by D. V. Berkom
“You want a ride back?” Bill asked, after they had thoroughly scoured the area.
“Not necessary. Would you check the perimeter?”
“Sure thing.” Bill said. He climbed into the jeep and drove off.
Disappointed she didn't discover more than a set of shoe prints, Leine walked back, keeping an eye on the road in case they missed something. Worst case: the intruder was casing the house, looking for the best route to abduct Miles. Other possibilities included an overzealous fan or paparazzi trying to score a lucrative photograph of Miles at home. The paparazzi angle made sense—the glint of metal she saw could have been from a camera lens. Either way, Leine would be on high alert until the week was over and the other security guard took her place.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
YURI'S FEET ACHED FROM COVERING so many miles on concrete. How he regretted not buying the shoes with the good arch supports, having opted for the more stylish leather pair with a square toe.
He'd run a grid of the neighborhood, checking alleys and doorways, and visited most of the shelters near the theater, but had yet to score any information on Mara. It was like she didn't exist. Undaunted, Yuri kept searching. If he got to her first, then he'd be golden. Greg would give him more responsibility, which would mean more money. Soon, Yuri'd be able to bring his mother over from Ukraine. Sure, Greg's big plan to find the girl had been put into place, but Yuri's gut told him if he kept turning over rocks, eventually he'd find her. There might be a shit-load of homeless preteen girls on the streets of L.A., but none with startling eyes the color of jade.
The day was warm and the smog close to the ground. He and Ned were on their last circuit of the area. Somebody had mentioned an inversion layer on the news that morning. Yuri didn't know exactly what that meant, but whatever it was, it made it hard to breathe. Ned pulled out a dirty handkerchief and wiped his perspiring forehead. He noticed Yuri watching and offered it to him. Yuri looked away in disgust.
If it wasn't for the fact that Ned took orders with no questions and had a mean left hook, Yuri would have gone on this search alone. He found himself rolling his eyes in annoyance in Ned's choice of conversation—a lot. He did suggest checking with the homeless shelters to see if anyone had seen her, so he wasn't a complete moron.
As they rounded the corner, a sign on the sidewalk drew Yuri's attention. Gospel Mission Homeless Center was written across the board in block letters. A shelter they'd missed. The two men stopped and asked to see the manager.
A few minutes later, a harried-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses came down the hallway toward them and introduced himself as Heinrich Bauer, Director of Services for the homeless shelter.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked, wiping his hands on a napkin. Yuri noticed crumbs lodged in his neatly trimmed beard and realized his own stomach rumbled from lack of food.
“We're looking for my niece. Maybe you've seen her?” Yuri slipped a photo of Mara out of his pocket and gave it to Heinrich. Heinrich slid his reading glasses on and scanned the photograph. He looked at Yuri, surprise evident in his face.
“Yes, she was here a couple of nights ago, looking for a bed. When one of my staff asked her for more information, she left, quite in a hurry.” He removed his glasses and slid them into his shirt pocket. “I'm sure she's the same girl. Her eyes were unforgettable. You say she's your niece?”
“Yes. We're very worried about her.” Yuri shifted uncomfortably under Heinrich's steady gaze. “Do you know where she might have gone?”
He shook his head. “I'm sorry, I don't. Have you checked the other homeless shelters?”
“They haven't seen her.”
“You might try speaking with the people who live and work on the street. There are those who live outside the system. L.A.'s weather isn't so cold and many find they can survive with minimal shelter. They rarely come here,” Heinrich said. “I will warn you, though. They are a community unto themselves and generally stick together when an outsider breaches what they consider their turf. Obtaining information from them won't be easy.”
“Where's the best place to start?” Yuri asked.
Heinrich spread his hands wide. “They're everywhere. You have but to look. Most people have trained themselves not to see them. I would suggest looking under overpasses, in the hills near the Hollywood sign, in alleyways. Some are lucky enough to acquire a costume and panhandle near the theater.”
Ned scratched his head. “I thought those guys were actors.”
