. It’s…” I didn’t have the words to finish the thought. Ivy came over and put an arm around Chantel and a hand on my shoulder.
“Brandon was tall, almost your height,” Chantel said, looking me straight in the eye. “He was broad-shouldered. He had thick, dark hair. Cropped. He had a tattoo of a baseball on his upper left arm.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment and swallowed. “He liked to talk dirty when he had sex.”
My chin dropped to my chest, and a tear escaped, falling to the ground. I lifted my head and bucked up, putting an arm around Chantel. She remained stiff at first, and I didn’t blame her. She was protecting what was left of her soul.
“I’m so sorry for doubting you,” I said as more tears welled in my eyes.
Slowly, she softened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she rested her head against my chest. Ivy hugged both of us at the same time, and none of us said a word for a long time.
38
Laughter broke up our group hug. We looked up and saw the two girls from earlier leaving Whataburger. They seemed carefree, like the world had yet to unleash its fury. I glanced at Chantel, who looked at them longingly, perhaps wondering if that could have been her path instead of the one she’d taken.
Because of Brandon.
I turned my face into a chilly north wind, but my temperature was running hot. Anger swelled inside, but I had no outlet, no way of changing what had taken place. It was all history now. Brandon was gone. Ally was gone. There was nothing left to take vengeance on. I wasn’t sure how to direct my thoughts.
“Chantel, it’s time to call your parents now, yes?” Ivy suggested in a gentle tone.
Chantel didn’t shoot the idea down, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about it, either. She scratched her head—part of me wanted to ask who’d butchered her hair—and shuffled her feet.
“Come on now, Chantel. They’re good people. They care about you. They need to know, so you guys can start the healing process.”
“It’s just…”
“What is it?” Ivy asked.
“Initially, it’ll be good to hear their voices. I know they care. I know they love me. And, believe me, in the last week or so, I would have given my left foot to see them and be back home. But I also know that it’ll open that door again.”
“What door are you talking about?” I asked.
“The door where I have to start facing reality. To start the process, for about the billionth time, of trying to overcome my addiction. It’s a battle…no, it’s a war that I’m not sure I can win.” Shame washed across her face.
“Chantel, you didn’t ask for any of this. None of it. You were thrust into this cesspool without anyone to support you, to help you work through this. That joke of a therapist, the one who discredited you—he should have been fired. But now you’ve finally opened up and let it out. Yes, it’s a first step. But dammit, I’m proud of you.”
“We’re both proud of you,” I said. “And it’s a huge first step.”
A small nod of acknowledgment.
Ivy dialed the number and gave the phone to Chantel. She didn’t turn away. In fact, she put the call on speaker. I felt like I was eavesdropping. Chantel, though, almost seemed proud to share with her parents that we’d found her and that she’d opened up about her past. She didn’t get into all the buried gut-wrenching secrets that had led her down this tumultuous path over the last decade. She simply assured her parents that it was best to discuss it all in person. They were fine with anything she said.
“Dear God,” Marilyn said over the phone. “It’s a miracle, Adam. My little girl is alive. Chantel, you are the light of my life. I swear, from this day forward, I will not live in the past. I will not bury my heart over something I can’t control. You will heal from this. You will grow and go on to do great things in your life. And your father and I will always be here to support you. Our love is unconditional and forever. There’s nothing you can’t tell us that will change that. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mom.” The corners of Chantel’s chapped lips turned upward. Over a few seconds, a warm smile lit up her face, followed, of course, by a few more tears. But I felt like this time they were tears of happiness—probably for the first time in a long time.
Ivy’s phone buzzed in the middle of the call. She looked at the screen. “Why would Cristina be calling me after two in the morning?”
I shrugged, my body’s energy level suddenly depleted. I was tired. It had been a long day. But at least it had ended with the greatest ending we could have imagined.
Ivy signaled to Chantel that she needed to take the call.
“Gotta go, Mom. I love you.” Chantel handed the phone over to Ivy, who punched up the incoming call.
“About damn time,” Cristina said over the speaker. “I was worried you were asleep.”
“Ozzie and I are just finishing up an investigation. And this time, it’s going to have a happy ending,” she said, winking at Chantel.
“Sounds like you’re outside,” Cristina said.
“We are. So what?”
“Ozzie’s there with you?”
“I’m right here. What’s going on? Is Poppy okay?”
Ivy gave me the eye. I guess she didn’t want me to assume that Cristina was with Poppy.
“She’s fine, whatever. But I just got a call from Kate’s roommate.”
It felt like a steel rod had just been shoved down my spine. “Why? And how do you know Kate’s roommate?
“We’re all friends because of the music thing. We’ve seen each other at these open-mic nights. We exchanged phone numbers and do the group chat. Girl stuff. But don’t bog me down. She called because she hasn’t seen Kate in twenty-four hours. She’s really worried about her.”
