by Sean Black
“Why?” said Ty, his expression as serious as a heart attack.
The implication was unspoken but clear. People didn’t call the cops when they had something to hide.
“It’s not what you may think.” said Li. “People like Emily’s father, they don’t involve the authorities unless they absolutely have to. It’s cultural.”
Cultural, my ass, thought Lock. That was everyone’s get-out, these days. He took a breath. “I get why that might be the case back home, but the cops here are on the up and up. It’s not like they’re going to ask you for money before they open an investigation. A town like Arcadia, they’d be all over this like a rash.”
“And if it’s a kidnapping that could be very bad for Emily and Charlie,” said Li.
That was the first thing out of this man’s mouth that actually made any sense, or explained his reluctance to inform local law enforcement of his suspicions. “Okay, let’s take a look inside. Maybe they left a note saying they were going somewhere and you missed it,” he said. He doubted it. You didn’t make a call to people like him and Ty if you thought someone had gone walkabout or was out partying. “I take it you’ve tried all the usual ways of contacting them?” he asked Li.
Li nodded. “First thing I did.”
“Calls go to voicemail, ring out? What?” said Ty.
“Both their cell phones are switched off. No voicemail. Nothing.”
“What about social media?” said Ty.
“Nothing posted since they disappeared. Not publicly anyway. I’m not in some of their friends’ groups for obvious reasons.”
“Okay, we can dig a little deeper on that if we need to. They may still be in touch with someone,” said Lock.
“Not if their phones are switched off they ain’t,” said Ty.
Ty was right. Both phones switched off wasn’t good. The first thing any even semi-intelligent kidnapper would do was get rid of them: they were essentially portable surveillance devices. You didn’t even need to have the cops triangulate cell masts. All you needed was the location services button to be toggled to the on position, which it was on most devices. If you ever used Google Maps or its equivalent on your cell phone, you were being tracked.
Li bent down to take off his shoes. Lock and Ty followed suit. Together, the three men stepped through the front door and into the cavernous front hall with its standard McMansion double-swoop staircase and polished floors.
A mountain bike lay propped against one of the walls. Ty had pulled out his cell phone and was shooting video for review later.
Lock walked back to the front door and took a closer look. He bent down, closing one eye to get a closer look at the keyhole from the outside.
“What is it?” asked Li.
Lock straightened up, walked across the hallway and into the first room he saw, the kitchen. It was large, and well equipped enough for an outside caterer to use. He walked over to the refrigerator, and opened it. They obviously ate out a lot or ordered in because, apart from water, diet sodas and a couple of beers, it was fairly bare.
“Give Ty the details of the two cars, their license numbers, and whether they have any Lo-Jack or other tracking devices fitted,” said Lock, closing the fridge door and looking around for any sign of a note.
“I know the Lamborghini had some kind of Lo-Jack deal. I’m not sure about the Audi.”
Lock stopped and looked at him. He’d been around enough kids of the ultra-wealthy not to be surprised but somehow he still was. “They have a Lamborghini?”
“Sweet ride,” said Ty, unhelpfully.
“It belongs to Charlie. His mother bought it for his twenty-first.”
“I got a birthday card and a six-pack of Coors,” said Lock.
“I got a ride to Iraq,” said Ty.
“You win,” said Lock.
“What can I tell you? He’s fuerdai. They’re spoiled,” said Li.
“Fuerdai?” said Lock.
“It’s what they call rich kids in China. You know, the ones who’ve had everything handed to them,” said Li.
“Like a Lamborghini Aventador?” offered Ty.
“Yeah, like that,” said Li. “They’re actually not bad kids, especially Emily.”
“You have pictures of them both? Recent ones.”
“Sure. I can pull some from their social media for you.”
Li followed Lock and Ty out of the kitchen. They trailed around the rest of the ground floor. There was nothing to indicate a struggle had taken place, or that someone had been dragged out of the house against their will.
Li walked into the living room, still behind Lock and Ty. “You have to understand that when it comes to the fuerdai, and even their parents, we’re talking about wealth that even Americans struggle to understand. China is so vast, and the economy was so underdeveloped for so long, that the small number of people who made money made a lot of it, and they made it fast. We’re talking billions of dollars.”
Lock picked up a biology textbook from a couch. It was well thumbed and marked with Post-it notes. “All the more reason to have good security.”
“Believe you me, once you locate Emily and Charlie I’ll be putting everything in place that you recommend. No expense spared,” said Li.
“Good, but unfortunately throwing money at things isn’t always the answer,” said Lock. “Sometimes you have to do the opposite. The Russians learned that the hard way. Now they keep their wealth a lot more on the down-low. Like not giving their kids three-hundred-thousand-dollar supercars.”
“People like Charlie’s mother have never seen money like they have. Never been around it. They want to give their kids everything.”
“And what about you?” Ty asked Li.
“I’ve had to work for what I have.”
“But this gravy train will come grinding to a halt if anything bad’s happened to your boss’s daughter?”
“I expect it would. I also expect I would find something else,” said Li.
It didn’t come off as boastful, more as a simple statement of fact.