Heinrich smiled. “So do the tourists.” He waited a moment before continuing, looking at them as though he was sizing the two men up. “If you'd like, I can check to see if she's been put into the system.”
“If she's been what?” Yuri asked.
“Put into the system. When a child goes missing and a report is filed, the information goes into a database which is then used by law enforcement and other agencies searching for them. Do you know when the report was filed?”
Yuri looked at Ned, hoping he'd have an answer, but he imperceptibly shook his head. Yuri turned back to Heinrich. “I think her mother did it a couple of days ago, but I'm not sure.”
“Then she may already be in the database. Follow me.” Heinrich turned and walked down the hallway to his office. Yuri and Ned followed.
Heinrich typed something into his computer and waited. He turned to the two men. “I'm sorry. She's not showing up, yet. Perhaps it's too soon?”
“I'll check with her mother to see when she reported her missing. Thank you.” Yuri extended his hand, which Heinrich shook. The man continued to study both him and Ned. Yuri decided they'd better go.
“I hope you find her soon. The street's not a safe place for a young girl,” Heinrich said.
Ned and Yuri left the shelter and walked along the boulevard, stopping at a Mexican food stand for lunch.
“Why wouldn't she be in the database?” Ned asked Yuri as he perused the menu. “It's been a while since we grabbed her.”
Yuri shrugged. “She was living in a foster home. If her foster mother reported her missing, it would mean a serious cut in the money she gets.”
“Really? How much do they make?”
“Depending on how many kids they have, it can be pretty good. It's all in how you use the money.”
“You mean, don't spend all of it on the kid, right?”
“You got it,” Yuri replied.
“Quite a racket.”
“Yeah, but it doesn't pay as good as working for Greg.”
While they waited for their order, a man dressed in a layer of old sweaters, a filthy button down shirt and vest pushed a shopping cart past them and stopped to check the stuff in his basket, muttering to himself. Ned nudged Yuri, indicating he should approach him. Yuri scowled, but then walked up to the man and smiled. The man clutched his cart, his expression wary.
“Don't worry, buddy. I'm not interested in your stuff. I'm interested in finding my niece.” He pulled the picture of Mara out of his pocket. “She's twelve. Ever seen her?”
The homeless guy peered at the photograph and scratched his balls. His shaggy gray hair barely moved when he shook his head. “Can't say one way or t'other. Don't know. Don't care. Fuck you, and your horse.” Cackling, he grabbed his cart and pushed off the curb into the street, and was almost run over by a Mercedes Benz convertible. A ball of spit and a guttural epithet flew from his mouth as he gave the offending vehicle a one-finger salute and continued pushing his cart down the street. Yuri rolled his eyes as he walked back to where Ned stood with their food.
“Fucking loony,” he grumbled, taking his burrito from Ned. “Heinrich's idea stinks.”
“He did say they didn't like strangers.” Ned took a bite from his taco and wiped his chin with a paper napkin. “We need to try again until they get used to us asking.”
An hour later, they were still trying. Yuri had mistakenly gone up to someone he thought was homeless and started a conversation, but ended up with a good-sized shiner w
hen it turned out the man was recently released from prison and evidently didn't appreciate being lumped in with so-called street people. The contusion blended well with the now-fading bruises along the bridge of his nose and under his eyes.
Early evening shadows had begun to stretch across the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theater when Yuri and Ned decided it was time to go home. Several cartoon characters stalked unsuspecting tourists, strongly suggesting a photo op in exchange for a few dollars. Yuri had made it halfway across the courtyard when Ned called for him to wait. He turned to see him speaking to somebody dressed as SpongeBob Square Pants. Ned handed SpongeBob some money and walked back to where Yuri waited for him.
Yuri laughed in disbelief. “What'd you give him money for? He didn't even take your picture.”
“He says there's another guy with a SpongeBob costume who was with someone that fits Mara's description. I don't think he liked him much.”
“Yeah, I'll bet. There's only room in this town for one SpongeBob, pahdnah,” Yuri drawled, his Ukrainian accent more evident than its Western counterpart. “When does he come on duty?”
