by Terry Keys
As he reached for the door he turned back. “Porter, you’re wasting your time here. Meanwhile your best friend is tied up with these hell-raisers somewhere. If it were my friend, I wouldn’t be putting my trust in . . .”He stopped himself and left the room, shaking his head in disgust.
“There’s a lot at stake here, Rael. You’ve got to understand that,” I said.
“I do.”
DeLuca took Rael back to his cell.
Khalid and I both sat quietly for a moment.
“That how most of your colleagues feel?”
“I wouldn’t say most, but a fair enough number of them, yes,” I said.
“Will it ever end?”
“I don’t know, Khalid. I’d like to think so, but honestly, I think money, greed, and ignorance are deeply seated in human beings. Hard to overcome those hardwired barriers.”
“If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
I thanked Khalid, and he left me alone in the room. I pondered everything that had been said and unsaid over the last thirty minutes. It felt like the chasm that existed between America and the Middle East, between Christians and Muslims, was now an ocean. And I was in the midst of an ocean voyage, my canoe riddled with bullet holes, with no GPS to point me in the right direction.
Chapter 47
I sat alone in my office, staring out the window, playing back the meeting with Rael in my mind. It’d been thirty minutes, which I hoped was enough time for tempers to cool. I’d texted DeLuca, Khalid, and Mullinski to meet me back in the conference room to recap and brainstorm.
I grabbed my laptop and headed that way. I laughed at myself for being upset about not having the answer to the “Middle-East” problem. Guys a whole lot smarter than me had been trying to solve this for a few hundred years.
We all sat down around the conference table. A menacing scowl still darkened Mullinski’s face.
“Is it really that bad, Mully?” I asked with a smile.
“Don’t start with me, Porter.”
“Khalid, you okay?” I asked as he squirmed in his chair.
“If you ask me, we should just burn the whole damn Middle East to the ground,” Mullinski said.
“Here we go,” DeLuca said, sighing.
“Yeah, and we’re going to keep going until all of those monsters are dead,” Mullinski continued.
“Monsters?” Khalid finally spoke up. “Is that what you think of me? I’m one of them too, you know.”
“Does the shoe fit? If not, then take yourself out if it. Besides, I don’t see you blowing shit up. Get your panties out of a wad,” Mullinksi said.
“People like you on both sides are the reason this will never die,” Khalid said.
“People like me? I only blow up bad guys, not innocent people. And I don’t kill people just because they don’t believe the same as me. All of your little brothers over there, though . . .”
Mullinski was on a roll now. I wondered if I should speak up or let Khalid handle it.
“So you think burning the Middle East will solve all of America’s problems with terrorism and radicals?”
“Hell yeah, I do. Every time I turn around y’all are blowing more shit up.”
I hit the table with both hands. “Enough already! You two can finish your debate some other time. We kind of have a case that we’re trying to solve,” I said.
“No,” Khalid said. “This can no longer wait. I can no longer work with this man and his ignorance. Do you realize that American terrorists strike here more than people from Middle Eastern countries?”
Mullinski laughed. “Somebody please get this man to a shrink, and fast. Everyone knows that you sand-bombers blow up shit at every turn. Give me a break.”
“He’s actually right. Homegrown terror has become another issue that we have to deal with and can’t simply rule out,” DeLuca added.
“You’re actually agreeing with this guy? You a Muslim too?” Mullinski asked.
“I don’t have to be a Muslim to read a newspaper and understand the words written on it.”
“The Planned Parenthood shooting, the Charleston church shooting, the Aurora movie theatre shooting, the Virginia Tech shooting, The DC sniper . . . should I continue?” DeLuca added.
Mullinski smiled. “So you named a bunch of guys who were bullied in school and wanted to get even with society? I’m talking about crazy, I’m-going-to-get-ninety-nine-virgins radical Islam shit. Can we please talk apples to apples?”
I’d done some reading on the subject, and Mullinski wasn’t going to like where I knew Khalid was about to go.
“So what, all of those just get a pass? I don’t hear you screaming to blow up all white guys? And he didn’t even name a few of the major ones, like the Unabomber and the Oklahoma City bombing. And what about the Centennial Park bombing?” DeLuca added.
“Listen. Okay, maybe you have a small point, but let’s kick these other guys out and get rid of all these jihadists and then we can police our own.”
“The problem that you face is a lot deeper than that. You see, the major terror attacks outside of 9/11 have been American born. Citizens of the United States are being radicalized right here in your own country. And often times right under your own nose. You do not think that is a problem?” Khalid added.
This topic was obviously near and dear to Khalid’s heart. Mullinski was clearly on the wrong side of this debate, and all he could do was resort to outlandish, hate-filled, nonfact-based rhetoric. I allowed them to finish, because it was actually quite comical to see. Sadly, the masses would never hear Khalid’s argument or listen long enough for the message to sink in. It was much easier to spew hate-filled lies and half-truths than admit that America had a problem on two fronts and that the homegrown problem was equally as terrifying, if not more so, because these men were friends and neighbors. There was an old saying in law enforcement: “You can’t catch who you aren’t looking for.” These men fell right into that category. Many of them had no records or priors, and until they struck, law enforcement often had no indication that they had been radicalized.
