The Lion's Mouth

by Brian Christopher Shea

  “How bad?” the clerk asked.

  “It’s my fault. I said some really mean things and then I ran away,” Mouse said, keeping up her act. She continued before the woman could speak, “I just want to go back home, but I don’t have a ride. Would you be able to call me a cab?”

  “I could, but maybe it’s better that I call the police,” the woman said.

  She didn’t say this in a threatening manner. More so in the form of a question. As if she were asking the girl for her opinion or permission.

  “Please don’t! That will only make it worse.” Mouse turned on the waterworks and sobbed, generating tears for effect.

  “Don’t cry, little one,” the large clerk said.

  It was working. The woman had bought the act.

  “Please,” Mouse pleaded, softly.

  “Okay. Where do you live?” the woman asked. Mouse looked at her with distrust and the woman registered this and responded, “It’s not for the police. It’s for the cab company. They will need to know where they’re driving to.”

  “Austin. Downtown area,” Mouse said, casting her eyes downward again.

  “Well you did make it pretty far in your journey tonight,” the woman said, sounding impressed.

  “Where am I?” Mouse asked, gathering the info in the hopes that she could get a newspaper tomorrow and would open it to find an article about a dead bald man in an apartment shooting.

  “You’re in Georgetown. About fifteen miles north of Austin. Let me see what I can do for you,” the woman said, sweetly.

  “Thank you,” Mouse replied.

  “How about an Uber? They are usually quicker than any cab company these days,” the woman said, smiling.

  “What’s an Uber?” Mouse asked. It was a funny word and she’d never heard of it before.

  “It’s like a cab, but people use their own cars. Don’t worry, it’s safe,” The woman said and then continued, “I use it all the time. Tell you what. I will get you an Uber. I’ll put it on my account. You save your money.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Mouse said.

  The woman punched at the screen on her phone and then said, “See, how easy is that?”

  The woman turned the screen toward Mouse and she watched as the computerized map showed a car icon moving toward a blue dot.

  “That’s us. And that’s your driver. He’ll be here in less than three minutes. Pretty cool, huh?” The woman was proud of this technology.

  “Very cool,” Mouse said.

  She was happy to be getting out of the city with the bald man. She’d heard the additional gunshots as she fled through the parking lot and hoped that he was now a dead bald man.

  But if there was one thing Mouse’s fifteen years of life had taught her, it was that hopes and wishes are the things of fairy tales.

  Chapter 33

  It was overcast, but the morning’s light seemed bright as it passed through the windshield, pulling Izzy from her sleep. Her neck was sore from the awkward position she’d taken during the night. She looked at the clock. 6:43 am. Then she looked over at Declan. His eyes were focused on the road but she could tell he was struggling against exhaustion. His shoulders were hunched forward and he was holding onto the steering wheel as if he was drowning and it was a life preserver.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” Izzy asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  “I got my second wind in the middle of the night. I figured I’d push on and let you rest. You can take over at the next exit I see with a gas station. We need to fill up anyway,” Declan said. Fatigue gave his words a slight slur.

  “I need a cup of coffee to get my blood pumping,” Izzy said with a yawn, bringing the seat into an upright position. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not counting the power nap I took before I picked you up? Roughly twenty-eight hours.”

  “Holy crap! You must be seeing double,” Izzy said.

  “Nah, that was hours ago. I’m seeing triple now,” Declan laughed.

  “I’m going to reach out to Nick before I take over the drive. I think it’s best we don’t surprise him,” Izzy said.

  “Okay. Maybe just feel him out a bit before you tell him we’re on our way. I don’t want him to flip out before we get a chance to have a face-to-face with him,” Declan said.

  The phone rang twice and then clicked. The cellular acknowledgment that the call had connected.

  “Hello,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Who’s this?” Izzy asked. Her tone was a blend of confusion and anger at hearing a female’s voice on the other end of Nick’s line.

  “I apologize. I’m Anaya, a friend of Nick’s.”

