by Amalie Jahn
“Has anybody heard any talk about a guy named Alejandro from Phoenix being here in Baltimore? He’s a Chicano so Jack and I’ve hit all the known MS-13 guys, but we’re still coming up empty. Have any of you heard anything on your beats?”
Darnell Carson, one of her classmates from the academy spoke up immediately. “I mighta heard something about your guy the other day,” he said, turning to his partner. “Remember the car theft on Highland last week, and the dude we talked to in the service station across the street who said he saw some locals with a new guy nosin’ around the car the night before it went missing.”
“Yeah. I remember,” his partner said. Then he turned to Mia. “This store attendant seemed pretty intuitive, like one of those guys who knows what’s going on around his shop.” He pulled out a notepad from his shirt pocket. “His name is Lavelle Washington. We haven’t been able to find the car or a suspect, but if this Lavelle guy noticed someone new, it might be worth checking out. In fact, if your perp’s involved with the car, we might kill two birds with this one.”
Mia glanced at Jack and then back to Carson. “Then we should swing by with Alejandro’s picture. We’re thankful for any lead we can get, and we’ll keep you posted if we get any information on the car.”
Half an hour later, Jack pulled the cruiser into the parking lot of the Royal Farms convenience store on the corner of Fayette and Highland. An elderly-looking black man greeted them from behind the counter as they entered.
“Morning, Officers,” he said.
“Morning,” Jack replied. “We’re looking for Lavelle Washington.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he smiled. “What can I do for you today?”
Jack quickly explained the situation while Mia slid a photograph of Alejandro across the counter.
“Well now, it was getting on twilight when I noticed them,” Lavelle explained, “but the one I didn’t recognize did have longish hair like the man in this picture. Big across the shoulders like this guy too. He was with a few other Latino men I seen around from time to time, and they caught my attention on account a they was just standin’ there doing nothin’ but looking at that car. Almost called you all about it myself, but I try not to get involved if I don’t have to, you know what I’m sayin? Anyway, wish I woulda now that all this is going on.”
“If you see something, say something,” Jack said, parroting the Homeland Securities slogan. “Don’t ever hesitate. You never know when something might be important to pass along.”
“I’ll do that from now on,” the man promised, and Mia could feel his embarrassment. She felt compelled to let him off the hook.
“You know, there’s something more you can do for us now,” she told him as she scrolled through the precinct’s website on her phone searching for a mugshot of Sisco. “Any chance this was one of the local men you spotted that night.”
Recognition crossed the man’s weathered face the instant before he spoke. “Now that man there, he’s stolen from me more times than I care to count. Mostly 40s outta the case over there when I’m with other customers. He thinks I’m not gonna do nothin’ about it, and he’s right cuz I don’t want his boys in here starting trouble. Just get in and get out. But yeah, he was out there with the fellow in your photograph that night. They were together. Along with a couple a others.”
This was all the confirmation Mia needed to hear. If Sisco and Alejandro were together, there was no doubt Alejandro knew they were looking for him. The only thing keeping Andrea safe was that he didn’t know where she was. At least for now.
They thanked Lavelle and walked side by side in silent familiarity back to the car. They buckled up, but Jack didn’t turn over the engine.
“They’re running a stolen car operation,” he said.
“Sisco and Trece.”
“Yeah. Call your dad. I bet the felony charge Fields picked Trece up on was grand theft auto. He must have caught him with another car, and they haven’t connected that theft back to this one yet.”
A quick call to her father confirmed Jack’s hunch. “Let Carson know to get up with Fields. I think these two cases are connected,” she told him before disconnecting.
They continued to sit in the parking lot, paralyzed by indecision.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked Jack.
He puffed his cheeks and blew the air out slowly. “I have no idea. Sisco and Trece are stealing cars and now we know Alejandro is caught up with them somehow, even though he’s probably just tagging along. Trece got caught by Fields, but we don’t know for sure whether he was part of this heist.”
“You think they’re selling them off outta state or scrapping them for parts?”
“Who the hell knows.”
Jack’s dejection was contagious, and Mia felt herself growing more discouraged the longer they sat. That their morning’s investigation had the potential to land Sisco in prison was little consolation, because despite all the time she’d spent searching on her own, he was still her only connection to Alejandro’s whereabouts. There was really only one more lead to follow.
“Let’s head over to the tattoo place,” she said decisively. She’d been wary of going there herself for fear of tipping Alejandro off on their involvement, but if he was working alongside Sisco, there was no doubt he was already well-versed in her connection to the case.
“No one’s been there,” Jack said.
“Someone’s been there,” she countered. “Just maybe no one’s talking.”
