“Pops! You didn’t have to ask me that. Of course she’s safe with me. She’s my sister. Well, not by blood, but I love her like a sister. I do have some scruples, you know.” Indignant, he became sullen. Pouting, he returned his attention to his phone.
I let him sit there and sulk. I wouldn’t have dreamed of apologizing for my concern over Zoe’s safety.
We rode in silence for ten minutes. Traffic was heavy and came to a complete stop on the highway. While we were stuck in a gridlock, Phoenix stopped brooding and struck up a conversation.
“How’re we gonna get this guy? I’m excited, but I’m also a little scared. I never hunted a grownup before.”
Hunted. The word made me pause and look at him askance. How many children had he hunted, I wondered.
“Is hunting part of the thrill?”
“Yeah. After I pick a victim, I find a way to get close to them, so I can figure out their weaknesses.”
“Had you gotten close to Taylor Flanagan before you…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
The smile left Phoenix’s face and he squinted his eyes as if recalling a bitter memory. “No, that was spontaneous. I saw an opportunity and took it.”
“What about whatshername—the girl you took to the school dance?”
He visibly brightened. “Oh, yeah. She seemed out of depth at our school, and I befriended her. Sort of took her under my wing.”
“I see. What about Paisley?”
“Definitely. I always talk and joke around with her at the bus stop. For a high school kid to give her the time of day makes her feel important.”
“And Baxter?”
A cloud fell over his face and he looked down at his feet. “I don’t want to talk about him,” he mumbled.
“Why not?”
“Because… I don’t want to talk about that gay stuff. I’m not that way, and I don’t like thinking about it. Okay?”
“But you’re the one who initiated the gay stuff.”
“Jeez! Can we drop the subject…please?”
He was able to easily discuss murder and stalking his victims, but any mention of his homosexual activity caused him to react hysterically. It was a shame how screwed up Phoenix was. He was only fourteen years old, yet he was already so damaged that I feared that his actions would destroy him before he reached adulthood. I often wondered what had happened to that seemingly well-adjusted, three-year-old boy whom I’d met in the park so many years ago. That little guy wanted to help feed the pigeons, but today he’d most likely prefer to break their necks for the thrill of watching their reaction.
Traffic started moving again, and I got off at the next exit.
“Why’re we getting off here?” Phoenix inquired, his face contorted, as if I were interfering with his busy schedule.
“I want to check out Glen Mathis’s place.”
“Who?”
“The child molester,” I said with disdain.
“Oh!” He sat up straighter.
“I’m off work early, and you’re out of school for the day. We might as well do something productive. We’ll surveil his apartment building, and maybe we’ll get lucky enough to see him outside.”
“And then what?”
I shrugged. “We’ll follow him, I guess. Figure out his pattern.”
“That’s it? We’re not going to knock him in the head and drag him to the trunk of the car?”
I laughed. “We don’t want to be that obvious. There’s no reason to rush. If we’re patient, we’ll find out what time he usually leaves his house, and we’ll also know where he’s going.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It is boring, but it’s necessary if we want to capture him without being seen by anyone.”
“Is he a big guy…or smallish?”
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Just wanted to know how strong the rope I use on him should be.”
I pulled up his image on my phone and handed it to Phoenix. He stared at it and then handed me the phone.
“He looks to be medium build. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but we may not have time for you to do a traditional hanging, like stringing him up on a tree or something. We may only have time for you to choke him with a rope or maybe a necktie.” I gave a little shrug.
“Oh, all right,” he said, nodding as grabbed his backpack from the rear seat. He unzipped it and pulled out a length of wire with vertical, metal handles on each end.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a garrote, a very effective weapon for strangulation.”
“Where’d you get that thing?”
“I made it.”
Perplexed, I tilted my head.
“I got the instructions from a YouTube video,” he explained. “If our dude has a thick neck, this may not be long enough. I made this one especially for Paisley.” He snapped the wire a couple of times, smiling devilishly.
“Get Paisley off of your mind,” I exploded. “You’re not to touch that child. I don’t want you talking to her anymore. I don’t want you to even look at her. Do you understand me?” I could feel my veins bulging from the sides of my neck as I yelled at him.
“I got it! You don’t have to freak out; I was only showing you my skills in crafting weaponry.” He smiled, and his smile was sinister. There was so much malice in his eyes, I felt a strong desire to give him a victim as soon as possible. Hopefully, a good kill would hold him for a while. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if his urges returned before I had a chance to get him admitted to a mental health facility.
• • •
We’d been sitting outside Glen Mathis’s apartment building for more than an hour when I dozed off. Surveillance duty was so boring, I couldn’t help myself.
“Pops! Wake up. Is that him?”
Groggily, I turned my head in the direction that Phoenix was pointing. I peered through the windshield, and sure enough, there was Glen Mathis, out in broad daylight and looking exactly like his newspaper photo, with his bald spot shining in the sunlight. He could have at least put on a hat to conceal his identity. But he was unapologetic and bold.
