Shackled

by Ray Garton

  "Oh, for god's sake, Bent," Coll snapped, "that could mean anybody, that could be referring to a million little black boys! How can you — "

  Ethan held up a big hand, palm out, and Coll stopped. Turning to Bent again, Ethan asked, "What else? What other reasons do you have?"

  "Of the four networks we sampled, that one was the worst. The one from Palm Springs. There's obviously a lot of buying and selling going on there, a lot of really sick stuff. Even Rob said they had the most relays. They don't want to be found. Apparently, none of these networks are all that conspicuous, but these guys are really hiding. Rob said he spent most of the night tracing just that one network. So ... what are they hiding? I think maybe there's a good chance those are the people behind that upside-down cross on the maps. And I think ... it's just my opinion, now, remember that, and it's a very long shot ... but it seems logical that they're the people who have taken your son, or at least had something to do with it. Somebody asked for a small, skinny, male, black child. Somebody else responded by saying there was a possibility that one might be available. The request specified that the child be trained or at least disciplined. Maybe it's only a possibility because the child who fits that description — which is also the description of your son Samuel — is in the process of being trained or disciplined." As if exhausted by his little speech, Bent leaned forward over his plate and held his face in his hands and muttered, "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the right on-line system comes from LA. or someplace else, I don't know. But that's why I want to go to the desert."

  "That's an awfully damned big leap in logic, Bent," Coll said. "You know that, you're a reporter. A good one! In fact, it's more than a leap, it's more like a launch into orbit. You've gotta know that's a waste of time."

  "Yeah, I know, maybe it is a waste of time. Maybe. But the least I can do is talk to the Kotters again. She saw something and I just didn't pay attention. This time I will. And if she convinces me she's really been seeing something, if I think something's going on in that desert ... especially if I can see it myself... then I'll take the next step."

  "Which would be ...?" Coll asked.

  "Tell you the truth, I don't know."

  There was a long, tense silence around the table. Then Ethan said, "I'll go with you."

  Bent said quietly, "Please, Ethan, don't think that you have to — "

  "No arguments. Whether you like it or not, I'm going with you."

  "I think I'll come," Coll said with a nod, munching on a slice of bacon, "and keep you company, too."

  Bent rolled his eyes. "This is not a caravan, dammit! I just want to — "

  "Don't give me any shit, Bentley," Coll said quietly but firmly. "For one thing, this is so crazy that it's almost enough to make me wonder about your mental state. And for another ... you think these people are prepared for company? You think they're gonna welcome you in and offer you tea and cookies, or something? You read that stuff off the computer, you don't think they're serious? They're more serious than you are about this. And crazier! And that's only if you're right about all this stuff! If you and Rob are right, they're buying and selling people, for crying out loud, so you don't think they'd kill you in the blink of an eye? Get real, Bent. If you think you can do something like this all by yourself, then you're full of more shit than the articles you write for the Inquisitor. Either I go with you or you don't go. Even if I have to break your fucking kneecaps to keep you here." He popped the last bite of bacon into his mouth and crunched down on it hard, turning to Ethan. "But I think it would be a big mistake for you to come. This is very unsure, at best. Your family needs you here now."

  Bent nodded slowly. "Yes, Ethan, I think he's right. If we come across something, I promise we'll let you know. Then, if you want, you can join us. For now, I think you should stay with your family. As for you," he said to Coll, "if you insist on coming, that's fine. I'm not going to argue, because I wouldn't mind some company, to tell you the truth. But it seems like somebody should be keeping a close eye on the kidnappings going on around here." He turned to Garner. "Do you have any friends in law enforcement?"

  "You kidding? I have friends in everything. Law enforcement ... taxidermy ... dry cleaning ... you name it."

  "Do you think you'd be able to get a foot in the door with your law enforcement friends and keep up-to-date on the child kidnappings in the area?"

  "A foot in the door? Well, not one of mine, they aren't worth a damn. But yeah, I think I know what you mean. We can keep in touch, if you want."

  "You have a fax machine?"

  "I've got two."

  "Good man. We'll be in touch then. A lot." Then, to Ethan: "We'll be in touch, too, Ethan. I promise. Every day. Two or three times, if that's what you want. In the meantime, you stay here and help Garner, if you can. And take care of your family. They need you."

  Ethan bowed his head slightly and sighed. "Well ... I can't argue with that. They do need me, no doubt about that." Looking at them again: "But I want to hear about every single thing you learn. Everything.”

  "No problem. Okay, then, Coll and I will head for the desert,"

  Coll rested his elbows on the table and stared down at his food, shaking his head. "My God, Bent, your brain has gone completely tabloid."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know," Bent said. "Now shut up and eat your breakfast."

  They went back to finishing their breakfasts. Quietly. Without another word ...

  9

  Later, while everyone else was talking in Garner's living room, Bent was still sitting at the breakfast table, alone and sipping tepid coffee, thinking.

  He was thinking about Officer Roberts.

  There had been something about the man that had suggested he knew more about what was going on than he was willing to talk about at the moment. Maybe it was the way he looked at them, or the way he spoke to them. Bent wasn't sure.

