by Jana DeLeon
“How’s he doing?” Shaye asked. “How are you doing?”
“We’re both doing fine. The kid’s a hard worker, and you weren’t kidding about the artistic ability. Come look at this.”
Saul walked around the desk and headed down the hall to the small dining area used to serve continental breakfast. He clicked on the lights and Shaye gasped. The walls had been painted with scenes of New Orleans streets, but from past times. Men and women in fancy dress, Mardi Gras parades, and other New Orleans traditions all came to life against a background of French Quarter buildings.
“This is incredible,” she said. “I knew he was talented, but I had no idea…”
“I took some pictures of this and he agreed to let me send them to some art schools. I can’t imagine they wouldn’t take him, and I’m guessing he’d get a scholarship besides.”
Shaye nodded. “I think you’re right. What about high school?”
“He’s doing the homeschool classes online. I thought it would be a bit of a fight, but he hasn’t said a word of complaint. We set a schedule for him with work and school and he’s stuck to it by the minute. He’s a sharp boy. It won’t take him long to get his GED.”
“I figured as much. What about other things?”
“You mean all the touchy-feely stuff? Well, that’s a little harder to navigate being that I’m a crotchety old Marine and he’s a skittish teenager, but we’re doing all right. He’s shared some stories about his mom with me, so that’s a good sign.”
Shaye felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’re doing, Saul.”
“Yes, I do, but it’s not necessary. I would have taken the boy in whether you asked me or not. He’s a good kid, and he’s going to make a fine man. Doing what he did to find his friend…that’s serious heart, and you can’t teach a person heart.” Saul looked down at the floor for a minute and shook his head. “He reminds me of a member of my platoon. He would have been a fine man, if he’d made it back.”
“Well, whether it’s necessary or not, I still appreciate it. You know I would have been happy to take him myself, and Corrine wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if I’d asked her, but I think he needs a good man in his life. He’s never had that.”
Saul nodded. “Too many people discount the importance of fathers, including a lot of fathers. It’s a shame.” Saul cocked his head to the side and stared at her for a couple seconds. It was clear he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure if he should. Curiosity must have won out because he finally asked, “Have the police figured anything out on those journals?”
Yeah, they’ve figured out I was one of Clancy’s products.
The words ran through her mind, unbidden, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Not yet. Not that way. “I’m not exactly in the loop on everything the police are doing, but I know they’re working on deciphering them,” she said. “But it’s a lot to cover. The journals date back almost twenty years.”
Saul’s eyes widened. “Jesus. I had no idea…”
“No one did. How could we? It’s the most incredulous and awful thing we’ve ever seen here. The police are as shocked and disgusted as the rest of us.”
He shook his head. “I can’t imagine trying to work all that out. All those victims…it must be heartbreaking. Is your man working it?”
Shaye felt a light blush creep up her neck. She’d gotten to the point where she’d readily admit to others that Jackson was a friend, and sometimes she’d admit to herself that she thought about him being even more, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready to call him her man.
“He’s not mine,” she said, “and as far as I know, he wasn’t assigned to work on the Clancy journals, but I haven’t talked to him in a week or so.”
Not since the last time she’d run into him at the station, after one of her many meetings to go over her statement concerning the Clancy case. He’d called a few times and left messages, but she hadn’t returned the calls yet. Something about Jackson made her so comfortable she actually wanted to talk to him about the things she never talked about. But she wasn’t ready for a conversation about the journals. He’d probably already been informed through police channels, and he was respectful enough not to bring the subject up unless she did, but she wasn’t ready to do that. Not quite yet, but the time was coming.
Saul raised his eyebrows a bit but he was smart enough to let it drop. Pushing Shaye for information was a waste of time. It only made her more silent. “Hustle’s painting.” he said. “Room 12.”
“Thanks.” She headed off, following the sound of rock music that trickled down the hall. It wasn’t loud. Saul wouldn’t allow that as other people were staying at the hotel, but with the room door open, the lead guitar and pounding drums echoed a bit.
She stepped into the room and took a moment to appreciate the cool blue Hustle was putting on the walls. The sad tan would soon be a thing of the past. She smiled, knowing good and well that Saul hadn’t picked the color. He was too traditional, but at least he’d been wise enough to take Hustle’s advice. The blue gave the room a relaxed feel.
“You do good work,” Shaye said.
Hustle gave a bit of a start and whirled around, grinning when he caught site of her.
“Saul just showed me the dining room,” she said. “It’s incredible.”
The teen blushed and looked down at the floor, still not used to receiving compliments, especially from adults. “Thanks,” he said. “I was surprised he let me do it. I figured he’d think it was too much. It wasn’t cheap, either, all those colors.”
“I’m guessing the blue was your idea too?”