Although Mia prided herself on keeping an open mind with regard to judging people by their outward appearance, she couldn’t help but venture a sideways glance at Jack as they entered the tattoo parlor. Sitting just inside the vestibule behind the front counter was a formidable looking man. With most of his visible skin obscured by dozens of random tattoos and a bushy beard that would make even Paul Bunyan envious, the shopkeeper epitomized the subculture. Mia hoped he was more bark than bite.
“What can I do for you, Officers?” he asked them, his voice gruff but not antagonistic.
At the beginning of their investigation, they’d left the shop’s employees in the dark about their operation because Mia felt there was too great a risk of the employees accidentally giving away their involvement. Instead, they opted to leave an unmarked car on duty to observe patrons entering and exiting the store. Now that their cover was blown, however, the need for answers trumped discretion, and it was time to fill them in.
“Any chance you saw the news segment on WJZ mentioning your shop by name a few days back?” Jack asked.
The man’s jaw clenched. He clearly wasn’t someone who enjoyed being put on the spot. And it seemed as though he was no stranger to confrontation. “Our books are clean. Been audited twice in the last three years and everything checked. I run an honest establishment.”
“I have no doubt,” Jack countered. “I’m not here about your operations though. I’m here about a missing girl. A friend of hers was on TV telling about how he thought she might be coming to your shop.”
“Don’t know nothin’ about any missing girl. Only girls been in here are ones I know.”
Jack nodded, scratching at the stubble on the back of his neck. “Understood. We’re actually more interested in anybody else who might have come in here looking for her.”
“You’re talking about somebody come in here asking about some missing girl?”
“Exactly.”
The man shook his head, but then held out a finger, an invitation to wait, as he called loudly into the back of the shop. “Hey, Slick, you had anybody in here the last couple a days asking about a missing girl?”
“Nah.”
“How ‘bout you, Ducky?”
Instead of answering directly, a squirrelly-looking boy, barely out of his teens, peered around the wall of his station. “Who’s askin’?”
“The cops,” he said, waving Ducky to the front of the store.
Skinny and pockmarked, Ducky strolled to the
counter as if he had nothing but time on his hands. “Yeah, I talked to a guy in here the other day asking about a girl.”
Mia’s heart raced. If the stake-out officers hadn’t spotted Alejandro, he had to have sent someone they didn’t recognize. “What day was this?”
He shrugged. “Yesterday. Or maybe Monday. I don’t remember exactly. The days all run together.”
“And you told him you hadn’t seen her?”
“Yeah. Cuz I hadn’t.”
“What else did you tell him?”
“He started asking if anybody else had been in to ask about her, just like you.”
“And you told him no?”
“Yeah. Cuz nobody had.”
“It was just one guy or more than one?”
“Just one guy.”
“Can you describe him?”
Ducky ran his fingers through his hair which was thick and dark and tangled at the ends. Mia imagined the greasy film it probably left on his hands. It was all she could do to focus on his response.
“He was a Hispanic guy. Mexican maybe. About 5’10” or 5’11”. Seemed smart, you know. But sheltered. Like he’d never spent a day of his life on the street.”
Looking at Jack, she was sure his look of confusion mirrored her own. The man Ducky described didn’t sound like any of the thugs Alejandro had access to.
He sounded like Jose.
CHAPTER
38
LANYING
Wednesday, October 5
Shanghai
It had been several days since Lanying had composed her email to Salomon. Since pressing send, she’d checked for a response no less than 37 times, but who was counting.
She placated herself by focusing on the time difference between China and the Congo, shortage of internet access, and sheer lack of time. All of this was to keep her from dwelling on the idea that he might never respond at all.
After a morning of classes and a quick chat with Mia and Thomas in the afternoon, she prepared a simple supper of dumpling soup which she shared with her grandfather off a tray table in his room. He’d begun refusing more and more of his meals and between that and his weakening faculties, she feared he wouldn’t be with her for very much longer.
“Any news from the boy in Africa?” he asked her.
She shook her head, rolling her noodles around her chopsticks and into her mouth. “Not yet,” she said after swallowing.
“You seem discouraged.”
“I’ve had three more visions of him – working in the fields, laughing with his family, studying. I haven’t seen him in that trancelike position again.” What she didn’t say was that she was starting to doubt she’d ever seen it to begin with.
“Give it time, child.” He took the smallest bite of noodles. “Trust in your abilities.”
Her grandfather’s confidence gave her strength. Strength to follow her heart, which she knew ultimately would eventually lead her out of Shanghai and back to the US on a permanent basis. However, she was hesitant to discuss the call she was feeling because although she knew he would be supportive, she also knew being without her would break his heart. So instead of saying anything about it, she quickly changed the subject.
“Tell me more about the origin of the prophecy in Africa. And your trip.”