  “Where’s Nick?” Izzy asked. The sudden wave of jealousy that overcame Izzy kept her from being any less direct.

  “He’s right here,” Anaya said softly and then continued, “He’s…”

  “Well, put him on the phone,” Izzy interrupted.

  “I can’t. He’s unconscious.”

  “What do you mean unconscious?” Izzy asked.

  “Who may I ask is calling?” Anaya asked. Her voice strengthened in tone.

  “Izzy Martinez, FBI,” Izzy said, curtly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Martinez. I didn’t know that you were with the Bureau,” Anaya said, see-sawing back to a softer inflection.

  “Tell me what’s going on with Nick.” Izzy did not bother to minimize her official title for this woman. For some reason, she liked that Anaya had felt the need to address her as Agent.

  “We were attacked last night. Nick took the worst of it. He came out of surgery about an hour ago, but he hasn’t woken yet. The doctor was just in and said Nick’s in stable condition,” Anaya said.

  “Attacked? By whom? Surgery? I need details!” Izzy said, angrily.

  She was angered at hearing that Nick was injured, but more so that some random woman was by his side instead of her.

  “We were protecting a young victim. Well, correction, Nick was doing the protecting. I’m the CPS caseworker assigned to the girl. Anyway, Nick decided that the girl would be safer at his place,” Anaya said.

  “What? Nick brought a victim to his home?” Izzy interrupted, the frustration evident in her voice.

  “Yes. I know it’s not normal procedure, but this is not a typical situation,” Anaya said.

  “Go on,” Izzy prodded.

  “A man came for the girl during the night. Nick was stabbed and beaten,” Anaya said. Her voice trembled as she retold the violent encounter.

  “Stabbed? How bad?” Izzy asked, dropping the jealous frustration from her voice. A genuine concern for Nick was the only thing that could be heard in the questions.

  “The knife wound was just above the left hip. It’s bad. I thought he was dead. There was so much blood,” Anaya mumbled the last part, trailing off in thought.

  “Jesus,” Izzy whispered.

  Izzy looked over at Declan. He must have felt her gaze because he turned. She felt the color drain from her skin and assumed from the former soldier’s clenched jaw that he’d been able to gather from the one side of the conversation that things were worse than they’d thought. The engine roared as Declan urged the Camry forward.

  “The doctor said he was lucky. He said the blade missed the kidney, but it went deep. Thankfully, it didn’t exit out the back. The doctor said that might’ve been much worse. Something about it being much easier to pack a wound with one hole,” Anaya said, pausing as she staved off the wooziness created by the recall.

  She’d been the one to press the dishrags hard against Nick’s side. The memory of their wetness sickened her. The stains on her unchanged clothes were a reminder of the volume of blood spilled.

  “Are you going to stay with him?” Izzy asked.

  “Yes. Unless they find the girl. Then I’d have to help on that end,” Anaya said.

  “We’re on our way, just coming up on Knoxville. We should be there by ten tonight,” Izzy said, looking at Declan for c
onfirmation of the timeline.

  He nodded in response without taking his eyes off the road.

  “I’ll call you back at this number if something changes,” Anaya said.

  “Thank you,” Izzy said. She then added, “What happened to the asshole that stabbed Nick?”

  “I shot at him and he ran away,” Anaya said.

  “Shot at him? Did you hit him?” Izzy asked. She realized that her tone was more accusatory than intended but didn’t apologize for it.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never fired a gun before. I pulled the trigger until it was empty. He ran out the door. There was so much blood. I’m not sure if it was from him or Nick,” Anaya said.

  “Regardless, it sounds like if you hadn’t been there then Nick would be dead,” Izzy said.

  “I really don’t want to think about it,” Anaya said

  “Who is he working with on this, besides you?” Izzy asked.

  “Detective Jones from APD,” Anaya said.

  “Send his contact info to me,” Izzy requested.

  “I will. He’s out looking for the girl as we speak,” Anaya said.

