by Alyssa Breck
Her thoughts were racing. Her mother’s face flashed in her mind. Callie imagined how she’d take the news that her daughter had been killed. Would anyone figure out that a fellow officer had been complicit?
This was fucked. If she got out of this somehow, she was going to kill Larry Jordan. The car made a sudden stop, and she flew against the interior of the trunk. The handcuffs cut into her wrists, and she yelped.
Had she been advising a victim about what to do in this situation, Callie would tell her to scream her head off. Kick the trunk. Make noise. Draw attention to the vehicle. In her current predicament, she wasn’t so sure that was the best course of action. She thought that it might just piss off her captors even more. But if she did nothing, Callie was sure to die when they reached their destination. There was no reason she could think of that would justify them letting her live. She knew who they were. She was a cop. Jordan was a corrupt cop.
Callie pulled in a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could. With her knees bent and lying on her back, she catapulted her feet against the trunk once, twice, three times.
“Help me! Somebody help me!” She kicked again and again. “Help!” Then she just let out a blood-curdling scream. The decibels hurt her own ears. Somebody was sure to hear that. She did it again. With her hands underneath her, the skin was being rubbed raw against the carpet, but she didn’t care. Wounds would heal. Death, well, there was no recuperating from that.
The surface the car was traveling on changed. It felt like the tires were riding over gravel instead of asphalt. Shit. Gravel meant an isolated area or an industrial area. She needed people to hear her, and that wasn’t likely now.
Her eyes stung, but Callie wasn’t going to cry. That wouldn’t help the situation. Her head still hurt, and the hair just above her forehead felt wet. The asshole had pistol-whipped her. She probably had a concussion which explained the nausea that kept rising up like a wave, then falling like it was crashing on the shore.
Her thoughts drifted to the days spent on the beach when she was a kid. Callie had taken it for granted having grown up just a few miles from the seashore. She remembered jumping on the bus to go hang out in Seal Beach on Electric Avenue. She wished she was back in California now. Back on the beach with warm sand between her toes, tasting the salt on her lips from the sea spray, fishing off the pier with her dad.
Those memories would never materialize again. She wondered where her family would bury her? Probably back home. There was no one in Texas to tend to her headstone and place flowers at her grave on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized the car had come to a stop. Voices were talking nearby. Callie cleared her mind and pushed the memories to the back of her mind so that she could pay attention to what was happening outside the car. She brought her knees up again.
There was a click in the lock, and the trunk popped open. Callie kicked her feet out at the person closest to her. One of her feet hit a man in the chest, and he stumbled back.
“Son of a bitch,” he said. Then he rushed back to the trunk and backhanded her. The blow knocked her head to the side, and pain erupted next to her eye. Her head started to throb harder. Callie could hear her own heartbeat in her ears like blood was flowing behind her eardrum. It probably was. She got a good look at him, trying to commit details to memory. He was tall, bald, Hispanic, tatted up, and had both ears pierced.
The man grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her out of the trunk. He let her body fall to the graveled road. The small rocks bit into her elbow, and she yelped.
Another man in a black suit with a silver tie walked up and stood over her. He tilted his head to the side. “Don’t mess up her face. She’ll be worth less.”
What the fuck? Was this motherfucker planning on selling her to someone? No fucking way. Callie scooted backward until she felt the bumper of the car at her shoulder blades. She used it to pull herself up. Then she broke into a run.
Her feeling that they were in an industrial area had been correct. She looked for a street sign or number. Footfalls echoed behind her, and a strong arm caught her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.
She threw her head back and made contact with the man’s chin. Not very effective. He dragged her back to the man in the suit.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere yet.” He looked up at the man who had Calliope in a death grip. “Take her inside.”
The ceiling in the warehouse was probably twenty feet high. There were cages lined up along one wall. They looked like the kennels in the dog pound. Cement floors with chain link fencing around them.
She was being carried toward them. “No. No. Put me the fuck down.”
“Shut up, bitch.” He set her on her feet and grabbed the chain between the handcuffs. He inserted a key and unlocked one side, then the other, and her hands were free.
Callie hadn’t realized that her fingers had gone numb until now. The cuffs had been on too tight for too long. Red bruises circled each wrist. Pins and needles came to life in her hands as her circulation struggled to regain stasis.
“Don’t think about running again.” The man had a gun trained at her head when she turned around.
She rubbed her wrists.
“Take off your clothes. You can keep your underwear and bra.”
“Excuse me?”
“Did I stutter?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do it now.”
Her mind reeled. If she ran, he’d shoot her. That fate seemed kinder than whatever these people had in store for her. But she was a fighter. She wanted to survive this. So, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall off her shoulders. Then she unbuckled her belt and removed her pants. She was left in her underclothes and socks when he shoved her into one of the cages and padlocked it shut. He picked up her clothes and strode across the warehouse.
