Big City Heat

by David Burnsworth

  Out of curiosity, Brack tried the front door to the brothel. Locked.

  He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In the living room of his penthouse suite, Vito seethed. Levin relayed the information he’d just received about five of their men getting busted in a stupid raid. Vito did not appreciate the word on the street that his men were being arrested.

  Levin said, “And our friend Mr. Pelton was seen in the establishment just before the raid.”

  “What?” Vito’s mind calculated the odds and came up craps. “He’s working with the police.”

  “It appears that way.”

  Vito walked to the bar and poured himself an inch of Makers. He took a sip and an idea formed. “That is how we are going to get Kualas.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tuesday morning

  Brack’s phone vibrated on the hotel nightstand. He sat up in bed, daylight filtering through gaps in the drapes, and the first thing he realized other than the iPhone’s spasm was Shelby’s absence. Before full-blown panic could set in, he remembered his dog was with Trish, the two of them probably plotting their getaway.

  He snatched the phone and growled, “Yes?”

  “Brother Brack? Sorry to wake you. The Lord has provided us with a lead.”

  Brother Thomas explained himself, requiring a lot of sleep-deprived concentration for Brack to keep up. After the call, Brack rubbed his eyes and climbed out of bed. It was almost ten a.m.

  Brother Thomas, dressed in his usual black suit and minister’s collar, picked him up forty-five minutes later in his Volvo and they took a thirty-minute drive across town.

  The church, Three Crosses, was similar to the Brother’s own in Charleston, its tall white steeple towering over a forty-year-old white and brown structure. A shorter version of Brother Thomas stood in front of the church wearing similar attire, except the smaller man had chosen a shade of deep blue instead of the black garb worn by the man behind the wheel.

  They got out of the car and Brother Thomas said, “Brother Brack. I’d like to introduce you to one of my colleagues, Reverend Cleophus.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Brack said to the Reverend, shaking his hand.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Brother Thomas said you have a lot of light around you.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Brother Brack also pretty modest, mm-hmm.”

  Reverend Cleophus appeared to assess his new acquaintance. “Yes, well, any friend of Brother Thomas is a friend of Three Crosses.”

  “So,” Brack said, “what have you gentlemen got?”

  Reverend Cleophus said, “The Lord gave me a powerful word for the congregation. I felt the Holy Spirit flowing through me.” He closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side as if reliving the experience. “Afterward, I asked if anyone could he’p us stop the abuse of our young chil’ren. Several members came forward. Two of them are inside the church right now waitin’ to talk to you.”

  It occurred to Brack that these men of the cloth were not telling him everything. Otherwise, why stand outside? Brack said, “What else?”

  Brother Thomas asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give me that. I know you too well. You and the good Reverend here are holding something back. My mother raised ugly kids, not dumb ones.”

  Brother Thomas wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. Brack could tell he was thinking, probably measuring his words before he spoke. Either that or he was hot. It was almost noon and on its way to ninety.

  “Well, it ain’t what you gonna expect.”

  “Not much seems to be,” Brack said, silencing his added thought, when you’re involved. He needed as much help as he could get, and the two church members waiting inside to talk were no doubt deeply entrenched at the grassroots level. The intel they came up with would most likely prove invaluable. “Are you going to say anything else, or will I have to find out on my own?”

  The blue-clad Reverend said, “Why don’t we step inside and get on with it.”

  “A man after my own heart,” Brack said.

  The pastors led him inside the church. Its weathered hardwood floors meant it was older than Brack assumed. The windows were not stained glass and they opened via hand cranks. The walls were painted white. Wooden pews worn smooth held bibles and hymnals.

  Reverend Cleophus guided them through the building to a hall. The aroma of percolating coffee filled the air.

  “Care for a cup?” he asked.

  “It smells too good to pass up,” Brack said.

  “Starbucks. My weakness.”

  “Mine’s good cookin’,” Brother Thomas said.

  Is that all, Brack wondered, whereas he was haunted by obsessive memories of his late wife, a short-lived tendency to pacify his emptiness in the arms of many women, a desire to drink at the wrong moments, a taste for expensive cigars, and a continuing infatuation with a woman who was marrying someone else. And a not insignificant addiction to violence.

  Instead, what came out was, “I’d really hate to have to carry around those burdens you two have.”

  Reverend Cleophus smiled and nodded. Brother Thomas did not.

  They stopped at a table set up with a fairly new coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, and an assortment of sweeteners and creamers.

  The reverend poured three cups. “Help yo’self to the fixins.”

  Brack watched as he dumped in two Coffeemate packets, exactly how Jo liked hers. Brother Thomas and Brack drank theirs straight.

  “Where is this source?” Brack asked.

  “They in my office around the corner.” Reverend Cleophus waved a hand. “This way.”

  The three men entered the room and Reverend Cleophus said, “Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. Brother Brack here been puttin’ in some long hours and looked like he needed a jolt of Joe.”

