by T. J. Jones
"Where's Jasmine?" I asked, keeping my gun leveled. Headlights flickered, and Luis came sliding around the corner in my pickup and stopped quickly a few yards away.
"Where's Jasmine, you degenerate asshole, tell me!" Maggie screamed. The gas tank of the Piper blew, throwing debris in our direction and creating an even bigger fire. Instinctively RJ and I both ducked and shielded our face from the blaze. Maggie didn't. She stepped closer to RJ, waving her gun within inches of his face. "I said, where is she? If you hurt her, I will kill you, I swear to Christ. Tell me where she is!"
True to my belief that he wasn't the brightest bulb, RJ tried to negotiate. "You let me walk away right now or my partner kills the girl. I'm no murderer, but the kid is nuts, he just might put a bullet in her. If I don't call him to say I have the money it's hard to say what he'll do."
"Where's your phone?" I asked. I couldn't be sure the phone would work, but the fire was licking at the cabin of the Piper and the cell-scrambler was likely to burn up within seconds.
"In the car." He glanced at the old Cadillac, but it had joined the inferno. "Let me take the Mexican's truck and I can stop him from hurting her." He licked his lips, just the whisker of a smile appearing. "Let's make a deal, I take the truck and the money and disappear. I'll tell
you where to find Jasmine."
"You'll tell us right now!" Maggie leaned toward him, shouting, with tears streaming down her face. Suddenly she stepped back a couple feet and raised her gun. She wasn't screaming or crying now, she was calm, and dangerous. "RJ, it's over. We'll find her either way, and I don't believe your partner has the balls to shoot a seventeen year old girl. But so help me God, tell us where she is or you won't walk away from this." She aimed her gun at his head.
"Maggie, don't." This time I wasn't sure. A part of me was afraid she would kill him.
"Put the gun down Darlin', I know a bluff when I see one." RJ smiled. He shouldn't have done that.
Maggie lowered the gun and pulled the trigger.
Randy let out a squeal of fear and pain. "You shot me, you bitch, Jesus, you shot my Goddamn foot!" He collapsed, howling, with tears streaming down his face. "Oh God, it hurts, it hurts."
Maggie leaned down in front of him. "An address, you piece of shit, or I'll blow a hole in the other one."
"Call Susan." I said to Maggie as we turned onto the tar. I could see the flash of emergency lights just over the horizon, probably the fire department, very possibly the police. "They see Luis, they might not be as objective as they should be." She produced her cellphone and dialed the number. I had to ask. "Would you have shot him again? Or even killed him?"
She snickered. "I didn't mean to shoot him the first time. I was trying to put one between his feet and scare him. Oops." I slowed the truck to the speed limit as she talked to Susan so we wouldn't get stopped. RJ had given us an address, but the possibility still remained that Jasmine was in danger if the cops went roaring in there. We had decided to go it alone. Randy had been suitably scared when Maggie pointed her gun at him the second time and had volunteered an address and the name of his partner. I was pretty sure we could handle it.
The address RJ gave us was about six miles closer to Jacksonville and on the other side of the two-lane highway. Undoubtedly, our second kidnapper was familiar with the area and had suggested the drop point, not realizing that the far end of the road would have allowed for his partner's escape with all the money. No honor among thieves.
We slowed down and caught a glimpse of a long driveway and the glimmer of lights. By now the doubt would be settling in and the realization that RJ might not be coming back with the first half of the money. Given that he had been foolish or stupid enough to trust Randy Jenkins, it seemed reasonable that the man wouldn't hurt his meal ticket. I was pretty sure that had never been his intent.
We parked the pickup a quarter mile down the road in an abandoned driveway and ran back, ignoring the blaring horn of a bored motorist. When we could see the lights of the house, we cut through the woods and approached quietly. Like most old houses in the south there was a porch, hearkening back to the time before air conditioning when the best way to cool down in the evening was to get outside. The boards creaked ever so slightly as I stepped up and moved around the corner out of sight of the front door. Maggie stood behind a tree and flipped a stick at the front door, then a pine cone.
