“How much do I owe you?”
“That’ll be twelve.”
She tried to be nonchalant about keeping her back to the room. She dug into her jeans pocket and held out a twenty- dollar bill.
“I’ll take back five.”
“Thanks,” the barber said, reaching for change.
Charlie quickly pulled on her baseball cap, keeping the visor low over her eyes. She took a peek in the mirror. Barnes was looking her way.
Burke handed over the change. “See you next time,” he said.
Charlie barely looked up. “You bet.”
She kept her eyes on the linoleum floor as she passed Barnes’ chair but she could feel his eyes on her.
“Next,” Burke called out.
Barnes was slowly rising from his chair as Charlie pushed open the front door. As she turned right, heading north on 24th Street, she dared a glance through the window and saw Barnes saying something to Burke. Charlie dodged a group with baskets as people spilled out of the laundromat onto the sidewalk. She looked across the street and saw two customers leaving the Olive Tree with smiley-face bags. Charlie quickly put distance between her and the barbershop, glancing back a couple of times. A block ahead, five people were gathered at a bus stop. Charlie turned, there was no bus in sight. And no Barnes, I guess he didn’t recognize me. What the hell is he doing here in Birmingham?
The Chevy was still more than a quarter-mile away, but if no bus happened by it would be an easy walk. She passed a storefront church, an auto parts store and an office with signs for insurance, tax preparation and a notary public. Each block had fewer businesses and more inconsolable blight. Two-story brick buildings with no hints of their former use had warped plywood protecting their windows and doors. Other structures had suffered an even more ignominious end and padlocked iron grates covered gaping black holes that belched strange odors.
Charlie reached the next bus stop and stepped toward the curb to look back. A northbound bus was just pulling over to pick up the people she’d passed. She pushed the “3” button on her phone using the speed dial feature Judy had programmed. “1” for her mother, “2” for the office, “3” for Don, and “4” connected her to Gil. Don didn’t pick up so Charlie was leaving a message when she sensed someone behind her. She began to turn, but it was too late to block the vicious blow to the side of her head.
Chapter 14
It was nearly four o’clock. Don paced the motel room and peered through the window blinds every time he heard a car, hoping to see the white Impala entering the parking lot. Charlie’s voice message said she was returning to the motel but that had been two hours ago. The message had ended abruptly. Now she wasn’t picking up the phone at all. Don was so worried he finally called Judy.
“No, the last time I heard from her was around noon. She had just left the church where Paul went to school.”
“Where was she going next, Novak?”
“The only thing she mentioned to me was meeting you for lunch.”
“I couldn’t meet her for lunch,” Don said dourly.
“Charlie did say that Joyce was in Birmingham but she didn’t give me any other details. Then I told her that Mr. Owens had called and I gave her his number.”
“Mr. Owens?”
“Uh, Owen Owens from Reliable Restaurant Supply.”
“Oh yeah. Owens.”
“Don, I’m worried.”
“Mack knows how to take care of herself. I’ll let you know when I hear from her.” Don disconnected without a “goodbye.”
He had spent most of his day with two Birmingham detectives and after two hours at police headquarters, then two more in a bar and three rounds of drinks, had a more detailed account of Paul and Andrew’s gangland-style execution. The police speculated the murders were payback for a gambling debt. The two had been bound with plastic ties and there were signs of a beating before both were shot with a single bullet to the face. A witness had seen a white van parked near the train overpass in an area called Acipco-Finley where the bodies of Paul and Andrew were discovered. The witness couldn’t make out the van’s license plate, but he saw two men kneeling in the headlights of the van and three more men standing over them. He told the police he didn’t hang around to see what happened next.
Don caught himself pacing in front of the motel window, and snatched up the keys to the Ford SUV from the coffee table. He drove south on 24th and passed the Olive Tree. Remembering Charlie’s addiction to Middle-Eastern pastries, he abruptly pulled to the curb and walked back to the convenience store. He was the only white guy walking about on this street.
