If he was serious about me, he would wait and not push it.
He had ruined everything. I repeated this story to myself all morning as I drank my coffee, showered, and put on makeup. But deep down, I knew it was a story I was telling myself to feel better.
On top of it all I was exhausted and slightly hung over. My head throbbed with a headache. During the few hours I slept, I’d tossed and turned with nightmares. They all involved me searching for Sasha or trying to find that blond-haired woman or the masked men in the SUV. Each time I thought I was close, when I spotted Sasha or the vehicle, something would get between us: A train. A wall. A body of water.
THE RECEPTIONIST AT Channel 5 instantly shot me down.
“Without an appointment, I’m sorry I can’t let you back there.” She was a woman probably in her forties with a blond bob who looked twenty from behind and eighty from the front. She had circles of wrinkles around her mouth from smoking. Even from across the desk I could smell the stench of cigarette smoke emanating from her clothing.
Another good reason to kick the cancer sticks.
“Didn’t I talk to you yesterday?” I was confused.
“No.”
“The woman I spoke to yesterday told me to come by today and ask for the producer. Can you at least call the producer?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“Can you give me the name of the producer?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I’m sorry. It’s Saturday. We have a skeleton staff. I’m sure they’re too busy to talk to you. You’re going to have to call and make an appointment.” She pushed a tiny rack of business cards toward me.
“How do I know who to ask for? Who to make the appointment with?”
“You can call and ask for the producer’s name.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
The ability to quickly overcome seemingly insurmountable roadblocks and obstacles that the enemy places in the way is the sign of a true warrior. If you can’t go over the mountain, go under it or around it.
I tilted my head. “Hold on. So, you’re telling me if I call I’ll get all the information I need?”
“You can call and learn who they are and then you can be connected to them and ask for an appointment. That is the way things are done here. Especially on the weekends.”
I grabbed a card and took out my cell phone. I punched in the number and then stared at her. The phone in front of her rang. I could see her swallow. Then it rang again. She studiously ignored it.
I held my phone away from my mouth. “Your phone is ringing.”
Acting like she’d been told to lick poop, the woman reached out and picked up the phone. “Channel 5.”
“Hi, how are you today?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I was wondering if you could tell me the name of a producer in the newsroom and connect me so I can make an appointment.”
“One moment please.”
She pressed hold and without looking at me, dialed another number.
“It’s Bridgette. I have someone on the line who wants a producer in breaking news. Is Al available?”
Al. At least I got a first name. I rolled my eyes as she waited, listening to the voice on the other end. I can play along with this fucking charade as long as you want, lady.
Bridgette got a smug look on her face and then hung up. I heard her voice on my line now. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at me with triumph. “Nobody is available to take your call right now. You— “
I hung up and walked out. Time to go around the mountain.
I stood in front of the building, looking up at the mirrored windows. The building was surrounded on three sides by a gated parking lot. There had to be a back door, someplace employees could take a smoke break or something. The woman on the phone yesterday said the same crew who filmed the protest was working today. I needed a plan to get through Bridgette the Guard Dog.
That’s when I saw a Channel 5 news van at the stoplight waiting to turn into a gate leading into the parking lot. I dashed over and flung myself in front of the van right before it got to the gate. The driver slammed on the brakes. I put my palm on the warm hood and smiled.
I came over to the driver’s side window. “Sorry about the dramatics.”
“What the hell is your problem?” The driver had 1970s sideburns and wore jeans that looked like they’d been worn nonstop since that same era.
“I need some help,” I said, leaning into his window. “The pit bull at reception told me to take a hike. All I want is to talk to someone who covered the protest. I heard the same crew was working today. Is that you?”
He scowled. “Bridgette is such a pain.”
“Understatement. Are you going to help me or not?” Was the dude hard of hearing?
“Hop in.”
I raised an eyebrow but didn’t waste any time rushing over to the passenger door and jumping in. The gate opened and we pulled into the employee lot. I didn’t say a word, afraid to jinx my luck. He backed up into a spot in the shade against the building and undid his seatbelt.
“I was up in the chopper. I got some footage.” He turned to me with a look. “Why you asking? What’s your angle?”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “My angle is my friend was dragged out of the plaza by masked men—maybe Antifa—and hasn’t been seen since.”
“If I show you the footage, what’s in it for me?”
“The scoop of your life.”
He yawned, nonplussed.
“After the paper prints it, you can go live. I’ll make sure you’re the only station with the story for at least the first part of the day.”
“What’s the story, Lois Lane?”
“I can’t tell you yet, but the girl who was taken is a journalist. And they kidnapped her to stop her from printing it.”
He opened his door. “Come on. Let’s get in the back and I’ll show you what I got from that night.”
In the back, I watched footage of the protest from the sky. Unfortunately, much of it was from a bird’s eye perspective. Every once in a while, the camera zoomed in on some smaller skirmishes on the ground. After nearly twenty minutes, I saw something in the area where I believed Sasha had been.
“Can you pause or zoom in here?”
