Nonetheless, I had to go to the office from time to time.
Seated at my desk, I flipped through the files on the unsolved murder of a local heroin dealer. While I scanned through the paperwork looking for the name of a witness, I couldn’t help but notice that Captain Sprague was in a heated telephone conversation with someone.
A former Marine investigator in his mid-fifties, he still looked the part of an active military man. Tall and physically fit with tanned skin and short gray hair, he could easily pass for a local surfer. His short fuse and violent temper kept most of his subordinates out of his office until they were invited, me included.
He paced the floor of his office as he spoke. The phone’s excessively long cord followed him as he walked back and forth, repositioning the items on his desk with each pass. Through the thick glass of his office walls, I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I didn’t need to. The expression on his face was one of disgust and his eyes were filled with anger.
He stopped beside the corner of his desk. With the phone clenched tight in his hand, he gazed down at the floor for a moment. As I started to look away, he leaned over and slammed the phone’s receiver down. The impact caused it to jump out of the cradle and land on his desk. After two more repeated unsuccessful attempts, he swept the entire thing off his desk and onto the floor with a violent brush of his arm.
“Watson!” he shrieked.
There’s my invitation.
I stood.
“Watson! God damn it Watson, get your ass in here!”
I walked to his office and pushed open the door. “Captain?”
He glanced at the phone and then at me. “Close the fucking door.”
I stepped inside and closed the door. “What’s going on, Top?”
“Nine. In the last twenty-four God damned hours. Nine.” He pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. “That’s one every, what? Two hours or so?”
“Two hours and forty minutes. Nine what, Top? What have we got?”
“Girls. Nine missing teenage girls. It looks like your fucking MS-13 gang is at it again. I thought we had this problem solved?”
My heart sank. The description was all too familiar.
Notorious for their use of violence as a means of retribution, the Mara Salvatrucha – or MS-13 – was a thorn in society’s side. Their presence in Southern California had turned portions of the state into a drug infested war zone. Sadly, their vicious acts didn’t begin and end with their members.
There had been eight girls kidnapped a few months prior, and although we made very little progress in solving the investigation, a local motorcycle club somehow stumbled onto the whereabouts of the girls, and saved them.
When their vengeance for the kidnappings was over, ten of MS-13’s most violent gang members were dead.
Although I had evidence to support my case, I didn’t file criminal charges against the MC, nor would I. The club, in my eyes, was a necessary predator. The gang members were their prey.
In the food chain, the grass feeds the grasshopper. The grasshopper is eaten by the snake. The snake is captured and eaten by the hawk. The hawk then deposits his spoils upon the earth, feeding the grass to support the growth of yet another grasshopper. The chain is endless.
The MC was my hawk.
The MS-13 gang was a venomous snake.
The MC, however, didn’t shit their spoils back onto the earth. They were a necessary part my food chain – as long as they didn’t become disruptive to the lives of the sheep I had taken an oath to protect.
And, so far, they hadn’t.
“That problem was solved, Top. Ms-13 is the most notorious gang in the Western Hemisphere. 70,000 members. It’s an ongoing battle, and it will continue to be an ongoing battle. Hell, I arrested that Linda Martinez girl the other night on a felony warrant, and I thought she’d give me something. The same as all the other chicas, she pursed her lips and took jail over talking.”
“Do something different,” he demanded. “I need these pricks off my streets, and I need this case solved now.”
“I’ve got informants on the streets that should be able to get me some answers, but I’ll need leniency.”
“What are you asking for?”
“Don’t ask any questions. And, when I bring these girls home, I’ll need something from you.”
The look on his face was all I needed to see. I had a different way of solving crimes, and it wasn’t always pretty. To get the answers – and the results – I needed, I often stepped outside the boundaries of the law.
When I did, it was best that no one ask anything about my whereabouts or my findings. My results spoke for themselves.
“Have you got any files on this yet?”
He waved his hand toward his desk. “Chief just sent it to me.”
“Forward me everything you’ve got.”
“I want these girls alive, Watson. Nine of them.”
I pushed his door open. “Makes two of us, Top.”
I walked to my desk and downloaded the documents. After opening them, I began to review the files for any similarities between the girls, where they were abducted, or how they were taken.
May Trayvor. 14. Blonde. Blue eyes. Rancho Del Oro, CA. Last seen at the home of a friend.
Theresa Wilson. 13. Blonde. Blue eyes. Tri-City, CA. Last seen at the 7-Eleven three blocks from her home.
Catelyn Mayberry. 13. Blonde. Blue eyes. Vista, CA. Last seen at the public pool.
My heart shot into my throat. Every one of the girls was in her early teens, blonde, and from the Vista area. Frantically, I flipped through each of the files. Upon reading the last one, I jumped to my feet, ran to the parking garage and dove into my car.
With lights and no siren, I made it to Vista in eight minutes. Just because Charlee’s name wasn’t on the list didn’t mean she was safe. If one hair on her head was out of place, I’d rain a terror down on the men responsible so violently that the world would not soon forget.
