Debbie gasped. The bag was off. She could finally take a deep breath. As she filled her lungs with oxygen, her eyes began to adjust to a room with two sources of light. One was the sliver of moonlight seen through a broken window. The other was from the golden glow of a crack at the bottom of the door that Debbie presumed had been slammed only moments earlier.
She looked around the space. It was likely once a factory clerk's office. Only now, there was nothing in the space except an empty metal shelf and pieces of glass from a shattered fluorescent light. Aside from distant voices and the sound of her breathing, she only heard the occasional drips of water into a puddle.
She had to get out. But first, she had to get up. Without the use of her hands, it wasn't going to be easy.
She scooted so that her back was against a wall to use as leverage. Bending her legs and pressing upward and back, she slowly slid up the wall into a standing position.
Debbie crept awkwardly to the door and pressed her ear against the metal. She couldn't hear anything. She tried the knob. It turned, but the door wouldn't budge. It had been bolted shut from the other side.
The window. She crossed the room to inspect the broken panes. She'd have to somehow make it up to get through the window and past the shards of glass that were clinging to the frames. This will have to be my last resort for escape.
A rat scurried over Debbie's feet. She stifled a cry of shock.
What am I going to do? Think, think, think.
That's when the door rattled.
Debbie shuffled to the farthest, darkest corner possible.
The movement of the bolt was barely audible. A smooth slide rather than a hard click. The door opened slowly and not too far, about ten inches judging from the light that filled the gap; just enough to let a thin person through. Debbie could see the shadow of a person entering the room, but the back light meant she couldn't make out the face.
The shadow stopped, as if it was scanning the room trying to find her. It moved away from the door and toward the center of the space.
"Miss Debbie?" the voice whispered.
"Jarrett!?" Debbie replied.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Betrayed
"Oh my God, Jarrett!" Debbie exclaimed, trying to keep her surprise muted to a whisper.
"Shhh," Jarrett said.
"Jarrett, please. Please don't tell me you're mixed up in all this?" Debbie hissed.
"No! Are you crazy?" Jarrett replied. "I'm straight up here to save you."
"Save me? Jesus. You're the one who's insane. You should get outta here. Save yourself. Or get help. This is no place for a kid," Debbie said.
"I'm not a kid. And I'm not leaving without ya," Jarrett said. "If you hadn't noticed, you're in some serious sh..."
"But how?" Debbie interrupted. "How did you find me? And how did you get here?"
"Easy as a day in school," Jarrett said. "Those bike GPS trackers that some guy donated to Teen Alliance. No one really paid attention to them because kids in my area don't ride bikes. Too easy to be a target for a mugging. Miss Darlinda didn't mind if I helped myself to more than one. I ended up taking several. I've been tinkering with them. And then you kept running into trouble, so I dropped a tracker under your front passenger seat the other day. When you had me grab the extra copies of my article."
"But still, how'd you get here?"
"My phone is synced with the tracker. That's how the bike tracker works. I don't have the fanciest phone, but thanks to my parents always worrying about my whereabouts, it still gets the job done. And I admit I kinda like spying. Even though the signal is pretty weak, I can sometimes catch you near me. You're out a lot--and you're in a lot of places that you probably shouldn't be. Anyway, when I was coming home from the ACT prep class, I spotted your blip near me. So, since I've got the car now, I decided to check the accuracy of my setup. That's when I saw you come out of some old man's house. I passed right by you. Thought I'd stop and say hi. But that's when I saw the dude in your backseat."
Jarrett continued, "I followed you. But I had to stay way back. A black kid driving in the bad part of town doesn't raise red flags. But when I saw you turn down this old road, I knew I couldn't keep going. They'd see me. So then I just had to park and trust my phone. The signal isn't exact, but it's close enough. I got here about the time they were done arguing about what to do with you."
Debbie blushed in the dark. Jarrett probably saw the guy feeling her up. Why am I embarrassed? I didn't do anything wrong.
"Why in the world didn't you call the police?" Debbie asked.
