by Jana DeLeon
GPS signaled a turn and she cut the wheel to the right, squealing around the corner. A guy starting to cross against the light jumped back on the sidewalk and shot the finger at her as she pulled away. She slowed a tiny bit, watching the sidewalks for pedestrians. This area of town had bars scattered throughout. The people out and about were often drunk and rarely obeyed traffic signals. A speeding ticket she could handle, even a reckless driving, but vehicular manslaughter might cost her her PI license.
Her hands clenched the steering wheel as a million questions ran through her mind. Was he hurt? And why Hustle? Did someone know he was working with her? Was she at risk as well? How did Hustle get away when others hadn’t? Did he see his assailant? Would he be able to draw the man’s face?
She rounded the last corner and headed for the end of the street where Hustle had indicated he’d be. He spotted her SUV and hurried away from the bar. Before she’d even come to a complete stop, he yanked open the door and jumped inside. He’d been limping when he ran for her car.
“Are you hurt?” she asked as she took off again.
“No.”
She looked over at him. His face was pale and his eyes were puffy and red, as if he’d been crying. “I saw you limping,” she said.
“I twisted my ankle a little skating today. I guess I aggravated it getting away.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Hustle told her about walking to his hiding place and the feeling that someone was watching. How he’d changed directions and the man had rushed at him from an empty building.
“Did you see him?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So you can draw him?” she asked, her excitement growing.
“It won’t do any good. He was wearing a mask.”
She struggled to control her disappointment. “What kind of mask?”
“One of those Mardi Gras ones—those breakable kind that cover the whole face.”
“A Venetian mask?”
“I think that’s what they’re called.”
“That’s still something. If you can draw it for me, I might be able to find the store that sells that particular mask.” She said it to make him feel better, but she knew it was likely that a dozen shops in the French Quarter alone carried the same mask. “What about his size, height? Could you tell anything about his age from his hands or the way he moved?”
“He was pretty tall, over six feet. He was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants so I couldn’t tell how he was built. He had on gloves, so I couldn’t see his hands, but he didn’t move like someone old.”
He was silent a couple of seconds. “He was really fast, and he wasn’t wearing shoes. I saw his feet. He was wearing slippers, but they were boots.”
“So you couldn’t hear his footsteps.”
“That’s what I figure.” Hustle looked at her, his fear apparent. “He knew what he was doing—made all the right moves. This isn’t some chance thing…wait, that’s not right…I don’t know the word.”
“It’s not opportunistic.”
“Yeah! There wasn’t any hesitation, and he had something in his hand. It broke the screen on the phone. I think maybe it was a needle.”
“That would explain how he was able to contain the other kids. You’re probably the first person that’s gotten away. If someone else had, they’d be talking.”
“He has Jinx. This guy with drugs. I can’t stop thinking about what might be happening to her. I kept trying to force my mind to something different but it keeps coming back.”
“I know. Not imagining the worst is the hardest part of my job. But if I start thinking negative, then it might affect how I do my job. I have to believe in a happy ending. It keeps me pushing instead of giving up. I need you to do that, too.”
He looked over at her. “You’re not going to make us hold hands and sing or anything, are you?”
“My singing ability is definitely a negative, so no.”
“I’m not so good myself.” He straightened up a bit in his seat and looked out the window. “Hey, where are we going?”
“My place.”
“No way! I can’t stay there. What if he saw me get into your car? What if he knows about you? He’ll come after both of us.”
Shaye pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment and parked. “I’d love to see him try. Come inside. If you still think it’s a bad idea, then I’ll take you to a hotel.”
He looked at the apartment, then back at her, his indecision clear. “I’ll look. But I’m not promising anything.”
“Sounds fair.” She climbed out of the SUV and headed for the front door. She unlocked it and stepped inside, Hustle right behind her, and disarmed the security system. “So check this out.”
She locked the door, then pushed in place two dead bolts, one high on the door, one low. Then she armed the security system. She pointed to the windows. “All the windows have bars on them. They can be unlocked only from inside and only I and my mother have the code. This way.” She waved him toward the kitchen.
“This is the door to the alley between the buildings. It’s got a lock and two dead bolts, just like the front door. Both are made of metal, not wood. The door frames are also metal. They’re just etched and painted to look like wood. Now, take a look at this.”
She headed down the hall to her bedroom and pointed to the wall. It contained four flat screens, each showing a different area inside and outside the apartment, the images shifting every five seconds. “No one is getting in here without us knowing they’re coming.”
“Jeez,” Hustle said, clearly impressed. “You’ve got more security than a bank.”
“Probably, and I’ll bet mine’s better. The banks don’t have my grandfather to deal with.”
“Your gramps did all this?”
“He didn’t do it, but he paid a high-tech firm to secure both my and my mother’s homes.”
Hustle nodded. “Because of what happened with the Frederick lady.”
“Yep. If he could have gotten away with assigning me armed guards, he would have.”