“You’re back,” Yusef said when Don entered the store. He was shelving boxes of cereal.
“I’m looking for Charlie. Uh, Ms. Mack. Have you seen her today?”
“Well, she didn’t come in the store, but I did see her.”
“When was that?”
“Earlier today. I see everything through my window. This is a dangerous neighborhood.”
“So I’ve heard. What time did you see her?”
“Well the first time was around noon. She went into Southern Chicken.” Yusef pointed through the window across the street. “That chicken is very bad. It has a lot of fat and the chickens are fed steroids. I wouldn’t eat that chicken.” He evened up a row of Frosted Flakes on the shelf and did the same to the Cap’n Crunch on the shelf below. The next box to be unpacked held Froot Loops. His views on unhealthy eating did not, apparently, include food coloring and massive amounts of sugar. “Later, I saw her going up the street,” Yusef pointed north.
“Did she have a car?”
“She was walking. When I first saw her she wasn’t wearing a baseball cap but later she had on a cap.”
“You don’t miss much, do you?” Don gave him a good stare.
Yusef shrugged.
“I’ve been calling her and she hasn’t answered her phone,” Don said. “To tell the truth, I’m worried.”
“There are many who are up to no good in this neighborhood,” Yusef said, breaking down cardboard boxes and stacking them on the floor.
“I’m going to walk up the street the way you saw her heading. Maybe she had car trouble or something.”
“You want me to go with you?” Yusef asked.
Don gave the cashier a quizzical look.
“You don’t fit in,” Yusef explained. “Nobody will tell you anything. Everyone around here knows me. I’m a Middle-Eastern soul brother.” Yusef showed a full row of perfectly white teeth.
“Can you leave the store?”
“Yes. Wait a moment.”
Yusef carried the stack of flattened boxes to a rear door adjacent to the refrigerated coolers filled with soft drinks, beer, wine, milk and ice cream. He opened the door with a key from his waist chain and disappeared. In less than a minute he returned followed by a short, middle-aged man with bulging eyes, salt-and-pepper hair and a thick, black beard. The man gave Don a look of suspicion which Don enthusiastically returned. The man said something to Yusef in what sounded to Don like Arabic. In the old days, Don would have demanded the man show a green card and a photo ID.
Don followed Yusef across 24th Street, dodging traffic on the busy two-way road. They walked north. Twice, Yusef stopped someone he knew to ask if they’d seen a woman wearing jeans and a Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Don noted Yusef’s further description of Charlie was as good as Don could have given, but in each case the passerby hadn’t seen her. They’d gone about twenty blocks when Don pointed to a white car ahead.
“I think that’s her rental.”
Don ran to the car with Yusef on his heels. The Chevy was locked, so he stooped to look through the passenger window and saw a McDonald’s bag on the floor. The Impala was parked in front of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Don checked the gate but it was chained and padlocked. Across the street were vacant lots and on the northwest corner, a lone church. A few cars were parked in the church lot but the front door was locked and there was no res
ponse when Don rang the buzzer.
“Maybe you should try calling her again,” Yusef said and then flipped open his own phone to make a call.
The two men stepped in opposite directions for privacy. Yusef’s conversation was in Arabic. Don received Charlie’s voicemail message again, so he called the office hoping Judy would still be there after closing time.
“Have you heard from her yet?” Judy asked.
“No. You?”
“No, Don,” Judy’s voice registered her concern.
“Is Acosta there? Put him on.”
“I’m already here, Don.”
“Gil, we’ve got a problem.”
Don, Gil and Judy conferred on what they knew about Charlie’s movements. She’d left the motel early that morning on her way to the Freeman Funeral Home to see Grace Freeman. She’d called Don, they spoke briefly, and she was headed to a nearby Catholic church. When she left the church she called Judy and confirmed that Joyce was in Birmingham. Around noon, Yusef saw Charlie enter the chicken restaurant and later, saw her walking uptown. Charlie called Don again, left a message, and the line was suddenly disconnected. Don reported that he and Yusef had found Charlie’s locked rental car about a mile from the restaurant.