We were nearly certain this kidnapper was unarmed, but we wanted him outside before we confronted him. I heard stirring and the sound of someone climbing steps, then the front door opened. "RJ? Did you get the money?"
From behind the tree Maggie let out a grunt of sorts. Maybe it was supposed to sound like RJ, or maybe she was trying to sound like a bear, hard to say. Whatever the intent, it drew our target further out onto the porch. No doubt about who it was, same stoop to his awkward frame and the same unkempt hair.
Just to be sure there was no funny business, and because a part of me wanted to inflict some damage as payback for all the worry he had put us through, I hit him at a full run and gave him a pretty good shot to the back of the head. We fell into a pile on the deck of the porch and as Maggie rushed past me, I rolled him over and shook him a good one. He was just barely conscious, so I indulged myself and gave him a good slap across the face.
Jarrod Kinsley opened his eyes and stared up at me vacantly, then realization hit him and he started to cry. "I'm in a lot of trouble aren't I, Mr. Slater?"
I stood up and yanked him up behind me, then shoved him through the open doorway. I heard Maggie call out from the open door to the basement. "Down here, Slater. Bring Jarrod."
I held him by the collar and followed him down the steps. He was weaving slightly from the blow to the head and spouting a string of apologizes and excuses.
The basement wasn't much, an area for the water heater and furnace, an old couch and chair that I recognized from the video, a black and white television, and a couple steel supports to hold up the sagging floor. A toilet and wash sink were hidden in the corner. There was a chain bolted to one of the steel posts with six or eight feet of slack and the other end lead to the handcuffs that Jasmine was wearing. She had dropped her hands and was leaning into Maggie, who was holding onto her and sobbing. Without comment, Jarrod handed me a set of keys and I tossed them to Maggie.
As Maggie unlocked the handcuffs Jasmine looked over at me. She had been crying, but she gave me a smile. "About time you showed up Slater."
Once free, she went right after Jarrod, slapping and kicking at him until I eased in between them, only because I thought she might hurt her hands on his hard head. Spent, she returned to Maggie's embrace and buried her face in her shoulder. Jarrod stood with his head down, practically catatonic while the two women held each other and I made a call to Susan. There was a lot to explain, and we needed her help if we didn't expect to end up in the jail cell next to Jasmine's lanky captor.
"Why?" Maggie finally asked, with a look of pure hatred.
"I knew she would never have looked at a guy like me. I thought I could convince her if she just had time to get to know me. I thought maybe I could get her to love me, like I love her."
Maggie looked down at Jasmine but didn't ask the question I knew we both wanted to.
"He didn't rape me or anything, and he kept Randy away from me." Maggie touched the corner of Jasmines eye which had nearly healed. "And he didn't do that, I fell down the stairs trying to make a run for it."
Jasmine glared at the gawky young man. "How could you be so stupid Jarrod? Why wouldn't you just call me up and ask me out, like a normal human being?"
Jarrod dropped his chin onto his chest. "RJ said once you got to know me you would see how much I really care about you. He said we could take the second half of the money and go away somewhere, together."
Jasmine softened a little. "That's not caring Jarrod, that's sick. You don't put someone you care about in handcuffs and let them wonder if they're ever going see their family again."
"Ups
tairs." I pointed and followed him up the steps.
We had another party, this time to celebrate Jasmine's return. Luis had managed to keep RJ alive, despite all the blubbering and the fact that he was missing two toes. He had been the one that came up with the plan and Jarrod had volunteered enough financial information to make it seem like a good idea. RJ was going to take that first five million and disappear into the swamps of north Florida where his three ex-wives and the victims of his latest scheme couldn't find him. Now it looked like some other poor miscreant would suffer the cruel and unusual punishment of having his company in the slammer for twenty years.
Jasmine surprised us all by testifying on Jarrod's behalf, both to the fact that he had protected her from RJ and that she was pretty sure he was insane. She had volunteered the second part. The first portion of her testimony did seem to sway the judge, and a psychiatric evaluation didn't dispute the second half. Jarrod would be incarcerated for a while, but he got the lighter of the two sentences.
