Back AT You_An Alex Troutt Thriller

by John W. Mefford

  Where was I supposed to go? Had my kidnapper given me more specific advice and I’d forgotten it?

  I was just forty-one years old and already having memory issues. At least that was what it felt like. I could only recall him saying that I’d get further instructions once I got here. But from whom? I eyed clusters of people, young and old, and wondered if they were tied to this kidnapping group.

  Out of nowhere, a memory of Erin shot across the mental bow, back when she was two years old, her head covered with tight, blond curls. It was summertime, and she was frolicking in the little plastic pool that I’d just filled with water. She was talking to herself in a language only she could understand. And she was having a blast.

  Damn, I missed those times. So innocent and yet so free. She was always within a safe environment. Fast forward fourteen years, I’d allowed her to go with Becca and her parents to Las Vegas for spring break. Vegas. Sin City. I knew perverts and bad people were everywhere—hell, I’d collared more than my fair share up and down the East Coast, even some in Texas—but what was I thinking? I’d just let her start dating a month ago.

  My phone buzzed. I jerked it to eye level. A text.

  Take a cab to South Mojave and Olive and get out. More instructions once u r there. Ten minutes.

  I looked up and saw a yellow cab at the curb. I reached the sedan at the same time as two girls wearing tube tops far too small for their endowments. “Our cab, old lady. You can take the next one,” the girl in the bouncing orange top said, one hand on the door handle. “Maybe one of those geriatric buses will come along, and you can be lifted into the bus in a wheelchair.” They giggled.

  I didn’t. “Get your fucking hand off the door handle before I break it.”

  The girl—actually, her breasts—moved to within an inch of my face. Was this about to go down, right now?

  “I don’t see Wonder Woman around here, biyatch,” she said, wagging a finger in my face. “So you better back off, or me and my friend are going to teach you a lesson in—”

  I grabbed her finger and twisted it and her wrist before she could utter another word. Her shriek caused a few heads to turn, but it was Vegas, so people had to be used to extreme everything. “Get the hell away from the cab, or I’ll keep twisting until I break about twenty bones.”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” she said, standing on her toes.

  I let go, jumped into the back seat, and leaned forward to the cabbie.

  “Shit, lady, you’re either badass or you got a screw loose. Either way, Vegas is the town for you, I can tell you that right now.”

  I smacked the seat in front me. “Get me to the corner of South Mojave and Olive. Five minutes.”

  “It will take me at least ten,” he said, looking into the mirror.

  “Fifty bucks extra if you can make it in five.”

  He punched the gas.

  4

  The cabbie jerked the car to a stop, threw the gearshift into park, and gave me a toothy grin in the rearview—as in, a single front tooth.

  “Four minutes, forty-eight seconds.” He sounded gassed, as if he’d just run the five-mile trip.

  I handed him seventy dollars. “Appreciate you breaking the law for me.”

  “Eh. Around here, breaking the law is more of an honor than a risk.”

  I shut the door, and he sped away. The corner of South Mojave and Olive—located in east Vegas, far off the bustling strip—for some reason took my mind to the TV show Breaking Bad. Maybe it was the sad excuses for homes, where at least one car was up on cinderblocks in every other lot. Or maybe it was the rundown apartment buildings with rust seemingly part of the design scheme.

  Another feeling washed over me. One of loneliness. I was surrounded by a lot of structures, but as I looked around, I saw no sign of any people. Well, I did see some laundry hanging on a wire in someone’s front lawn—yes, the front lawn. Other than that, the area was abandoned. Maybe everyone worked at night, when all the tourists were spending money at the height of their inebriation. Maybe this desolate feeling was just business as usual in east Vegas.

  I checked my phone. Still had about a minute until the deadline. But I wondered where this odyssey would take me next. I typed in a text to Brad.

  At the corner of S Mojave and Olive in Vegas. Awaiting more instructions.

  I stayed at the corner and did a three-sixty. A car pulled up to the stop sign. It was a pimped-out version of a Honda Accord. Gold paint glittered, the windows were more like mirrors, and the thud of the bass from inside the car made the shell of the car quake. It was that loud.

