Then it dawns on me why Theodore McClosky’s dead. “Omar’s known all along that the vic we’ve been calling‘Meera’ is his daughter’s, hasn’t he?”
“Yes,”Captain Meyers says. “He’s had Gupta and his muscle following everyone, including Alaina Colby, to see what he can learn about Megalo Don. Seems the Punjab contingent left Meera—her real name’s Gayatri Mantradi—over at Doc Verbote’s, until they could get enough info to find Omar’s daughter’s killer.”
“It’s not Theodore McCloskey,”I say. “He didn’t kill Meera . . . uh, Gayatri.”
“Yes,”Captain Meyers agrees. “He knows that, too, now. But McCloskey’s already dead.”
“I’ve no doubt Omar Jain, or Omar Mantradi, and his Punjabi cronies did it, sir. Have you met Rakesh Gupta?”
“No, but Detective Laws filled me in. ‘A slobbering pig bastard,’ I think she called him.”
“Have you arrested any of them?”
The captain’s silence occupies several long seconds. “No, we’ve opened Theodore McCloskey’s homicide investigation, but by the time we get enough to prosecute, ifwe get enough evidence to prosecute, Jain and his cronies, including Tater’s so-called lawyer, Rakesh Gupta, will be back in Punjab.”
“Can we extradite from there—?”
“We’re checking now,”Captain Meyers says,“but it’s going to take a while to get them back from Punjab, even if we can extradite.”
“Then they’re beyond our reach?”I say, worrying out loud. “But if they’re still here, and they get to Stoke Farrel before I do, we won’t have anyone to prosecute for Megalo Don’s murders, unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Nothing, sir, I was just thinking out loud.”
I don’t tell him about what I’ve learned about Brick Verbote in Goshen. No need to. He’ll get my warrants and then he’ll know I didn’t go to the morgue like he ordered me to. He’ll also know I was wrong about Brick Verbote being Megalo Don—maybe.
“Do you know where Detective Laws is?”he asks, sounding a little embarrassed.
“Sorry, sir, no. Wes was looking for her. She’s disappeared.”
“Hot headed, isn’t she, Detective?”
“Yes, sir,”I agree. “No argument there.”
I feel sorry for the captain. He’s going to have to do a lot of adjusting, if he plans to keep sleeping with Mayor Laws, DeeDee’s mom. But I’m starting to like him. “I gotta get over to Farrel’s apartment,”I say, before he starts asking where I am.
“While you’re there, check on your rookie, will you? I know DeeDee slipped away from Wes to steal the collar, but she could be in trouble.”
Despite the seriousness of the captain’s remark, I laugh. Can’t help it. “Detective Laws is one gung-ho rookie, sir. She’s determined to make the Megalo Don collar, but you and I both know: it ain’t gonna go down the way she’s thinking. It never does.”
The captain laughs. “She’s ambitious, like her mama. But then . . . you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you, Detective Hawks?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Truce, Detective Hawks? I think we can work better as a team than enemies.”
“Truce, sir.”
Chapter 51
I’ll be more polite to men like Brick Verbote in the future—if I live.
That was my last thought before lights out. I’d had that cheesy lawyer I hitched a ride with drop me off at Brick’s office. I’d wanted to ask him to help me use his HVO to match up Stoke’s bite on the Twizzler package with Megalo Don’s.
Then boom! Someone cracked my skull.
“Alaina,”I mumble, my mouth tasting like cotton,“you better learn to be nicer to guys like Brick Verbote. I think he just tried to kill you.”
I’m out of it, sort of. I’d kill right now for one of those Mountain Dews Stoke sucks down all the time. Smacking my lips, trying to generate spit, I search the room. It’s huge, the size of four or five of my campus classrooms. When I move, my head hurts. My survival instinct kicking in and my eyes adjusting to the bright lights, I search the walls for windows. There are none. Fighting panic, I stretch my legs out in front of me. I’m duct taped at the ankles, but my hands are free. I struggle with the tape, and then try bending double and chewing it. Can’t.
Grotesque images from my criminology textbooks flash through my fuzzy aching skull. Strips of duct tape cover the victims’ eyes and mouths, making them look abandoned in their own darkness, voiceless. Duct tape is the serial killer’s friend. I’m immobilized.