“Yeah. I thought it looked like the ocean. I went there one time with my moms when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it but I’ll never forget that shade of blue.”
“It’s going to look great. Come sit with me for a minute,” she said and pointed to the little breakfast table in the corner.
Hustle put the paint roller down and slid into the chair, looking slightly uneasy.
“How are things going?” she asked. “Are you doing all right here? Because if it’s not working okay for you, we can find something else.”
His eyes widened. “No! I mean, it’s great here. Every morning, I wake up and I still can’t believe my luck. I thought the school part would be really sucky, but it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. I do the classes in Saul’s office. They’re more boring than anything, but Saul says it won’t take long to get my GED. At least that way I don’t have to go to actual school.”
Shaye smiled. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve something good in your life.”
Hustle dropped his gaze and shrugged. “People don’t always get what they deserve—the good or the bad.”
Shaye’s smiled slipped away. Having experienced too much too young was something she and Hustle shared. They knew better than most that the bad things that came at you weren’t often warranted. But they’d both survived. Shaye was accomplished and successful, and she had no doubt Hustle would be as well.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She tried to force the smile back but she knew it wasn’t very convincing. “I’m fine.”
He shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me. If you don’t want to say what’s wrong, then that’s okay, but don’t say things are fine when they’re not.”
Instantly, Shaye felt contrite. One of the things that had finally convinced Hustle to trust her was that she’d been honest with him about everything from the moment they’d met. “I’m sorry. There’s some things I’m dealing with…hard things…and most of the time, I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job.”
“The police aren’t hassling you over Clancy or me, are they?”
“No. Nothing like that. The police have bigger fish to fry than worrying about me or you.”
“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you getting into trouble for doing something good.
So is what’s wrong a secret or is it too personal?”
Shaye considered how to answer. The real answer, she supposed, was yes to both questions, but the secret part was bound to come undone sooner than later. So far, news of her biological mother hadn’t leaked to the press, but Shaye knew it was only a matter of time. The question was, did she want Hustle to hear about it on the evening news or from her?
“It’s personal and secret,” she said, “but I know it won’t stay that way.” She drew in a breath and slowly blew it out. “They found my biological mother.”
Hustle jerked up straight in the chair, his eyes wide. “No shit? Wow! No wonder you’re freaked out. Have you talked to her? What did she say? Did she know what happened to you? Sorry. I’m throwing all this at you.”
“You’re fine. Trust me, I have plenty of questions myself. Unfortunately, she wasn’t alive to answer any of them.”
Hustle’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. She was a junkie. She died of a drug overdose.”
Hustle was silent for a bit. “I don’t get it, you know? How the drugs take hold of somebody. I mean, I seen it happen a lot, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. Seems like you ain’t gotta suffer from it if you never do it to begin with.”
“If only that bit of wisdom crossed everyone’s mind.”
“She didn’t leave anything that might help you figure out what happened?”
Shaye bit her lower lip, still wavering. Did she tell him everything now or hope the information in the journal remained confidential for a while?
“The police know what happened,” Shaye said quietly. “I’m going to tell you this because I want you to hear it from me and not some slimy news reporter, but I’d appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.”
Hustle looked confused. “Okay.”
“My mother’s name was in Clancy’s journals. I was one of his products. She sold me.”
“What?” Hustle jumped up from his chair and paced the tiny kitchen. “No fucking way.” He looked at Shaye. “You’re not shitting me?”
“I wouldn’t do that. Especially about this.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. What the hell am I thinking?” He ran his hand through his long blond hair. “I’m thinking it’s a horror movie is what I’m thinking. And I don’t blame you for not caring that she’s dead. I swear, if I could, I’d bring her back to life and kill her myself.”
Shaye felt tears fill her eyes. “You’re a good friend, Hustle.”
He stopped pacing and looked down at her. “We are friends, right? I mean, for real friends?”
She nodded. “I don’t have a lot of them, but you’re definitely my friend.”
He sat back down and leaned forward, over the table. “Then let me help you.”
“I don’t know what you can do. If there was anything…”
“There is. You went to her house, right? That woman who had you.”
“She lived in government housing—an apartment. And yes, I went there, but I never lived there. The dates in the journals confirm it. Nothing inside was familiar, and she wasn’t nice enough to leave a letter explaining why she sold her child. Not that I need it spelled out for me. I think we both know what happened.”
“Did you try talking to people there who might have known her?”
“I talked to the apartment manager the night I went to see the place but he has his head in the sand. If he’s not aware of it then he doesn’t have to report it to the police, you know? I went back this morning and tried to talk to the neighbors, but no one had anything to say.”
“Let me guess. You got a bunch of doors slammed in your face.”
“Yeah. They wouldn’t even admit to knowing who she was.”