"That's my backup plan. I hoped that I could find you real quick and free you and you'd be so grateful that you wouldn't tell on me. If I call, my uncle will find out that I was following you instead of going straight home. Then my parents will find out. Do you know how much trouble I'll get into? The wrath of God in the Old Testament ain't nothing compared to what my Granny and my mom might do. There'd be no more going out. No more car. It would be full-on ugly."
"We've got bigger problems than worrying about you being grounded. Can you call now?"
Jarrett looked at his phone and then examined the room. "Coverage in here sucks. Concrete and metal in the middle of nowhere. There's not much reception 'til we get outside."
"Well, let's figure a way out of this place so you can call. But I'm not going to be much use without my hands," Debbie said. "You got something to break this zip tie?"
"Nothing on me. But I think I know how to get you free," Jarrett said.
"How do you know? You've tried it?" Debbie asked.
"Naw, but I watched a YouTube video," Jarrett said. "My math class gets dull. And the teacher doesn't bother me because she knows I'm already ahead."
"I'm not sure whether to be happy about hearing all of the stuff you've been up to, or to be thankful," Debbie replied.
"Here, give me your wrists," Jarrett said. He moved the band's locking mechanism so it was lined up with her thumbs. Then he pulled the band as tight as it would go, making Debbie wince. "Now, you're going to have to lift your hands up over your head then quickly drop your elbows to your side. It may take a couple of times, but it is supposed to snap."
"Seriously? Supposed to?" Debbie asked.
"I've never done it. C'mon. Give it a try."
Debbie raised her hands.
Jarrett whispered, "You gotta use all your might when you pull your wrists down. According to the guy on the video, the lock is the weak part. It should break. As my granny would say, 'You gotta believe.'"
Imagining the revenge she wanted to take on her carjacker, Debbie transferred the force she imagined she'd use to hit him into the sharp downward thrust of her arms.
"Oof," she said when her wrists slammed into her stomach, the tie remaining steadfast.
"One more time," Jarrett said. "I bet you weakened it."
Debbie lifted her arms again. This time, as she brought her arms down, she imagined punching Flannery in the face.
Her hands broke free.
The doorknob made a slight rattle as someone gripped it but hadn't yet turned it. A female voice called out, "Who unlocked this?"
"Quick, try to hide behind the door," Debbie whispered to Jarrett.
"I said," the female voice aimed toward the deep recesses of the factory. "Oh, never mind."
Debbie put her hands behind her back, pretending the zip tie still held her fast.
The woman entered.
"You!" Debbie cried out. "How could you?"
"Now why did you have to go and take your sack off?" Officer Parker asked angrily as she picked the burlap bag up off the floor.
Debbie took two steps back and avoided looking to the spot where Jarrett was hiding. It was dark but the reporter still feared that a clumsy glance could expose her misguided-but-well-meaning rescuer. "Why are you doing this?" Debbie asked.
"Shut up," Parker said, as she moved closer. "And stop moving. You can't get away from me."
"But, please, can't you just answer my quest
ion?" Debbie said, moving as far from the door as possible, while trying to figure out what to do next.
"You've already heard the reasons. You're in the way. And we have work to do," Parker said.
"What kind of work?"
"Entrepreneurial and, let's say, street cleaning. I'm a part of a group of smart entrepreneurs and good cops," Parker claimed.
"Good cops don't kidnap journalists," Debbie said.
"You've heard that the end justifies the means, right?" Parker replied.
"The nuns who taught me in school were adamant that wasn't true. Sister Eleanor claimed doing something bad to achieve something good was unequivocally wrong. How we achieve our goals is just as important, maybe even more so, than the final outcome."
"You're naive. And so was Sister Eleanor," Parker responded. "I bet she'd be singing a different tune today. The end is the only thing that matters, no matter how you get to it. If it takes some lying, stealing, some cutting corners, some looking the other way, supporting useful evildoers, who cares? All that matters is the end result."
"I happen to believe that if the means are corrupt, no end can sanitize it," Debbie said.