I screeched to a stop in front of the diner and peered through the window. At three o’clock in the afternoon, and with the lunch crowd long gone, the diner appeared empty.
Fuck!
I rushed to the front door and pushed it open. The brass bell that dangled from the door’s upper frame jingled as the door swung past it.
My eyes scanned the diner.
No Charlee.
No Jacky.
I hurried toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing here, mister?” a familiar voice asked from the diner’s right side.
I exhaled a long breath and turned to face her. Rubbing her tired eyes with the tips of her fingers, Charlee brushed her curly locks from her face and looked at me in disbelief of my existence.
“I uhhm. I think I lost one of my keys off my key ring this morning,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Is your mother here?”
“She’s in the back. It’s almost shift change. I forgot to tell you…” She twisted her hair into a bun, and seemed preoccupied as she did so. When she finished, she looked at me. “I forgot to tell you what happened.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a secret, so promise you won’t tell.”
“Okay.”
She squinted her eyes. “Can you be trusted?”
I shrugged. “Society thinks so.”
“Good enough.” She smiled. “I kneed a guy in the nuts.”
I couldn’t believe she had said such a thing. Nor could I imagine her doing it. Or needing to do it. I raised my eyebrows in wonder. “Oh really?”
“Yep. Hit him, too. He was a crap-hat. At the 7-Eleven. He was wacked out on something. Tried to grab me, and I hit him like this.” She thrust the heel of her palm outward as she extended her arm. “And, I gave him the knee.”
My heart began to race. “Which 7-Eleven?”
“Pala Vista. I walked there last night for a Mountain Dew. I didn’t tell mom. She’d freak out if she knew. You can’t tell her either, you
promised.”
“I won’t.” I looked her over. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“Nope. Just grabbed my wrist.”
“You’re sure?”
She held up her arm. “See?”
I tried to hide my interest. I swallowed hard, and then let out a sigh. “What did he look like?”
“Shaved head. Tattoos on his face. A ‘1’ tattooed on one cheek, and a ‘3’ on the other. Had a scorpion and a bunch of other crap tattooed on his neck, too. He was a little guy. Shorter than me. After I kneed him, I took off. Ran all the way home. Got there, and didn’t even have my Mountain Dew. Must have dropped it.”
“What time last night?”
“Right after dark, why?”
I shrugged. “Just wondering.”
She rubbed her hands together. “You going to find him? Take him in the interrogation room and slap him around?”
“I just might. Don’t go back to that 7-Eleven, okay?”
“I’m not. I’m not going anywhere after that.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
“In fact, how about until I say otherwise, you don’t go anywhere at night alone? Can we make that happen?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Why?”
“There’s just a few guys I’m trying to find. The little guy might be one of them. So, until I get him found, you stay home at night. Deal?”
She gave her mock salute. “Deal.”
“So, how did you learn to defend yourself?” I asked.
“I don’t just read literature,” she said. “Jack Reacher’s good to break up the monotony of good literature. He’s my favorite. Lee Child’s is pretty detailed in his descriptions of hand-to-hand combat.”
I chuckled. “Jack Reacher, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I’m going to go talk to your mom, and see if she found my key,” I lied. “I won’t say anything to her, don’t worry.”
“Must be an important key for you to come back all of a sudden. You could have just waited ‘till tomorrow.”
I looked her over and grinned. She defined innocence. “It’s a pretty special key. It’s something I never want to lose.”
“I’ve got all the stuff I don’t want to lose in a special place,” she said. “You should try that. Keep the important stuff in a safe place.”
I smiled and then turned toward the back of the diner.
I’m doing my best to do just that, kid.
Chapter Seventeen
Taryn – Day eighteen
With the refrigerator door held wide open, Stefanie stared at the bare shelves for some time. After scanning the door’s compartments again, she swung it closed with a bang.
She wrinkled her nose. “You were serious.”
“I told you.”
“Not even wine remnants.” She glanced around the kitchen and then looked at me. “You always have wine remnants.”
I’d tossed everything with alcohol in it into the dumpster downstairs, and had no intention of bringing anymore into my house any time soon. I shrugged one shoulder and raised my eyebrows. “I got rid of everything.”
“Are you done forever?”
“For now. We’ll see. I don’t know.”
She looked me up and down and then cocked her hip. “Did mister thirty days put you up to this?”
I scowled at her. “No.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious. I just decided to lay off for a while. When I get drunk, I act like an idiot.”
She opened the pantry and grabbed a jar of peanut butter. “You’re fun when you’re drunk.”
“I don’t have to be drunk to have fun.”
She unscrewed the lid and poked her finger inside. “I can’t answer that.”
“It wasn’t a question.” I shot her a look and motioned toward the silverware drawer. “Get a spoon, that’s gross.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll put the spoon in there, eat it, put it back in, eat it, and then do it again. If I use my finger, it saves a spoon.”
I chuckled. “Saves it from what?”
“Being washed.”