Inhaling deeply of the moldy air, I let my gaze drop to the body beside me. For a second, I want to scream. She’s prone, curled in a ball. Dead?
“Unnn,”Officer Barbie moans.
Screaming’s not my style. When my survival’s on the line, I fight. It’s another of those survival skills Berta Colby taught me. “Wake up,”I hiss, jabbing her prone shoulder. I don’t see any blood or wounds, so I’m assuming she’s been cold cocked the same as I have. Then I see the burn marks on her neck. She’s been tased.
“Unnn,”she goes again, struggling to drag open her eyelids.
I punch her hard with my fist. “Dammit, wake up! It’s me, Alaina Colby. We’re in trouble here. I need your help.”
Some cop Officer Barbie turns out to be. I can’t get her to respond, other than to grunt.
Before she can get out another groan, the door opens. I’m expecting outside light to flood the room, but it doesn’t. Taking deep breaths, I try to see what—and who—is beyond the door. Nothing. Darkness. I’m in someone’s basement. Fighting to control my skyrocketing heartbeat, I cringe and shrink back.
Brick’s huge form is backlit against the darkness flooding the doorway behind him.
“You’re awake,”he says. “Good.”
He says it like I’m a lab rat, which I’m getting the feeling I am. I glance at Officer Barbie—we’re both lab rats—and then at Brick. “What’s going on? Why am I here?”
Brick steps in the door. Stoke follows.
“What are you two doing here? Why am I tied up?”
I glance at Officer Barbie. “Untie us right now. Can’t you see she needs an ambulance?”
“You sound frightened,”Stoke says.
I try acting, his forte. “Not at all,”I say, then abandon all pretense. I’m scared shitless and don’t mind saying so.
“Stoke, what are you doing here?”
I gaze back and forth between the two, looking for telltale reactions, facial expressions or clues as to what’s about to happen.
“And what are you doing with him?”
Brick strides toward me. I shrink back.
“I’m painfully disappointed in you,”he says. “I worked so hard to help you, Alaina. I tried to teach you what you needed to know. I wanted to keep you safe, but you’re just not the kind of girl who deserves that. You’re a whore, like her.”
“Her . . . who?”I ask. My survival instinct kicking in, I scoot as far back as I can from Brick, bumping into the leg of a gurney.
Professor Levin says it helps women to talk to their abductor, but my gut is screaming: not a good idea. Brick’s normally placid facial expression has turned wild. He’s not the same Brick Verbote I went to see earlier, seeking help. He’s someone else, a psychopath. Working not to stare, to give him the satisfaction he’s craving, I cower, vying for time while I fight to keep calm.
“You’re . . . Megalo . . . Don, aren’t you?”I ask. How could I have mistaken Stoke for the killer? It’s obviously Brick.
Brick doesn’t laugh. Not his style. He instead shakes his head. “You make my point, Alaina Colby. You’re notmy best pupil when it comes to forensic dentistry.”
“Then . . . who. . . .?”
I switch my gaze back to Stoke. “You?”I whisper. “You’re . . . him?”
He cackles. “You’re getting warrrrrrmer, Blaze.”
“What did you do with Aurelia?”I ask. Desperate to figure out which of these two is
Megalo Don. They’re toying with me, I know, so I decided to see what I can learn I watch Stoke look to Brick for permission to enlighten me, their worst student.
“Oh, fiddlesticks,”Brick says, chuckling. “Let’s just say you were right about our little Aurelia. Such a puta, that one. She had an acid tongue. Acid. I had to cut her down to size.” He makes a noise, like he’s sucking in food, and then nibbles his fingers.
Oh, hellfire. I think of all the times Aurelia reported me to Brick for being late. She gave him a running report of my schedule, where I was, and when. That’s how Stoke’s been able to keep track of me. I gaze with as much menace as I can. “Stoke, you punkass bastard!”
“Yes, Aurelia helped us keep close track of you,”he says. “But she was becoming too nosey for her own good.” He shrugs. “And ours.”
I slip my hand inside my hoodie pocket and cup my razor. Cutting is taking on a whole new meaning. Gazing at each monster in turn, I envision my razor slashing across their faces.
