No Offense

by Francesca D'Armata

  “No problem there. We overpay. It’s like payoff money, if you ask me. Can you investigate this?”

  Macini yanked off his glasses, pointed with them, and eased back. “Nick, you’ve been asking the same question for a year. You have nothing. You think that’s what I do? Go after people when there is no crime? Cuz, we’re not short on crime here. My desk is loaded with legit cases. We haven’t laid anybody off in the twenty-eight years I’ve been here. Doubt we ever will.”

  “But you can see it. Right?”

  “Yeah, I see what you’re talking about. So what?”

  “So I could walk off with a few hundred million by jockeying the assets?”

  Macini shook his head. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “So Keaton can manipulate Jack Hunter into selling for nothing—and there’s no crime?”

  Macini folded his hands together. “Jack Hunter was one of the best men I’ve ever known. I loved that man. Who didn’t?”

  “Well, there are a couple of guys…”

  “He made the decision to sell his shares to Mr. Keaton. He personally would have been better off letting the company go belly up. The argument that the person in charge doesn’t know what’s going on with his people is irresponsible management. A leader is always responsible for the people below them. Period. Jack Hunter needed to protect his company. And it looks like that’s exactly what he did.” Macini stood, indicating the meeting was over. “Anything else?”

  Nick lightened up. “You know, you’re right. He did protect the company. He said he was doing that. It’s exactly what he did.” Nick got up to leave. “It’s just hard to rationalize. No CEO ever does that. They take care of themselves first. Insulate their personal wealth. Then let the company and everyone else lose. But Jack didn’t do that. Did he?”

  “Nick, hold on.” Macini walked out with him. “The last time I saw that look on your face, you put two guys in the hospital.”

  “Should I have just let them rob Mr. Lin?”

  “What happened was Jack’s decision. You need to respect that and give it up. That’s my advice to you. Leave this alone. Jack Hunter can’t testify as to why he did this.”

  Nick reached the door and stopped. “Just maybe I can make it seem as if he could.”

  Macini got in Nick’s face. “I don’t know how you want to make that happen.”

  “Everything would have worked out for Jack if only he had lived.”

  “How?”

  “Cuz, just stay out of my way.”

  “Don’t cross the line again. In fact, don’t even get near the gray area. I know Uncle Vince isn’t himself. Nick, don’t get yourself in trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “I’m calling Donovan if you do anything—”

  “Relax.” Nick shrugged jovially. “There’s no crime here. So you can’t create a crime where there is no crime.”

  “I mean it!” Macini headed back to his office, shaking his head.

  Nick pushed out the front door and briskly made his way down the sidewalk. He was suddenly confident he could nail Keaton. He wasn’t sure how. But if he had nothing, he’d still be sitting in his corner office on the fiftieth floor, drinking the coffee. He gained momentum. He was done with idle threats, done with contacting every possible authority. He doubted Keaton could get ticketed if he parked in a fire zone.

  He was ready to make a threat real. No more useless, idle words. It was time to do the one thing that would get the attention of everyone involved. Drain the blood out of every vein.

  The only way to do that was to take the assets. Every last cent he could get his hands on. It might get him killed. You don’t mess with that kind of money and not have someone pay a fatal price. Nick was ready to risk his life to trap the people involved in the cat-and-mouse game.

  Most of the customers had cleared out of Cohen’s Coffee Shop by midmorning. The late-morning regulars were reading newspapers and drinking their old-school coffee. The red-speckled, laminate tabletops and metal chairs were more sturdy than comfortable.

  The counter stools were used mostly by customers who were alone. Steely settled in at an end spot. Her laptop was open as she scoured every job posting in the Houston metro area. Many were listed. It appeared three to five years’ experience would open many more doors than a college degree.

  An interesting ad popped up: business development for a major company. It sounded promising. Fulfilling work helping people when they need it most. She liked helping people. Last line: Burial planning is the job for you!

  Business development for a funeral home? I don’t think so.