"No wonder everyone hates the media. Besides, I don't care about stealing cars."
"What are you talking about?" Debbie said.
Parker sighed. "You're getting on my nerves. The story starts with cars. When people don't pick up their towed cars from Ace's lot, for whatever reason--maybe they have no money to pay impound fees, not enough cash to cover the deductible to get a car running; some people just downright disappear--anyway, when those things happen, the tow lot sells the cars, with the city's blessing, so long as the city gets a cut. But the tow company figured out that some cars fetch more cash. And if they could just make cars vanish without ever being recorded as towed to the lot, then there'd be no slice for the city. Even more money for Ace Towing. They've already got the distribution network. Why wait for the product when you can make cars just vanish? Stolen but never recovered."
"Was the Audi part of this?"
Parker put her hands on her hip. "You can't make every car disappear. That would start lookin' too fishy. So sometimes a mechanic in our network will make a duplicate key and add a tracker to the vehicle. Those cars disappear. We might bring 'em here or to another one of our secret sites. The owners report the stolen cars but, because they've disappeared, they never get recorded as having been towed. We scrub the VIN and sell it to a black market syndicate that can move the cars, even out of the country."
Parker stepped closer.
"But the Audi's parts were also worth something. Plus, luxury cars are harder to make disappear. So, our mechanic made a duplicate key. We picked up the car and left it in an area that has a reputation on the streets for stolos--stolen cars. Punks get in, leave their fingerprints all over it, crash it up. They take the blame and do time in juvie, we get the car."
"So Joshua Lucas was just in the wrong place and the wrong time making the wrong choice?"
"You could put it that way. Those kids are terrible drivers, which makes them perfect for our scheme. And they're not the best decision makers. We want the cars to be wrecked enough so they aren't repaired. But if that doesn't happen, well, at least the car goes back to the mechanic, who can inflate the repair prices and skim some insurance money. With a kickback to the towing lot, of course."
"But Rainaa Mercer died! And that mom was shot!" Debbie said.
Parker shrugged. "Unfortunate. Collateral damage. But again, the end justifies the means. This is a war. Sometimes innocent people die. And her death is outweighed by the fact that Travis Hunt also died because of that Audi. And Roberto Simmons is in jail right now. One thug dead, one thug locked up. Plus the dude that was shot during the drug deal outside that abandoned building."
"You lost me. The Audi wasn't involved in those deaths."
"Man, for being such a hotshot reporter, you're slow," Parker said. "Around here, people were getting worried that you were close to finding us out. Turns out you didn't have much of a clue, even though you kept showing up at all the wrong places at precisely the right time."
Parker continued, "The gun. The gun that the Audi owner left in his car. The gun he didn't report missing. That's where I come in. You could call me a gun fairy. We often find guns in these cars. Everyone's carrying nowadays. I remove the guns from the cars and then leave them in a place where bad stuff happens--and there are no cameras. The shit bums always find the weapons. Always."
"So that's why you haven't been ratted out by an informant? No one has seen you? But why would you want to give bad guys stolen guns?" Debbie asked.
"What better way to get rid of an addict than to give them so much product they overdose? Same for the criminals. Flood the area with the guns and they just start shooting one another. Then I don't have to rely on an unjust justice system that lets someone off the hook because of a technicality."
"It's called constitutional rights, not a technicality. It's called beyond a reasonable doubt standard."
"Words," Parker said. "Just words. Even if a bad guy didn't commit the crime, they're still bad. And my method sweeps them off the street."
"And Joshua Lucas?"
"He's on his way to being bad. We're just speeding up the process. The quicker he goes bad, the faster he's removed from law-abiding society."
"But how'd you get mixed up in all this?" Debbie asked while noticing that Jarrett was starting to move from his position. "I mean, you have a good reputation. You're a rising star in the force. And you're supposed to be smart."