I went back to pounding nails but I kept my place next to Maggie in Frank Jeffries old bedroom. Maggie's new house was ready for occupancy, but Maggie's Mom had extended her stay in Europe, and neither one of us wanted to leave Angela and Gabriela alone in the big house. There was still the question of Gary Jeffries whereabouts, and if Rashad Dinar planned to insert himself into our lives again, but as Spring gave way to Summer, I fooled myself into thinking all that trouble was behind us. The Butterfly knew better.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nice truck Slater." Jasmine Thatcher stood beside Gabriela and Maggie watching me fuss over my new pickup. The insurance money from the Piper had covered most of it, and a new airplane didn't seem like a priority at the moment.
"Your Grandmother helped, finders' fee for getting her Granddaughter back, again."
"Twice now." Jasmine admitted. "I always attract the wrong kind of guys."
"Cletus went back to North Dakota, so at least he won't be bothering you anymore."
"Other than the kidnapping thing, Jarrod isn't a bad guy, he's just confused."
"She's talking about going to see him in prison." Maggie volunteered with a sour look.
"He was just really lonely." Jasmine defended him.
"That chained you to a post and planned to make you his love slave!" I reminded her. "You start college, you'll have plenty of guys to choose from that are sane, you can move on and find someone really nice."
"If you don't scare them off. Jessie is still afraid to talk to me."
"Good, him I don't care for."
"We're going into town Slater, want to come?" Maggie asked.
"I'm making a run to my house to pick up the job trailer, then I have to go help Luis and the guys for an hour or so."
"See you at supper then."
They drove off in Maggie's car and I started picking up the cleaning supplies I had scattered around the lawn, and rolled up the hose I had been using. It was midday and a breeze was coming off the water. Someone had cranked open the windows to let in the Summer air, but I would have heard the scream anyway. It was a shrill, blood-curdling shriek that started loudly, then fell off into a broken wail, followed by a choking sob.
I was close to the front door and burst through, gun drawn and ready. Angela Jeffries was huddled in the corner of the dining room, her back to the wall, with Duchess clutched tightly in her lap. The Lab sensed her terror and snarled in my direction before recognizing me and whining apprehensively in the direction of the patio. Angela was shaking and almost incoherent.
"I swear, I haven't been taking anything, I swear. And I haven't had a drink in months, Slater, I swear it."
"What is it?" I asked. "What did you see?" I ran to the patio and stepped out and walked around the corner of the house. There was no sign of trouble and I went back in. Angela was still sitting on the floor with her face in her hands, crying softly.
She looked up at me pitifully. "I swear, I haven't taken anything. Am I having a flashback, or am I losing my mind? Slater, I saw him, a ghost maybe? I am, I'm losing my mind. I have to take care of Gabriela, I can't be crazy."
I put my arms around her and tried to reassure her. "You're not crazy. What did you see, or what was it you thought you saw?"
"Garrett. My uncle Gary. Older, different looking, but it was him! I swear to God. He was over there, near the patio, looking in at me. He was back by the bushes, but I could see him plain as day. Am I losing it, Slater?"
The timing wasn't great, but Maggie and I had been talking about telling her that her uncle was still alive, and this seemed like the moment. I led her over to the kitchen table.
"You aren't crazy Angela. There's something I have to tell you about Gary."
I explained everything about Gary's fake accident and the chain of events that lead to Davey's death, whitewashing her father's involvement. I took the brunt of her anger, though I knew she was saving some for Maggie; but in the end she agreed that we had probably done the right thing. "I'm still mad at you two, but you were right. If I'd known that Gary was alive and that he was involved with what happened to Davey, I couldn't have handled all that. Does my Mom know?"
"No, just Maggie, Susan Foster, and me."
"What does this mean, and why would he come here?"