Ned shrugged. “These guys don't have a set shift. Depends on whether they're working another gig or made enough to score some shit. I say we wait. It's the best lead we got.”
Yuri groaned. He was hot and tired and just wanted to sit down with a cold beer and watch some girl-on-girl porn. But, time was running out and if they didn't find Mara soon, hot and tired would be the least of his problems.
“Fine.”
They settled down to watch the show that was Hollyweird as evening fell. Grauman's Theater and forecourt were lit up like a set from an old movie musical. The scene reminded Yuri why he'd come to Los Angeles in the first place. Like everyone else who moves to Tinsel Town with a dream of making it, Yuri had visions of becoming a huge success with cars and homes and women, able to send money back to his family in Ukraine. Reality was a cruel blow for all but the most fortunate and talented. For some, the crash came quickly. For others, including Yuri, failure made its presence known in smaller increments, wearing them down until there was no up left.
The night's festivities had gotten into full swing before the two men were rewarded for their patience. The second SpongeBob appeared around eight o'clock. SpongeBob One whistled to get their attention and pointed his big yellow hand toward the offending character. Ned and Yuri headed toward him, waiting as he finished talking with a clean-cut family of four wearing t-shirts. Each had a picture of a big potato on the front with the words Boise, Idaho, Home of the Idaho Spuds printed underneath.
SpongeBob Two turned toward Yuri and Ned. “Did you want a picture?”
Yuri stepped closer and showed him the photo of Mara. “I was told you might have some information about this little girl?”
The sound of Velcro ripping preceded the appearance of the young man's face as he took a look. Something in his eyes told Yuri he recognized her.
“Nope. Can't say I've seen her. A friend of yours?” SpongeBob lowered his costume so Yuri couldn't see his face.
“My niece. She's lost and we're very worried. You sure you haven't seen her? Because it kind of looked like you had.”
SpongeBob Two backed away from the men but in his hurry to retreat stumbled over his costume and fell backwards onto the sidewalk. Yuri and Ned each grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet. They started to drag him toward an alley Ned discovered earlier, SpongeBob's shoes scraping the sidewalk in a futile attempt to slow their progress. Yuri glanced behind them and caught SpongeBob One jumping up and down and waving goodbye.
“What are you doing? I swear I never saw the girl before. Let me go!” SpongeBob Two struggled, but the costume hindered any real defensive moves. Yuri worried some kid might freak out when they saw a favorite cartoon character being dragged away kicking and screaming, but he shouldn't have worried. By the time they'd hauled him out of sight of the tourists and the other characters, no one had seemed surprised by the drama. In fact, one kid even tugged on his father's arm to make him look. The father leaned down and said something into the kid's ear and moved into his line of sight, deflecting his attention to another character performing in the opposite direction.
They stopped behind a banged-up metal garbage bin, and the two men threw SpongeBob against the wall. Yuri stepped forward and landed a blow to his stomach. SpongeBob doubled over with a wheeze, his hand to his gut.
“Man, you got the wrong guy. I don't know who told you I have any information on your niece, but they were dead wrong. I never seen her in my life and believe me, I'd remember.”
Yuri backed away with a sweep of his hand toward the hapless character, indicating it was Ned's turn. Ned looked at SpongeBob then back at Yuri, concern etching his meaty face.
“Aw, man. How come I have to do it? I never hit no damn cartoon character. It doesn't feel right, you know?”
Yuri glowered at Ned, grabbed the top of the foam rubber costume and yanked it over the man's head, revealing SpongeBob's diminutive operator. “What about now?”
Ned broke into a wide grin and nodded. He stepped into range and threw a couple of choice punches at the man's head and upper body. The guy raised his arms to block the hits like he'd had the shit beat out of him before. Yuri moved in behind him, grabbed his arms and yanked them back, leaving him wide open. Ned delivered a hammer blow to his solar plexus followed by an upper cut to the jaw. The man dropped to his knees, weeping.
“You cry like a woman.” Yuri spat on the ground in front of him. “You remember her now?” he asked.