“You’re no Mormon, are you?”I say to Brick. Hoping to anger him so he’ll give up more information, I fly into him. “In fact, you’re just a common thug who got his hands on a degree and a business that helps you front your criminal activity.”
“Criminal, maybe,”Brick says,“but of course not common.”
I stare, telegraphing my loathing. “Wrong. You are common, Brick. You’re a sadistic prick—very common on your turf—and I bet you got a two-inch dick. Bet you can’t get it up—”
Brick’s face reddens, anger suffusing the roots of his wintry blonde hair. “No need to insult me,”he says, struggling for calm. I’ve angered him, but he’s too smart. He won’t blow up, giving me extra time, over a few remarks I’ve lifted from Berta Colby’s playbook.
Instead, he walks with all the agility of a predator to a gurney across the room. “Let’s see how mouthy you feel when I’m done, Alaina.” He pats the gurney’s stainless steel top. “Come.”
How better to show his power over me than this chilling act?
“Just please tell me what you’ve done with her,”I say, switching from Berta’s playbook to one of my own I’ve been developing since I first started majoring in criminology. “Tell me why you’re doing this before you prove how impotent you are by killing me, too.”
“I will give you one tidbit, Alaina, since you made a feeble attempt to learn what I worked so hard but failed to teach you. I am not a Mormon, but I met Aurelia in church. I told her my son would marry her. She was so desperate to become a citizen, you see, and those Mormons are so big on helping, so I knew I’d find someone—I like to think of each of them, as I do you, as my next communion—in church. He nods toward Stoke. “Works every time, doesn’t it, son?”
Stoke nods. “Poor Aurelia. She was panting to become a part of this big American system. She wanted it all, the dream!” He chuckles. “I gave her a more . . . tormented version. A nightmare!” He cackles. “Don’t look so sad, Blaze. She was going to give you a scathing performance review!”
Brick’s sinister chuckle at his son’s sick wit sends cold chills ripping through me.
“You prick,”I say, easing my hand from inside my hoodie’s pocket. If I’m going on that gurney, I’m going with the only weapon I have, my razor blade. This time, I won’t use it to cut myself. I’ve taken a lot of abuse over my cutting. The only one who understood was Ang. . . .
My loathing turns to white-hot anger. I want to lash out at my friend’s murderers, but can’t afford to lose control, and I don’t even know which one did it. “You killed Angie, didn’t you, Stoke? And Meera?”
“Bring her to me,”Brick orders, his voice calm. “She’s stalling.”
“Come on, you pathetic little pricks! Tell me which one of you killed her!”
Brick turns to me. “If you must know, I enjoyed your little friend’s screams.” He makes the sucking noise again. “My, she was tasty. Vanilla ice cream, I think, but no cherry.” He guffaws.
Taking deep breaths, I close my fist on my razor and count to keep my focus and slow my racing heartbeat. Brick’s in control. I’ve stalled, yes, but I’ve not disrupted his plan to add my teeth to his collection: I’m going to die. Yet I have to fight.
“You will not get by with this,”I say, hearing even as I say it how ridiculous my comment sounds.
“Come,”Brick says, again patting the gurney.
It looks foreboding, like the ones they use on death row to give prisoners lethal injections. It’s not the black Mylar straps, open and waiting to embrace me. It’s not the stainless steel tray of dental tools resting beside the gurney. What’s making me panicky is the feeling of being helpless. I’m back in that closet with Robin, holding him. I’m trying to block out the sounds of my parents’ screaming.
“Berta, think of your daughter instead of your habit. . . . I can’t stop my life for her.”
And then—gunfire. Boom! Boom!
I realize now why I’ve been so angry, why I can’t trust LEOs, why I cannot let Stoke and Brick Verbote do what they’re planning. That night, my mom pulled me and Robin from behind our laundry basket in the bathroom closet, and she stumbled with us in her drug-dazed stupor from the burning trailer. Afterward, the deputies took me and Robin from her. We watched them cuff her and stuff her into their cruiser, while we screamed and cried for our mommy.
When they pulled our dad’s charred corpse from the trailer and drove off with our dad in that ambulance, we weren’t supposed to see, but we were Colbys, curious and watchful kids. How were we to know they were doing their job? Doing what the dough-faced women at Children’s Services, who the deputies turned us over to, thought was—right?
