by Debra Dunbar
It worked its own kind of electronic magic, and in five minutes had bypassed the phone’s passcode and deactivated it. I had no idea how my own magic worked, and even less idea how this thing worked, but work it did.
Sticking my thingie back in my pocket, I dialed the number Bags had given me on the crumpled napkin.
“Detective Juke.”
I almost dropped the phone when a woman’s voice answered the phone instead of a machine. It was just past seven in the morning and I hadn’t expected the detective to actually be in the office.
“Fucking prank calls.” The woman hung up before I could pull myself together enough to answer her, meaning that I had to dial the number a second time.
“Detective Juke?” I blurted out before she could say anything. “I need your help. My foster daughter was taken yesterday. They’re going to sell her. I was told you could help.”
I figured the police would be more sympathetic if I pretended to be Bea, who was an upstanding citizen and a CPA, as opposed to a twenty-two-year-old with a sketchy past who was wanted for tax evasion.
“Did you file a missing person’s report?” The detective’s voice was harsh and accusing, as if it were my fault that Nevarra had been kidnapped.
“No. Not yet. My other sis—daughter was shot in the home invasion, and I have to stay here and take care of her. I was told you could help me. Please. She’s only fourteen.”
“Give me your address, and I’ll come over to take a statement and file the report.” Her voice didn’t sound any more sympathetic than before. I was beginning to regret this whole thing. The police never helped, especially people like me. This woman was annoyed. She probably hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.
But I was desperate, and as much as I distrusted the police, I did trust Bags and he said this detective might be able to help me find Nevarra.
“Can you just take the information over the phone?” I tried to sound panicked. It wasn’t difficult because I actually was barely holding on.
There was a moment of silence on the line, and I thought that maybe the detective had just hung up on me in frustration.
“Tell me what happened, ma’am.”
Definitely frustrated. But I’d gone this far down the path, so I figured I might as well keep going.
“A bunch of men broke into our house yesterday looking for my oldest foster daughter. She’s twenty-two and hasn’t lived here for years, but I guess she must have used our address for her salvage license. They took all of our money, beat me up, shot my youngest, and took my other foster daughter with them. I recognized the one man’s tattoo. He was a Fixer.”
“I see.”
I felt sweat trickle down between my breasts. She didn’t believe me. This had been a colossal waste of time. I was better off tracking down Fender than trying to get this cop to help me.
“I need to see you,” the detective said. “And before you hang up on me, know that your daughter is probably listed on a sale site right now, and if we don’t move fast, we’ll never find her.”
I hesitated, knowing the woman was right, but also knowing that I would be of no help to Nevarra if I were in jail or in the hands of the tax collectors. And as much as I needed assistance, I trusted my ability to find Nevarra more than some cop.
“If she’s pretty and fourteen, then you don’t have much time. A girl like that will fetch a lot. There aren’t a lot of people in the city that do that sort of human trafficking. The Fixers don’t deal in prostitution or trafficking, so they most likely sold her off to another gang.”
“The Disciples,” I blurted out. “I…I heard them say they were going to sell her to the Disciples. Cash up front for a deposit, then a percentage commission once she was sold.”
I heard the detective suck in a breath.
“Then we need to move fast. I need to meet you, Eden Alvaro.”
This time it was me who sucked in a breath. She knew my name. I was calling on a stolen phone. I’d never mentioned Bea or Nevarra’s name, but she knew my name. My finger hovered over the disconnect button, but I hesitated, because if this detective was smart enough to know the Fixers did enforcement for the tax collectors, and to run a search on all delinquencies that were serious enough to warrant excessive force, all while we were talking, then she was a woman I wanted helping to search for Nevarra.
“I can’t.” I looked around, wondering if I should ditch the cell phone, and if they could trace the call and find my location. Fuck, they could already be on their way. In seconds I could be surrounded by patrol cars, hauled in, handed over, all while Nevarra vanished into the underworld of sexual slavery.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you’re not reporting from your salvage runs. All I care about is finding your sister. Those tax collectors can rot in hell for all I care.”
I wanted to believe her, but I had firsthand experience in how convincing cops could be. They always seemed to be on your side, sympathetic, understanding, then next thing you knew you were headed for juvie.
But I didn’t have much choice. I’d deal with my own problems with the Fixers, the tax collectors, the bitch who set me up later. Right now, Nevarra was my priority. I’d meet this cop, and if she pulled anything, I’d take her down. Then I’d deal with the repercussions of killing a cop later, along with all the other shit I had piling up on my list.
“Okay. Pasadena. The coffee shop on Marengo and Union. Six o’clock this evening. There are a few things I need to do first,” I said as she began to protest at the delay.
I heard the detective sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there. Alone, so don’t shoot me. And Eden? Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
I hung up on her, because I was about to do something stupid—something really stupid.
Chapter 11
I headed to the first of the two places Bags had written down—the one he’d heard Fender hung around—not so much because I thought I’d find Nevarra, or even Fender, there, but because there was a slim chance I could beat information out of someone, and I needed to do something. I couldn’t just wait around, and I couldn’t put Nevarra’s safety on this one cop’s shoulders.