  The next one sounded better: career advancement—don’t miss the career opportunity of a lifetime—mature applicants only—you be in control of your income. Call today for an appointment with our friendly representative.

  The office was fifteen to twenty minutes away. She planned to leave early to avoid traffic. She wasn’t familiar with the area. She’d called and set an appointment for eleven o’clock. Then she ran home to get dressed for her first interview.

  Steely zipped the blinds shut in her bedroom. She changed into a skirt of perfect length—not floozy short or unaltered long—and a collared blouse, with a light sweater draped across her shoulders. Her Mary Jane shoes announced she was as young as she looked. She stood in the living room, asking for Bea’s approval. “Do I look professional?”

  Bea took a glance from her recliner. “Brush that hair of yours.”

  “I did.” Steely checked in the framed mirror on the wall. She used a hand to pat down a few strands.

  “Get me a brush. Get the spray too.”

  Steely rushed to retrieve the items from the bathroom. She sat on the floor with her back to Bea. “Miss Bea, please don’t mess up what I did. I need to get going.”

  “Mess it up?” Bea pressed the remote, pausing the TV. “I could stick a brush between my toes and make it look better than this. My arms aren’t ten feet long. Scoot back where I can reach you.”

  Steely moved in between Bea’s spider-veined legs.

  Bea brushed for a few seconds then sprayed. “Done. Now get going.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bea. Have you ever been to Mauly Street?” Steely hung her purse over her shoulder and headed toward the garage door.

  “No.” Bea scratched her chin. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”

  “I have a job interview there at eleven.”

  “Great. Have fun. Now shush!” Bea unmuted the TV. The news was back on, loud and clear.

  Steely locked the door behind her and took off.

  Bea reached for a glass of iced tea on the end table beside her and sipped. “Now I can focus on what’s going on in the world. Eee, what’s that?” She turned the volume up to a blast.

  A reporter standing on a sidewalk announced: “HPD operated a successful sting operation on Mauly Street last night. Prostitution and drug trafficking is rampant in the area. More after this message.”

  Bea spewed the tea, tossed the remote control, and ran out the front door. She reached the curb and looked both ways. Then she darted back inside with her cell to her ear.

  Chapter thirty-two

  The neighborhoods surrounding the area were in transition, for the better, but transition hadn’t yet reached Mauly Street. Steely stopped in front of a wood-frame house in need of painting and got out of her car. She tiptoed through the overgrown grass to the front door. Neighbors watching across the street shook their heads in disapproval.

  Why are they staring? People have businesses in their homes. I hope Mr. Wolcox doesn’t have inside plants. They’d die without any sunlight…Must be his van parked in the driveway.

  Steely gave the sturdy door attached to the wood frame two swift knocks. The curtains were pulled apart and then quickly shut before the lock was released and the door opened.

  “Steely?” the man asked, barely sticking his head out.

  “Mr. Wolcox?” she asked.

  “Yes, come in and
have a seat.” He showed her to a stubby chair situated in front of his massive desk taking up half the living room. She had been on dozens of interviews but had never seen anyone in a slinky purple shirt and yellow pants, with bleached, bristled hair.

  “I hope I’m not too early,” she said.

  “Perfect timing.” Wolcox leered at her from across the desk.

  “Nice shoes you have there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Floral wallpaper…carpet matches his shirt.

  “You have an excellent résumé,” the man said, looking over the single page.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wolcox.”

  “Steely Hunter. Just for the record, is it Miss or Mrs.?”

  “Mrs.”

  “Mm…husband?”

  “I’m a widow.”

  He seemed pleased and made note. “I’m so sorry. Mother, father? Just for the record.”

  “Both passed. What difference does—”

  He edged out a grin. “Too bad,” he said.

  “Mr. Wolcox, your ad says ‘recent college grad a plus.’ What exactly would I be doing?”

  He kept writing. “We’ll get to the details. I pay well.”

  “How well? That wasn’t included either.”

