by Joseph Lewis
They reached the first floor and the elevator opened up and disgorged its occupants. George and Patrick were the last to leave and fell well back from the rest of the group.
“Brett said I should get to know you,” Patrick said shyly.
“Good advice,” George said with a smile. Then he added, “I would like that.”
Patrick smiled up at him again, and George placed his arm around Patrick’s shoulders again and that’s how they entered the swimming area. The five boys picked up towels from the cabinet to the left of the door and staked a claim to a table in the corner along with five chairs.
“Patrick and Danny are on my team,” Billy said cannonballing into the pool. As he came up, shaking water from his head, he added, “Keep away!” holding a little plastic yellow football over his head.
Randy, Patrick and Danny jumped in with Randy landing as close to Billy as possible without actually landing on him and started fighting for the ball. True, they were brothers who loved one another, but they were also competitive. It didn’t matter what the game or contest was. It was all about competition. All fun. All games. But competitive just the same.
The tickle was stronger. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.
George did a slow 360 looking around the pool area, searching the lounge chairs and the tables and chairs set back from the pool. There were several family groupings or at least what appeared to be family groupings in the pool area. He didn’t see anything or anyone alarming, but didn’t actually know what he should be looking for. He shifted his gaze up towards the four floors of balconies overlooking the pool. There were adults with drinks leaning over the balcony either gazing downward or talking and laughing with each other. Others walked this way or that way. Nothing and no one out of place or particularly alarming.
“What room are you boys in?”
A manager or a waiter in a green blazer appeared at George’s side.
“We need to make sure only residents enjoy our amenities,” he explained.
“We’re on the third floor,” George said glancing quickly in his direction, but then looking back up at the balconies. “Room 317.”
“Okay, thank you. Enjoy yourselves but be careful and obey the pool rules.”
“Thank you, we will,” George answered without looking at him, so intent he was on the balconies.
The man disappeared as quietly and as quickly as he had come.
“George, get your butt in here and help me,” Randy yelled.
George jumped in and took up the tussle for the football that was being tossed from Danny to Patrick.
The man stood near the door and watched the boys, especially Patrick and then left. Satisfied that he had done what he had set out to do. He knew which room they were in.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Fishers, Indiana
“Look, I have to run out and pick up assignments from the TA,” Thomas said tiredly. He’d been cooped up and housebound too long and needed to get out. “I won’t be gone more than an hour . . . maybe an hour and a half tops.”
“Mister McGovern, if you really need to do this . . . tonight . . . at least let me make a call first.” MB was beside herself. “I can’t be two places at once.”
They had been at each other most of the evening. Thomas insisting that he’d be safe, gone and back in a short time. MB insisting that it could wait until morning given the fact that Dominico was still out there somewhere.
Victoria stayed out of it. Brett had been dosing off and on. Cleve had suggested that the two boys run with him that morning, and he had pushed them. Perhaps, the boys pushed him. His shift ended and MB had taken over and Brett was beat. His shoulder was sore so he was wearing his sling and popping Motrin like Skittles. Bobby had been reading a John Sanford book on his Kindle as he sat next to his brother. He wasn’t all that tired or out of shape and that bothered Brett a little.
“Okay, make your phone call,” Thomas said through a yawn. “I really have to do this though. And I think you’d agree that the later it gets, the more dangerous it is.”
MB stepped away, dialed a number, turned her back to them, spoke briefly, and then turned around.
“You’ll be followed to and from. Get in and get out. Don’t deviate and don’t go anywhere else. Park out in the open and stay in well-lit areas. No side trips.”
“Okay,” Thomas said nodding.
“No side trips,” she stated again as a point of emphasis.
“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas said. “I got it.”
He walked out through the backdoor by the kitchen and MB and Victoria moved to the living room and stood at the front window, watching him pull out of the driveway. Thomas gave a friendly little wave and drove off.