Hustle shook his head. “They’re not going to talk to you. Even though you’re not one, some of your habits scream cop. And your clothes and haircut tell them right away you’re not one of them. But they might talk to me.”
“No. I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not? She’s dead. Clancy’s dead. The danger is gone, right?”
“I…well, I don’t know.”
“Do you have any reason to think it’s not?”
“There’s still the person who bought me.”
“And he hasn’t come after you all these years. Maybe he’s not around, either.”
“Maybe not.” That thought had only crossed her mind about a hundred times a day.
“Then let me take a run at them. I’m still a kid. I look street and I know how to talk it.”
“What will you tell them?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I’ll lie, I’m sure, but I’ll have to see them to figure out what will get them talking.”
Shaye’s emotions warred. Hustle was right that the neighbors might talk to him when they wouldn’t talk to her, but it wasn’t his responsibility to help her. She was the adult. He was the child.
“If they give her name on the news,” he said, “I’m going to do it without your permission, and by then, it will probably be too late to get anything out of them because reporters will be camped out on the sidewalk.”
She smiled. “Playing hardball?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you have to get a little pushy when you know what somebody ought to do.”
She knew exactly what he was getting at. She’d all but strong-armed Hustle into listening to her idea about Saul fostering him. And she knew he was stubborn enough to do exactly what he was threatening to do—investigate on his own as soon as he had the address. Unfortunately, he was also right about waiting. Nothing would seal people’s lips faster than knowing cops or reporters were looking at them.
“Okay,” she said, “but you cannot go there alone. I’ll take you.”
“It won’t work if you’re with me.”
“It will work if I stay in the car, and you wear a wire so I can help if there’s trouble.”
He grinned. “You’re all James Bond and shit.”
“I’m working on it.” She rose from the chair. “I have time tomorrow afternoon. Does that work for you?”
“Tomorrow morning is better.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because tomorrow morning is algebra class?”
Shaye smiled. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer through it. You know I have to tell Saul what we’re doing.”
“Saul’s cool. He’ll want me to help if I can.” Hustle shuffled a bit. “Does he know…about your mother and stuff?”
“Not yet, but he’s about to.” There was no use putting it off any longer. “Thanks, Hustle.”
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
Jackson leaned back in the conference room chair and blew out a breath. He’d arrived at work that morning, ready to launch full speed into finding the girl Clancy had sold, but before he even finished pouring coffee, he and Grayson had to take a homicide call. It had turned out to be a simple one as far as police and legal work went. A man tweaking on something had broken into a woman’s house and attacked her. She managed to get a shot off in the struggle and it went straight through the perp’s heart.
Open and shut on their end. Unfortunately, the perp was the woman’s brother, so it wasn’t over for her, maybe never would be. Still, she had a restraining order against him due to a previous attack and he was wanted for stabbing a man two nights before, so the ADA had taken one look at the facts and said he wouldn’t pursue charges.
But even the simple ones took time. Time to process the crime scene. Time to interview witnesses. Time to put the facts together and present them to the ADA. So it was midafternoon before they grabbed some takeout Chinese food and headed back to the police station.
For the last hour, Jackson had been reviewing files for missing children in New Orleans and calling to get updates if any were available. He tossed his pen on the conference table in disgust. Over twenty missing children, and that was the ones who got reported. How many others had slipped thro
ugh the cracks in the system and taken off from a bad situation at home? Six fit the age range of the teen Clancy had sold, but two had returned home, another was found living with the noncustodial parent, and the fourth had been picked up working at a strip club.
“Anything?” Grayson’s voice sounded behind him as he walked into the conference room.
“Two still missing that fit the criteria, but neither feels right.”
Grayson looked over Jackson’s shoulder at his laptop. “Why not? Looks like either one could work.”
Jackson hesitated a moment before replying. The theory that had bounced around his mind the entire time he’d searched the database seemed sound when he was keeping it to himself, but now, when faced with saying it out loud, it sounded like a huge guess with nothing to back it up.
“Out with it, Lamotte,” Grayson said. “I told you if something got on your radar, let me know. Leave it up to me to reel you in if I think you’re too far out in left field.”
“Okay, well, I was thinking that the child he bought this time was the same age as Shaye when she escaped.”
Grayson’s eyebrows went up. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re right. You think that’s significant?”
“I don’t know, but what if he wanted to pick up where he left off?”
“Nine years later?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but if that was what he had in mind, then I was thinking he might want a girl not only the same age but who also looked like Shaye. One of these girls has blond hair and the other red. Both were overweight and fairly short.”
Grayson frowned but didn’t dismiss Jackson’s theory. “So nothing at all like Shaye, physically.” He put his hands in the air. “Okay, so let’s say you’re right and it’s neither of these two. Where do we go now? Broaden the search to Baton Rouge?”