  “She’s gone?” Izzy asked.

  “Yes.”

  Anaya did not add anything more. The implication of the girl being outside of the protection of law enforcement didn’t bode well for her survival. And the thought of it saddened her deeply.

  “Keep me posted. If he wakes up, tell him that I’m on my way and that Declan is with me,” Izzy said.

  She clicked the end button and the image of Nick’s chat head disappeared from her screen. She closed her eyes and released this new-found tension, exhaling slowly.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Declan said, stating the obvious.

  “Well, you couldn’t be more right,” Izzy said, pausing for effect before she continued. “Nick needs our help.”

  The hum of the vent and the vibrations of the Greyhound bus lulled Mouse to sleep. Her eyes would pop open anytime it slowed or stopped. She would scan for threats and then fade out. The bus was approaching Dallas, where she would switch to another bus. The itinerary acquired for her by the homeless man showed that there would be a total of four transfers before she reached the bus’s final destination of Saginaw, Michigan.

  It was not restful sleep but, with every rotation of the wheels, she was farther away from the men who hunted her. Sitting in the back of the bus allowed for her to see the scattered heads of the other passengers. Mouse folded her backpack into a pillow and positioned it between her and the bus’s frame.

  She closed her eyes and tried to envision what Lake Huron would look like. The starting point for her new life.

  Chapter 34

  Pain was not a new sensation and its presence now was not unwelcome. He’d long ago severed the emotional connection with it. He was aware of his damaged body but was able to compartmentalize. Evaluating his injuries, Cain slid his right hand from one to the next. The hole near his neck was still a concern, but he also had located two more places where he was struck during the second burst of gunfire.

  The outer portion of his left thigh had been hit and Cain had taken a grazing shot to his left bicep. The flesh wound on his arm didn’t even register as a concern to him. It could be repaired with a few stitches or left to heal on its own and serve as a reminder of his second failed attempt. He felt around the circumference of his meaty thigh and was unable to locate an exit wound. That could be problematic. Retrieval of the lodged round could cause some additional damage.

  The bleeding coming from his arm and neck had slowed with the applied pressure. The Quick Clot he’d poured on it also played a part. His survival bag was equipped to handle some potential trauma, but it only would serve as a temporary fix until he could get medical attention. In his line of work, going to a conventional hospital would be unacceptable. Too many questions. Answers to which would land him in jail for the rest of his life.

  After fleeing the apartment complex, he had driven until he found a dive-bar outside of the city and had stopped there to triage his wounds. He figured he’d be less likely to be noticed by the drunken patrons meandering into the watering hole. Once Cain stabilized his injuries, he wiped his hands on his pants to remove the wet blood and then pulled out his phone. He wanted nothing more than to push on and find the Heathen, but he knew if he wasn’t patched up properly, he wouldn’t be physically capable of carrying out the task. He made the call.

  A frail man with wisps of gray in his hair stood over him wearing a faded white medical coat. No nametag. No hospital. He didn’t speak and Cain was glad because he was in no mood to engage in small talk. This doctor knew not to ask questions and was paid well for his discretion. In times past, men like this had assisted in mending his damaged body. The consequences of his service to the Pastor. His service as God’s Hand.

  As he lay on the improvised operating table in the empty warehouse waiting for the surgeon to begin his work, he recalled the phone conversation with the Pastor.

  “Where are you, my son?” the Pastor said.

  His words were similar to that of a concerned parent.

  “I failed you,” Cain uttered.

  “Failure is another opportunity to prove yourself, my son,” the Pastor said. It was something he’d often repeated during his sermons.

  Another opportunity to serve, Cain thought.

  A tear rolled down his cheek as the surgeon began digging into his leg to retrieve the bullet. The tear was not out of pain, but joy. An overwhelming sense of happiness filled him at the thought of his redemption.