I was surprised that throng of angry protesters hadn’t gathered outside his apartment building, shouting obscenities. I was sure that the citizens of Springfield Hills most likely wanted the man’s head on a spike, but after seeing themselves on TV acting like a lynch mob in front of Heather Flanagan’s house, they were probably too embarrassed to act up a second time.
“Let’s go, Pops. We have to follow him.” Phoenix was more animated and excited than he’d been in a long time.
“Wait. There’re probably cameras somewhere. We can’t pull out right behind him. We have to keep our distance.”
“But he’s gonna get away,” he said worriedly. Agitated, he craned his neck and watched closely as the sex offender got into his car. “He’s getting into a black Hyundai. He’s just sitting behind the wheel—not moving. I wonder why he isn’t moving? Do you think he spotted us?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
I watched the man from my rearview mirror. “If he did spot us, he probably thinks we’re reporters—not vigilantes.”
“But I’m just a kid. How could he mistake me for a reporter?” The possibility of being mistaken for an adult put a note of pride in Phoenix’s voice.
“He’s on the move,” I said, staring at the door mirror on the driver’s side.
Phoenix twisted around in his seat, gawking.
“Don’t be so obvious. You’ll scare him and he’ll run back inside,” I chastised.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he obligingly turned back around, placed his hands on his lap and looked straight ahead. “What’s he doing now?” he asked, sitting in his seat with his back ramrod straight.
“He’s making a left turn.”
“What’re we waiting for? Come on; let’s go before we lose him.” Now he was literally bouncing in his seat, excitably
gesturing with his hands.
I gave him a stern look. “If we’re going to do this together, I need you to calm down.”
“I know, I know. You’re right. It feels like I’m having an adrenaline rush or something.”
“Just control yourself and trust me. Can you do that?”
He dipped his chin, giving an uncertain head nod.
“Phoenix, if you can’t get a grip, we’ll have to abort this mission.”
He dramatically rolled his eyes at the terminology I used, and I couldn’t blame him. Obviously, I’d watched too many secret agent movies.
I shifted the gear into reverse and began backing out.
“It’s about time,” he muttered under his breath, and I chose to ignore his smart-aleck comment.
I had lots of experience under my belt from tailing Phoenix, and I allowed approximately five vehicles to get between the Hyundai and our car. Phoenix continuously leaned forward, gripping the dashboard as he anxiously peered through the windshield. If he thought his frantic gestures would prompt me to speed up, he was wrong.
“He has his right blinker on,” Phoenix announced breathlessly.
“I see him. He’s turning on Union Street,” I said calmly.
When I drove past Union Street without turning, Phoenix covered his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. “What’re you doing? Why didn’t you turn?”
“I don’t want to be obvious. I can hit Union Street from another direction.”
“But suppose he makes another turn…and we lose him?”
“It won’t be the end of the world. We know where he lives, right?”
He gazed at me with a look that told me I was the dumbest father in the world.
We hit Union Street and rode past a myriad of small businesses. In the distance, I saw the Hyundai parked in a large lot.
“There he is,” I said excitably.
“Where?” Phoenix whipped his head from left to right.
“On your right.”
“Oh, shit! That’s him.”
“Watch your language.”
“Sorry.”
The overhead sign of the building he was parked in front of read: Arrowhead Pawn & Jewelry. I had driven in the area a million times but had never noticed the pawn shop. During my junkie years, my antennae would have been up and I wouldn’t have missed the place. Reminiscing about my last venture into a pawn shop, and the way I had met Kaloni, I grew a little melancholic. I had no idea what had become of her after her sad attempt to rob the cashier at Home Depot. I had no knowledge of whether she had survived prison or not. No idea if she was dead or alive.
I felt angry at the system that caged her like an animal instead of helping her. And me too, for that matter. I was sick, and I should have been hospitalized instead of imprisoned. The same screwed-up system had set Glen Mathis free.
Emboldened by a desire to exact justice for Kaloni, I pulled into the lot and parked right next to the child molester.
CHAPTER 34
Glen Mathis got out of his car and was walking toward the trunk.
I rolled down my window. “How’re you doing?” I asked in a fake friendly tone.
“I’m all right…as if you care,” he spat, revealing tobacco-stained teeth that I noticed were rather small for a grown man.
Stunned that I had struck up a conversation with the person we were stalking, Phoenix gave me a baffled look.
“I just want to ask you a couple questions.” I gave him the friendliest smile that I could muster.
“I don’t have anything to say to any fucking journalist. You guys are scum!”
“Wow!” Phoenix broke into a grin. “He actually believes that I’m a journalist.”
“We’re not all bad. So, uh, what are you getting ready to pawn? Hopefully, you’re not letting go of a family heirloom.”
He laughed, a nicotine-and-phlegm-filled chortle that grated my nerves. “If you consider my bicycle that was passed on to me by a cousin, a family heirloom, then I guess I’m guilty,” he responded, and then laughed again.