  Was this the kidnapper—nothing more than a street thug?

  I bent over, put my hands on my knees, and looked toward the window. A second later, the car sped off. Perhaps they’d been scared away by my “old woman” looks.

  My phone vibrated. A quick glance to see a reply from Brad.

  Thx for the intel. Just know I’m right there by you every step of the way. You will get Erin home.

  Damn, he was always so positive. But he also knew I needed to read it.

  Another buzz on my phone. The same number that had sent me the text at the airport.

  Walk north on Mojave. Turn into mobile home park. Go to last one on the left.

  Somehow the kidnapper knew I’d made it on time. Maybe my one-tooth cabbie was part of this scheme. Or the driver of the funky Honda. Or someone could be watching me from one of the nearby homes or apartments. Who knew? I did as the text said and moved at the pace of a speed-walker. Still took me three minutes, but I made it to the edge of La Villa Vegas Mobile Home Park. I avoided a pothole that could have swallowed a VW Bug and entered the fenced-in lot. As expected, mobile homes of various sizes were situated every few feet. Some were larger, a few had Astroturf just outside their doors, and a couple had fancy awnings, which were probably worth more than the mobile homes.

  I had one central question at this point: was Erin in the last mobile home on the left? I followed the narrow road as it curved around a small bend and then was able to see the back of the park. A small mobile home—one that had smeared rust on the sides—sat all alone, not another mobile home within fifty feet. Maybe they’d picked this one on purpose, in case the girls started screaming. I padded closer and instinctively nudged my arm against my torso, hoping to feel the weight of my gun. Of course, it wasn’t there. I should have stopped at a pawn shop and purchased one. But with what time? The kidnappers might have had that in mind when they gave me this tight timeline.

  Moving within about a hundred feet, I got the sense there were eyes on me. Were they kidnapper eyes, though? I wasn’t sure. He sent me to this mobile home for a reason. Did it relate to the “task” the Faulks’ caller had mentioned? It had to be connected to getting the kidnappers the ransom money, right? I was trying to piece together something that made sense, to think like a kidnapper.

  My pulse did a drumroll on the side of my neck, but my legs didn’t stop moving. Part of me wondered if I was walking right into a trap. But then my thoughts switched to what Erin might be feeling right now. Was she trying to be strong? Did she have hope for rescue? Or had she given up? No, Erin. Don’t give up. I’m coming, baby girl.

  My mind went through a few tactical questions as I got close enough to see all the windows covered from the inside with what appeared to be aluminum foil. Were the girls tied up? Were they on the floor? Were their eyes covered? How many kidnappers were inside? Did they have weapons?

  Did you go through training in Quantico? Of course they have weapons, Alex.

  I swallowed, but my mouth was pasty. I wanted water. But I wanted my daughter back more.

  I reached the mobile home, paused a second to see if someone might open the door. Do I knock or just walk in? I glanced at my phone. No messages. I rapped my knuckles three times on the hollow door and stepped back a couple of feet, since the door opened outward.

  No response. I didn’t pick up a single sound. Was this another false alarm?

 
; I took in a breath, put my hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned my wrist. The door wasn’t locked.

  Just then, a dog barked, breaking the silence like a reaper’s scythe. I turned my head but didn’t see a dog. Maybe it was at a neighboring mobile home. Or was it on the other side of the fence? As long as it wasn’t chewing on my leg, I was good.

  I slowly pulled the door open. It was dark inside. The sunlight illuminated some type of built-in table and booth.

  “Erin?” I called out.

  No response. My joints felt like they were coated with rust. Dammit, I wish I had my Glock on me.

  I slowly walked up two wooden stairs and took one step into the home.

  The door slammed shut behind me, engulfing me in darkness. I jumped but landed in an athletic position—knees bent, both arms up, ready to take on anything that came my way. But I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  I went still, even held my breath for a second. Nothing.

  I exhaled.

  And then there was something. Footsteps against the hollow floors—many, as in more than one person.