“I can’t zoom, but I can pause.”
I got as close as I could to the still image on the screen. It sure as hell looked like a small pink dot surrounded by figures in black. “Okay, can you run it slow motion?”
I watched as the pink dot and the black figures moved off the screen and toward the edge of the protest.
It was the moment Sasha was kidnapped.
“There it is!” I leaned forward.
When she got to the edge of the screen she disappeared. He paused it there.
I stared at the screen, reluctant to give up that easily. I’d hoped for a lot more.
The cameraman moved to turn off the video.
“Wait!” I nearly jumped out of my seat. I pointed at the corner of the screen. “What is that?”
He leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “It’s a drone. It kept getting in my way and buzzing us.”
“Buzzing us?”
“Haven’t you seen Top Gun? When Tom Cruise buzzed the air traffic control tower?”
I frowned.
He sighed. “It’s a term that means he was being annoying, like a fly, and got super close to us and our blades. Once he even got right in front of my camera.”
“Where’s that footage?”
He leaned forward and hit play. “Any second I imagine.”
After a minute or two the drone appeared right in front of the camera.
“Bastard,” the cameraman said.
“Any idea where it came from? Who’s operating it?”
He chuckled. “I was so pissed I actually had the pilot swoop and try to take it out and the little fucker went and hid in an apartment. Watch.”<
br />
For a few minutes the camera filmed the crowd of protesters below dispersing and then zoomed in on the drone. There was a jerky motion as the helicopter swooped down and the drone took off. The camera zoomed in on a building two blocks away where the drone zipped into a window.
“Can you pause it right here?”
A shadowy figure appeared in the window. It was too far away to distinguish any features or gender.
“Now can you play in slow mo?”
The drone entered the window, the figure disappeared and was replaced by a black shade. When the camera zoomed out again I asked him to pause it one more time.
The window was ten up from the ground and two over from the right side. The red brick building was on the corner two blocks away from the plaza in the Whoa-Man neighborhood of the Tenderloin.
I scribbled my number on another scrap of paper and handed it to the guy.
“What’s your name?”
“Jimmy.”
“Got a card?”
“Nah, I’m just a photog.” He leaned over and ripped a piece of notebook paper out. “Here’s my number. I’ll be waiting for that scoop.”
I looked him right in the eye. “You can count on it.” I meant it, too.
He pointed toward a gate in the fence. “You can get out that way.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My Ferrari would probably be firebombed if I parked it in the Tenderloin. At the very least, it would get a few key scratches along its sides, so I decided to go home, park it in the garage and grab some food upstairs before I headed to the building in the Tenderloin. My car was my baby and I wanted to keep it nice as long as I could. My last Ferrari had ended up a heaping pile of twisted metal at the bottom of a Marin cliff. My doorman had made the fatal decision to take it joyriding right after someone cut the brake line.
Upstairs at my place, last night’s argument with Bobby came back full force as I stared at a cold plate of leftovers. It had started out as the best night ever, and then, as was typical in my life, ended in a massive pile of shit.
I chewed a few bites of the food that had suddenly become tasteless before I pushed the plate away. Instead, I poured a shot of bourbon and went out on the balcony where my smokes were stashed. It was past noon. I glanced at the clock. Barely past noon.
I had thirty hours until James went to his supervisor.
I had brought the bottle of bourbon with me onto the balcony so I poured another shot and smoked a cigarette. I thought of the pit bull receptionist’s heavily-lined mouth and stubbed out my second cigarette halfway through.
When I stood, I had a little bit of a buzz. I eyed the bottle but decided I needed to be halfway sober to confront the drone operator. The bottle had a magnetic pull. It would help me tamp down the ugliness I felt inside about Bobby leaving.
But then I snapped out of it.
I had no time—and no right—to feel sorry for myself. I had everything money could buy and good health to boot and here I was having a fucking pity party. Look at Ethel: never had a damn good thing in her life and now she’s dead in the ground. I had no right to wallow in self-pity. No wonder Bobby stormed out. I didn’t blame him. I would’ve done the same exact thing.
I would find Sasha and make everything all right.
On my way out the door, I decided my first stop in the Tenderloin should be Darling’s salon. I needed to tell her what I’d learned at the campus newspaper and ask her about Eddy and KKK and 12. Then I would try to find the person who operated that drone and see if they had any camera footage that would help me find Sasha. I squared my shoulders and grabbed my bag.
I could have my very own pity party later—after I brought Sasha home safe.
FOR ONCE, INSTEAD OF people jeering at me asking why a white girl was in the salon, everyone was hushed when I walked in. A few women in their chairs raised their eyebrows and shot looks at one another when they saw me. I went straight to Shelley’s chair. “What’s going on?”
She leaned over and said in a low voice. “Miss Darling won’t let anyone in back there. We’re all worried about her.”
“Oh no.” I rushed right to the back door and knocked firmly.
“Darling? Open up.”
Nothing.