There were risks in what I was doing, and not just the risk that I’d get killed, or turned in for a bounty. I was well aware that if someone in the Disciples found out I was coming for them, hunting them down, then they’d lock Nevarra away so tight I’d never find her. They needed to not worry about me, not even know my name. We hadn’t left anyone alive at the warehouse last night, and I was sure when the Disciples had discovered the bodies, they’d chalked it up to a robbery by a rival gang. We did take a bunch of their shit. They’d never connect that crime with me—which was exactly what I wanted.
Vultures had a reputation. We were thought to be cowards who avoided any sort of violent conflict. We swooped in, grabbed the goods, then got the fuck out. We hovered around the edges of fights, only joining in if we had to defend ourselves. If the Disciples thought about me at all, they’d be imagining me hunkered down in some hidey-hole, trying to get across the border with the loot and the money. They’d never imagine that I’d risk my hide looking for a younger foster sister; I’d not risk my hide picking them off one at a time until I managed to find out where she was being held.
I had to be stealthy. And I couldn’t leave any survivors to snitch on me.
The “no survivors” thing didn’t bother me. It was just one more thing that made me a freak, one more thing I had to hide from everyone. Oh well.
The address Bags had given me was a car parts place. The Disciples had taken over what had once been an AutoZone store, surrounding it with a tall chain link fence that had loops of wire around the top, as if it were a prison yard. Instead of keeping the bad guys inside, the Disciples were clearly hoping to keep their stock from walking out the door. The warehouse from last night had been secure, but this place had once been a retail store complete with glass windows and doors, and a layout that invited customers to come in to shop.
There were stacks of fancy rims, some on and some off the tires. A pile of catalytic converters sat off to the side. Several high-end cars were lined up behind the fence in various states of being parted out.
Two guards were all that I could see at the moment, and they were doing a shitty job of watching the store. The bigger guy leaned against the wall, a pistol held loosely by his side. The other guy was making out with a woman beside a Ferrari that was up on blocks.
It was the perfect opportunity for me to slip by while the pair of them were distracted, but just as I went to sneak around the side, I looked back and saw that what I’d thought was a passionate embrace was one-sided.
The woman was struggling. And she was losing out against a guy nearly twice her size.
Damn it all. I didn’t have time for this, but I wasn’t about to just walk away. I also wasn’t about to go rushing in and get shot by the bored guard with the gun.
There was about twenty yards between me and the building. Along the way were two more cars, a metal trashcan that was probably used for a warming fire on cooler nights, and a set of expensive spinner rims on fat tires next to what looked to be a brand spanking new outboard motor.
I held my hand up and pushed, just like I’d done when deflecting the balls Sadie and Nevarra threw at me. The tires were a good distance away and a whole lot heavier than children’s balls, so all I managed to do was rock that stack a little.
The motion was enough to catch the attention of the dude standing guard. “Something’s over there behind the wheels.”
Rape-guy didn’t even pause. “Probably a rat or something.”
I pushed again, harder. The stack rocked and one of the tires fell off and rolled a few feet away, knocking a set of rims over with a clang.
Rape-guy’s head jerked at the noise, but he all he did was swear and turn his attention back to the woman.
The guard walked toward the tires, bringing his pistol up.
Shit. I’d wanted them both to investigate, although if I could separate them it might be easier for me to take them down one at a time. Holding my palm flat, I pushed once more and sent the fallen tire rolling past the car and around the edge of the building.
Now the guard swore and trotted after it. “Those fucking tires are worth a fortune.”
“If those Dub rims are dented, Fender’ll have your head,” Rape-guy called after him as he struggled with the woman.
I slipped around the edge of the car and darted to the next for cover, putting me in better view of the side of the building where the tire had come to rest. This next thing was going to be tricky. I’d either bring the guard down without a sound, or he’d scream loud enough that Knife-guy would come running with his dick out. Either option would work, so I waited for the guard to pocket his pistol and pick up the tire in both hands by the rim before sending a jolt of electricity across the courtyard, into the metal, and into the guard.
The guard fell to the ground, convulsing, the tire still in his hands. I ran to him keeping the electrical pulse up for seven seconds. The dude wasn’t smoking, so I assumed whatever I was doing it wouldn’t kill him. Not that I cared whether in the end I killed him or not. I just didn’t want him getting up anytime soon, or dying before I could question him.
I snuck around the side back to the other guard who was still struggling with the woman. Walking as quietly as I could, I came up behind him. Unfortunately, the woman gave me away, her eyes widening with surprise as she saw me over Rape-guy’s shoulder.
He shoved the woman to the side and spun around, pulling a knife from his waistband. The woman fell to the ground, her legs tangled as she went down. With a snarl, she kicked out at Rape-guy, catching him in his left ankle. It didn’t do much more than make him swear and kick back at her before trying to hop out of her reach, but it was enough. I grabbed at his hand with the knife, feeling a sharp sting as the blade sliced my arm. Then I stepped into the guy, slammed my head into his nose and employed my stun gun superpowers.