“I’ll keep calling her cell phone,” Judy announced.
“What do you think we should do, Don?” Gil asked.
“Well, I guess I’ll go by the Meadows house. Maybe she went back there for some reason or maybe the neighborhood guys have seen her.”
“Do we know the name of the church she was going to visit or why she was going there?” Gil asked.
“That’s a good question. Did she mention it to you Novak?”
“I think so, but I don’t remember it. But she said she’d been using the navigation system on the rental car and that would show where she’s gone.”
“That’s good, Novak.” Don was peering through the car’s passenger window.
“You need me to come to Birmingham?” Gil asked.
“I just don’t know yet. Could be she’ll show up any minute. But why isn’t she answering her phone?” Don asked with exasperation.
“Maybe the phone battery ran out of juice.” Yusef had rejoined Don.
“Who’s that?” Judy asked.
“The store clerk.” Don was distracted, looking for something he could use to break the window of the Impala.
“I’ll call the phone carrier,” Judy offered. “If the phone is still turned on, they might be able to track the signal. But they may need a police request or some legal document to do that.”
“If paperwork is needed, I’ll take care of it,” Gil said.
Don hung up the phone. He was afraid for Charlie and beginning to feel helpless. “Damn, I can’t find anything to help me bust through this window,” he said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find her. Let’s go back to the store. I have a tool we can use to get into that car.”
Chapter 15
It was like the grogginess of waking from a deep sleep at three in the morning. Body and mind having a conversation in gibberish until finally the brain recognizes the dull glow of a radio clock or the peeping eye of a silent television. Oh, still night, don’t have to wake up yet. Then Charlie became aware there was absolutely no light at all.
She tried to rub her eyes and pain shot through both shoulders. Her arms were held fast behind her back. Her legs were stiff and she realized her ankles were tied, locked together like a mermaid ice sculpture. Cold crept into her muscles, licking at her bones. Must be still dreaming. Must fight to wake up. Oh, oh God, I am awake. What’s happening to me? Where am I?
She tried to remember. She left the barber shop, was walking to her car. The bus stop, but no bus. Someone behind her. Then only a second to register a flash of metal, an explosion of pain. Oh shit, Barnes!
Panic surfaced in her throat and she screamed. It sounded only like a loud groan. Maybe she only screamed in her head. Where am I? Why is it so dark? Charlie relied on her martial arts training to slow her terror. She consciously focused on each of her senses. She felt her heart beating, fast but steady. Good. I’m not dead. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see, and when she blinked, her lashes brushed against something that made a scratching noise. There was the odor of earth, grass and something she couldn’t identify that was acrid and unpleasant. What can I taste? Bile, and something salty, maybe blood. She swallowed. Her mouth wouldn’t open. Duct tape. Now she was fully aware of it against her lips and cheeks. That’s why I can’t scream. Must be what’s also holding my hands and legs.
She concentrated on what she could hear: distant traffic, a car horn, something rustling around her head. She felt something move near her ear. A twitching. Get out of my ear. Charlie shook her head violently and was rewarded with a sharp pain. She forced herself to breathe slowly, noticing a rasping with each inhalation. A plastic bag on my head. Now she could feel it against her forehead and neck. Ground underneath her; damp along her right shoulder, arm and leg. She was aware of tiny movements on her body—the skin above her socks, her arms. She jerked, and a bolt of pain streaked through her center. She summoned a loud moan that sounded desperate.
Maneuvering herself onto her buttocks, Charlie sank her hands into soft earth. Her head grazed an obstacle—unyielding, lumpy, damp—forcing her to bow in a tragic prayer. She thrust upward causing searing pain. The barrier shifted but didn’t move. She thrust again. Then a final one. Finally, she fell on her side, exhausted, hurting and momentarily defeated.
