by Robert Crais
“Great idea. Call him.”
Pike hung up without waiting for a response, and left me with no one but my phone and Nita Morales. I went through what I was going to say, then dialed her number. There was much to tell, and most of it was bad. Even tough-guy detectives like me hate to spread the bad word.
But when she answered my call, her voice was as brittle as dried parchment, and my rehearsal was useless. She had already heard something far worse than what I was going to say.
“This is real, isn’t it? Krista’s been kidnapped.”
“What happened?”
“She called this evening, in that funny voice with the accent. When the man took the phone, he demanded more money. I told him they had gotten their last cent from me-”
Her voice broke when she said it, but she pushed through the sob.
“They made her scream.”
I said, “Did you wire the money?”
“Not yet.”
“Pay them. Pay, and keep paying, and they will keep her alive.”
“Did you know this was real?”
“Yes. Yes, I found out what happened, and how, and I know who took her.”
“Who did this?”
“A bajadore called the Syrian. You know what that is, a bajadore?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Where is she?”
“With the Syrian. I’m looking for him. When I find him, I’ll find Krista.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Bring her home.”
“How? How will you do that?”
“I’ll take her. Trust me, Ms. Morales. I’ll find her, I’ll take her, and I will bring her home.”
“Please. Please, Mr. Cole-”
Her voice broke, and was swallowed by tears.
“Cry, Nita. Cry all you want. Talk. I’m with you. I won’t let you go.”
I pushed on through the darkness, whispering to Nita Morales until her signal was lost in the roaring black night, wondering what they had done to make Krista Morales scream.
Jack and Krista: four days after they were taken
18
Jack spoke louder than necessary when he asked for the soap.
“Can I have some soap? I got a mess back there.”
Her answer was just as formal.
“Sure, but I need it back. I have all these pots.”
“I’ll bring it right back. Promise.”
They were in the kitchen in open view of two guards, one who sat in a lawn chair in the entry, and another who leaned against the dining room wall at the opposite end of the kitchen.
Jack checked to make sure the guards weren’t watching, and lowered his voice.
“Did you see? Piece of cake. They let me come.”
“Shh.”
Krista gave Jack the bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid. He started away, then turned back.
“Could I have some of those paper towels, too? I’m going to need more than toilet paper to get up this mess.”
“Okay. Sure. Take the roll.”
She gave Jack the roll of paper towels and watched him walk back to the bathroom at the far end of the house. Krista worked in the kitchen. Jack’s job was emptying the bucket of urine from their room. It was a disgusting job, and the contents of the bucket weren’t always liquid. Jack was allowed to carry the bucket to the bathroom three or four times a day, where he flushed the contents and cleaned the bucket in the bathtub. A few minutes earlier, he had spilled some of the contents onto the toilet seat and floor so he could come to Krista for the soap and towels. He had done this on purpose to see if the bathroom guard would follow him to the kitchen or let him go alone. The guard had let him go by himself.
Having the soap and the towels would also allow Jack to return, which was part of their plan. Krista wanted Jack to have a few minutes alone in the utility room. She had been unable to pry open the service hatch in the ceiling, so now Jack would try, but he needed a reason to be in the utility room.
Krista returned to the sink and continued washing the pots.
The guards had assigned jobs to the Spanish and English speakers. Only two of the Koreans spoke English, and none spoke Spanish, so the Koreans were kept in their rooms. Now, on the fourth day, Krista still did not know how many people were in the house even though she and two other women cooked for them. She rarely saw the second group of prisoners, and the number of guards kept changing, sometimes six and sometimes eight. Krista guessed the total number living in the house was over forty.
The prisoners were given one meal a day, in the late afternoon. Krista and two other Spanish-speaking women prepared the meal, served it, and cleaned up afterward. This was good because Krista had more freedom than Jack and most of the others. They cooked large pots of beans or soup with huge quantities of rice or noodles. There was little meat, though sometimes a guard brought extra beef or chicken for himself and the other guards, and often brought takeout pizza or tamales. They never shared.
The cooks were given three large dented pots, one enormous skillet, two peelers, and a bucket of battered spatulas, ladles, and spoons. They were not given a knife. If onions or cabbage needed to be chopped, a guard chopped it, or let one of the women use his knife while he stood by. This was the guard in the lawn chair, whose name was Miguel. For cleaning, they were given a box of S.O. S soap pads and the large bottle of Dawn soap. Blue.
Krista’s duties took three to four hours, start to finish, which she spent in the kitchen and utility room with its ceiling hatch and door to the garage. Miguel had wheeled a large plastic garbage can into the utility room at Krista’s request, which made it easier to dump the heavy amounts of peelings, garbage, and leftovers. It also made it easier for her to chart the guards’ comings and goings, learn how they moved through the house, and sneak glimpses into the garage when they opened the door.
Currently, Miguel occupied the lawn chair, a reed-thin guard she called the Praying Mantis loafed in the dining room, and a third guard slept on a futon on the living room floor. Miguel dozed off after lunch every afternoon. She had watched him. His eyes would close, his chin would lower, and he would fall asleep.