“Let’s look upstairs,” said Lock.
Li started to follow him and Ty up one side of the double staircase. “Go get us the info on the cars and those pictures,” said Lock. He needed a moment alone with Ty without the gofer in tow.
The two bodyguards stepped into Emily’s bedroom and closed the door behind them. Besides some puddles of discarded clothes, and an unmade bed, the room was neat and tidy. A large desk was piled with textbooks. They sat next to a Mac computer. Study plans were tacked up on the wall.
Other than the room itself, which was big enough to qualify as an apartment, there was a bathroom and a walk-in closet.
“What you think?” said Ty.
“He’s full of shit,” said Lock.
“That’s the vibe I was getting.”
“The question is, what’s really going on?”
“Maybe he’s involved,” said Ty.
The same thought had crossed Lock’s mind. Here was a guy who’d had to work his ass off for what he had and was babysitting two rich kids not that much younger than himself who had everything in life gift-wrapped for them.
“If he is, then why call us?”
“Easier to control someone you’re paying than the cops?” offered Ty.
“We’re not easy to control.”
“He’s not to know that.”
Lock wandered into the walk-in closet. He didn’t know much about fashion but he had been around enough women who did to be aware that the clothes and shoes in it would have likely cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Ty picked a skimpy black dress off the rack. It still had the store tag on. He showed it to Lock. It had cost a little under four thousand dollars.
“Wasn’t a robbery,” said Lock.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Ty. “You steal, you have to fence. Some broke-ass neighborhood where the hos are wandering about in Chanel and red-soled Louboutins rather than sweatpants and clear heels.
That’s going to lead back to you real quick.”
Lock wasn’t convinced, but he took the point. It was always worth bearing in mind what the score was. Two living, breathing family members of a billionaire were worth a lot more than stolen goods that had to be sold off at a ninety per cent discount. Cars were a little different, but stolen was stolen. It was why kidnap for ransom was one of the fastest-growing crimes worldwide.
“We need to ask Li if someone can take a look at their bank accounts and credit cards,” said Lock, walking back out into the bedroom.
“So what’s the plan?” Ty asked. “Think we should call the cops?”
“Absolutely, but what are they going to say?”
“Same as we just did. Missing less than twenty-four hours. No sign of a struggle. Or robbery. Cars are gone, but why wouldn’t they be if both occupants have left the house?”
“Phones could be switched off because, hey, kids who’re out partying don’t want to speak to Mom or Dad,” added Lock.
“And no ransom demand.”
“It’s a big pile of nothing at all,” said Lock. “Let’s check the other rooms, then go see if Li’s located the security-camera footage.”
10
Emily’s pupils widened as big as dinner plates as the girl walked the length of the room toward her. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, she was chewing gum, which smacked against the side of her mouth. She was dressed in black shorts, black sneakers with no socks, and an oversized LA Kings shirt that revealed white bra straps. Her neck, arms and legs were heavily tattooed and she wore cheap gold chains. Two black and silver skull rings adorned her right hand, the index and middle finger.
“How you doing?” she said, the ‘you’ sounding like ‘choo’.
When she spoke, her lips peeled back to reveal gold-capped teeth that made her look even more sinister. The boys called her Princess. Emily could tell it served as both nickname and in-joke. Princess Nightmare would have been a better name.
“I’m okay,” said Emily. She had to say something. She also knew that whatever she did say would be wrong somehow.
“You’re a princess too, huh?” said the girl, her closed fist coming up, the skull rings pressing hard into Emily’s cheekbone. “Niña consentida. You know what that means?”
“No,” said Emily, her mouth so dry with fear that she was barely able to speak.
“It means spoiled little bitch,” said Princess, drawing her fist and faking a punch that stopped just short of Emily’s nose.
Emily flinched. She couldn’t stop herself. It was reflex. She didn’t remember ever having been hit, apart from maybe once by a boy in school who’d made a tearful apology after the teacher had intervened. Charlie had heard about it and beaten the living shit out of him when the boy started high school. The school had threatened to expel Charlie. Her father had intervened. Suddenly it had a new swimming pool and Charlie stayed.
Emily doubted that these people would be so easily bought off. She’d already had to listen to Charlie being beaten shortly after they’d got here, hurried into this house in the dead of night. He had pleaded for them to stop. That had only seemed to make them more excited.
If possible, Emily was not going to plead. She was going to get through this. Somehow.
Princess had her face right in Emily’s. Her perfume was vile. The smell made Emily want to be sick. Emily closed her eyes as Princess’s tongue touched her cheek, and ran all the way across her face and to the nape of her neck. The girl’s long black hair swept across her face. Emily had to clamp her lips together to keep it out of her mouth.
“You like that?” Princess whispered in her ear.
Emily tried to catch her breath. “No.”
Princess stood back. Emily opened her eyes.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get to like it.”
“No, I won’t.”
“We’ll see.”
Princess stood back and cocked her hand to her hip. “You know, Joker likes you. I see how he looks at you.”
Joker was one of the gang members who had taken her and Charlie at gunpoint and brought them here. Emily was sure she had heard that name. “Why are you telling me this?” she said to Princess.