Men are idiots. They always expect women to fight like they do. I was shorter and slighter built than this guy, so I didn’t have his arm reach or his arm strength. He outweighed me by close to seventy pounds. I could punch until my fingers fell off and I wouldn’t win against him. The only way I’d prevail is if I went for his vulnerable areas fast and hard, if I closed in, kept him off balance, and let his weight and bulk work against him.
Sadly, my stun gun powers failed me this time, which left me having to fight a much bigger opponent who had a knife. I attempted another head butt, which he was smart enough to evade. He pulled his arms in closer, slashing the knife toward me. I wasn’t strong enough to overpower him, and my hand, slick with blood, slid off his wrist. The blade raked across the front of my jacket instead of my neck. I felt a sting, then a wetness on my chest.
Fuck, I needed my gun, even though shooting would bring whoever was in the building running. I couldn’t afford to be exposed, but I couldn’t afford to be dead either. Not that I could reach my gun with both hands frantically trying to keep the guard’s knife from slicing me to ribbons.
This whole thing was not going down as planned. My arm shook as he brought the knife upward and turned it. Fucker was going to stab me, and I wasn’t strong enough to do anything about it.
A whack sent the man against me with enough force that I nearly fell. The knife dropped from his hand, and he slid to the ground, blood gushing from his head. The woman stood behind him, her shirt twisted and torn at the shoulder. She was holding a tire iron in both hands and as I watched, she proceeded to cave the guard’s face in with three more blows.
So much for questioning this one. Hopefully, I hadn’t fatally electrocuted the other guy.
The woman tossed the tire iron aside, cursing the man in something that sounded like Russian. She spat on him a few times. I waited until she was done, then quickly went through the guy’s pockets, taking the knife and some of his money, before tossing the rest of the cash at the woman who was trying to straighten her shirt with shaky hands.
She froze and glared at me. “I’m not a whore.”
I shrugged. “Then be a thief. That’s what I’m doing.”
She flashed me a crooked smile and grabbed the cash from the ground. We both ran, her toward the street and me around the side of the building.
The guard was still on the ground. I checked for a pulse, then did some cursing of my own when I realized he was dead. Fuck. I was hoping to find out if Fender was here, or at least find out where Fender was before I killed this guy.
There would be more gang members inside, but I doubted it would go over well if I waltzed in the front door covered in blood and asked to speak with Fender.
Guess I don’t have any other choice.
If I was going in, I was going in prepared, so I grabbed the dead guy’s gun, then took his cash as well, because there was no sense in leaving good money behind.
First, I assessed my wounds. The cut on my chest was shallow and had already stopped bleeding. The one on my arm hurt like fuck. I wiped the blood on my pants, and decided it wasn’t deep enough that I needed stitches or immediate medical attention.
Hugging the building, I worked my way to the back corner. A quick glance told me there were no other guards outside, and the only two entrances were the main one in the front, and this steel door in the rear of the building. Whoever this Fender was, he was either an arrogant ass, or cheap. Only two guards? Okay, maybe that would have been enough if they hadn’t both been on the same side of the damned building, one of them getting his rocks off while the other chased a spinner across the lot.
The back door opened, and I knelt down
behind an oil drum. A dark-haired man stepped outside, holding a cigarette. He was built like a piece of beef jerky with a clean-shaven face and a high-bridged nose that had a hook at the end. He took a few puffs, then pocketed the lighter, kicking a rock over to prop the door open.
This wasn’t Fender. I eyed the doorway, wondering how many more were inside, if Fender was actually in there or not. If I could manage to grab this guy, I might be able to find out if he knew anything about Nevarra or Fender—and then kill him before anyone knew I was out here. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but I was going to have to improvise and go with the flow.
The man smoked while I contemplated, weighing my alternatives. Soon he’d notice that the guards were oddly silent and nowhere to be seen. Soon he’d head back inside and I’d lose my chance to grab him out here alone. Making a decision, I pulled my pistol from the holster, thankful that I’d already chambered a round. Pistol in one hand, stolen knife in the other, I took a breath, hesitating as the man dropped his cigarette, ground it out with the heel of his boot, then unzipped his pants.
For a second I wondered what the fuck he was doing, then I heard the sound of water and realized he was peeing onto the frame of an Acura sedan. I lived with three women. I’d forgotten how cavalier men were about yanking it out when they needed to go.
It was the perfect opportunity. I walked up behind the guy, shoved my pistol against the back of his head as I wrapped my other arm around his waist and slid the knife up against his cock.
He abruptly stopped peeing and slowly raised his hands out to the side of his waist. “Your life really worth some cash and a pair of spinners?”
“I don’t want your money or a set of rims. Where’s Fender?”
He laughed. “What, he knock you up or something?”
Why did everyone assume I was pregnant? “Where’s Fender?” I repeated.
“He’s not here. Try down around the airport.”