Watching Miguel nod out made Krista smile.
The remaining guards were in the back of the house by the prisoners. One usually floated in the hall to watch the bedroom doors and take people to the bathroom. If a prisoner needed the bathroom to make number two, they weren’t allowed to close the door. You had to do your business while the guard watched from the hall. Sometimes two or three guards gathered at the door, and leered at the women. It was humiliating and frightening, and some of the women now did their business in the bedroom buckets while other women held up shirts given by the men in a kind of sorrowful privacy curtain.
During the day, the only time the bathroom door closed was when someone was brought inside to make a call for money. Samuel Rojas had taken Krista into the bathroom twice. The first time, she had been scared when Rojas closed the door, but he explained he did this so they wouldn’t be interrupted or disturbed. Both calls had been low-key and calm. People were brought in to call throughout the day, so the door was closed a lot.
Krista put the last pot aside to dry, then brought leftover beans to the refrigerator. From the fridge, she could see beyond Miguel through the hall to the bathroom. She couldn’t see Jack, but she knew he was inside toweling up the mess. As she watched, Rojas and the guard with the bad teeth approached the bathroom. The guard with the teeth made her skin prickle. His name was Vasco Medina, and he was in charge. He drifted through the house telling the guards what to do, or kicking them when they fell asleep. She found him all the more creepy because she never knew when he would appear. She would turn around or look up, and find him staring at her as if his thoughts were a thousand miles away or leering as if his fantasies were licking her skin. He made her shudder.
Medina said something to Jack, then he and Rojas stepped away as Jack emerged with the bucket. Medina glanced into the bucket, then let Jack pass.
/> So far, so good.
Krista busied herself with the pots until Jack reached the kitchen, where he made a show of holding the bucket away from her.
“Don’t touch this. It’s really gross.”
She made a show of backing away, and pointed at the utility room.
“Ugh. That’s disgusting. Throw it in there. There’s a garbage can.”
Miguel roused enough to squint at them.
“What you got there?”
Jack held the bucket toward him.
“Paper towels soaked with piss and crap. I gotta toss it. It’ll stop the toilet.”
Miguel made no move to rise.
“Put that shit in a plastic bag, man. We gonna smell it all night. Tie it tight. I’ll put it out later.”
Krista said, “There’s a roll of garbage bags on the washer. Right on top.”
Jack carried the reeking bucket into the utility room, and Krista turned back to the sink. Miguel never moved from the chair, but the Praying Mantis had disappeared.
Jack’s time in the utility room would be short, so she returned to the fridge to keep watch. Miguel nodded out again, but Rojas had unlocked the door to the other group’s bedroom, and called a young Latina into the hall. She was one of the women from Guatemala. Medina joined them, and he and Rojas spoke for a moment. Rojas handed Medina the phone, then Medina took the woman by the arm and brought her into the bathroom. The door closed, and Rojas walked away.
Krista had never seen Medina take someone into the bathroom.
Miguel suddenly snored, a single snurfling snort, and jerked awake.
“Where’s that kid?”
“He’s coming. He couldn’t find the bags. I had to show him.”
Loud enough for Jack to hear and get his butt out here.
Krista returned to the sink just as Jack came out of the utility room, looking grim. He locked eyes with her, shook his head once, and whispered.
“I couldn’t get it. It started to give, but I needed more time.”
“Shh. In the room.”
“One minute, I would’ve had it-”
“Shh.”
Jack put the bottle of soap on the counter, washed his hands, then took the bucket back to their room. Krista watched as the hall guard let him in, then locked the door behind him.
Prison.
She put the last pot away, then turned to Miguel.
“I’m done.”
“Put them beans away?”
“In the fridge. There isn’t much left.”
“I might eat’m later. They were pretty good.”
“Can I go?”
“Sure. You did good with them beans.”
Miguel stood to stretch his legs as Krista went back to her room. She was two steps past the entry when she heard the woman’s muffled plea from the bathroom.
“Por favor!”
Please.
Krista stopped, rooted in place as if she had seen a snake.
“Oh Dios, por favor pare!”
The begging snapped into a sharp muffled shriek, just one, just the one terrible muted cry.
Krista couldn’t move. She stared at the door as if it were a nightmare painting from Hieronymus Bosch’s personal, tortured hell.
Then the door opened, and Medina pulled the woman out. She was bent over, and whimpering.
Rojas appeared as Medina saw Krista. He looked at her, looked into her eyes, and showed his sharp jagged teeth. He pushed the woman at Rojas, gave him the phone, and handed Rojas a pair of pliers with red plastic grips.
He held the pliers out and up as he gave them to Rojas, showing them to Krista as he smiled the horrible jack-o’-lantern smile.
Rojas pulled the woman away, and took her to her room.
Krista still didn’t move. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She tried to move, but her body did not respond.
Medina smiled wider. He ran his tongue over his broken, rotten teeth, then kissed his finger and pointed at Krista Morales.
Then he wiggled his finger at her-bye-bye-and disappeared into the guards’ bedroom.
Krista took one step. She stepped again. She put one foot in front of the other until she reached her door. Rojas had returned by then, but Krista stared straight ahead at the door.