  But if he and Coll were about to do something as foolhardy as to launch themselves into a situation that could prove dangerous — and Bent had no doubt that they were doing that very thing — then perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to fill in an officer of the law who seemed to at least be interested in their situation. Roberts was definitely that; Bent could tell, somehow. Roberts knew something and was concerned. Bent still had his card.

  He left the table, walked through the living room smiling, and told Garner he was going to use the office phone. Garner nodded, then went back to the conversation.

  Bent went into the office, closed the door, pulled out the card, and made the call.

  Once he had Roberts on the phone and they'd greeted one another, he said, "I thought I'd let you know that Coll and I are going to Palm Springs."

  "Oh? What for?"

  "Well, there are a few things we haven't told you."

  Bent told Roberts the whole story as the sound of Roberts's candy clattering against his teeth came over the line. Bent told him everything.

  There was a long silence on the phone, then: "Really. Well, that's pretty interesting, Mr. Noble. I wish you would have told me all this in the first place. It explains a lot."

  "Maybe so, maybe not. Maybe it means nothing and I've got a runaway imagination."

  Roberts laughed. "Mr. Noble, you are dealing with people who cannot be dealt with. Unreasonable people. Illogical people."

  "Maybe so. But if they have Ethan Walker's boy, I want to know."

  "For your story, of course."

  Bent clenched his teeth. "Dammit, not just because of my story! I'd like to help find him! Needless to say, his father would like to find him a hell of a lot more than I would!"

  "Yes. That would be quite a feather in your journalistic cap, wouldn't it?"

  "Look, I seem to have misjudged you. I thought you were interested in this. I thought you cared about — "

  "Mr. Noble, I am interested. But I am limited to one thing: the case of Mr. Colloway's dog being killed in such a ritualistic way. But I am very glad you called. In fact, I have pursued this case more than you may thin
k I have. I am trying to get in touch with Dr. Brooks. If you think she might be involved in this in some, way — in any way, really, however remote — then I'm terribly interested in what you find out. You know how to reach me. How can I reach you?"

  "I don't know yet. But if you're interested ... you're really interested?"

  "I am."

  "Then I'll let you know as soon as I do."

  "Please do, Mr. Noble. But in the meantime, I hope you'll do something for me."

  Bent frowned. "Yes? What's that?"

  "Before you leave, tell someone how to reach me if necessary. Ethan Walker, perhaps. You have my office number, I'll give you my number at home."

  Bent grabbed a pen and jotted the number down on a notepad on the desk. "Okay. Thanks. I'll do that."

  "Make sure they understand that I really want to know if something goes wrong. I have a friend in Los Angeles who might be able to help you if necessary."

  "All right. I'll tell Ethan."

  "And one more thing." Roberts took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Be very careful. If you're correct about who you're dealing with ... well, then, you're swimming with sharks, my friend ...”

  10

  Bent called Ethan into the office and closed the door behind him.

  "I'd like you to do me a favor, Ethan."

  "What? Anything at all, what is it?"

  Bent held out a sealed envelope. "While we're gone, I promise we'll be in constant touch. But if something goes wrong, if you don't hear from us or can't reach us, I want you to call the number in this envelope. It's a San Francisco detective, the one who answered the call about Coll's dog. I've got his work number and home number in here. He told me to tell you that he's very interested in this and that you shouldn't hesitate to call him for any reason, at any time. Will you do that?"

  Ethan frowned as he took the envelope, somewhat reluctantly, between thumb and forefinger. "You're not ... expecting something to happen, are you?" Ethan breathed, cocking his head to one side.

  Bent smiled, hoping it looked reassuring. "Of course not, Ethan. This is just' a precaution. Detective Roberts has a friend in Los Angeles who might be able to help us if we need it, so he wants to know when ... if we need it. Okay?"

  Ethan nodded as he clutched the envelope tightly in his hand. "I will be praying for you, you know," he said quietly. "Praying constantly."

  Nodding, Bent said, "I appreciate that. Normally, a promise like that would get nothing more from me than a chuckle. But coming from you, Ethan ... well, it means something. It means a lot. And not only do I take it very seriously, I'm thankful for it. I suspect god pays close attention to what you have to say."

  "He pays close attention to all of us, Bent. We just have to talk to him, first. I only hope, um ... I hope you'll remember that."

  "I will, Ethan," Bent said, reaching out to pat Ethan's shoulder. "Oh, I will ...”

  PART TEN

  Deanna Found

  1

  Roberts grabbed the receiver beside the bed with a hand that was numb with sleep. He caught it halfway through the second ring. "Yeah?"

  "Sorry. I woke you, didn't I?" Shockley said.

  "Hey, no problem at all." Roberts sat up in his bed clumsily as his wife stirred beside him.

  "What is it?" she muttered.

  He touched her arm gently and said, "Nothing, honey. Just go back to sleep." Then, into the phone, his voice quiet, he asked, "So, did you find her?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I found her. She's living in posh digs in Marina Del Ray and I've got her phone number, if you want it."