  Two plump Asian women sat on a couch, also holding cups of the good Reverend’s prized Seattle brew.

  Brack wasn’t sure why he was made the cause of the Reverend’s own delay and weakness for Starbucks, but he let it slide. After all, who was he to judge?

  The ladies nodded their acceptance of his explanation.

  “Brother Brack, may I introduce Mrs. Chu and her sister, Mrs. Lee.”

  Brack set his cup down on the Reverend’s desk and shook their offered hands. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

  Mrs. Chu said, “Reverend Cleophus say you wanna know about girls selling themselves.”

  Not exactly. But he asked, “What can you tell me about them?”

  Mrs. Lee wiped tears from her eyes. “They are our daughters.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Brack pulled up a chair so he could face the sisters.

  Mrs. Lee spoke again. “Brother Thomas said you could do something to get them back?”

  It took all Brack had not to glare outright at Brother Thomas, who gave him a sheepish look in return.

  To Mrs. Lee Brack said, “Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

  She took a sip of her coffee, probably cold by now. “Well, I don’t know where to begin. Our daughters had everything growing up.”

  Mrs. Chu admitted, “We spoiled them.”

  Mrs. Lee nodded. “And it did no good. They were always close growing up. Last year they turned eighteen and left.”

  Her sister said, “We thought they would go to college together. Instead they ended up...ended up...” She wiped her eyes.

  “We want them back,” Mrs. Lee said. “Our husbands are no help.”

  “Too ashamed,” said her sister. “They wanted sons anyway.”

  “Any idea where I can find them?”

  Mrs. Lee nodded again. She set her purse on her lap, rummaged through it, and pulled out a business card. “I found this with Mi
ndy’s things.”

  Brack looked at the card. It appeared to be for a night club. “You think she may be here?”

  “It’s all I have.” At that point Mrs. Lee broke down and cried.

  Mrs. Chu handed her sister a tissue and put her arm around her shoulders.

  Brack asked Mrs. Chu, “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Kai.”

  “Okay.” Brack stood. “Mindy and Kai. Do you have pictures of them?”

  Each sister handed over a photo of a very pretty girl.

  “Do you think you can find them?” Mrs. Chu gave the tissue a workout.

  Before Brack could reply, Brother Thomas said, “If they in the city, Brother Brack will find them, mm-hmm.”

  This time, Brack did glare at his friend, then turned and walked out of the room, agitated he’d come to Atlanta to find one woman. Now he had three runaways, plus a crime boss ready to take him out.

  Settling into Brother Thomas’s Volvo, Brack said, “I thought we had this discussion last year. I’m not in the missing persons business.”

  “Brother Brack,” he said, “don’t you think this is connected to Regan?”

  “With the only bit of intel being the business card of a club and two pictures of pretty Asian girls, I’m not sure. In the meantime, I need another set of wheels, since mine got blown to smithereens trying to convince the first missing girl to simply call her sister.”

  “Reverend Cleophus got a brother who sell cars.”

  They drove a few blocks and ended up at Elmer’s Used Cars, an establishment that appeared to specialize in ten- to twenty-year-old premium German and Japanese vehicles. Most had big shiny rims. Brack did not get his hopes up.

  A man who looked a lot like Reverend Cleophus met them in the lot.

  “Good to see you again, Brother Thomas,” the man said.

  They shook hands.

  Then “Brother Brack” was introduced to Elmer and they shook hands.

  Elmer said, “What exactly you lookin’ for?”

  “Something that blends in, but with some punch.”

  “See anything out here you like?”

  Brack took a second look around the front lot. “Too flashy.” Especially with those rims, though he didn’t say it.

  Elmer scratched his chin. “I just got somethin’ in from auction. Come on.”

  He led them to the back lot. Brack hoped it would be another Audi S4 like the two he’d owned before. It wasn’t, of course. Instead, Elmer showed him a five-year-old black hatchback.

  “This got a turbo,” he said. “It scared me.”

  Brack raced cars in a previous life and lately had begun to wonder about getting back into it. As long as nothing was mechanically wrong with this car, he could handle it. It was almost the right color, and aside from a hood scoop appeared nondescript, which made it a good undercover car. The badge on the back said Mazdaspeed3.

  Elmer continued. “New tires and not too many miles either. You can drive a standard shift, right?”

  “Of course.”

  After Elmer put it on the rack for Brack to examine the undercarriage and look for any leaks or damage, they went for a very fast test drive. Knowing Brack’s penchant for racing, Brother Thomas wisely elected to wait at the shop. When they got back, the used car dealer might have been shade or two lighter. They settled on a price and Brack’s bank wired the money to the dealer’s account.

  Elmer said, “Lemme get you a temporary tag.” He went inside his makeshift office.

  Brack turned to Brother Thomas. “Thanks for the ride over. I’ll see you later.”

  Brother Thomas held his eyes for a minute and Brack felt like a child trying to pull a fast one on a parent. But the pastor nodded, got in his car, and drove off.