“I would like to go in now, please.”
Samuel Rojas let her into the crowded, dank room, and locked the door behind her.
19
Jack returned to the room furious with himself. He had been this close to opening the hatch, but the warped wood had been painted over so many times the hatch was wedged tight in its frame. He could have pushed harder, but had been scared of the noise, and finally chickened out, so here they still were. Stuck.
Jack put the bucket back in its corner, then went to the far wall and slumped beneath the boarded-over window. A young Korean man hurried to the bucket, and urinated as if he had been holding it for hours. His eyes were downcast in shame, and he tried to shield himself from view, but there he was, pissing in a bucket in plain view of a room filled with people. No one looked. Everyone had the good grace to ignore him. Next time, it would be them.
Jack tried not to hear it and closed his eyes. He tried not to smell the stink of all these unwashed people. He concentrated on the hatch. If he had been stronger or braver, he might be dropping down the side of the house right now. He might be waving down a car, or using a neighbor’s phone to call the police. They might be free.
When Jack opened his eyes, the tough Korean kid was watching him, Jack in his usual place below the boarded-over window, the Korean in his spot against the adjoining wall. After four days, everyone had their own personal space on the floor. Use the bathroom, get food, go with Rojas to make a call-everyone returned to their spot, the same spot, and no one ever took anyone else’s place. Your spot was your home.
One of the Korean girls who spoke some English told Jack the tough kid’s name was Kwan. She didn’t know more than that, though they had been traveling together since their group boarded a plane in Seoul for Bogota, Colombia. Kwan kept to himself, said little, and had nothing to do with the others.
Jack met Kwan’s eyes, glanced away, then looked back. Jack nodded once, kind of like saying hi, but Kwan did not respond. His lean face was all planes and angles, and as warm as a granite mask. He also had a split lip and a heavy purple bruise on his cheek from the guards.
Jack looked away, which is when the door opened and Krista came in. He knew something was wrong when he saw her. She carried herself stiffly, as if balancing a plate on her head, and her skin was the color of dough. He sat up, staring, as she came to him, and stood when she reached him because he thought she would fall. She shook like a leaf in high wind, closed her eyes tight, and pressed her forehead into his chest.
Jack felt a flush of true panic.
“What happened? Kris, are you all right?”
She sank to the floor, and he sank with her, the two of them clinging to each other in their spot.
“Krissy?”
She pulled back just far enough to see him, keeping her voice low and her back to the others.
“We have to go. We have to get out of here.”
Jack’s panic spiraled into a head-splitting tornado.
“Did they hurt you?”
“The other girl. You didn’t hear her?”
“What happened?”
“He took her into the bathroom. You didn’t hear?”
“Nothing. I didn’t hear anything.”
“He used pliers on her. He hurt her with pliers. She was crying when she came out, all hunched to the side.”
“Rojas?”
“The one with the teeth. Medina.”
The throbbing in Jack’s head eased.
“We’re gonna go. We’ll get out of here soon. I’ll try the hatch again.”
“The garage is better. Let’s just use the garage.”
“Don’t panic, Krissy. C’mon. We’ve been over it a hundred times.”
Maybe two
hundred, since the first day when Krista told him about the door to the garage in the utility room, and the service hatch in the ceiling, they had planned and re-planned how they would escape, and had worked out two possible plans, one where they got into the garage and raised the garage door, and the other where Jack climbed into the attic and escaped through a vent. The garage door was slower and riskier, so Jack didn’t like it. The door from the utility room to the garage was locked except when the guards used it to take out garbage or bring in food, or come and go on their business. This meant Jack and Krista would have to be in the kitchen when the guards were using the door. They knew from experience there were brief windows of time when an incoming guard left the door unlocked while he stepped into another room. Plenty of time for Jack or Krista or both to step into the garage, but then they would have to open the garage door. The garage door was noisy. Krista heard it opening and closing when she was in the kitchen. You pressed the button, and the door lurched with a rattle. The little electric motor whined as it pulled the rattling door slowly up its squeaky tracks. They only had to wait for the door to rise a foot or so before they slipped under, but waiting those few seconds could take forever if the guards heard the door. And even if they made it under the door, Jack wasn’t sure they could run far enough fast enough before the guards chased them down. Especially Krista.
Jack thought the service hatch was safer. The heat in these desert attics was hellacious, so the heat had to be vented. The bays between the rafters would be packed with thick insulation, and air-conditioning ducts would twist through the attic, but Jack knew these older desert homes had large vents cut into the gables. If he could get into the attic, he could push out a vent cover, drop to the ground, and run to a neighboring house where he would call the police.
The attic was safer, faster, and better than using the garage, only he hadn’t been able to open the hatch.
Krissy said, “Tomorrow morning.”
“What?”
Jack had been thinking about the attic.
“When you empty the bucket tomorrow morning. Miguel told me they’re bringing more toilet paper and cooking oil and things in the morning. He’s going to come get me to put it away. You can empty the bucket, and come for more soap. If they leave us alone when the door is unlocked, I want us to go.”