Chantel stepped closer to the phone, which distracted me for a second. But I went back to what Cristina was saying.
“Has she called her?” Ivy asked.
“A hundred times. No answer. She won’t respond to text messages. She thinks something happened to her.”
“Then why hasn’t she called the cops?”
“I don’t fucking know.”
A pause.
“Well, maybe I kind of do.”
“What is it, Cristina?” Ivy’s tone was impatient.
“So, according to the roommate, Kate has this drug issue. And she’s been hanging out with this guy who acts like he’s God’s gift, but she keeps coming back in worse shape after their dates. And now, she hasn’t come back at all.”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “Again, why didn’t they call the cops?”
“Shit if I know. Should we?”
“Of course. They’re going to have far more resources to find her than we will,” I said.
“Psycho Cobb.”
I turned and looked at Chantel, who was staring at the phone, her breathing suddenly intense.
“Why did you say his name?” I asked.
“Psycho who?” Cristina said.
“He’s been my dealer since I got to Austin. I’ve spent time with him in his little
drug cocoons.”
Ivy’s face lost all color. “What?”
“It’s just his stupid name for where he deals and does business. He has these places all over the city in case one gets raided. Sometimes he joins in on the fun…I mean, you know, taking the drugs as well.”
“Why did you say his name?” I asked again.
“I remember hearing the name Kate. She was just outside of his cocoon, which was nothing more than this shit-hole of a room in the back of some condemned building. I was pretty out of it, but she was outside in this small alley. I heard him and some other guy talking about her and not in very nice terms.” She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them to scratch her head. I could see stress begin to envelop her body.
“Did you see anything?”
“I looked through the crack of the door. I saw her slouched down on the ground, leaning against the wall. I knew she was a user, just like me. Then I saw Psycho. He was mouthing off as usual, mostly trashing Kate. I felt bad for her, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I just hoped she got out of there before anything happened.”
“When was this?” I asked.
“Before I was kidnapped. So, about a week ago maybe?”
“Kidnapped!” I glanced at Ivy. We’d said it in unison.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about being treated like a dog,” Chantel said.
“Was it Dr. Patterson?” Ivy asked.
Chantel didn’t respond right away.
“Sorry guys, but can we focus on Kate?” Cristina said.
“Yeah, uh…sure,” Ivy said, her eyes shifting between Chantel and the phone. “I’m just not sure what we can do. Like Ozzie said, her roommate needs to call—”
“Do you know where this drug cocoon is?” I blurted out to Chantel.
She nodded. “I think I can get you there. That doesn’t mean she’s going to be there.”
But it was our best hope.
39
We sat at a green light. I was waiting on further instructions from the passenger in the back seat. A horn honked, but I didn’t budge. I looked at Ivy, who stuck her head between our seats and said, “None of this looks familiar? I thought you said it was off an alley near this intersection.”
I glanced in my rearview. Chantel was scratching her head again. Was it a nervous habit or some scalp condition? Regardless, she looked like a lost kid at Six Flags. She had no confidence in her memory. It had to be the drugs, or possibly the effects of her kidnapping. We weren’t even sure if Patterson was the culprit. For now, our focus was on trying to locate Kate…hoping that she was still alive.
Another horn honked. I took a right-hand turn just to stop the honking.
“Yeah, this is it,” she said, leaning up. “Second left up here.”
I followed her directions, which included driving down a dead-end street that spilled into a small parking lot bordered by a train track on one side and an old building with broken windows on the other. It had the vibe of a place no one would want to be, unless you were strung out and desperate.
“Where’s this drug hideout at?”
She pointed ahead. I drove to the end of the building where the parking lot ended and stopped. I turned in my seat. Chantel was shaking her head. I wondered if she was about to have some type of episode. “It’s okay, Chantel. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“No, it’s not that. Usually, if he’s here, he’s in that first door next to that broken window, and every time I was here, I found at least two or three others here as well. I don’t think he’s here.”
Ivy and I exchanged a quick glance. I said, “Let me go take a quick peek. You two stay here.”
With my senses amped up, I got out of the Prius. I spun around twice as I walked toward the building. No sign of anyone. Five feet out, I felt my shoe crunch onto something. I looked down and saw a broken needle. Peering inside the broken window, I didn’t see anything. I opened the door and found scribbled notes, more needles, and empty baggies. It looked a lot like the room where Melvin was found murdered.
I slid back into my seat in the car and locked us up. “Unless Cobb is camped out in another room in the building, he’s not here.”
Chantel suddenly looked off into the distance with wide eyes, as if remembering something important. Was it real or imagined?
“You thought of something,” Ivy said, looking at Chantel.
“It has to be,” she muttered.
“It has to be what?”
