by Thomas Green
They all trembled. By now, they had no doubt I was capable of doing that since they must have realized I was intentionally not killing them in the fights we had.
“I swear on my honor we haven’t kidnapped her,” Kenji whispered with a defiant look in his eyes.
“And I believe you.” I smiled. “So, what’s your business with the Yakuza?”
“They are the cancer destroying our homeland,” Kenji said and sat on the side of Aiko’s bed, his eyes becoming glazed. “They spread drugs among the poor, kidnap and enslave girls for sex trafficking, and sell illegal weapons that are then used in further crimes. My sister was taken when she was ten. She was forced into prostitution and then killed herself six years later.”
I glanced at Aiko. “Then what’s your problem with the Hand of God?”
“It enables this. Since the head of Yakuza was a member of the Hand of God, he was untouchable by standard means. That was why we had to kill him.”
“And now, you need to kill the rest of their local leadership so the Hand of God cannot appoint one of them to replace Musashi,” I filled in for her. They were indeed like Neo fighting the Matrix, trying to create a gap in the system. And I haven’t been very helpful to their cause… so far. “What’s the statuette for?”
“It’s a weapon capable of granting a massive boost in power,” Aiko said before Kenji could stop her.
“All right.” A wave of tiredness washed over me, and yesterday’s wounds started hurting. I needed more painkillers. “I’ve got an offer for you. At some point, I might investigate the Yakuza for Evelyn’s disappearance. For that, I could use your help. In exchange, I’m willing to let you get away with the statuette if our cooperation directly leads to me finding Evelyn.”
“You’re not offering much,” Kenji said.
“I’m not asking for much either.” I rose. This conversation was fun, but Evelyn wasn’t here, so I had to go. “And since the Devil hired me to find the statuette, I’m actually offering a lot.”
All of their eyes widened.
“We accept,” Kenji stuttered, and the others nodded.
I drew my business card and tossed it on the table. “Here’s my number. Send me a message from whatever phone you want me to call later.” I turned toward the door. “Till then, have fun.” I left the house under stunned silence and got straight back to my car.
With this culprit crossed out, the next ones were remnants of the local traffickers that worked for the Yakuza.
I didn’t want to waste time with searching for people associated with them. So, after I sat in my car, I called Katherine.
She picked up after two beeps. “Hey.”
“Hey, how’s the treatment going?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound happy and supportive.
“It hasn’t been two days since I got shot with a bloody crossbow, so I’m supposed to stay in bed for now,” she said, her tone a touch merrier than it was at the first greeting. “But we both know that’s not why you’re calling me. What do you need?”
“Evelyn disappeared.” Saying it was harder and harder every time I did so. A small bit of hope died inside me every time I pronounced those words. “And I think it might be connected to the sex traffickers we arrested.”
Kathrine remained silent for a painfully long second. “Do you still have the cross?”
I frowned. Yeah, I did. It hung on my neck, pressing against my chest and I had already gotten so used to the damn thing I forgot about wearing it. “I do, why?”
“Every time you think you need to do something violent, remember it. All right?”
“What the hell for?”
“Lucas, I’ve known you for a while.” Katherine’s voice was serious, tone urgent. “You probably haven’t realized it yet, but Evelyn means much more to you than you think. When you get stuck with the search, don’t jump straight to violence. Instead, remember the cross, what it means, and find another way. Understand?”
I sighed. She knew me better than I had thought. “I’ll try.”
“Promise me you’ll control yourself.”
“I cannot promise you that,” I said and regretted my words in the next second. Honesty was not a good strategy in this conversation.
“Promise me you’ll at least try, okay?”
“I’ll do my best, but no promises.” This wasn’t going to be peaceful. “Do you know anything?”
She was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed. “The bar owner. I’ll text you his details. He said he was helping them because they had his daughter. Since she was among the prisoners, we accepted that explanation and didn’t question him further. He might know something.”
“Thanks. Hope you get better soon.”
“Good luck and remember, no violence. Just… don’t turn this into a bloodbath.” She hung up.
I waited with my phone in hand. It buzzed half a minute later. The bar owner was a man named Antonio and lived in Queens. I stepped on the gas and headed in that direction.
Antonio’s house was painted beige with a dark brown roof. The garden was well-kept, and a dark red SUV stood in front of the garage.
At the garden’s other side, a tall man in late thirties played with a young girl, pushing a yellow-painted swing. He was smiling, she was laughing, and I was about to ruin their fun.
But I didn’t have time to wait for a more opportune moment. I parked on the pavement in front of their house and got out of the car.
As I did, the man glanced at me and froze. The swing hit him in the hand. He snapped back to reality and rushed to catch the swing.
This stung, but I didn’t have the time to pity myself. I stepped to the gate in the fence.
He helped his daughter from the swing. “Emilia, go home, now.”
“But I want to play more.” She looked around.
“Hurry.” The father shoved her toward the house.
Her gaze rested on me. “Look, Dad! That’s the cowboy who saved me!”