Victoria went back to the kitchen to unpack the dishwasher and the boys flipped on the TV and channel surfed. MB started at the back of the house moving from bedroom to bedroom including the closets, bathroom to bathroom looking behind shower curtains, and finally back out to the family room to check on the two boys.
She should have looked into the kitchen.
She found both boys staring at her. Brett stood a little in front of Bobby.
“Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”
It was an unfamiliar voice, but MB knew who it was, cursing herself for not locking the backdoor after Thomas had left.
She turned around to face him, and the first thing she noticed was the gun with the suppressor. Victoria had moved to the far end of the kitchen with the table between her and her brother. The blood had drained from Victoria’s face, and she was clenching and unclenching her hands.
MB moved slowly backwards towards the boys and to a position between him and them, wondering how she could get to her gun at the small of her back hidden under her loose sweatshirt.
“You’re the best the Feebs could come up with to protect my sister and her family?” He said with a sneer. “What a joke!”
“Tony, just leave,” Victoria pleaded. “Go away and don’t come back.”
“Shut the fuck up you dumb bitch and sit your ass down!”
He glared at his sister, trying to intimidate her. The trouble was that Victoria didn’t intimidate very easily, even facing her brother who was not only a pervert but a killer. A killer, perhaps a sociopath, who had a gun. A gun he had no qualms about using. She remained standing, refusing to sit. The pure hate on Dominico’s face thickened as the silence and battle of wills went on.
During that exchange and the lengthy stare down between the brother and sister, MB not so much heard Brett move forward behind her, but felt it.
Her gun was no longer in the small of her back, and no one witnessed that Brett had even moved.
FBI training kicked in.
The most lethal person in the house was Dominico, who had the gun in his hand. His attention was focused totally on his sister. For a cop, he didn’t seem all that steady or sure of himself in spite of the tone of his voice.
The wildcard in the room was Brett.
She had heard of Brett’s bravery in Chicago, of his ability to shoot with accuracy under duress. She also knew that like his mother, he was bullheaded and stubborn. He did things his own way with little regard for rules or for himself. And now he had a loaded gun.
“Please, Tony! Don’t hurt the boys,” Victoria said quietly, much like the big sister she was to her unruly, unreasonable and recalcitrant younger brother. “Kill me if you need to kill someone, but not the boys!”
She moved in their direction but he barked, “Stay where you are! Don’t move.”
“What do you want?” MB asked.
“Shut the fuck up! If you were doing your fucking job, I wouldn’t have gotten in.” He added, “I should double-tap your ass on account of that.”
He regarded MB as the only threat in the house. His sister was nothing but ineffectual and weak. The boys, well, they would do what he told them to do. He might have to rough them up, but he’d have his way with them
like he always did.
“Brett, move away from her and stay with your brother. I’d hate for an accident to happen . . . like the bullet going through her and into you. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Please, Tony!”
The bullet spat inches from Victoria shattering the salt shaker that sat on the counter behind her.
She jumped, as did MB. Even Bobby jumped.
The only one who didn’t was Brett. Having been kidnapped, tortured, shot at, wounded and almost killed, numbed him. There was nothing that had shocked him any longer. Perhaps wouldn’t ever again.
“Hey, Fuckhead! You’re nothing but a coward,” Brett said softly, but clearly and loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Dominico focused his attention on Brett, regarding him malevolently.
“Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Or what?” Brett said with a laugh. “You’ll shoot me? Kill me?” He laughed and then he said, “You’re a fucking joke!”
“You and Bobby and I are going to have some fun tonight. Just like old times,” Dominico said darkly.
“There’s no fucking way I’m doing anything with you except kicking your ass!”
“Oh, you’re a tough guy now,” Dominico said. “Even with a shot up shoulder.”
“And you’re a fucking pervert,” Brett spat. “You have to fuck boys because you can’t get it up for women.”
Dominico moved forward and when MB moved to intercept him, he shot her twice in the stomach. She tried to block his path, but stumbled and fell to her knees and then rolled over onto her back. She groaned and moaned and held her stomach as tightly as she could, but blood oozed between her fingers.