“One time, I walked a good three or four miles to find this one spot. It would make sense for him to be there, especially if he’s holding Kate.”
I spun the Prius around and might have left a rubber stripe on the concrete on the way out of the parking lot.
Ten minutes later, we passed the Urban Roots Farm on Delwau Lane. The name of the farm was deceiving. Yes, it was technically within the city limits, but there was more open land than buildings or homes. It wasn’t just east of I-35. It was also east of Highway 183. Chantel seemed more confident in this location. “Another mile, off this side road.”
We traveled the last half-mile with the lights off, moving at about ten miles per hour. Once we drove through the front gate of the abandoned cement plant—or what was left of it—the moon came out from behind clouds. The overgrown weeds and unwieldly trees made it feel like we were fifty miles from civilization. Machinery hulked just in front of a few large trees. Nearby was a building, but all that was left of it was steel beams. I thought I could make out crates and pallets in the middle.
“Stop the car,” Chantel said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Over there.” She pointed at a small, L-shaped cement building with two open ends about fifty yards in front of us.
It looked more like a bunker than an actual building.
“Used to be some type of office. That’s where Cobb hangs out. He and anyone he’s getting high with or doing business with.”
Ivy and I studied the surroundings for a moment. “I know you don’t have a gun, and there aren’t any cops for miles,” Ivy said. “Should we call Brook and wait for backup?”
I watched the weeds whip across the deserted landscape. “It’s, what, after three a.m.? Brook may not answer. And if we call nine-one-one, they might send someone, or they might tell us we’re crazy. Meanwhile, if Kate is in there, something could happen while we sit around and wait.” I flipped the button above my head so the interior light would not turn on. “Ivy, you should get behind the wheel. If either of you see anyone or hear anything, drive off and call the cops.”
I climbed out of the car and saw Ivy standing on the other side. Her teeth were glowing in the moonlight as she grinned. “Why do you have to follow me?” I whispered.
A second later, Chantel popped up next to her. I didn’t have time to screw around. I put a finger to my mouth and gestured for them to stay behind me.
We moved with surprising agility through the weeds. Ten feet before the opening, a light flickered from inside. I thought of a Bic lighter again; it was like that. We all stopped. I stuck my hand out behind me until it found Ivy’s arm. I nudged it backward, hoping she’d understand to stay where she was. I inched forward on my toes. As I reached the edge of the concrete-tube opening, I could feel the beat of my heart behind my eyes.
A light popped on. This time it wasn’t a lighter. Had to be a lamp or flashlight. From my angled view, I could see pink graffiti on the far wall spelling out Bitch Pricks. Next to that was a corkboard that looked like it had been exposed to a Texas hailstorm.
I heard voices. Deep. Probably all men, but that didn’t mean Kate wasn’t on the other side, unconscious or gagged, or worse. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying, thanks to my hearing issues, but I didn’t get the sense I was about to walk in on an argument. I paused another second, wishing like hell I had some type of weapon on me. I swallowed a dry patch in my throat and then swung my leg into the opening.
Two men with afros as big as sombreros were huddled in a corner, one of them h
olding a flashlight. A man with a shaved head and stained T-shirt was just rising up. It was Cobb. He toddled to the right, until he caught himself against the wall. That was when he saw me and flinched.
“Motherfucker, I hate it when people sneak up on me. But I shouldn’t be too surprised that you came looking for me. And I came this close to killing you the other night,” he said, his forefinger an inch away from his thumb. “Poor old Melvin wasn’t as lucky.” His teeth were shaped like daggers, his gums filled with black spots.
“Where’s Kate?” I asked, peering around Cobb. I couldn’t quite see the opening at the opposite end.
He said nothing, although his eyes seemed to dance everywhere. He was on something.
“Where’s Kate?” I repeated. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
“You think you’re in charge. Ha! You act like she’s your sister or something.” He was slurring his words.
“You pathetic piece of shit. I know she’s a so-called ‘customer.’ Do you have her here somewhere?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, a cocky smirk painted on his face.
I marched straight across the room, but he moved even quicker, heading for the other opening. Just as I hit a jog, he bounced back into the room, squealing. Blood was pouring out of his nose. “Fucking bitch!”
Ivy waltzed in holding a two-by-four.
“Swinging for the fences, huh?”
“I wanted to break Ty Cobb’s hit record.” She snorted as she chuckled. “Actually, I just wanted to break his nose.”
“I think you did, bitch!” He tried to backhand her and missed by at least a foot. Grabbing his arm, I slung him around until his face and chest slammed into the concrete wall. I pressed my forearm into his back.
He screamed.
I looked down at the two guys with afros. They finally seemed to notice that there were other people around. They didn’t blink or move. They looked like zombies, including the fried brains. One was still pointing the flashlight at the ceiling, like it was a tiki torch.
Shame ON You Page 18