"I am smart. That's how I noticed that there seemed to be something fishy at Ace Towing. Fresh cars on the lot. But I hadn't heard much about the thefts in our weekly status reports. I asked Hawkins where they came from. He was his usual lazy, stupid self. He'd mutter that they're stolen cars. Yet, I couldn't help noticing some were like really expensive, Mercedes and stuff. Cars I would've remembered. It just didn't add up."
Jarrett moved a step from the door. Debbie coughed. "Did you say something to Flannery?"
"Yeah. He told me I was just imagining things. And that Hawkins was an idiot, you couldn't rely on what a buffoon like that would say because he doesn't think. But I kept digging. I guess we're a little alike in that regard. Eventually, Hawkins cracked, told me the full story, and offered me a cut. He said they had some heavy hitters backing them and providing cover."
"You accepted?"
"Well, it wasn't about the money, not really. Because so many car owners are packing guns, and they're not taking care of them, well, I could fight some bad guys and make a little extra cash."
"Who are the heavy hitters that are part of this?" Debbie asked.
"Enough questions. Time to get you to your next destination. Your last destination."
There was no more stalling. Debbie lunged toward Parker, who was now less than an arm's-length in front of her. Because Parker didn't suspect Debbie's hands were free, the reporter caught the cop by surprise, managing to trap the officer's arms against her side.
Jarrett jumped from the shadow and locked one arm around Parker's neck, trying to put the cop in a sleeper hold.
Parker let out a cry. Debbie hoped that the cop's co-conspirators thought it was coming from the hostage rather than the captor.
Parker dropped to the ground, then slumped over.
Debbie felt the woman's pulse. It was faint.
"How'd you know how to do that?" Debbie asked.
"My uncle. Remember, he's a cop. He showed me some stuff. He was worried about me getting picked on since I'm a nerd. But I know we don't have much time before she wakes up."
A man entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Holy shit," he said.
Debbie and Jarrett turned to see who they'd have to fight next: Flannery.
Jarrett and Debbie stood up, moving away from Parker's unconscious body. Instinctively, Debbie pushed Jarrett behind her. Flannery pulled out his handcuffs.
"Why are you
doing this?" Debbie asked. "I trusted you. At least let the kid go."
"I'm not a kid," Jarrett grumbled as he stepped out from behind Debbie.
"Quiet," Flannery commanded as he bent down to check Parker's pulse, and to remove the officer's gun. Satisfied she was still alive, just out cold, Flannery looked around the room, spotting a rusty radiator along one wall.
"I didn't see this coming. Pity," Flannery said to no one in particular as he grabbed Parker under the armpits. "C'mon. I'm strong. But I was shot recently, you gotta give me a break. We need to handcuff her to that radiator so she can't warn the others. I could use a little help."
Jarrett stepped forward.
"Jarrett, get away from him," Debbie said.
"I'm here to help, not hurt," Flannery snapped. "Take her left side," Flannery said to Jarrett. With the detective on the right, the two pulled Parker toward a radiator that no longer provided heat but instead served as a home to many generations of spiders.
Flannery looped the cuffs around an iron pipe that disappeared through the floor.
"That'll hold her for now. But she's gonna wake up soon," Flannery said. "Anyone got a rag or something?"
"There's a burlap sack that they had over my head," Debbie volunteered.
"That'll do. At least it will muffle her shouts, but we don't have much time," Flannery said as he put the bag over his officer's head.
"I don't understand," Debbie said. "Aren't you involved in all this?"
"I've been working with the feds on the public corruption part of this," Flannery said.
"Public corruption?" Debbie echoed.
"Yeah," Flannery said. "Either of you hurt?"
Jarrett and Debbie shook their heads no. "How'd you find me?" Debbie asked.
"Tracker," Flannery said, his answers clipped, each word costing precious seconds. "That time you went to my mechanic. You were closing in on the people we've been trying to bust. My guy confirmed there was already a tracker on your car, probably done when your car was towed to Ace."
"For fuck's sake," Debbie cursed. "You, Ace Towing, Jarrett. Is there anyone that doesn't have me under surveillance?"
Crime Beat Girl Page 18