“If that were true it would be a problem, but it’s not,” Mullinski spouted.
“You clearly need to spend less time reading your friends’ timelines on Facebook and more time watching real news. The Boston Marathon bombing? Radicalized Americans. The San Bernardino shooting? More radicalized Americans. And the Orlando nightclub shooting—only the deadliest terror attack on U.S. soil since 9/11—another radicalized American. Unless your government is planning on arresting all Americans, you have a bigger problem on your hands.”
“Okay, so how do we stop it? Where do we start? Are you saying we’re always going to have guys like Rokan Sheth running around?” Mullinski asked.
“If any of us knew the answer to that question, we wouldn’t be sitting here,” I said.
We brainstormed for another hour, and tempers finally cooled. In the end, we all agreed on one thing: Houston, America and the world had a big problem.
Chapter 48
I had Fingers pull the video of Paul back up. It was hard to watch, but it was all we had to go on.
“Start it from the beginning again,” I said.
We watched intently, looking for that one clue we’d all missed before. I positioned myself even closer to the monitor.
DeLuca walked in a few minutes later and began working on the facial recognition of the call girls who had visited Yoshida and Awad.
“Maybe one of you will get lucky,” Fingers said.
“I’ll take some luck right now,” I replied.
“If luck brings Paul home then so be it,” DeLuca added.
An hour later we were all still in the same spots. Nothing new—no leads, no clues.
“I’m running out to get Starbucks,” Fingers announced. “Anybody want anything?”
“The usual,” I said.
“Same here,” DeLuca added.
After the door closed behind Fingers, everything Detective DeL
uca had been holding in spewed out. Tears ran down her face. She slammed a keyboard down, sending pieces flying in every direction.
As she was overcome by gut-wrenching sobs, I reached out and pulled her close to me. “Time for a break,” I said. She didn’t pull away.
We sat like that for ten minutes, neither of us speaking.
“Are we going to get him back?” she whispered as her sobs subsided.
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know,” I said.
The computer behind us chimed, and we both swiveled around. It appeared we had a hit on the facial recognition images DeLuca had uploaded.
Just like that, DeLuca was back in detective mode.
I clicked on the image. “What do we have here?”
“Kyla Loyd. Let’s pay her a visit, shall we?” DeLuca said.
Loyd, a dark-haired twenty-three-year-old Hispanic girl, was attractive. But I could tell by staring at the mug shot that she had demons. We printed the image and the address and headed for my truck. Fingers turned in just as we were about to exit his gate. He hopped out and handed us our drinks.
“Thanks. Watch Paul’s video again until you find something—anything,” I said.
Loyd’s address was about thirty minutes away. Neither of us said a word the entire drive over. I’m not sure what DeLuca was thinking, but I couldn’t get Paul off my mind.
“This could be our girl,” I said as we pulled into the apartment complex. “If so, she murdered a man. Keep your eyes peeled.”
We definitely weren’t in an upscale part of town. I bet I could come here and make twenty arrests without really trying hard. And probably more.
We found Loyd’s apartment and headed for her doorstep.
I had my hand on my weapon but it wasn’t drawn. DeLuca banged on the door and announced our presence. I could hear voices inside, but no one came to the door. DeLuca raised her hand to bang on it again, and it finally swung open, alarming us both.
Weapons drawn, we leaned into the doorway and cleared the room. Behind the door stood Kyla Loyd with both hands up.
“Don’t shoot. I didn’t do anything,” she said.
Just then the back door slammed open. “Who is that?” I yelled.
“It’s my boyfriend, Rob. He’s got warrants. I swear I didn’t do anything.”
The apartment was a pigsty. Clothes were strewn all about. A cigarette burned in an ashtray on the coffee table.
DeLuca patted Loyd down and then gestured for her to have a seat.
“We’re going to get right to it. You danced for Prime Minister Yoshida a few nights ago. Tell us what happened,” DeLuca asked.
Loyd grabbed the cigarette and took a long drag. “No, I didn’t. I ain’t worked in over a month.”
DeLuca slammed the photograph onto the table. “That you?”
“Yeah. It don’t prove shit.”
“It proves you danced for Yoshida, like we said. That was taken from the video at the restaurant in Chinatown the night he was there.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“You want a lawyer for what? We aren’t arresting you for anything—yet,” I said.
“I still want a lawyer. I know my rights.”
“Did you kill him?” DeLuca asked.
“I ain’t saying shit till I get a lawyer.”
Before I knew it, DeLuca had jumped up and slammed Loyd’s face into the wall.
“Listen, the whole world is on edge here. My boyfriend is missing, and I’m really not in the mood for your bullshit tonight. Comprende?”
“Okay, okay. Just let me go and I’ll talk.”
She didn’t. Instead, she smashed harder.
“I’m not playing. I’ll talk. C’mon! You’re hurting me.”
I tapped DeLuca on the shoulder, and she released the woman.
“Talk,” DeLuca said.
Loyd adjusted her shirt and sat back on the couch.