  “Erin?” I didn’t think it was her; the steps sounded too heavy. “Please let me see—”

  A fist the size of a turkey clocked my jaw, and I fell back. My spine hit the edge of the table, and I crumbled to the side. I literally saw stars.

  Down on all fours, I blinked and wiped my face, hoping to regain my mental faculties. I didn’t get the chance. A second later, I felt a sharp zap at the base of my spine. My limbs felt on fire, and I lost all control of my muscles. Falling to the floor like a fish thrown onto a dock, my body began to convulse. I’d been hit with a Taser.

  I wanted to speak, to ask what they were doing, how this would help them get their ransom money, and where Erin and Becca were. But nothing came out. I was alive, but I didn’t feel like a lifeform.

  The convulsions subsided, and I took in a breath. I realized I was sweating like a pig. I could sense more than one person near me, but my eyes couldn’t make out how many or their sizes.

  “C-can I see my daughter?” I sputtered.

  “You’ll see plenty in a few minutes.”

  It was a man.

  A burlap sack was dropped over my head. I didn’t fight it. A needle punctured my neck. Within seconds, I grew very tired. Someone picked me up, tossed me over their shoulder like a bag of peat moss. I tried to move, to grab the guy by the neck, but I was slowly losing consciousness. The door to the trailer opened. Through the sack, light blared into my eyes, but even that couldn’t wake me from this trance. A moment later, I was dumped into the trunk of a car.

  I smelled gasoline, and then I fell asleep.

  5

  I woke up in a hallway, propped up in a corner. A few breaths to remind me I was still alive. I picked up a sickening waft...something sour and musty. My stomach was doing flip-flops. I tried to wipe my face, but it was more of a smack. My tongue was dry and felt like it had doubled in size. I needed water.

  Where was Erin? I heard distant voices. Some were agitated. Men, women…maybe some who didn’t speak English. My mind felt like it had been dunked in oily sludge.

  Was someone grunting? I squinted, tried to get a better view of my surroundings. A long hall to my left, a shorter one to my right that ended with an industrial-looking metal door. Back to the left. I saw many doorways on both sides of the corridor.

  Something flapped from a doorway. A curtain?

  I moved away from the wall, and my body rocked precariously, like a pencil that was trying to gain balance standing on one end. I rested my palms on the floor. A worn, gray rug, covered in dust and dirt. Gross.

  With my arms in place to anchor my body, I peered up and saw black curtains hanging at each doorway. No doors, just curtains.

  More grunting mixed with male and female voices. I wanted to call out for Erin, but something told me to hold off. I got to my knees, opened my jaw—and the excruciating pain hit me. I recalled the blow to my face back in the trailer. And then the Taser, the convulsions, the shot in the neck, and being thrown in the trunk of a car.

  Whatever. I was still breathing. I could still save Erin and Becca. I started crawling down the hall. I got to the first curtained doorway and peered inside. A woman was gyrating on top of a man. He was cussing at her, but she didn’t seem to care. She had on a slinky, see-through robe that was opened. She was casually smoking a cigarette, as if she were at a bar doing a little people watching. She had to be a prostitute. I kept crawling, made it to the next room. I saw a hairy guy with a gut so large it hid his genitals—thank God. He was getting dressed. A young girl was still lying in the bed, a sheet pulled up to her chest. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes glazed over. I could hear the man breathing as if he had just one lung, each movement a strain.

  My gut twisted into a knot. Is this what they had Erin and Becca doing? I knew the girls wouldn’t…couldn’t do this on their own. Erin had dated for the first time only recently. What was this kidnapping really all about?

  Seething anger pushed tears into my eyes.

  In the hallway, using the wall as leverage, I somehow maneuvered my way up to my feet. Slightly more lucid, I heard more groans and conversations—some in English, some in Spanish, maybe another language or two in there. I wasn’t certain. I had to get help. Cops, FBI could raid this place, find Erin and Becca, and put an end to everything.