That night, so much of my and Robin’s future was stolen. Our family was broken.
But I’ve got so much to live for. My dreams, my brother, and my mom, Berta Colby. There’s also my dream of making my tryout video for the Rockettes’ jump-the-line competition. It feels odd to think of that right now, considering, but I realize why it matters. I’m a fighter. Having a crippled ankle and a family that’s dysfunctional are just two more obstacles in my path, and every time I find an obstacle: I start thinking of how I’m going to overcome it.
Like right now, as Stoke approaches to drag me to that gurney—and to Brick.
“Nooo!”
Kicking Officer Barbie hard, making a final attempt to rouse her, I go limp in Stoke’s arms, kicking and biting as he drags me to my feet, still bound by duct tape at the ankles. “You bastards will have to fight for these,”I scream, baring my teeth. “I’m not giving them up easily.”
Officer Barbie lets out another low moan. It sounds like she’s coming‘round. My gaze lands on her, but I move it quickly away.
“Where am I?”I demand. If I don’t make it out of here alive, I need to leave her something she can use to escape. Knowing where we are might help her, or not. But it’s my last ditch effort. “Where have you dragged me to?”
But Brick merely snorts, and then walks over to help Stoke drag me to the gurney.
“Please don’t touch me, Brick. If you ever cared for me as . . . as your employee, please don’t touch me.” Feeling hot tears threatening to erupt, I bite down on my teeth, cringing when Brick strokes my jaw line. In one hand, he’s holding a bowl of dental paste, which he’s been mixing. This, I know from experience, will go into my mouth, and he’ll use it to make impressions, like those he made of Meera’s and Angie’s teeth. But—I fight a wave of nausea—will he make the impressions before or after he extracts the two teeth he needs for his collection? Will he do it before or after I’m dead?
“You really are a slow learner,”Brick says. “Just like Francine.” He shakes his head in didgust. “You don’t know why I picked you, do you?”
Using two thick fingers, he forces my mouth open, and then shoves his fingers inside, forcing my head back.
“No,”I say, gagging, fighting to avoid his intrusion. Knowing what he’s got planned, remembering Meera and Ang, I can’
t bear his touch, his fingers. “Why’d you pick me?”I manage to choke out without gagging.
“You look like her, Alaina. You look like Francine. And,”he adds,“she was a whore, too, just like you. A dancing whore who loved to show her naked body for men—and money.”
“I’m not a whore—”
I jerk my head back and chomp down, ejecting his fingers from my mouth. “Who in hell is Francine?”
“Ahhhh, your teeth are perfect,”he says, ignoring my question and fondling my teeth. His fingers, long thin surgeon’s fingers, shove back inside my mouth with a rough grim precision.
“What’s your race?”he asks.
I’m stumped. I mean, no one knows I’ve got African American blood, although I never try to hide it, since I’m proud of my grand daddy, proud to carry his blood. But why’s Brick asking?
Then I realize what he’s doing. He did it in the lab when he acted as my mentor.
What’s her race? Caucasoid or Negroid?
He’d asked me questions like that when he’d shown me Meera’s impressions. When I thought he was helping me learn about Meera’s anthropological background, he was actually getting off watching me examine her. Same as he did then, he’s controlling me now.
“You killed Meera, didn’t you?”
While Stoke holds my arms behind my back, Brick continues poking about in my mouth, but doesn’t answer my question.
“Alaina, do you realize Detective Hawks and the FBI will come to me asking for bite mark impressions?”Brick says, chuckling. “I’ll even help him compare your bite marks to Megalo’s other victims.”
“That’s sick!”
I can’t help myself. I shiver at the irony. Brick will make impressions of the bite wounds he, or Stoke, or both of these sickos plan to make on my body. The thought terrifies me.
He pulls his fingers from my mouth. “He’ll recognize your bite, Alaina. He’ll think of your lips. He’ll recall kissing you. Does that excite you? Hmmm?”
Imagining my shoulders ending up like Meera’s and Angie’s, flesh gnawed from my bones, I want to cry, to beg for my life.
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) Page 34