“Might not be such a bad idea. I mean, if you’re going to keep doing this kind of work.”
“You’re as bad as my mom. How about I hire a guard for you until we find Jinx?”
His expression—a mixture of shock and horror—was almost comical.
“Doesn’t sound so pleasant when it’s about you, does it?” Shaye asked. “So what do you think? Can you stay here tonight? I promise I’ll have another option for tomorrow.”
“I guess it will work for one night. I’ll take the couch.”
“You don’t have to do that. There’s a spare room right down the hall from mine. There’s a bathroom across the hall. She opened her drawer and pulled out sweatpants and a big T-shirt. “You can wash your clothes if you’d like. Laundry is in the kitchen behind the folding doors.”
He took the clothes and stared down at them for a bit, and she could tell he was both appreciative and embarrassed. “Go ahead and take a shower,” she said. “I’m going to fix us something to eat. I’m a horrible cook, so your choices are frozen pizza and grilled cheese sandwiches.”
He perked up. “How about both?”
“Both it is.” She headed for the kitchen, trying to give him some space. His discomfort was so obvious, but she knew a hot shower was a luxury street kids usually didn’t have. She pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer and put it in the oven. A couple seconds later, she heard the shower turn on and smiled.
One hurdle down.
Now she just had to figure out a place for Hustle to stay starting tomorrow and who had attacked him, and find Jinx.
Piece of cake.
* * *
The door to the barn flew open and fading sunlight entered, making the man walking toward her look like a shadow. Jinx pushed herself back into the corner and watched as he drew closer. This one wasn’t wearing a mask, but as he stepped up to the cage to look at her, she almost wished he had been.
His face was leathery from being out in the sun so long. A long scar ran down his cheek, from the corner of his eye to his lip, causing his eye to droop. His head was completely shaved and he had a dragon tattoo running down the side of his face and neck. But none of that was what scared her. Rough-looking men with bad tattoos were the kind her mother always hooked up with. They’d feed her drugs and beat her until they got tired and then move on to something new. Jinx had learned how to stay out of the way a long time ago.
It was the way the man looked at her that terrified her.
Plenty of her mom’s losers had spent time staring, mentally undressing her. It always disgusted her, and some of them were downright creepy, but none of them had ever studied her so dispassionately. As if she was a thing and not a person.
He bent down and shoved a paper bag through the bars. “It’s food,” he said as he rose back up and resumed staring. “You don’t look all that strong. We wanted a female for the last round. Maybe have a little fun before the game was over, but you’re skinnier than I like.”
Her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat. The thought of his hands on her was far worse than death.
“I guess we don’t have time to fatten you up any,” he continued. “’A course, that would make you slower, so I guess it wouldn’t be smart. Don’t want the last hunt of the game to be too easy.”
He grinned, his crooked, broken teeth magnified in her vision, like a row of tombstones. He banged on the cage. “Eat that and get some rest. I want you ready to run. Two more days and you’re up, sweetheart.”
He turned around and shoved a bag of food through the bars of Spider’s cage, then sauntered out of the barn, whistling as he went. As he pulled the door shut behind him, most of the light fled the room.
“Jinx?” Spider called out to her. “Jinx, are you all right?”
She didn’t even bother to fight the tears that welled in her eyes. They spilled out and ran down her cheeks. “I won’t ever be all right again.”
“Maybe we’ll beat them. We’re smart, right? We know how to get away. We’ve been doing it on the streets.”
“And we both ended up here. How well do you think we’ll do out in a swamp that they know like the backs of their hands and we’ve never seen before? How well will we do against guns when we don’t have weapons?”
“We gotta get out of here.” Spider’s voice went up several octaves. “That’s the only way. We gotta get out of here before they take us out to hunt.”
“We’re in cages. How are we supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know, but there’s got to be a way. Maybe there’s a part that’s loose. Something. There’s got to be something we can do.”
Spider’s desperation made Jinx’s heart clench, and her mind shifted to thoughts of Peter—a little boy, alone and scared and running out of time. Spider was right. Their best chance was breaking out and trying to find their way out of the swamp. Find someone who could help.
An idea started to form in her mind, and she rose from the corner and headed for the cage door. “Start looking for weak spots,” she said. “I’m going to see if there’s a way to get this lock off.”
She studied the lock for a moment. A typical padlock. She reached behind her and felt the rhinestones on the pockets of her jeans. The thin backings that the stones were glued onto might be just enough metal to make a lock pick. She pulled off her shoes and jeans and started picking at the stones.
This had to work. There wasn’t anything else.
* * *
Shaye grabbed her laptop from the counter and plopped down on the couch. Hustle had consumed three-quarters of the frozen pizza, two grilled cheese sandwiches, half a bag of potato chips, and two milkshakes before starting to nod off. He’d given her an awkward ‘thanks for everything’ and headed down the hall. She peeked into the room ten minutes later and he was collapsed on top of the bed, softly snoring.