“Yes…no. I don't know. I can't remember.”
Ned kicked him hard in the ribs. He yelped in pain and clutched at his side, slumping the rest of the way to the ground. He raised his hand to his face and wiped his nose, staring at the blood on his fingers. He glanced up at Yuri who was coming in for another go and cried out, raising his hands as a shield.
“Stop. Stop. I'll tell you.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “I met her here the night before last after Miles Fournier's handprint ceremony. She said she was alone. I let her stay at my place a couple of nights, but she left this morning. She didn't say where she was going.”
Ned kicked him again. The air puffed out of him like a deflating beach ball.
“Where's your place?” Yuri demanded.
“Couple of blocks,” he wheezed.
“Take us there.”
***
Mara sat by the window in the small apartment, wondering how she was going to get to the restaurant Keith's friend said was Miles Fournier's favorite place to eat. The place wasn't on a major bus line. Even so, she didn't have money for the fare. She glanced at the street and noticed Keith halfway down the block walking toward the apartment building with two men who looked familiar. She leaned closer to the window, trying to make out who he was with. Keith was bent over and limping. Alarm bells went off in her head when she realized the taller person to his right had the same gait and posture as the man she knew as Yuri.
Mara stood, then sat back down in the chair, unsure what to do. Panic rose in her throat and she couldn't take a deep breath. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she stood again. She ran to the door, unlocked the locks and bolted down the hallway to the dreaded bathroom. She tried the handle, but it was locked. Terror gripped her and she pounded her small fist against the door, yelling at whoever was inside to please hurry.
Finally, the toilet flushed and the handle turned. The door opened and an overweight, gray-haired man with large, horn-rimmed glasses and a newspaper in his hand walked out, a stern look on his face.
“Where the hell are your manners? Don't you know it's rude to interrupt someone taking a shit?”
Ignoring him, Mara ran inside the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The assault on her nostrils was immediate. Her eyes teared and she held her breath, to no avail. She opened the cabinet over the sink, looking for room deodorant, but all she found was a scummy bar of hotel soap. She held it to h
er nose and breathed in a cautious breath. Men's voices floated up the stairwell and Mara's heart skipped. She stepped inside the grungy shower and closed the curtain.
Mara listened as their footsteps passed the bathroom and continued down the hallway. Keith was speaking loudly enough that Mara would have been able to hear him even if she was still in the apartment. He was trying to warn her.
The sound of the key in the lock followed by the apartment door opening and closing told Mara it was time to move. As quietly as she could, she cracked open the bathroom door and peeked into the hall, making sure Keith and the two men or the angry man from earlier weren't visible. Satisfied no one would see her, Mara slipped out of the bathroom and fled down the stairs and out the front doors, careful to turn right and go around the building where they wouldn't be able to see her from the window in the apartment. She was worried for Keith, but knew she couldn't risk looking for him later to thank him or say goodbye.
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, and realized she was in the same predicament as before, with nowhere to go. That's not true, she corrected herself. She knew where Miles Fournier's favorite restaurant was.
She just had to think of a way to get there.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“HEY, LEINE. CAN YOU COME in here?” Miles called from the living room.
“Be there in a minute,” Leine replied. She'd just gotten off the phone with Walter Helmsley of the LAPD. The relief security guy, Ben, wouldn't be available for another couple of weeks and he'd asked her to stay on as Miles' bodyguard until then. Not enthusiastic about babysitting Miles, she'd asked him if there was someone else they could use, but Walter told her they were short-handed. Against her better judgment, she agreed to stay on. With a deep sigh, she took a drink from her water bottle and made her way to the cavernous living room.
The space was one of her favorites in the mansion. The huge rock fireplace held the soot from decades of fires, dating back to when it was used as the main source of heat. To Leine it defined the constancy of home life, of which she had none at the moment. The furniture was comfortable, some with intricate Navajo weavings draped over the back, and married well with the Spanish fabric on the cushions. Leine would sometimes go in there after Miles went to bed to revel in the solitude.