Dominico stood where he was, looking down at her with loathing.
“Oh my God! Tony!” Victoria screamed. “Why?”
He turned around towards her and yelled, “Because I can!”
The nurse in her kicked in and she moved to help her.
Dominico pointed the gun at his sister and said, “Stay where you are.”
“Hey, Fuckhead,” Brett said calmly.
Dominico turned towards Brett, but his gun had lowered towards the floor.
Brett had taken MB’s Glock.22 out of his sling and before Dominico could react, Brett shot his hand, sending the gun to the floor. Brett followed the first bullet with a second into Dominico’s forearm rendering his power hand and arm useless.
“You little-” but that was all that he said before Brett shot him in the right kneecap, sending Dominico to the floor.
Now his power leg was all but useless as well.
Dominico’s gun was within reach of his left hand, but before he had the opportunity to snatch it up, Brett shot his left hand. Now both hands were useless, and as Dominico started to get up, Brett shot his left kneecap, making it impossible for him to walk.
“You little Prick! You Cocksucker!”
Brett said, “You got me confused with yourself, Fuckhead.”
Then he turned to his mother and said, “Mom, can you help MB?”
Not sure if one of the neighbors had heard the gunfire, he turned to Bobby and said, “Call 9-1-1. Give them our address; tell them we have two gunshot victims and tell them we need two ambulances. Tell them we have an officer down.”
Bobby picked up the phone and did what Brett had told him to do. Victoria grabbed hand towels from a drawer and ran to MB.
“MB, listen to me,” Victoria said soothingly. “An ambulance is on the way. I want you to focus on me. Look at me, nowhere else.”
MB couldn’t focus her eyes, blinking rapidly, sweating profusely.
Brett never took his eyes from Dominico. The man licked his lips nervously. He tried to get up, and Brett put another slug into his uncle’s right thigh. He yelled and swore at the pain, holding his legs as best he could with damaged hands.
“It’s not much fun getting shot,” Brett taunted.
Bobby finished the phone call and Brett said over his shoulder, “Bobby, go get Tom and Brooke. Tell them what’s happened, but be quick.”
Bobby ran off, banging through the front door, but was met in the street by Brooke, who had heard the gunshots and was on her way to the rescue. Bobby told her what had happened.
Brett moved further into the kitchen and kicked Dominico’s gun into the family room, as far away from Dominico as he could get it and then stood over him.
There was no fear and no panic. Brett was calm, focused, and breathing easily. There was no expression on his face.
He aimed the gun at his uncle’s crotch and fired.
The gunshot startled Victoria who uttered a gasp.
Dominico grabbed at his crotch and screamed, mixing curses towards God, his mother, Brett, his sister, everyone.
“That’s for Johnny and Tim and Patrick. That’s for Stephen and Mike. Mostly, that’s for Bobby and me. You won’t be fucking any of us again.”
“My God, Brett, that’s enough!” Victoria said. “Don’t kill him!”
“I’m not going to kill him. I want him to stand trial for being a Fuckhead. He’s a pervert, and I’m going to make sure he goes on trial and I’m going to testify.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Eureka, Missouri
The boys sat, or sprawled, on George’s and Billy’s bed. They were tired out from messing around in the pool and full of pizza and cookies, soda and water. The boys had settled into quiet conversation, jokes and laughter. Little attention was paid to the television.
Randy had noticed that every now and then, Patrick smiled and laughed. It wasn’t often, but when he did, his eyes lit up and the only way Randy could describe it was angelic. It made Randy all the more sad, hoping that one day, Patrick would regain the inner strength and confidence he must have had before he was taken. When he talked, which wasn’t much, he did so quietly, feeling his way out from whatever it was that still held him captive, even though he wasn’t in a locked room or on a floor in a building he couldn’t escape from. He usually had one hand on Billy’s shoulder or forearm, and Billy didn’t seem to notice, but if he did, he didn’t seem to mind.