She turned on the television and for a change, switched to the news. Usually, she didn’t watch it, especially before bedtime, but this case had her wanting to know everything that was going on in the city. You never knew what might be relevant.
She opened her laptop and started a search on crimes using immobilizing drugs. Then the reporter started with the lead news story and she jerked her head up toward the television.
“Police are looking for a ten-year-old boy who went missing this past Friday from a holiday celebration in Woldenberg Park. Peter Carlin was last seen by his nanny on a bench in front of an ice cream vendor near Conti Street. Peter was out of the nanny’s sight for only a minute as she went to retrieve napkins and he was gone when she looked back at the bench. She alerted everyone nearby, and several festival attendees and vendors helped her search the grounds and surrounding area, but no sign of the boy was found.
“If anyone has seen Peter, please contact the New Orleans police immediately. Police are also asking for anyone who saw Peter at Woldenberg Park to call and let them know the time and place of the sighting. If anyone was taking pictures near the food vendors between two and three p.m., please email them to the New Orleans police at findpeter at NOLA police dot com.”
Shaye’s gut clenched as she looked at the photo of the smiling little boy. Another missing child, but this one had parents and a nanny. He was also much younger than the street kids who were missing, and was taken in broad daylight. An opportunistic crime, perhaps? The exact opposite of the street kid abductions?
She blew out a breath. It was almost 11:00 p.m. and she’d intended to call Jackson the next morning to tell him about the attack on Hustle. She also needed to see if he’d gotten any hits on Father Michael, and she wanted to ask if he could do a search on the ID she had for Scratch. And even though it didn’t help move the case forward, she wanted to let him know about Cora LeDoux.
Before she could change her mind, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed his number. It rang four times and she was about to hang up when he answered, sounding a little out of breath.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“I was just getting out of the shower and had to make a dash for the phone. Now I’m dripping on my living room carpet. The worst part is, this is still the best time you could have caught me today.”
“That good, huh?”
“Yeah. Give me a sec to grab a towel.”
She reached for the remote to turn down the TV volume, trying to focus on the news running across the bottom of the screen, but the thought of Jackson naked in the middle of his living room kept intruding.
Get a grip.
“Hey. I’m back,” Jackson said.
“Sorry for the timing,” she said, feeling the urge to apologize for something since she’d been thinking about him naked.
“No worries. I was planning on leaving you a message, then the day got away from me, and I figured it would wait until tomorrow.”
“I thought the same. Then I saw the news.”
“You’re talking about Peter Carlin. Yeah, that’s a real heartbreaker.”
“You don’t think it has anything to do with Jinx or the others, do you?”
“I don’t think so, and believe me, I checked all the facts with the detective assigned to the case. Peter is from an upper-income family—father is a banker, mother is a marketing executive. They have a nice house in Uptown, a nanny, and take an annual vacation to Disneyland.”
“Basically, the opposite life from Jinx.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess. Hell, who knows, right? A little boy is still missing and no one knows why.” She clenched the phone. “I hate this, Jackson. Kids shouldn’t have to go through this. They shouldn’t have to worry about being taken right off the street…”
Her voice started to waver, and she stopped to take a breath.
This isn’t about you.
“Shaye?” Jackson asked. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sorry. Someone attacked Hustle tonight,” she said, changing
the subject.
“What? Is he all right? Did he see who attacked him?”
“He’s shaken up but all right.” She filled Jackson in on what had happened.
“A needle?” Jackson said when she finished. “That makes a lot of sense. And you said this guy tried to grab Hustle on his way to where he sleeps at night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t get it. How is this guy managing to follow these kids when they’re hyperaware of their surroundings?”
“I don’t know. He’s good, I guess?”
“Following someone who is actively watching to make sure they’re not followed is better than good. It requires a lot of skill. The guy wore a mask and gloves and covering on his feet that wouldn’t make noise.”
“You’re thinking military.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Shaye blew out a breath. “If we’re up against someone trained to track and evade detection while doing so, it’s going to make him so much harder to catch. If he’s that good, he probably already knows we’re involved.”
“Agreed, which means both of us have to be very careful. Since he didn’t succeed in grabbing Hustle, he might have moved on to another.”
“Hustle found out two more kids are missing. One from the Tremé called Spider that he didn’t know, and another from Bywater that he knew well. I mean, as well as they get to know each other.” She filled Jackson in on Scratch and what she’d learned from the construction foreman.
There was a pause, and she heard some rustling on his end of the phone.
“Give me the name and Social you got,” he said.
She checked the images on her phone and gave him the information. She heard clicking, and then there was another pause.
“The name and Social are legit,” Jackson said, “but they belong to a man who died eight years ago. The kid probably bought the ID to get a job.”
“I figured as much. Did you get anything on Father Michael?”
“That’s why I was calling you first thing tomorrow.”
Shaye straightened up on the couch. “What did you find?”