  "I do," Roberts said, reaching for the pad and pen on the night-stand. "That's exactly what I wanted." He switched on the lamp, then held the pen over the pad, waiting.

  "Well, I don't know how much good it's gonna do ya," Shockley said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've called this damned number so many times, my finger's raw. She's never there."

  "So, she's busy."

  "At ten o'clock at night? At eleven? Twelve? One?"

  "What the hell're you trying to do, harass her? She just moved to town. Who knows what her schedule's like?"

  "Yeah, guess you're right. Okay, here's the number."

  As Shockley spoke, Roberts wrote the number on the pad.

  Then Shockley said, "But if it's all the same with you, I'm gonna check her place out myself."

  "What do you mean, check her place out?"

  "Well, remember how you told me she was setting up a practice here?"

  "Yeah, what about it?"

  "Far as I can tell," he said slowly, "the closest she's got to a practice is a P.O. box."

  Roberts took in a deep breath. "She hasn't been there long, she just — "

  "Hey, c'mon, you know as well as I do these people don't move to a new town if everything isn't already set up. Right? Am I right?"

  Roberts nodded, then said, "Yeah. You're right."

  "Well, first you had a bad feeling, now I have a bad feeling, okay? So just what the hell is going on, dammit?"

  "I don't know yet. I really, really don't know. But I've learned a lot more since I talked to you last."

  Roberts told Shockley everything Bent had told him ...

  2

  The next day was Leonard Shockley's day off.

  He'd decided what he was going to do the night before. After all, he didn't have anything else to do.

  Besides, he had this woman's address. Why not pay her a little visit? Maybe even leave her a note to let her know there was somebody who wanted to talk to her, just ask her a few questions.

  Shockley was a tall, lean black man with closely cropped hair and a well-trimmed mustache beneath his broad nose. There was something about his face — especially about his mouth — that made him look like he was always smiling, whether he was or not, which came in very handy in his work. People were far more willing to speak to a smiling police officer than to one who looked stem and threatening.

  He drove put to Marina Del Ray in his 1970 blue Buick Grand Sport Stage 1. The car was his pride and joy, his child, his life, and he could not think of a time when he was sitting behind its wheel without a real smile on his face. He was smiling now as he drove toward Deanna Brooks's house.

  He found the address with no problem at all, but parked a few houses away. There were no cars in the driveway or parked in front of the house, which was quite a piece of work. Not very big, but two stories and quite glamorous with a beautifully kept front yard and shrubbery that looked like it would not dare grow in any way that looked uneven or sloppy. The mailbox was shaped like a little house with the street number written on its side and a red-brick chimney instead of a red metal flag.

  But there was something very odd about the house ... something Shockley could not quite nail down.

  He went up the long walk toward the door. He wore regular clothes — a baggy, short-sleeved gray shirt and a pair of black Bugle Boy jeans — but carried his badge and ID with him just in case she wanted to see them.

  But something told him that Deanna Brooks would not be there ... something very similar to the feelings his former partner, Roberts, was always having.

  He rang the bell. It had three tones: ding-dong-ding.

  Then he waited.

  There was no answer. There wasn't even any movement inside the house.

  He hit the doorbell again. And again and again.

  "Hello?" he called. "Anybody home? Hello?"

  There was no reply.

  Shockley waited a moment listening, then decided to go to the front window.

  It was a rectangular window with cream-colored curtains gathered at each end. They were wide open, as if there was nothing to hide.

  Shockley leaned toward the window and cupped his hands to each side of his face so he could see inside.

  Empty.

  There was no furniture. There were no plants hanging from the ceiling. There were no photographs or paintings on the naked beige walls. The carpet looked
as if it had never been walked on.

  "A front," Shockley breathed, his words forming a small round cloud on the glass. "It's a goddamned front!"

  He backed away from the window, thinking frantically, then hurried back to his car ...

  3

  Roberts walked back from the bathroom to his desk in a bad mood because of the problems he was having with his prostate when he heard the phone ringing.

  He snatched the receiver up angrily and snapped, "Yeah?" as he seated himself at the desk. He unwrapped a Werther's.

  "Shockley."

  Roberts leaned forward over his desk suddenly, popping the candy into his mouth. "What's happening?"

  "I'm not really sure. Far as I can tell, nothing's happening." He chuckled coldly.

  "What're you talking about?"

  "Well, our good friend, Dr. Deanna Brooks, has a phone number, all right, and she's got herself a house. The thing is, nobody's livin' in it."

  "Huh? What do you mean, nobody's — "

  "It's an empty house. Completely empty. Nobody's even tried to move into that place, y'understand what I'm sayin'? It's empty. Vacant. She's somewhere else."

  Roberts sucked on the butter-toffee candy for a long time before he spoke again. His mind was racing. Something was wrong here. But maybe something was very right with what Bentley Noble had told him.

  "Hello?" Shockley said. "You still there?"

  "Yeah, I'm here. I'm thinking."

  'Thinking, huh? About what?"

  "About what you just told me. I think it might mean something."

  "Yeah? Really? Well, after what you told me, if you don't mind me sayin', I think so, too. In fact, I think somethin' stinks."