Fear spiked through me. “Darling? I’ve got to talk to you.” I looked up at the camera pointing down at me.
Still the door remained closed.
“It’s about Sasha goddamn it. Open up.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw everyone was staring at me. The door clicked open.
Darling was slumped on the couch in the corner. Django, who’d never been allowed on the furniture before, was curled up beside her. He gave me a guilty look. But I was too concerned about Darling.
I barely recognized her. The put-together, well-dressed and coiffed woman I knew had disappeared. Instead, a woman I barely recognized wearing some stained T-shirt and baggy sweatpants sat there eating twisted crackers covered in neon orange cheese that had stained all ten of her fingers. Her head was bald. I’d never known her elaborate hairstyles were wigs. Dark bags cupped her eyes, which were red from crying.
I rushed over and crawled onto the couch to hug her. Django turned his head away from me. He thought he was in trouble for being on the couch.
“Darling, pull yourself together. We’re going to find her. I’ve got some leads. I just wanted to stop and check in on you for a minute. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself so I don’t have to sit here with you and I can be out there finding Sasha.”
I was guilt tripping her into pulling it together.
Just then my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but couldn’t afford not to answer it. Not if it was someone who might know something about Sasha.
“Gia.” I answered, eying Darling, who was absentmindedly patting Django and wiping her nose with tissues.
“It’s Bruce Baumann, from the paper.”
“Hey.”
“I thought you should know that I got an email from the dark net saying that if Sasha’s story was printed, we would never see her again.”
“Okay.” I kept my voice neutral. Darling raised an eyebrow, suspecting something.
“Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
“By the way, what’s the dark net?”
“It’s an encrypted part of the Internet. Where nothing can be traced. Where everything nefarious happens.”
“Um, can you be more specific?”
“It’s an underground network where you can buy anything you ever imagined. WikiLeaks is on the dark web.”
“Gotcha.” I said. “I’ll call you back in a few.”
I hung up and turned toward Darling. “Did Sasha ever mention anyone named Eddy?”
Darling shook her head.
“Okay. Call me if you remember anything else. I have to go, but I’m not going to let you sit here by yourself and deal with this alone. Who can I call to come be with you? Who do you trust?”
She sniffled. “I’m fine.”
“I said I’m not going to let you sit here alone. Who? Now.” My voice was firm. I knew it was the only thing Darling would respond to.
“I’m not alone. I got my new dog keep me company.” She gave me a look.
“My dog.”
“Whatev,” she waved me off with her hand.
“Darling, call someone right now to come be with you until we find Sasha.” I hoped she couldn’t read my mind because what I was really thinking was I wanted someone to be with her if what I found out wasn’t good.
Sighing, she reached for her phone. “I’ll call my sister Precious. She’ll come.”
“Promise?”
Darling nodded. I gestured at the secret back door out of the office.
“I’m heading out now. Keep your phone by your side. I’ll call as soon as I learn something solid. Keep your head up. Stay strong for Sasha.”
She gave me a look that told me she didn’t need anyone—especially me—telling her
to stay strong.
As soon as I’d made it through the maze of stairways and tunnels from Darling’s secret exit and emerged a few blocks over, I dialed Baumann.
“Is there any way to trace that message? Any way at all?”
“I really don’t think so.”
“Can you respond to it?”
“No. I can’t even reply.”
“Bloody hell.”
I hung up and dialed James.
“Any luck on the plate?”
“Still working it. Do you know how many black SUV’s there are with license plates that start with 6L? I’ve got a list from the state DMV I’m narrowing down to those registered in the Bay Area.”
“I found out Sasha was working on a story exposing the mayor.”
“Exposing the mayor to what?”
“Hell, if I know? Something big, though.”
“That’s speculation.”
“Jesus, James, this isn’t a court of law. I got it from a good source.”
Silence.
Anger flared through me. He dismissed what I said like it was nothing. Maybe he shouldn’t be a detective after all. I had planned on telling him the detail on Sasha’s calendar mentioning an Eddy but decided against it. If he was going to be a dick about it, I wouldn’t tell him anything. Besides, for now, the numbers and letters meant nothing. I’d tell him once I figured out what they stood for.
“Okay, then ...” I trailed off waiting for him to say something.
“Six p.m. tomorrow.”
I hung up without answering.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The red-bricked building had an aura of neglect. A lot of the buildings in the mostly residential Whoa-Man neighborhood did. Almost all the windows were covered with sheets or blankets instead of curtains. The front door leading into a small lobby had two double dead bolts on it. There were no doorbells to be found. I peered inside a window by the door. A bank of mail boxes lined one wall and a staircase the other.
No elevator in sight. I backed up and looked at the window where the drone had come from. Then I circled the building. There was a fire escape in the alley. Only about ten feet off the ground. The city of San Francisco didn’t mess around with fire escapes after the 1906 fire. Most of the Tenderloin had burned to the ground. The buildings around here were all built after the fire.
Gia and the Forgotten Island (Gia Santella Crime Thriller Book 2) Page 8