I hated the bastard. He was proof that the most lowlife types of white men in America could get away with heinous crimes while there was an open season on black men. We were being executed by the police in growing numbers for mere misdemeanors, if for any reason at all. Sadly, many police in America had become the judge, jury, and the executioner of black people.
Many would say that I was living a privileged life and had forgotten my roots, but I hadn’t forgotten anything. As a black man who had lived a junkie’s life, I had once been reviled and treated like scum, and there were scars on my soul that would never heal.
“How much do you think you’ll get for the bike?” I asked after shaking away unpleasant thoughts of my past.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, fifty bucks or so.”
“I’ll give you a hundred and you can keep the bike.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Your story. I think the public would like to know what makes you tick. How you became the way you are.”
“Seems like such a psychological piece—a peek into the mind of an immoral degenerate—would be worth a lot more than that.”
Phoenix whipped his head in my direction, eagerly awaiting my response.
“Two hundred?”
With a wicked glimmer in his eyes, he lifted both his palms, indicating that I should go higher.
“Okay, five hundred. But that’s as high as I’m willing to go.”
“That sounds like a deal. So, tell me, what’s your name and who’re you working for? The local paper or some online rag?”
“GQ,” Phoenix whispered.
“My name is Malik Copeland and—”
“Malik,” he repeated. “Sounds African,” he commented with a sneer.
“It’s actually Arabic.”
“African…Arabic…all the same to me.”
“Right, uh, anyway, I’m a freelancer. I queried GQ about this piece, and they’re interested.”
“GQ! La de dah-dah. I bet they’ll pay you a pretty penny,” he said, stroking his chin, his wheels spinning greedily.
“How much they’ll pay depends on the content.”
“The content?”
“Yeah, how much information you divulge and how well it’s written.”
“I’ll divulge a lot…over a couple of beers.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll buy you a six-pack.”
“Great. So who’s the kid?” He nudged his head toward Phoenix.
“He’s—”
“I’m his student intern,” Phoenix blurted.
“Oh, yeah?” He gave Phoenix the side-eye. “You look kind of innocent. It’s a shame for your young mind to be corrupted by a smarmy journalist. I would think that a kid like you would prefer to be somewhere bouncing a basketball rather than hanging out with this guy.” He turned his mouth down in distaste and nodded toward me.
The basketball comment was a racial slur that I let slide—for the moment. The motherfucker would pay for it later, though. If Phoenix didn’t need this kill so badly, I’d do it myself, giving the racist pedophile a slow and painful death.
“Why don’t you follow me to the ATM and then the Wine and Spirits shop?” I suggested. “I’ll get your money and pick up some brew, and then we can sit down and talk.”
“Sit down, where?”
“At your place?”
“No, that won’t work,” he said firmly, shaking his head.
“Then, how about a really atmospheric location…”
“I’m listening.”
“The cornfield where the girl’s body was found.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah, I’m joking.”
He gave a full-on belly laugh that was intermingled with a hacking cough. “You know I didn’t have anything to do with that girl’s death, don’t you?”
“How would I know. Listen, can we do the interview in my car? I just want to get your story
out, and portray your sex addiction in a sympathetic light, if possible. I’m sure there were awful things that happened early in your past that made you the way you are, and the public should know all the sides of your story.”
He nodded as he drifted off in thought, frowning with his eyes squinted as if reviewing a harrowing time in his life.
“Let’s get out of here.” He got back in his car and I reversed out of my parking slot.
He followed me as I drove to a nearby ATM.
“This is awesome, Pops. You’re playing that guy like a fiddle.” Phoenix mimicked strumming a violin, and I supposed he had no idea how a fiddle was actually played.
“I can’t believe you gave him your real name,” he said with astonishment.
“Well, he won’t live to tell it.” I gave him a significant look.
“We’re actually going through with it today?”
“Yep, and here’s the plan… I want you to get in the back, so that he can sit up front with me. I’ll ask him questions while he’s guzzling down beer, and then, as a way to subdue him, you need to knock him over the head with something.”
Phoenix recoiled and gave me a look like I was crazy. “Knock him over the head with what? I don’t have any heavy objects on me. Is there anything in your trunk?” Phoenix’s voice trembled.
“Use one of his beer bottles. I’ll signal you when it’s time to strike.”
He looked petrified. “Yikes! Oh, man! Okay.”
“Can you do this, son?”
“Yes. Definitely,” he said while looking uncertain.
• • •
I parked in an out-of-the-way location, near railroad tracks that trains seldom traveled upon. Switching seats, Phoenix climbed into the back. Meanwhile, Glen Mathis took so long to join us, I feared that he’d had a change of heart. After a good five minutes had elapsed, he got out of the Hyundai and ambled over to my car.
Having him seated next to me was surreal, but I kept my composure as I handed him the money I’d promised.
Phoenix, on the other hand, wasn’t as calm. He nervously rustled around inside his backpack, putting me on edge. I hoped he didn’t plan to suddenly lurch forward with the homemade garrote in his hands. He wasn’t strong enough to strangle Glen without subduing him with a harsh blow to his head.
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