I stared at her with mouth wide open and tears crawling up to my eyes. I wasn’t ready for this. Everywhere I went, during everything I did, I was always the problem. I was the hit man coming to kill, the investigator looking to have someone arrested for life or the unwanted guest intruding to ask annoying questions. No place ever welcomed me.
But she was genuinely happy to see me. I recognized her in the moment. She was one of the girls upstairs in the trafficker’s house, one of the two on whom I crashed the ceiling. That knocked her out back then, but the next day she woke up and wasn’t a prisoner anymore.
Yes, in the back of my mind, I knew what I was doing sometimes helped someone. But if I ever met anyone of those people, they were in a terrible state and shocked. It was easy to forget the normal people existed when the people I dealt with the most were the criminals.
When I woke up from the daze, the gate in front of me was open and the father stood there, greeting me.
I blinked and smiled. “Sorry to bother you.” I flashed the badge hanging by my belt. “Lucas Johnson, private investigator.”
“Antonio. Pleasure to meet you!” He offered me his hand, eyes shining and mouth open in a wide grin.
I shook his hand and smiled. “I need a little help with something.”
“Anything. Come inside.” He motioned with his hand. “I would offer you a shot, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“It’s better if we solve it here. The less contact I have with your family, the better for you.” I leaned against the fence. “Someone dear to me was kidnapped. I think it was revenge for breaking up the sex trafficking gang, so I’ve been wondering if you wouldn’t know about any of their members who weren’t arrested.”
His eyes lost the shine and mouth dropped. He sighed. “I… can’t. They’d kill me if they found out.”
“For as long as they’re out there, they might always come for revenge or to blackmail you again.” I straightened gazing down on him. “But if you tell me what you know, I’ll find them, and they will not walk awa
y from the meeting.”
He hesitated for a long moment. A string of cars passed through the street, honking. He nodded with a faint smile. “I’ve got something in the garage. Come.”
This time, I did. We crossed the garden on the thin, rock path and entered the freshly painted garage. A pickup van passed through the street. He flipped on the light, revealing a garage with boxes neatly arranged in the shelves. I lowered my head when entering to fit through the door.
“When they came to my bar, I made pictures of them hoping they could be useful one day.” He went to one of the bottom shelves, rummaged through the boxes for a moment before taking out a file. He opened it and stepped next to me so I could see. “All I have are pictures and names.” He flipped the page and showed me the first one.
The image quality wasn’t impressive. It displayed a front shot of a bulky man sitting by the bar with beer in hand. “Got that one,” I said.
He smiled and flipped the page.
Mohawk, shown in the same position as the leader. “Gone, next.”
“This one was the worst.”
The next image displayed an older man with fewer chains. I didn’t remember him. “Haven’t seen this one.” I took out my phone and took a picture. The man’s name was Keith Gama.
Antonio sighed and went to the next man. This one was young, and I recognized him as the guard with whom I ran through the door back when we raided their base with Katherine. “Gone, next.”
He brightened up and continued. His file contained fourteen people. I recognized thirteen, all of whom I was sure were now on the way to Tul Sar Naar, never to be seen again.
The momentary disappointment left Antonio and the happy smile returned to his face. This gave him closure. Before I came, he didn’t know how many of the gang members were still around. That only one man was left was better news than he ever expected.
“If you need anything, this is my number,” Antonio said and dictated his number.
I understood the request hidden within. He wanted a confirmation that Keith was dealt with. That would complete the closure. “Thanks.”
He patted me on the back. “Good luck.”
We shook hands once more and I returned to my car. I drove two streets away so he wouldn’t see me, took out my phone and went to the NYPD website. I logged in with Katherine’s login—nice of me, I knew—and headed to the suspects section.
I put Keith Gama into search and allowed the website to impress me. By the shorthand notes, NYPD tried to catch him in his home, but he escaped while injuring two policemen. Apparently, Keith was armed. Then they searched for him in his cottage but didn’t find him there.
Meh, not much to go on. His apartment was in Queens, so too close to the epicenter. The cottage was something I could go on though.
I put the address into the GPS and started driving.
Chapter 11
THE COTTAGE stood in the woods in the Hudson Valley. That was a two-hour drive away, which was a problem, but not an unmanageable one. The issue with searching for a missing person is that the odds of rescue decrease every hour.
This was a gamble, but one that made sense since he was the most likely suspect. From the remaining parties, Yakuza and Sora didn’t have a good motivation, and FBSI wasn’t a problem since Evelyn would survive sitting in a prison.
I still drove above the speed limit.
Keith’s cottage was a wooden house sitting in the forest. Fallen leaves covered the ground in brown and yellow. I parked right in front of the cottage. If he was inside and tried to attack me, that’d save me a lot of time. I could be careful next week.
With aether formed in an attack pattern, I approached, hands ready by my colt’s grips, leaves crunching beneath my boots. Trees enveloped the cottage in shadows. But the sun was still in the sky.
A van passed on the road.
I fuelled my eyes with aether and looked around. Marks of yellow aether lingered on the door. My heart started drumming a swift rhythm.
I drew my gun and stepped sideways to the door. The wooden porch creaked beneath my steps. I tried the handle. It was locked.