  Chapter 35

  Rusty stood in the parking lot of the Shell gas station, sweating profusely from the recent track. A bowl of Evian water was being lapped at loudly by his partner. The track had taken the pair from the Water’s Edge Apartment complex along the San Gabriel River and come to an end at the entrance to the mini-mart of the gas station. Several members of the Georgetown Police Department were on scene and had assisted. Jones was inside talking with the clerk, a heavy-set Hispanic woman. He exited a short time later as Jasper retreated to the backseat of the Crown Vic to lay down.

  “Damn do-gooder!” Jones huffed.

  “What’s up?” Rusty asked, trying to get a read on the detective’s comment.

  “She got the kid a ride. She actually Ubered her back to Austin!” Jones seethed. He made no effort to hide the frustration of this added complication.

  “Shit!” Rusty said.

  He too had become emotionally invested in this case and, in particular, finding this missing girl. He was concerned that the next track would lead him to another small, lifeless body. The thought caused the seasoned tracker to shiver involuntarily.

  “The Uber app on her phone showed the location where she was dropped off, but we are way behind the power curve on finding her,” Jones said.

  The pudgy detective looked at his watch as he spoke and nervously rubbed at his temple. The track hadn’t been run until Nick was transported and the crime scene was worked. Georgetown’s detective division was still processing the apartment. Crucial time had been lost in the chaos.

  Anaya had called Jones and notified him. He’d responded quickly, but with every passing minute the likelihood of finding the girl dissipated. Austin and Georgetown PD had an excellent working relationship, and Jones filled in their investigators on the case up to this point when he arrived on scene.

  “It’s already past eight. The Uber dropped her off a few hours ago at the same damn Holiday Inn on Middle Fiskville Road where we found her at last time. Why there?” Jones paused as his brain struggled to make the connection.

  “Beats me, but we should get Jasper over that way and see what we can find,” Rusty said.

  “We better figure it out before someone else does,” Jones said. There was an ominous tone in his statement.

  “Any word on the guy who attacked them?” Rusty asked.

  “There’s footage of a Range Rover exiting around the timeline established. The Geo
rgetown guys are working on trying to get a plate and an image of our guy. Nothing yet,” Jones said.

  “I’m here for whatever you need on this,” Rusty said, looking back at the Crown Vic that contained his panting partner.

  “With Nick out of commission and the girl on the run, I’m gonna need you two more than ever,” Jones replied, slipping back into his Texas drawl for effect.

  Jones spoke briefly to the sergeant on scene at the gas station before departing for Austin with Rusty and his four-legged partner following close behind in their cruiser. He hoped they would have as easy a time of locating her at the hotel as they did before.

  Chapter 36

  “How’s he doing?” Jones asked, holding the phone to his ear as he drove.

  “He’s still out. Hopefully, he’ll wake soon. He’s stirred a few times but hasn’t opened his eyes yet.” Anaya relayed this in her gentle tone. She then added, “Any luck on your end?”

  “Dead end. We checked the hotel. No sign of her. Nothing on camera. Jasper didn’t locate a track,” Jones said, sounding disheartened.

  “Damn. That’s a problem. Any ideas?” Anaya asked.

  “We’re heading back to headquarters. I’ve got to push one of the girls from the hotel to give us something. Otherwise, we’re running blind,” Jones said.

  “I’ll meet you there. Maybe I can help you with coaxing some info out of them. I’m not doing much here. The FBI assigned a two-agent protective detail for his room. They said they’ll let us know if Nick wakes,” Anaya said.

  “We’ll see you there.” Jones ended the call as he merged into traffic.

  The girls saved from the depravity of the Stagecoach Inn had eaten and slept. Jones’s unit had a room with two beds. It was typically used for the detectives when a major case dictated long hours, but it also served its purpose in situations like this. They had to add three cots to accommodate the five girls.

  When Anaya clicked the light, it looked more like a sleepover party. All five girls were snuggled into the two twin beds. It made sense; they were scared. She understood the unbreakable bond they shared. Connected through dire circumstance.