  “I pay well for loyalty.”

  Steely perked up. “You won’t find anyone more loyal than me.”

  “I pay well for following directions.”

  Steely replied, “I follow directions to the tiniest detail.”

  “I pay well for wearing the clothing we provide.”

  “I prefer uniforms. Saves money.”

  “I pay well for taking care of rough customers.”

  “Nobody too rough for me. I went to Juan Seguin Middle School.”

  “What would you do if someone touched you?”

  “I’d use mace.”

  “I pay well.”

  “I’d use mace.”

  Wolcox slammed down his pen. “Mrs. Hunter, you will comply with all our clients’ requests!”

  “Mr. Wolcox, it’s illegal. You didn’t want four to five years’ experience.”

  “Nope. Newbies are more malleable.”

  “This interview is over.” She strapped her purse on her arm, held tightly to the mace in her side pocket, and darted for the door.

  Wolcox idly watched her tussle with the knob.

  “It’s stuck!” She ran to the window, pushed the shade out of the way. They were nailed down. She ran over to the only other door. It might as well have been a wall. No movement at all.

  “It’s against the city code to nail down your windows and key lock your inside doors.” Steely bounced her eyes around the room. “Guess you’re more concerned about the vice squad than the fire marshal.”

  “I wasn’t finished talking,” Wolcox said. “Since you’re not going anywhere, set yourself down.”

  Steely complied, still gripping the mace.

  Wolcox glared at her. “You’ll be ready when our clients need you,” he said sternly. “I have zero tolerance for customer complaints. It’s your job to keep them satisfied.”

  “I don’t exactly know what you mean by ‘satisfied,’ but I’m certainly not satisfying anyone.”

  He laughed. “Oh, so you want to be a tough girl? I’ll have you so dependent on white powder that you’ll do anything I ask.”

  Wolcox yelled, “Theo! Ralph! Get in here!”

  The back door opened. Two guys in tight T-shirts, with tats on their necks, converged on Steely.

  There was no way out. Kicking and screaming would get her nothing but cuts and bruises. They could pick her up with one hand and toss her through the roof if they wanted. Theo could chew up the can of mace and spit it back at her.

  “She needs an attitude adjustment,” Wolcox said. “Cage her for a few days. Shouldn’t take more than that. I want her working by next week. Now get her out of here.”

  Steely closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  Wolcox slammed his fist on the desk. “You became my property the moment you walked in that door. You can go easy, or you can make this difficult. But you’re going!”

  Steely lifted her head, shook it in defiance.

  “Really?” Wolcox’s neck veins swelled, his eyes enraged. “Drag her out!”

  The guys reached for Steely. She pushed them off and stood on her own. “You’re not going to get away with this.” She was flanked by two bulldozers. They shuffled her to the kitchen. Theo lifted a hidden floorboard.

  “This time, make sure the lock is on tight,” hollered Wolcox.

  Theo jumped down. Ralph lowered her in and followed. The hole was dark, with only the kitchen light brightening it. The space was tight, barely enough room to move through in single file. There were no support walls, just a shoveled-out tunnel leading to a sewer line and a wired cage pushed into a corner.

  The cage was sized for a large dog. There was room for Steely to twist and turn, but not straighten out. It wouldn’t matter if she could. There wasn’t much she could do after they gagged her and bound her wrists and ankles with twine. Ralph was no scout, but he sure tied knots like one.

  Theo filled a used syringe with a hallucinogen that would send her soaring to places she would never want to go. What was left of the needle looked like it could be contaminated with hep C or something worse. He aimed it at Steely like he had a dart in his hand.

  She made a quick roll away, rattling the cage and causing him to fumble the syringe.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.” Theo picked up the instrument. “The other needle is older.”

  Ralph’s cell buzzed. He checked the ID and answered fast. “Yeah, dude…Get out? Wolcox is out on bail. Theo’s about to hike up the new asset…Got it!” Ralph dropped the cell back in his pocket. He turned to Theo. “We need to go now!” He lifted up halfway out of the hatch. “Wolcox! Cops in route!”