There was a plastic chair with a folded blanket on it. Callie picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn’t the best quality, but it was warm and was large enough to cover her up. The warehouse was chilly. From inside her cage, Callie took stock of her surroundings. The other cages were empty, but each contained a chair and a neatly folded blanket.
A white box truck was parked by a garage-sized door on the far end of the space. There was no writing on the truck. A few minutes later, the same man returned with a Great Dane on a leash. He put the dog into the cage beside her.
Callie moved her chair to be closer to the chain-link fencing that separated her cage from the dog’s. The dog sniffed at her, and she petted it through the fence.
“Hey, sweetheart. We’ve gotten ourselves into quite a mess, huh?”
The dog sat down next to the fence and looked up at Callie like maybe she understood what Callie was saying.
“You’re a pretty girl. I’m going to try to get us out of here, okay?”
The door she’d been brought in through opened again. The black suit man walked in with Larry Jordan beside him.
Jordan looked at Callie and smiled. She flipped him the bird, and he laughed. “Enjoy your trip, Cooper.”
“Fuck off.” She pushed the chair away and sat on the concrete floor to be closer to the dog, who licked her fingers through the fence.
Black suit man handed an envelope to Jordan. He pulled out a stack of cash and proceeded to count it.
“You don’t trust me?” black suit asked.
Jordan paused his counting and looked at him. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Then black suit pulled a gun, and a shot rang out that echoed in the empty space. Callie jumped, and Jordan crumpled to the ground.
Chapter Seventeen
Hem
By the time they rolled into the parking lot of the clubhouse, Hem still hadn’t heard from Calliope, and he was worried now. Maddox had called Paul and asked him to meet them there for an executive meeting. Lenore’s Mercedes was parked out front.
Hunter pulled the black van
around the back to unload the money and drugs. They’d send Ryker and Aries to unload the dope to the gangsters who’d peddle it on the street.
Plato carried in the bags through the back door and put them into one of the empty rooms. Maddox unzipped the bags and grabbed the one with the cash inside. Hem and Hunter followed him to the chapel.
Lenore was seated on the couch with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Her hair was pulled up on a ponytail. “Hi, boys,” she said without looking up.
“Howdy,” Maddox replied as they passed her.
Paul was sitting at the head of the table. A wooden gavel and sound block sat to his right. “Welcome back, fellas. Everything go okay?”
Maddox placed the duffel bag on the table and started removing stacks of cash. “It was uneventful.”
“Then why does everyone look like they just came back from a funeral?” Paul asked.
“We have some business to talk about.”
“Do we need a quorum?”
“We will, but first, we wanted to run it by you.”
Hem opened up his laptop and checked his secured email to see if there was anything from Callie. Nothing. This was unlike her. He’d left her two messages during the drive back.
Maddox relayed the new business offer that Castillo had put on the table. “We’ll need to take a club vote for that. But what do you think about it? Do we want to dive into the gun trade?”
Paul sighed. “I really don’t want to get in deeper with Mescalito.”
“I second that,” Hunter said as he shook out a cigarette and lit it with a silver Zippo lighter. He blew a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
“Well, the money would be good, and we’re already taking the risk of running their dope. It would basically be the same type of runs but double the money. Maybe we could give it a try?” Maddox slid a stack of cash to Hem and then to Hunter. “Double that, guys.”
Hem got up and put the remaining of the cash into the safe that was tucked safely in the wall at the rear of the chapel.
Paul leaned back. “We’ll bring it up for a vote on Saturday. What else you got?”
Maddox looked at Hem. “This is all you.”
Paul raised his eyebrows. “What’s going on, Hem.”
Hem filled Paul in on what had happened in Arkansas and what Castillo had told them about the dead Little Rock member. He explained Callie’s involvement and why Hem was now involved in the criminal investigation.
“You should’ve told me before now; before you took off to Little Rock,” Paul said.
“I know, and I’m sorry about that. I was looking out for the interest of the club and for my friend.”
“I understand but don’t do it again. So, you believe that cut belonged to the dead guy?”
“I do,” Hem responded. He wasn’t sure how that knowledge alone was going to keep the cops from coming down on the club, but he’d have to leave that to Callie.
“Copy that. Also, I’m concerned. Callie has been working this case, and now I can’t get a hold of her. She was supposed to meet Holly for lunch today, and she was a no-show.”
“Is that unusual for her?”
“I think it is. She’s very reliable. And it’s not like I can call down to the PD and ask if they know where she is, you know?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Paul said.
“If I don’t hear from her in the next half hour, I’m going to hack into her phone and see if the GPS is turned on. I can’t shake the feeling that she might be in trouble.”
Paul nodded. “Do what you have to. Let me know if the club can help.”
“Thanks, man.” Hem pulled up a program on his laptop. It wasn’t a program you could buy anywhere. It was software he’d developed to track phones. It would allow him to hack into her phone’s operating system and access the GPS feature. The search option was up on his screen with her phone number already typed into it. It felt like an invasion of her privacy, so he was hesitant to do it just yet.