Randy observed George glancing at him every now and then and when Patrick saw him, the two smiled and Patrick would reach out and touch George’s leg or arm, but the other hand never left Billy.
“Patrick, since you’ve been back, has everything been okay?” Randy asked.
Patrick shrunk back into himself. His hand left Billy’s shoulder and joined his other as they fidgeted in his lap. His eyes lowered, and he didn’t answer at first.
Randy felt awful. He glanced at Billy and George, not knowing what to say, wanting to apologize but unsure how. Seldom was Randy speechless, but he found himself so now.
“My parents are getting a divorce,” Patrick said quietly.
Danny perked up. Of the boys in the room, both he and Billy had been through that. Danny bounced from his mom in Omaha to his dad in Waukesha and back again.
“They want me to pick who to live with,” Patrick said. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”
“Have you thought about the pros and cons of living with your mom or your dad?”
Patrick glanced up at Randy, shrugged and fidgeted even more. He shook his head.
“What’re your sisters going to do?” Billy asked. “You’re what, the middle kid?”
Patrick nodded. “I think my two sisters are going to live with my mom.”
The boys waited, each of them uncomfortable with the silence.
George realized he paralleled Patrick in that he had to decide between living with the twins and Jeremy or returning to his homeland and his Navajo people. In George’s case, it was hard because the decision came down to living a different life and lifestyle, one that was different from the one he had been living. The other thing that made it different was that George no longer had a mother or family to choose to live with, only his cousin.
“I don’t know how to choose,” Patrick said.
Danny said, “Look . . . Patrick . . . you don’t know me very well, and what I’m going to say stays in this room,” he looked right at Randy and then at Billy. “Patrick, no matter what decision you make . . . it’s gonna suck.”
All eyes turned to him.
“Divorce sucks. I know it happens. I know sometimes parents don’t get along. But it’s us who suffer.”
As close as Danny was to Randy, Danny never hinted that he felt that way. Danny stared at Randy, then at Billy and George.
Finally to Patrick he said, “I love my dad and I love my mom. When I’m with my mom, I think of my dad all the time and want to be with him. When I’m with my dad, I think of my mom and want to be with her. It sucks, and I can’t stand it.”
Randy reached out to touch Danny’s arm, but he pulled it away.
Ignoring Randy, he said, “The thing is, Patrick, no matter what you decide, it’s gonna suck. So what you have to decide is, what’s gonna suck the least . . . living with your dad or living with your mom. That’s how you make your decision. It’s what’s gonna suck the least.”
Both Patrick and George nodded. They understood. Both had a decision to make and the decision sucked. It sucked much worse for Patrick than for George, but it still sucked at least a little.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Chicago, Illinois
“We got it!”
Pete sat up straighter, gripping his cell tighter.
“What did you find?
Chet was in hyper-mode, running on God knows how many Diet Cokes and Snickers, talking so quickly the words tumbled out of his mouth. Pete had this picture of him, his green eyes wide, his red hair mussed, hands and arms flailing as he paced- if not ran- around the room.
“You remember the false cupboard in the TV stand Rodemaker had at his house?”
Pete had to think back. Jim Rodemaker was a pedophile in Waukesha, Wisconsin. A kid named Garrett reported him as the possible perp responsible for the abductions of Stephen and Mike after he saw their Amber Alert. Garrett played soccer on Rodemaker’s soccer team, and he and several teammates had been molested by him. When Pete and Jamie Graff showed up with a Knock-Search and a SWAT Team at Rodemaker’s house, they found one of Garrett’s teammates on a couch with Rodemaker. He had a laptop full of porn and a lot of digital microphones and digital cameras hidden throughout house. The laptop contained the website that led to Victor Bosch and the human trafficking ring that held the boys captive, including Tim and Brett and the others freed in Chicago, Long Beach and Kansas City. Rodemaker, however, wasn’t responsible for Stephen’s or Mike’s abduction.