by Margaret Kay
“Federal agency? The Marshals? There’s no federal agency that’s going to do anything about this because I have no proof. That detective with the LAPD made sure of it.”
“Maybe we can help you get that proof,” Sloan said.
She shook her head. “Gary, no! They think I’m dead. Now is when I need to disappear. I’m not going to risk that some federal agency will believe me and help me.”
Lambchop considered it in silence for only a second. Then he reached into his back pocket and grabbed his NSA badge and creds. “Show her,” he said to the others as he opened his wallet.
They each pulled their badges and held them up to Kennedy.
Her jaw dropped as she viewed each badge. “Are those real?”
Sloan chuckled. “Yeah, as real as they come. I told you Brian and I were part of a multi-agency task force.”
She motioned with her finger. “Let me see them up close.” Not that she would know real versus fake badges.
The men moved in and towered over her. Lambchop held a badge that said Special Agent, National Security Agency, NSA. Mother’s was a gold badge that said ICE. She knew that agency had something to do with immigration, and deporting illegal aliens, but that was all she knew about them. Both Gary and Brian’s gold badges said ATF Special Agent. OMG, Gary Sloan was a Navy SEAL and was now a federal agent.
“You have four federal agents standing here that believe you. Now let’s have it. Why is that girl dead?” Sloan demanded.
“Gary, it’s not that I don’t trust you. You have to understand; these are powerful people.”
Sloan could feel his irritation increase. He was losing his patience. He knew his jaw was clenched tight. He chose his words carefully. “Kennedy, you and the dead girl could be twins and now she is missing too. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that maybe she’s the one who is dead and not you. Without federal help, how are you going to stay safe and disappear?”
“I don’t know. People do it all the time, buy new identities on the black market. I’m sure I could find someone seedy enough to get what I need.”
Sloan blew out a frustrated sigh. “With what money?”
She glanced between the four men. “I’d figure something out.”
“Or you could do it the legal and smart way. It sounds like you’re already involved with some shady people. Why would you want to associate with more of them?” Sherman asked, a rhetorical question. “Be smart, momma. Tell us what’s going on.”
“Give us a chance to help you,” Mother added in a friendlier voice than Sherman had spoken in.
She glanced between them again, considering it. She nibbled on one of her fingernails, a childhood habit that she wasn’t sure when it returned.
Lambchop watched her. When after a full minute that she didn’t speak, he decided to push her with a tactic from Cooper’s play book. “Okay, this is how this is going to work. You are officially in federal custody. Since we do not know if this involves national security, I am invoking the U.S. Patriot Act. You will be held as a suspected terrorist with no due process afforded you. We can hold you indefinitely without granting you a phone call or an attorney.”
“What? You can’t do that!”
“We can and we have,” Lambchop said with an even voice.
“You fucking bastards!” Kennedy screamed.
“Calm down,” Sloan said softly, trying to diffuse her agitated state.
“Calm down? This fuck-tard just put me under arrest!”
“Consider it more of protective custody. We’re here to help you, Kennedy,” Sloan said in a calm voice.
“Fuck that, fuck all four of you!” She jumped up from the bed and rushed to the bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it.
“Lovely girl,” Mother remarked harshly. “And you were going to marry that?” He shook his head.
“We were twenty-one years old. It was a long time ago.”
Brian Sherman’s lips tipped into a grin. “Looks like a match made in heaven if you ask me.”
Sloan flipped him the bird.
After an appropriate amount of time, Sloan knocked on the door. “Come on, Kennedy. You can’t stay in there all night. You have to come out and talk with us.”
“With you alone. I don’t know any of them and I don’t trust them.”
Sloan made eye contact with Lambchop. The Reverend nodded. “Okay, they’re leaving,” Sloan called back through the door. None of the others moved. Lambchop nodded again. Sloan waited forty-five seconds. “Okay, they’re gone. It’s just you and me.”
The door cracked open and Sloan pushed it all the way in. In one fluid movement, he entered the bathroom and grabbed hold of Kennedy, who was too startled to even make a sound. He pulled her back into the room. He didn’t release his tight hold of her arm. He was sure he’d leave a bruise but didn’t care. They weren’t playing around, and it was time she got with the program.
“You lied!” Her eyes stared daggers at Gary. Then she glanced at the other men. They all looked pissed. Seeing them, her anger morphed into fear.
“Calm the fuck down and hear me. These men are my team and I trust them with my life. I also trust them with your life, which is something I don’t do lightly. Each and every one of them will put themselves in danger and risk their own lives to protect you. That makes them your team and you need to trust them. Let that sink in for a minute,” Sloan said strongly. He waited a few beats and watched her process that behind her frightened blue eyes. “Now stop the bullshit. Right now, tell us who that girl was and why she was murdered.”
Kennedy’s adrenalin was pumping through her. She fought to catch her breath. She nodded yes. “Okay, can we sit?” She pointed at the bed.