“All right, brothers.” Paul stood. “Keep me in the loop with what’s happening with this investigation. I trust your friend will give us a courtesy call if we’re about to have the cops up our ass.”
“Absolutely,” Hem said, then focused on his computer again.
Paul and Lenore left. Hem sent out an email to the club members to let them know they were having a meeting on Saturday that required a quorum.
Hunter came in carrying two glass of whiskey and slid one across the table. “Holly called me. She still hasn’t heard from Callie. What’s your next move, man?”
“I’m going to track her phone.”
“How do you do that?”
“It’s a program I developed. Kind of like a virus. I send the code to her phone, and it imbeds itself. It will basically let me access her phone as if I was holding it in my hand.”
“Wouldn’t she have to click on the code to make that work? Like when you get a virus in your email?”
“No. This isn’t a link for her to click on. It’s code that has a job to do, and once it hits her phone, it’ll go to work.”
“Jesus. You make it sound like it’s alive.”
“Under the right circumstances, it is.”
“Once you find out where her phone is, then what?”
“Then I go check it out. If she’s just ignoring me, then I’ll look like a stalker. But I don’t think she’s just ignoring me. By now, I’d have expected a text from her or something if she was caught up at work. I know she was anxious to find out what we had learned about the case.”
“I’ll go with you.” Hunter downed the amber liquid and lit a cigarette. He pushed the pack toward Hem.
Hem took one out and used Hunter’s lighter. Then he took a big drink of the whiskey. With the cigarette between his fingers, he sent the code to Callie’s phone.
Chapter Eighteen
Calliope
Larry Jordan lay bleeding from the gunshot wound to his head. Callie’s ears rang from the sharp report of the gun. The dog trembled as it leaned against the fence.
Black suit guy had just saved Callie from having to kill Jordan herself, but her heart still hammered in her chest. Was she next? No, if he had planned to kill her, he likely would have done it already. But why had he killed Larry? Because he felt Larry didn’t trust him anymore?
One of the black suit guy’s thugs rolled Larry onto his back and lifted his gray Polo shirt. “No wire, boss.”
The man tucked the gun back into the shoulder holster concealed beneath his pristine suit jacket. “Oh, well.” He glanced back at Callie. “He was a snake. Only snakes turn on their own. Right?”
Callie didn’t respond.
He tilted his head like he’d done earlier while evaluating her. Then he slowly walked toward her.
She kept her fingers through the diamond-shaped hole to rub the dog’s nose. There was a low growl in the dog’s chest. Dogs were great at sensing when people weren’t good. The black suit guy was definitely not good.
Behind him, two men dragged Jordan’s body toward the door. His head bumped over the threshold as they took him outside, leaving a smeared trail of blood in their wake.
Black suit guy stood a few feet back from the locked gate to Callie’s prison cell. “How does it feel to be on that side of the fence?”
She wasn’t going to talk to him.
He focused on her hand through the fence. “You like dogs?”
Callie continued to ignore him. Then he pulled out his gun and pointed it at the Great Dane. “Answer me.”
She wanted to pull the dog into her cage and protect it. But she could only do what he wanted to protect the dog.
“Yes. I like dogs.” Her voice was hoarse. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth and throat were. She coughed to try to clear the thickness.
Black suit whistled, and the tall bald man appeared in the doorway. “Bring a bottle of water over here.” It was creepy how he kept his eyes on Callie while talking to someone else.
> “What do you want with me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’m a businessman. You’re a liability turned commodity.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Your colleague told me that you might be closing in on my operation. But that he could deliver you to me for the right price.”
“Motherfucker.”
“He is, isn’t he? Or was. I’m sure you saw that he’s no longer with us.”
She nodded. “You did me a favor.”
He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. He didn’t have an accent but was obviously of Latin descent. “Loyalty is important. He thought he was endearing himself to me by bringing me one of his own. All he did was prove to me that he has no character. I don’t do business with people like that.”
Callie squinted, trying to reconcile that this guy thought there was anything honorable about what he was doing. He was selling human beings but had a problem with a dirty cop. Oh, the hypocrisy. There was no honor amongst thieves.
The puzzle pieces came together in her mind. Jordan knew that she was investigating the cartel and would likely identify who was in that video. Callie had become a threat to him personally because he’d been providing girls to the black suit guy. By giving him Callie, he must’ve thought he was clever with killing two birds with one stone. He’d get rid of Callie before she discovered what he was doing, and he’d make a profit off it. Bastard.
The bald guy crossed the room with a bottle of water in hand. He gave it to black suit guy who came closer to the cage. He pushed the bottle through one of the holes in the chain-link. “Here. You sound parched.”
Callie got up to take the water. The seal was still intact below the cap, so she felt safe drinking it. She unscrewed the top and took a small sip. She wanted to down the whole bottle but didn’t know when or if they’d give her more, so she drank sparingly.