“My silverware doesn’t have a life expectancy. Grab a spoon.”
She sucked her finger clean and then looked in the jar. “If you were drunk, you wouldn’t care.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“That’s my point. You need to drink to be yourself.”
“I’m myself right now.”
She walked past me and into the living room, then flopped into a chair. “You’re more fun drunk.”
I leaned against the door opening and looked at her. “It’s Tuesday at 11:00 in the morning. What were you going to drink before work anyway?”
“Obviously, nothing.” She fingered another scoop of peanut butter from the jar. “Act like you haven’t had a drink before work.”
Sadly, I had. I didn’t know what the definition was of an alcoholic, or if it required some special gene to be in my gene pool, but my guess was that I had most of the characteristics of one, regardless.
After talking to Marc about what happened, I no longer felt the need to mask my feelings with alcohol. I decided I’d face my days sober, and learn to accept the feelings that came along with abstinence.
Instead of accepting what life had dealt me, I chose to drink so I didn’t have to. The drinking brought on other problems, and my way of dealing with them was to drink so I didn’t have to accept them.
Looking at it all now made me feel foolish. The thing I found to be the funniest was that in the absence of alcohol, my life and all the problems I felt it presented were still right where I left them.
In my lap.
I promptly realized how much of a disaster my life had been for the last ten years. It was a decade I couldn’t change, but I could make an effort to see that I never made the same mistakes again.
“I’m not trying to adopt a holier than thou attitude, Stef. Really. I’m just saying that I’m not going to drink for a while.”
With the jar of peanut butter nestled between her legs, she scanned Netflix for something to watch. “How long’s a while?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many days left?”
I had stopped counting. In cleaning my car’s interior earlier in the morning, I’d realized I hadn’t marked the calendar in a few days. Only after marking the days that had passed with an ‘x’ did I realize how many were left.
“Twelve,” I said.
“Fucking weird.”
“Orange is the New Black, or the thirty-day thing?”
“The thirty-day thing.” She poked her finger in the jar and then shoved it in her mouth.
“I don’t think so.”
“Of course you don’t.” Her eyes were glued to the all-female prison show. She turned up the volume. “But how can that be? It’s weird.”
“It’s not. In the past, I looked at boning as the beginning of a relationship. You meet, you screw, and if you like each other, you continue. I can’t even tell you if any of the guys I screwed had a single redeeming quality. I don’t know anything about them other than their dick size.”
She let out a laugh.
I shot her a look. “What?”
She continued to stare at the television. “Now you know everything about a guy except for his dick size.”
“I don’t care about his dick size.”
I did, but I didn’t. I preferred a big dick, but if he had a nub, I’d find a way to make it work. If nothing else, it would be easy to deep throat.
“If he whips out an uncircumcised two-incher, I bet you say otherwise,” she said in a snide tone.
“I bet I don’t. If he’s got a two-incher, at least I’ll be able to take it all in my mouth.”
“That’s be the only one I’d be able to swallow. God. I swear.” She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “It’s every guy’s dream. I hate sucking dicks. It’s dumb. And, after I gag, it’s all over.”
“I can’t swal
low it all, either. But I like to gag. It’s weird, it turns me on.”
“Turns you on? How can that be? If it gets into that reflex deal, I’m done. Until the next holiday. If it happens again, I’ll go on a no blowjob campaign.”
“No blowjobs? That’s dumb.” I realized what she said, and let out a laugh. “Next holiday? What does that mean?”
“Blowjobs are dumb. Guys shouldn’t need their dicks sucked. If I had a dick, I wouldn’t make anyone put it in their mouth. And, I only suck dicks on holidays.”
“Nobody makes me do anything,” I said. “Only on holidays? Every day’s a holiday?”
“They expect it. They get it out, and they look at it, and they look at you. And then they do that thing with their eyes. That put this in your mouth thing. I swear. I’m like, really? I got sick of it, so I made a rule. Only on holidays.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yep.”
“You only suck dicks on holidays?”
“I just said yes. Holidays, that’s it.”
“How did I not know this?”
“You never asked.”
“Do you on the random holidays, like Boxing Day, and Father’s Day and stuff?”
“New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, and Thanksgiving. That’s it,” she said, extending a finger with each holiday she named.
I chuckled. “You left out Christmas.”
Her eyes remained fixed on the television. “I don’t suck dicks on Christmas.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “It’s the best holiday of them all.”
“Precisely,” she said. “I’m not going to ruin Christmas by putting a dick in my mouth.”
“If I had that rule, I’d have to accept holidays from every country on earth. I’d even make up my own. Blowjobs make guys happy.”
“Diamonds make me happy.” She raised her hand and stretched her fingers wide. “See any?”
I chuckled at her logic. “Do you ever wish you had a dick?”
“Like, one of my own? Yeah. Sometimes. Like now. This show’s dumb, and I’d probably be playing with it just because I could.” She said. “Just eating peanut butter, watching Netflix, and stroking my dick.”
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 129