  Elmer returned with the temporary license plate.

  Brack said, “Any chance you’ve got any old ones laying around that won’t link the car to you or your shop?”

  The car salesman looked at Brack for a long beat.

  Brack said, “If you watch the news, you already know I’ve been on it. I have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’d hate to have your business linked to anything.”

  “Me too,” Elmer said. “But if you end up toasting the car and they run the VIN, it will show that I sold it.”

  “I figured that much. I’m simply looking for anonymity against an initial inquiry, whether it’s the police or a citizen reporting something.”

  The salesman nodded, then smiled. “Okay, I think I can accommodate what you lookin’ for.”

  And with that, Brack had his own set of wheels again.

  Gecko Row, named on the business card given to Brack by Mrs. Lee, turned out to be owned by Kelvin Vito. No surprise there. He clearly owned a great many enterprises throughout the city. Darcy had dug up the background for Brack but declined to join him while he scoped the place out, citing work.

  At nine p.m. Brack approached the club’s front doors, surprisingly open and unattended. A synthesizer beat bounced off the walls. As he walked down the hall, black lighting illuminated his white shirt, tinting it purple. A second set of double doors were all that separated him from what would happen next.

  Nevertheless, he was here, so he opened the right door and slipped inside, careful not to call attention to himself. Taking in the open space as he followed the wall to his right, he realized his caution was futile. Only the staff and the strobe lights populated the room. Apparently the boss arrived after the real activities were underway. Brack’s own experience in running a business was that if something wasn’t important to him, the owner, it wasn’t important to his employees either. He’d bet Vito was losing money on this place.

  That thought led him to an interesting idea. A shoddily run club might be the perfect spot to hide ill-gotten gains.

  One of three waitresses, a tall slender twenty-something, asked if he needed anything.

  “What time does your boss get here?” Brack asked.

  Pursing her lips, she took a moment before asking, “Our manager?” Her bright red lipstick sliced through the staccato lighting.

  “The one who pays you. What’s his name?”

  “Kelvin Vito?”

  “Yeah,” Brack said. “Him.”

  “He doesn’t come here very often,” she said. “Maybe once or twice a month?”

  “Part-time boss, huh?”

  She smiled.

  “Lucky for you guys.”

  She moved in a little closer. “My name’s Shana. Can I get you something? Anything?”

  His personal space officially violated, Brack returned her smile. “I can think of a few things, but I’m here for a business matter.”

  “You want to speak to my manager?” Shana asked.

  “Not really.” He pulled out the photos of Mindy and Kai. “You ever seen these two here?”

  She looked at the photos, then back at him. “Oh, you want to meet them.”

  That was an odd way to answer his question. “I’m looking into a missing persons case and their names came up.”

  Her face brightened. “I’m sorry. I thought it was for something else. They work the rooms a few hours a night. Sometimes here, sometimes not.”

  “I see.” He slipped out a business card and a fifty and handed them to her. “If they show up tonight, can you give me a call?”

  She looked at the card. “You’re from Charleston?”

  “Yes.”

  “This says you own a bar. I thought you were some private eye.”

  “I seem to be a lot of things lately.”

  She said, “If they show, I’ll call. And maybe if they don’t show.”

  “How late do you work?”

  “I get off about one. Normally end up at Jacko’s. Why don’t you check me out then?” Anoth
er warm smile.

  As focused as he was on killing Vito, her offer wasn’t lost on him. “I just might.”

  She winked and returned to her work.

  Outside, Brack decided to screw up a perfectly fine evening and called Darcy.

  She actually answered, and after he told her Gecko Row was a bust, she said, “I’ve got a line on Vito. Want to do a little stakeout?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tuesday, eleven p.m.

  A vast ocean extended the horizon. Jo held his hand, the two of them walking barefoot along the edge of the surf, the water tickling their feet.

  She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. “You have to let me go now.”

  Brack opened his eyes.

  Darcy said, “Can I have my hand back?”

  At once, he realized he’d fallen asleep, and that he’d somehow reached for Darcy’s hand. He let go. “Sorry. Um—”

  She cut him off with the words, “Vito’s on the move.”

  Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in his seat. She started the Accord and put it in gear.

  Brack glanced down and spotted a lipstick smudge on his white shirt, the same shade that Darcy wore, along with a few strands of blonde hair. She too must have fallen asleep—but with her head on his shoulder.

  They sped down the street after Vito’s black Mercedes SUV. Brack really wished his gun hadn’t gotten blown up with his car. He needed another one.

  Both falling asleep on this stakeout was a careless mistake. A different careless mistake on their stakeout—not watching their six—had gotten her shot. Neither of them could afford any more careless mistakes.

  Fumbling in his pocket, he found his gum and popped a piece in his mouth.

  “What flavor is that?” she asked.

  “Grape. Want one?”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Grape? What are we, ten?”

  “Would you rather I lit up a cigar?”

  “Point taken,” she said. “Chew away, Calvin.”