"It's possible he just wanted to see you, to know that you're okay. But he's alive, and we weren't really sure of that, so I have to talk to Susan. It means we have to tighten our security again, we've gotten lax. The man responsible for all this is the same man that put Gabriela on the streets when she was thirteen and a lot of other girls like her. He's trafficking kids all over this country, and probably the world. The cops and the FBI have been cracking down on child prostitution operations all over lately: Minneapolis, Seattle, here in Florida. According to Susan Foster, Gary's boss is feeling the pinch since he's the one behind most of it."
"Is Gabriela in danger? I know you took her from some pimp."
"That pimp was protected by Dinar. He could decide to make an example of her, and Maggie and me, since they have our pictures. The last time I talked to your uncle, he said he could protect you and Maggie, and that's why he escaped from detention."
"Fine time to start protecting us. He can go to hell." She stood and walked to the steps leading up to her bedroom.
"Most likely where he'll end up." I agreed. "Where are you going now?"
She raised a brow. "To the gun range, you aren't the only one around here that can shoot."
After a text to alert Maggie of what had happened, I called Susan Foster.
"Good to know he's still above ground." She said dryly.
"Why do you think he would show up at Angela's house?"
"Nostalgia? Word is Dinar is coming to Florida, probably to see how Gary is running his organization here."
"You really think Gary Jeffries is running this part of his operation?"
"I know he is. We busted a couple of his guys in Miami, running girls and drugs and they flipped on Gary, but they wouldn't say anything about Dinar. But remember Andy Gleason? He's been saying all along that Gary was one of Dinar's favorites, but I never bought it until recently."
"Maybe the whole thing about protecting the girls is bull. Maybe he was just looking for Gabriela."
"I told you how much I trust the Diablo, Slater. Andy tells me that he would do anything for Dinar, that the whole idea that he would kill him is an act. He said if Dinar told him to, Gary would have killed his brother without batting an eye."
"That's a stretch. Not saying he's wrong, but Andy Gleason isn't the most credible witness."
"Are you and Maggie moving soon?"
"That's on hold for a while, indefinitely now. Strength in numbers if they come after us. It's hard to believe Dinar would risk any more trouble than he already has."
"His oil interests aren't making him any money right now. The price is down and Maryanne Thatcher and a few others stopped doing business with him because of the rumors about his other activities. If he d
oesn't already know, he's going to put you and Maryanne together at some point. I doubt he even knows who Gabriela is, but you keep getting in the middle of things and sooner or later he's going to pay attention. You killed his assassin and took one of his girls, he might come after you for that."
"He killed Davey, Susan. The girls are with me on this, and it's not like we're going to give Gabriela back. We have to stop him, that's the only option. If it means killing him, that's what I'll do."
"I'm not supposed to agree with you, but I do. But whatever you do, don't trust Gary Jeffries. I'll keep talking to the locals here, Miami and Lauderdale, and keep pushing them to bust these scumbags that are pimping kids. If we can't arrest Dinar, maybe we can starve him out of the country."
We didn't know it then, but the vagaries of the Butterfly were turning their attentions to Rashad Dinar.
We met Susan Foster for coffee one afternoon about a week after Angela had seen Gary, and she had an interesting story to tell. Some she knew firsthand, some she had pieced together from sources.
One of the girls that Davey Templeton had on his list to be rescued from the brothel in the desert was a very young girl named Chrissy Michaels. Sandy Foster had bemoaned the fact that the thirteen-year old girl from Seattle had been kept away from the others and subjected to the attentions of the unknown proprietor of the Castle in the Sand, as she had called it.
We learned later that Chrissy had become Rashad's favorite, and as unsavory as the thought was, she had learned to relish the role, even excelled at it. There came a time when the Master became the enslaved, imprisoned by his affections for the spoiled, temperamental child that had him twisted around her little finger. But as often happens when dealing with a madman, the relationship soured.
Normally, when Rashad grew tired of his captives, they could expect a swift and brutal end; but as much as it was in him, he had developed a real affection for Chrissy. Her tirades often centered around the fact that she wanted to return to the United States; not to see her parents or the rainy city of her origin, but to spend her time in New York or Washington DC. She had become a very devious and ambitious fourteen-year old by this point in time, well aware of the value of power and money, and very interested in getting her share of both.