She slowed her breathing again. The duct tape, maybe I can loosen it from my legs. She strained to draw her ankles up behind her but her body was stiff and there was more tape, tight against her knees. Just a little more, can’t reach . . . can’t get the right position. Charlie rolled onto her back, aware that panic was trying to reestablish itself. She relaxed every part of her body and thanked God her nose wasn’t covered. The bag didn’t allow deep breathing and with each shallow inhale, Charlie’s side throbbed. She scraped her bound wrists against the ground. Too soft. She inched backwards but, again, something blocked her movement. She searched with her fingertips for a stick, a rock, a piece of glass. Nothing. She scooted forward until her feet touched something solid and then angled herself so she could touch the object—it felt like fabric. Charlie searched for a hard surface and found one, but she had to lift her body and twist herself to take advantage of it. She rubbed her wrists up and down against the edge, back and forth, back and forth, then tested the strength of the tape. More.
Something brushed against her sneaker. What in hell was that? She kicked out as hard as she could, impeded by bound knees. She fell onto her back again. Use your leg strength, she instructed herself. Why didn’t I think of that before? She gently shook her head to clear the self-doubt. She remembered a Bible verse Sister Theresa used to say, or was it her mother? I did not inherit fear. Positioned on her shoulder blades with her hands pressed deeply in the soggy ground, Charlie pushed her feet against the object, a piece of furniture, maybe. It gave, but was very heavy. With every push it moved. Charlie expelled air and grunted with each effort. Rest now. Build up strength for another try. Charlie relaxed her body and mind. Taking slow, shallow breaths in, exhaling deeply. Her head nuzzled against Mandy’s breast. Safe. Love. I will not die today.
Chapter 16
Don and Yusef retraced their steps to the store. A sliver of sun rimmed the western horizon and even the broken streetlights were shrouded in dusk.
“Charlie’s in trouble,” Don said. “I feel it in my gut.”
“Okay. Then you should call the police.”
“First, I want to call my other partner and tell him to get out here.”
Don had stopped on the sidewalk and flipped open his phone to dial when a stream of homeless men wearing bulky, dark clothes began shuffling past him. They traveled north on both sides of 24th Street like migrating buffalo.
“Where did they all come from?” Don asked Yusef.
�
��From the boarded-up houses. The church back there,” Yusef nodded over his shoulder, “provides free beds for the night. They open at nine. First come, first serve.”
“Yes, yes, I’m here, Acosta,” Don shouted into his phone. “You should have Novak check on flights to get you into Birmingham tonight.”
“I can do that,” Gil said. “Judy has two phones to her ear, already. She’s calling Charlie, and the mobile carrier has her on hold.”
They were five blocks from the Olive Tree when Don heard a bugle call and stopped in his tracks.
“What is it?” Yusef said.
The ring tone sounded again, louder. Don looked around frantically. The sound came from a group of men who had just passed them smelling of dirty clothes and urine. Don darted to the last man in the group and spun him around.
“Hey, what you doing? Get your hands off me,” the man protested.
His three companions paused and faced Don, not sure how to react to the assault. The bugler’s charge rang out again. Don released the man he was holding and grabbed at the coat of another man in the group. He yanked out Charlie’s mobile phone from the man’s pocket.
“Where’d you get this phone?” Don screamed, waving the phone in the air.
The four men edged toward Don. One reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out a large knife. The man whose pocket had been assaulted muttered a string of obscenities. Don made a show of pushing his jacket aside to reveal his revolver, and the men hesitated.
“Wait, wait,” Yusef yelled. He managed to wedge himself into the center of the merging men, holding up both arms in the surrender position.
The knife-wielder spoke first: “Who the fuck is this crazy-ass white man?”
“He’s with me,” Yusef said. “He’s upset because his lady is missing and that’s her cell phone.”
“That was your lady?” the cursing man asked Don, who was unsnapping his gun holster.
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