Sloan led her by the arm to the bed, releasing her when they reached it. She climbed on, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. Gary stood at the foot of the bed, towering over her. The others moved in as well. Lambchop grabbed the chair and pulled it over to sit in. Mother stood between Kennedy and the door and Sherman stood on the other side of the bed. She was effectively walled in.
“Please sit,” she said, her eyes sweeping over the men. “I’ll feel more comfortable if you do.”
Everyone but Mother took a seat.
She reached her hand to Gary’s. She needed to hold on to him, to tell them what happened. “Her name is Melody Sawyer. Was, her name was Melody Sawyer. She was placed in our house by my manager, Stanley Angus. She was my friend.”
“What do you mean placed in your house?” Sloan asked.
“When I moved to L.A., the manager I signed with arranged for housing for me. It’s a house that he places multiple artists that he manages in.”
“So, she was another artist?”
“Yes. She was a product of the California Foster Care System, a ward of the state since she was ten and her mother was killed in a drive-by shooting. She had a beautiful voice. We used to say we were twins and people believed us because we looked so much alike. We tried to get Stan to let us give it a try as a duo, thought that could be the ticket to our success.” She stared at her and Gary’s joined hands, lost in her thoughts.
“Why was she killed?” Lambchop asked.
Kennedy’s eyes went to the intimidating black man that Gary introduced as Lambchop. “They thought she was me. I got her out of L.A. to protect her and I got her killed.” She looked down at the ugly floral bedspread. Tears filled her eyes. And she didn’t think she had any left in her. She felt Gary squeeze her hand. She raised her eyes to his. “I was in the bathroom when they came in. She was in the kitchen and they thought she was me. I heard one of them yelling at her, calling her my name. She never told them she wasn’t me. There were two men. I saw them and can identify them. They didn’t see me though.”
“Do you know who they were?”
“No, I’d never seen them before, but I knew who sent them.”
“What happened next,” Lambchop prompted her when she again fell silent.
“Then
I heard the muffled gunshot, and I hid. When I was sure they were gone, I found Melody on the floor. The gunshot wasn’t very loud. No one would have heard it, so I got my dad’s gun from his nightstand and I fired it into the ground in the back yard, by the trees, and I disappeared into the woods. I just had to do something so Melody would be discovered. I couldn’t just leave her there for what could have been days.”
“You could have called the police,” Sloan said.
“And advertise that they got the wrong girl? No, I’d be dead right now if I did that.”
“Where’s that gun now?” Mother asked.
“Under the bed in the attic over the funeral home.”
Lambchop made a mental note that they would have to recover that gun.
“What did you see that made those men come after you?” Sloan pushed.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the casting couch in acting, well there are similar expectations in the music world. There is a really sleazy side to the music business, some of those in charge of labels, managers, promoters, even other artists expect something from you.” She wasn’t going to spell it out, mostly because she was too ashamed to tell Gary what she had done over the years to try to make it big with her music.
She saw the condemnation in Gary’s eyes. He knew. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
She glanced away. “For adults, it’s their choice, but I noticed the artists were getting younger over the past few years. A few times, I had to question if a girl I saw with one of the guys that I knew were predators were over eighteen, but the other night,” she paused and shook her head. She bit her lower lip and summoned the courage to continue. “But the other night, my manager, Stan, delivered a girl who I knew was the fourteen-year-old daughter of a new artist he’d just signed, to the men I called the foul-four, the worst of the worst.”
“The worst of what?” Lambchop pressed. “You have to be specific.”
Her eyes went to his. “Come on, you know what I mean.”
“Kennedy, there can be no confusion. This is your statement to us. We need specifics,” Sloan piped up, giving her hand a squeeze. “No one is going to judge you for anything you say. I promise. For us to help you, we need to know.”
“Sexual predators. You want your single played on the radio, that’s going to cost you a damn good blow job. Get on your knees. One of the foul-four, the head of one of the major labels likes it kinky. Take your clothes off and do what he says, or you will never make a dime in the industry. I know for a fact many girls were assaulted, drugged, there was nothing consensual about anything that happened and that was what was about to happen to that fourteen-year-old. I couldn’t let that happen.”
She closed her eyes and fell silent.
Sloan exchanged glances with his three teammates. He waited a few seconds. When she didn’t continue, he squeezed her hand again and prompted her with an even voice. “What did you do, Kennedy?”
“I knew of a place in the adjoining room to peep through the bed curtains into that room that the foul-four used, another kinky thing they did. I was very quiet so they wouldn’t hear me. I pushed the curtain aside but an inch and thought I was going to throw up when I saw that little girl sitting on one of their laps. He and one of the others had their hands all over her. The other two were sitting back watching and getting all excited. She said no, a couple of times. They reminded her that her mother had told her to be nice to them and that they wouldn’t hurt her. When one of them had his tongue down her throat and the other had his hand up her shirt, I snapped a picture on my phone, but they heard the click. Everyone in the room stopped, and all eyes snapped to the curtain. I was able to get a second picture of their faces. Then I raced from the room. I hid in another bedroom down the hall when I heard the door they were in open.” She closed her eyes tightly, trying not to get swallowed up by the fear that she felt when it was happening.