“A few weeks ago, Ron down at the club came up to me and another girl and asked if we wanted an extra gig. Certain girls are all about making a little extra, even if that means . . . you know. So we agreed. I didn’t know who we was dancing for. I just showed up where he told us to. We get dropped off and go back to this little room in the back. I got about three or four drinks in me. After I seen all of the security, I knew he musta been some bigwig hotshot, but I didn’t know who he was or nothing. I seen he was old, so I threw back a couple more shots. I’m a dancer but, hell, I got standards too. I take off my shirt, start letting him touch a little bit, and the other girl, like, takes over. Next thing I know she’s naked, got him fully mounted, and starts working on his clothes. I’ve danced with another girl before. Usually we kinda work together, but I was just fine letting her do all the work and still get paid. I tossed back another shot, and I seen him grabbing at his chest and shit. Hell, I didn’t know what happened. She starts screaming. Then I start screaming, and the guards come in asking us what happened.”
“And did you tell this to the police when they interviewed you?” I asked.
“This the first time anybody talked to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean ain’t no cops talked to me. A cop came in and hauled us off. I thought we was going to the station, but he took me home. I’m assuming he took Artee home too.”
“Artee? Is that the other dancer?” I asked.
“Yeah. Some new Indian chick. Been working at the club ’bout four months. But I ain’t seen her since that night. Guess she got scared or some shit. I was shaken up too.”
“You have a last name on Artee? You happen to know where she lives?”
“Nah, somewhere on the north side, I think.”
I handed her my card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call. And tell your boyfriend running from the cops will get him shot sooner or later. It’d be much easier if he just took care of the warrants.”
We headed back to the lab. We hadn’t gotten far when my phone rang. It was Fingers. Maybe he’d spotted something in Paul’s video. I thought back to what Loyd told me about Artee and the fact that she was of middle-eastern descent. Minus her yielding a wig I didn’t see Artee being a blonde.
“Porter, is your radio on?”
“No, we’re just leaving Loyd’s house. Why? And why do you sound out of breathe?”
“So you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what? What the hell’s happened now?”
Chapter 49
Sally Kincer and Dari were picked up at five fifteen sharp. Just like Dari had responded with her a few hours earlier, the girl hid behind her when any of the Secret Service agents tried to get close. One of them reached out again for Dari but Sally shielded her.
Sally pushed Dari into the waiting limo. “She’s a kid. She’s been through a lot of shit and doesn’t want strange, funny-looking men in dark suits and sunglasses feeling her up. Can we please just keep it moving? Good lord!”
“Just trying to do our jobs, ma’am,” one of the men called back.
“You’ve got two pretty women here – not some gangbangers. Act like it,” Sally spouted off.
As the limo headed toward the White House, Sally sent her sister a text saying they were en route.
“Are you okay, Dari? Don’t mind those men. They do have a tough job to do. And they severely lack sensitivity training.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to men being mean to me.”
Sally shook her head. “Look at me, kid. No one else is going to be mean to you. You got that? You’re a princess, and I’m going to see to it that you are treated like one.”
Dari grinned.
The limo pulled up to one of the side entrances to the White House. One of the Secret Service men came over and opened their door.
“You ready?” Sally asked.
Dari shook her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“What if they don’t like me?”
“Listen, kid. You’re beautiful and, from what I can gather, very i
ntelligent. Everyone is going to love you. C’mon. We’re going to meet some really special people. Have you heard of Jackie Wilson?”
Dari shook her head.
“Well, she’s my sister, and she happens to be the president of the United States.”
“She’s your sister?”
“Yes. First female ever. She’s going to love your story of strength and perseverance. Just be yourself and everything will be fine. We are going to talk a little and then have dinner. I think we may have some other pretty important people join us. Does that sound like fun?”
Dari slowly nodded.
Sally got out and tugged on Dari to follow. Led by three Secret Service agents, Sally and Dari headed for the side entrance. President Wilson stood in the doorway and smiled as the two approached. Sally and her sister hugged for a moment.
“President Wilson, this is Dari.”
President Wilson reached out her hand. “Hello, Dari. It is a pleasure to meet you. My sister told me that you were beautiful, but she was wrong. You are a gorgeous young lady. Please come in.”
The three of them went on a brief tour, and the president showed Dari around.
“John, cancel my press conference and reschedule it for nine a.m. tomorrow,” the president said to one of her men.“ And let’s move dinner up twenty minutes. Make sure General Tsakiris and Mr. Pfleger still plan on joining us for dinner.”
President Wilson led Dari and Sally into the main dining hall. “We should have the rest of our dinner party here soon. I bet you’re starving. When’s the last time you had a really good hot meal?”
“It’s been awhile,” Dari said sheepishly. She took off her backpack and pushed it under the table. Then she sat down beside Sally at the table.
Everyone else took their places, and one by one, President Wilson’s guests joined them. She introduced each of them to Dari and reintroduced them to Sally.
“You okay, Dari? You don’t look so good,” Sally asked, leaning in close to the girl.
Dari slowly nodded.
General Tsakaris, Secretary of State John Pfleger and Speaker of the House Ryan Neil had all joined them, along with their wives.