“Maybe I can persuade him to leave you alone.”
Emily knew what that meant. “Leave alone” meant “not raped”. “Why would you do that?” she said, although she had an idea already.
Princess shrugged. “I like you. We may as well enjoy ourselves.”
Emily needed to change the subject. “My family has money. If you let us go, they’d pay you.”
Princess started laughing. “Oh, don’t worry. We know that.” She bent down and went to kiss Emily. Emily turned her head.
“That’s okay,” said Princess, running a finger down Emily’s cheek to her neck. “I like a chica who fights first.”
11
The Red Tiger drove his rental car from LAX to Kingman in Arizona. His business was back in California, but Arizona was where he had to collect what he would need.
On the way to Kingman he made two stops. First he went into a Walmart to purchase a burner phone and a pre-paid SIM card. Second, he pulled into a gas station to refuel and use the restroom. He also bought some caffeinated energy drink and two packs of cigarettes. Energy drinks and cigarettes were the staples of his diet, his two main food groups. Out of habit, he paid with cash for all of his purchases.
When he was a half-hour away from Kingman, he texted the number of his contact. In under sixty seconds there was a reply, giving an address of a parking lot on the outskirts of town.
Twenty minutes later, the Red Tiger pulled in. There was a supermarket, a drug store, and two fast-food restaurants, one serving hamburgers, the other Mexican food. He parked near the exit, ready to get out of there and back on the freeway if the sale went bad. Transactions such as this could easily go bad.
He had cash, the seller had guns. It was the perfect recipe for robbery.
Sitting in his car, he smoked another cigarette. He was starting to feel tired. The last week or so had been frenetic. He’d averaged four hours of sleep a night, if that. Nervous energy had kept him going. That, and knowing that his long journey was near an end.
Not knowing had always been the worst part of this. Where was she? Was she alive? Was she happy? Did she remember anything about her old life? What had they told her? Did she remember him?
Some of these questions were answered. The rest would be soon enough.
People would stand in his way. That was why he needed a gun.
A dark red sedan circled the parking lot. It pulled up next to his rental car. A white man with a beard and a baseball cap leaned out of the driver’s door. He was in his late fifties, or maybe his early sixties. The Red Tiger couldn’t see anyone else in the car. Unless someone was lying down on the backseat, the man had come alone.
The man pulled into a parking spot in the next row, and got out. He walked over to the Red Tiger’s car. The Red Tiger got out.
“You found the place okay?” said the man.
The Red Tiger nodded. He planned on speaking as little as possible. He knew he had an accent when he spoke English. He also knew that Americans like this man didn’t trust foreigners. It didn’t upset him. The Chinese distrusted foreigners too. It was the way of the world.
“Come on over. I’ll show you what I got.”
The Red Tiger followed the man back to the dark red sedan. The man popped the trunk to reveal a half-dozen gun carry cases.
“You got the money?” said the man.
Another nod. The Red Tiger looked around. He couldn’t believe how relaxed the man was about conducting business right out in the open.
The man seemed to sense his unease. “Relax, you’re not in California anymore. This is Arizona,” he said. He opened one of the smaller cases to reveal a handgun. He took it from the protective foam insert. “Okay, lemme see here. I think I got everything you asked for. This here’s the Glock 43. Single stack. Nine mill with a
mag extender.” He took it out of the case. “Let me just clear and safe this bad boy.”
He handed the gun to the Red Tiger. He weighed it in his hand. It was a nice gun. “I’ll take it,” he said.
“Damn, you’re my kind of customer.”
“Shotgun?” said the Red Tiger.
The man put the Glock back in its case and closed it. He reached deeper into the trunk and pulled out a pump-action shotgun.
“Here you go. Mossberg 590 Shockwave, Twelve-gauge, fourteen-inch barrel. Army buddy of mine calls this the head eraser.” The man chuckled at his own joke, and handed it over.
The Red Tiger took it into his hands. It was beautiful.
“Good car gun. Great for home defense. Have a couple of them myself,” said the man. “Just don’t get caught with it in California, okay?”
“I understand,” said the Red Tiger. “How much?”
“For both?” asked the man.
“Yes. And ammunition.”
“How much ammo you need?”
The Red Tiger gave him the number.
The man stepped back and muttered his calculations under his breath. “I ain’t asking any questions. What you do with them once you leave here is your business.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why don’t we call it two even?”
“Two thousand dollars,” the Red Tiger repeated.
“Like I said, no questions, and I’ll throw in some extra rounds.”
“Deal,” said the Red Tiger. “You take cash?”
The man smiled. “Don’t take anything but. Nice doing business with you. Mr. . . .?”
The Red Tiger pulled out his money clip and began to count off the money in fifties. He didn’t give the man his name. There was no need.
Back in his rental car, the Red Tiger watched the man drive away with the two thousand dollars. He left the Glock 43 in its case. He took the Mossberg, racked a round into the chamber, and laid it on the passenger seat next to him, the barrel facing the door.
He switched on the engine and drove out of the parking lot. A few minutes later he picked up the freeway and headed back west.