  While leaning against the wall, I shuffled my way down the corridor and stopped just shy of another doorway. A large hand pushed back the curtain, and a man stepped into the hallway. He eye-checked me for a second. Bags hung under his eyes like cocoon nests. He looked back over his shoulder into the room. “Same time next week, Daisy?”

  “Sure. Whatever you want, Herman. I’m always here for you.”

  The girl had an accent—French, Italian, I couldn’t tell—and the excitement of a mortician.

  Herman took another look at me but said nothing. He walked off, hooked a left, and then I heard a door open. That metal door had to be the exit. I peeked into the room, and the girl snagged my gaze. “Are you my next customer?” she asked casually, as if she were going to give me a manicure.

  I think I shook my head. I felt frozen in place, mortified.

  “Come on now, don’t be shy.” She patted the mattress next to her. “I don’t judge. I like women…especially mature women, not these young girls they have running around here.”

  It seemed as though a hundred-pound weight had been dropped on my chest. This girl didn’t appear legal to vote, and she was talking about younger girls? All I could think about was the last time I looked into Erin’s eyes just before she drove off with the Faulks. Her blue eyes mirrored mine almost exactly; her skin was porcelain, flawless and pure. She’d grown up over the last few months, losing a little bit of the attitude, but she was still so naïve about the world. And that was the way it should be at the age of sixteen.

  My eyes had been darting around, but I focused on the girl. She might have seen Erin and Becca, or at least heard someone mention their names.

  “Can you—”

  “Wait.” The girl sat up in the bed and pulled a sheet over her chest. “Are you a cop or something?”

  I pushed some hair out of my face, looked down, and saw my shirt untucked and wrinkled. What about my appearance made her believe I was a cop? “Not sure where you got that fwum.”

  What the hell? Fwum?

  She looked at me with suspicious eyes. “You high or something?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer the question. My jaw hung open as my brain fought to find the right words. “No,” I finally said. “Hey, I’m looking for—”

  She lurched out of her position with the quickness of a panther, on all fours at the end of the bed. “Bitch, I know you got some tango and cash. Give it up, come on,” she said, extending an arm. Her pupils were dime-sized. I could barely see any whites in her eyes.

  “I don’t have anything,” I said, pulling back. I lost my balance, fell against t
he wall on the other side of the hall, but managed to stay upright.

  “Daisy will do anything for that tango and cash. Come on now. I know you got some. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Tango and cash… Wasn’t that a movie? I shook my head and lumbered away, hoping she wouldn’t chase after me. I made it another ten feet and could hear her barking at me, most of it in four-letter words. I wondered if all the girls in these rooms were strung out like Daisy.

  I stopped in my tracks. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Erin might be in any of these rooms. Maybe Becca too. I could see the metal door just around the corner, but I backtracked and began looking inside each room. Girls were servicing their customers in the first two rooms on the right. Then I passed Daisy’s room. She was on the floor, her head between her knees, muttering something under her breath. Was she going through some type of withdrawal?

  My equilibrium improved, and I padded past her doorway unnoticed. I heard a squeal—it went straight to my heart. That was the same noise Erin made whenever she and Luke would get into a tickle-fight. It was coming from the door on the left. I edged closer. Part of me wanted to pull back the curtain and find her. But there was also a part of me that couldn’t take it if I found Erin in the same demeaning position as Daisy and the other girls. Fear wrapped its cold fingers around my throat.

  If this is Erin, it’s not really the same girl. She’s a victim, drugged, coerced. No choice.

  My breath quaked as I pulled back the curtain. It was a girl—and she was with two guys. I almost threw up. The two guys looked at me and didn’t do anything more than shrug. If I had a fucking gun, I would have put bullets right between their eyes. I threw the curtain back and moved on to the other rooms. No Erin. No Becca. But lots of other girls with guys.

  Rage fueled me now. Running my hand down the side of the wall to ensure I didn’t tumble over, I marched down the corridor, took a left, and pushed open the metal door.

  A man the size of Sasquatch was standing over me. I looked up. All I saw was the face of Richard Nixon.