  “Then we need to toast her,” Theo said. “Boss says never leave them talking.”

  “I’ll take care of her. You get a head start. You always slow us down.”

  “It’s your fault for throwing that punk kid on my knee.”

  “Just go!”

  Theo lowered his head to travel through the tunnel. Wolcox sat on the side of the hatch and then jumped down with a briefcase in hand. He tugged on the rope, closing them in. The only light now came from an open manhole at the end of the escape route.

  Ralph opened a small toolbox on the floor, took out a syringe, and gave it two quick taps.

  “You got her?” asked Wolcox.

  “Got it! Go!”

  Wolcox went over to Steely. “Guess you’re terminated!”

  She kicked at the cage.

  Wolcox took off, following Theo.

  Ralph grabbed hold of the cage, rotating Steely from side to side.

  “Settle down, girl.” He shook the cage violently for a few seconds. “Now be still!” He pressed his face close to hers. “I’m Officer Nettles.”

  She closed her eyes and relaxed her head on the bottom of the cage.

  “Don’t make a sound. I can’t let you out yet. I’ll be back to get you by tomorrow. You’ll be OK in here till then.” He emptied the needle onto the floor and left.

  Steely stared at the syringe lying in the dirt.

  The ropes got tighter as she twisted and turned. It was best just to lie back and breathe lightly. High-pitched chirping sounds meant she wasn’t alone. But she was alive. And whatever was out there wasn’t as dangerous as Theo or Wolcox.

  The doorbell rang. Then someone began beating on the front door. It wasn’t a regular knock. It was an urgent banging.

  A few seconds passed before someone crashed through the door, splintering it apart with a furor. It sounded as if the house went with it.

  Voices, some soft, others deep, were speaking among themselves. Footsteps, light and heavy, shuffled above her.

  “Find that girl!” hollered a woman.

  “You sure they didn’t take her?” a baritone asked
.

  Steely didn’t rattle the cage. What if these people were worse than those who’d just left? Officer Nettles was coming back tomorrow. She needed to be still.

  “Tear this place apart!” ordered one of the weakest voices. “Find that girl!”

  Furniture was flipped over. Doors opened and slammed. Feet stomped around for several minutes until a chair scraped the kitchen floor.

  “What’s that?” said a raspy voice. “There’s no basement in any of these houses! Open it!”

  Light slowly beamed in when the hatch was pulled back. Heads leaned in. Some tatted, some not. Some with stockings rolled above their knees. Old and young.

  Steely froze.

  A man jumped down beside her. “It’s locked. Hand me the crowbar. I think she’s breathing.”

  The man jimmied the door and snapped it open. He lifted Steely out and passed her limp body up to those watching. The ropes were cut. The gag ripped off her mouth. Her eyes were sealed, until she heard a tender voice. “Baby, are you OK?”

  The crowd softly cheered when her eyes flapped open, and she began to cry.

  “You’re OK now.” Mrs. Jennings held her closely for a few minutes until she calmed.

  “Young lady, what are you doing here?” a man asked in a scolding tone.

  “Getting a job,” Steely sniffled. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Pastor Ladue. That awful man rented this house a few weeks ago. We’ve been trying to get him out ever since. Mrs. Jennings lives across the street. She watched you come in. She called us when she saw those men crawl like rats from a manhole.”

  Jennings barely topped ninety pounds, three more than her age. Steely was pinned between Jennings and her sixtyish daughter, Cecilia. “Young lady, you need to be more careful where you go.”

  “I’ve been told that before,” she whimpered.

  “Did you come to this crazy man’s house because of a ten-dollar ad on the Internet?” Jennings asked.

  Steely squeezed her face together and shivered.

  Jennings embraced her. “You’re the third one we caught. Got him arrested two days ago. He lies—says he would let them go if they wanted. Most girls on drugs don’t want to press charges. You on drugs?”