What was I doing? I took a step back and kicked the lock. The mechanism shattered beneath the strike and the door flew inside, tearing from the hinges. I entered.
A large bird rustled in the treetops. Dust particles floated through the air, visible in the sunlight entering the windows.
Marks of yellow aether led me through the hallway and to the kitchen. Empty pots lay on the stove. The fridge was empty. In the cabined under the kitchen sink lay packs of half liter bottles. I counted over forty. Stacked in the next cabinet were packages of dried meat and vacuum-packed bread.
Long lasting food, all of it. I passed through the main room, my steps silent on the old carpet, and passed into the next hallway. In front and to the right were doors. The ones in front were locked. With a jab of aether-imbued fingers, I destroyed the lock. They led outside. The door to the left opened freely.
With the wood creaking beneath every step, I reached the next crossing of stairs to the cellar and opened the door to the bedroom.
A thick layer of dust covered the old bed. The aether trail led into the cellar.
Downstairs, the floor was still wooden. By the wall lay four sacks of potatoes, all old enough to have sprouted young roots. I glanced around and saw nothing other than the aether marks. One of the sacks was half empty.
I shrugged and went upstairs. The tree crowns rustled in the wind. I circled the house and saw a yellow aether trail leading into the forest.
Good enough. I followed it, my step light and eyes careful not to step in a bear trap. Stepping into one would be inelegant, at best.
Half an hour later, I reached a bundle of cottages. The aether led into the closest one. Smoke ascended from all chimneys, a woman worked in the garden of a nearby cottage and an old man sat on the porch of another one, reading today’s issue of the New York Times.
A car came to the furthest cottage and a man got out, soon disappearing inside the house.
I observed the building where the aether marks ended. A woman stood by the stove, cooking dinner. A man sat on the couch in the living room, watching TV while a young boy lay on the ground near him, playing games on an Xbox.
I approached the fence behind which the woman worked in the garden. She wore blue overalls and had a scarf tied around her head.
I stopped by the fence. “Howdy.”
She froze for a second and raised her head. Her eyes were wide and skin pale. “Hello,” she stuttered.
They apparently didn’t get many visitors. I flashed the private investigator badge. “Lucas Johnson, private investigator. I’m looking for someone and have a reason to believe he may have passed through here.”
Her gaze dropped. “Sorry. Nobody passed through here.”
I showed her Keith’s picture on my phone. “I’m looking for this man. He’s wanted for multiple cases of murder and rape.” I didn’t bother to check what he was wanted for, but a little lie couldn’t hurt. Motivating lies usually worked the best.
“I haven’t done anything and have never seen anyone like that.” She turned. “Leave me be.” She skittered back into her house.
What the hell? Something was wrong here. The old man put down the newspaper, looking at me. He must have heard the conversation. I moved my coat, showing the gun holstered on my thigh.
He smiled and pointed at the house where the yellow aether led.
Good. From a fifty-foot distance, I walked a circle around that house. The woman was putting dinner on the table, four plates. I approached the house from the side where I couldn’t be seen from the living room or the kitchen.
The garden fence was low enough for me to step over. The woman I scared away earlier has surely called the police, but I doubted they’d be here in less than fifteen minutes. Still, I needed to hurry so I wouldn’t get dragged into explaining things. The sunset painted the cottage in front of me in crimson. I inspected the n
earest window.
The wooden frame was at least a decade old. I raised my hand to the door in the middle of the wings, filled my body with aether and lightly hit the center. My strength slipped. Instead of only the mechanism breaking, the wood shattered, and the window flung open. I grabbed the parapet and swung inside. I closed the curtains behind myself.
Dust covered the room around me, including the bed and the plane floating on a string attached to the ceiling. The air was stiff, and the plane moved in the breeze entering through the window.
I shifted my weight making no sound on the floor. The carpet made that easy.
I pressed the handle and lightly pushed the door. It opened smoothly, hinges well oiled. I crept through the hallway toward the kitchen.
The door was lightly open. Soundlessly, I pushed the door open a tiny bit more and peeked inside.
Three people sat by the table. A young boy, the woman and a middle-aged man. He raised his eyes to look at the moving door.
Hello, Keith.
His eyes, widened, he grabbed the knife and reached for the young boy. I stepped into the room, clenched my thigh, drew my colt and shot. One, two, three. Shoulder, shoulder, knee. Blood and bones sprayed into the air. The bullets passed through him. One dug into the floor and two shattered the window beyond. The woman and the boy started shrieking.
Steps stomped behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Another man swung an axe at me. I bent my back to dodge and jabbed his chin. He collapsed to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. This man was in his late thirties, like the woman. She collapsed to the ground, crying while holding her head. The boy fainted.
I stepped above Keith and aimed my gun at his head.
No, he wasn’t worth it. He was unconscious from the shock and blood wasn’t gushing from the wounds, so I haven’t nicked an artery. He would live and Tul Sar Naar would become his new home. I grabbed my phone and dialed Katherine.
She picked up after two rings. “Hey.”