“Did they find you?” Sloan asked softly.
She shook her head no. “I could hear them searching the room I’d been in with the peep hole. I started a fire in the room I hid in, under the smoke detector. The alarm blared, and I knew people would come rushing out of the other rooms. It was late enough in the evening that most of the bedrooms on that floor would be occupied. Those Music Industry Nights at that house were nothing but opportunities for the scum to feed on artists and demand sexual favors.”
“What happened next?” Lambchop prompted.
“I went out onto the balcony. I climbed over a few railings and back onto the balcony of the room the girl was being assaulted in. They’d left her in there alone. I got her to unlock the balcony door and come out, and then I got her out of there. She was really shaken up. There was a huge party going on downstairs and hundreds of people were running from the house because of the fire alarm. I drove away with her and brought her straight to the closest police station. On the way, she told me her mother had sent her to be nice to those men so her mom’s record would get played. Her fucking mother whored out her own daughter. I was sick to my stomach.”
“But the LAPD Detective you gave your statement to, deleted the photos?” Lambchop asked.
“Yes, and even worse, even though I told him her own mother sent her to be raped, he called her mom and sent her home with her. He wouldn’t call social services like I begged him to.” She pulled her hand away from Gary’s, cupped both of her hands over her face and cried. “I’m sure that little girl has been returned to the foul-four by now and the deed has been done. Jesus Christ, what kind of mother whores out her own daughter?”
Sloan wrapped his arms around her and held her. “I don’t know. What’s the mother and daughter’s names? We’ll get her some help.”
“The mother is Lenora and the daughter’s name is Kaliah. I don’t know the last name. She is an absolutely beautiful girl. She could be a model. She must take after her dad’s side because her mother is butt-ugly and fat. Stan is a predator and zeroed right in on the kid.”
“We’ll get their names to our digital unit. It shouldn’t be that hard to find them,” Lambchop said.
“Kennedy, with what went on, why did you stay in that environment?” Sloan asked, trying to moderate his voice as much as possible.
“You said you wouldn’t judge me!”
“I’m not judging, just trying to understand.”
“They owned me. Do you understand that? Anything artistic that I would do, they owned because of the contract. I couldn’t even write a song and sell it without their approval and them taking a cut. Besides, you name anyone who became a big-name artist in the last ten years, and I guarantee you I’ve seen her with one of the foul-four.”
Sloan shook his head and then pushed his hair back from his face. “Did you ever consider walking away and not pursuing anything artistic?”
“And do what? And go where? I couldn’t go home. My parents both told me I’d fall flat on my face and be home in six months when I moved to L.A. And if I walked away, I had nowhere out there to live, not that I ever had a regular job out there besides waiting tables and you can’t support yourself in L.A. waiting tables. After really thinking about it, while I was locked in that attic, Stan was smart. When I was close to giving up and leaving, he threw me bones, a gig as a back-up singer on a good tour, or a new song that was written to record, more favors, and it was actually played or I got to perform as a warm-up act on a good tour.”
Sloan’s blood pressure shot up along with his intense anger at her statement. “You traded sexual favors to try to advance your music career?”
“You’re judging me again!”
Sloan gripped his temples. “I’m trying to understand.” He knew he was nowhere near calm.
She held her face and cried some more.
Lambchop nodded his head at Mother, then Sherman, and then the door. Mother grabbed Sloan’s shoulder. “Step out with us,” he whispered.
“Kennedy,” Lambchop said very softly as he took a seat beside her on the bed. “God love
s you, flaws and all. God will forgive you of your sins, if you repent and ask for forgiveness, and that is all that matters. Sloan was shocked, hurting for you that you lived the life you have. He was not judging you, just as the rest of us don’t judge you either.” He paused and waited. She still cried into her hands and didn’t speak. “I am the Team Reverend; in case you haven’t figured that out yet. Nothing shocks me and I judge no one. That’s God’s job, not mine.”
She pulled her face from her hands and glanced around, surprised to find that she and the large black man were alone in the room. When had that happened? “He wasn’t shocked. He was disgusted.”
“Jesus associated with prostitutes and women of ill repute. All through the Bible there are stories of fallen women forgiven by God, Rahab the Harlot, Jezebel, Mary Magdalene, and Lilith come to mind. Give Sloan a few minutes to digest what you shared. And don’t lose sight of what is most important, because I know he won’t either. You acted and got that girl to what you thought would be safety. You did the right thing. You’re a hero.”