He chuckled to himself, setting his barely eaten noodles aside before pulling his blanket over his hips. “I remember it now as if it were another man from another time, because of course, it practically was. It was the year before I met your grandmother, and I was a university student myself, just about your same age. One of my history professors, Dr. Yeung Wei, planned a trip to west Africa and needed a research assistant. Of course, I said yes when he asked. How could I refuse?” He took a sip of his hot tea and continued. “Now I thought we were going to Angola to archive antiquities housed at their Natural Museum of Anthropology in Luanda, and I suppose according to the university’s bank account records we were. But I didn’t know until we arrived that Dr. Yeung’s main focus was the prophecy.
“According to what we discovered there, the Bantu people brought the prophecy with them as they migrated from the Middle East as early as 500 BC. It spread throughout the tribes for thousands of years and was eventually carried to the New World via slave ships in the 1700’s.”
“And the scrap of paper from inside your box?”
“I copied it off an ancient rock face where it was carved onto cliffs of a dried riverbed. Dr. Yeung believed the inscription was over 2500 years old.” He closed his eyes, as if he was remembering the spot. “That trip to Africa sparked my fascination in the prophecy I’ve been exploring ever since.”
Lanying tried to imagine what it would have been like to have been there, face to face with concrete evidence of the prophecy revealed by the ancients. A prophecy of which she was now a part.
“You know, based on a lifetime of extensive research, Dr. Yeung theorized that the culmination of the prophecy would occur in his lifetime. He was wrong, of course, because he passed away almost 25 years ago, but he was close, in the whole scheme of things. Very, very close.” He struggled to catch his breath and Lanying heard a faint rattling in his chest. She was about to mention it when he continued. “There’s something I need to tell you about the prophecy and my part in it. You see, as it turned out, Dr. Yeung was more than just a researcher. He was what those of us inside the inner circle call a ‘keeper.’ Someone who is tasked with using what he or she knows of the prophetic signs to watch for the coming of the psychics who will usher in the end of days. They protect the secret of the prophecy, hoping to keep its prediction from the evil psychics.
“Just as there are seven light and seven dark, there have always been seven keepers. When one dies, he or she passes the mantel on to another who takes their place as a sentinel. Watching. Preparing. Waiting. When Dr. Yeung passed away a quarter century ago, he passed that task on to me, along with the contents of the trunk containing his lifetime of research and all the research that came before. I added my own findings, of course, but now, well, I suppose there’s no purpose in passing my duties on to you. It seems, my child, you hold a much greater purpose in the development of what is to come.”
They sat in silence for several moments, and she was overcome by the weight of what it meant to be called to the light. It seemed silly she should continue on with her paltry day-to-day existence, as if nothing more was happening in the world than life itself. But so much more was happening, under the surface. The fate of the world was being decided.
“I think I’m about ready to turn in for the night,” her grandfather said finally. “Why don’t you go check and see if you have any messages from that Congolese boy.” He winked at her then, in a very uncharacteristic way, which she imagined gave her a glimpse into who he may have been as a younger man, in the days he roamed the African countryside.
Instead of heeding her grandfather’s advice, she dawdled, afraid of being disappointed. She washed the dinner dishes and set plates of food aside for her parents to reheat when they got home. She straightened the books on her shelf and read two chapters of her counseling textbook. Finally, after brushing her teeth and changing into her pajamas, she logged onto her email to check for messages.
To her surprise and delight, there was a reply.
Until the moment she saw Salomon’s name as the contact, she hadn’t realized how nervous she’d been about their eventual connection, or lack thereof. Now, she found herself paralyzed again, unable to force herself to open the message for fear of what she may find inside. Finally, she closed her eyes and clicked the mouse.
Dear Lanying,
Your email greatly surprised me. I have never gotten a message from someone so far away before. Also, I was surprised by the unusual nature of your words, talking about visions you’ve been having of me from your home in China. I think to myself, how can this be, that a woman in China is seeing what I am doing in my village in the Congo? But the descriptions you shared with me are true, s
o I must believe that you can do what you have confessed to me.
Now I must also confess to you about what I can do, because you were right in assuming visions are part of my life as well, although I see things much differently than you. When you saw me looking at the photographs, I was using my ability to channel information from them. I am able to learn more about many objects just by touching them. I’ve been able to do it since I was a boy. Sometimes I use what I see to learn about the past, sometimes the present, and sometimes, although rarely, the future.
I look forward to getting another message from you again soon. I would like to know more about your visions and the other people you can see. Until we talk again…
Very truly yours,
Salomon
After years of being judged and belittled by her peers, to have this man, a virtual stranger, validate her abilities, was surreal. After blinking back tears, she reread the email, confirming she hadn’t misunderstood his intention to continue their communication.
She immediately composed an email in return.
Dear Salomon,
Thank you for your response to my correspondence and for trusting me with your secret. It must seem quite strange for me to reach out to you about our shared abilities, seemingly out of nowhere, but there is something more I need to confess to you regarding the gifts we’ve been given.
You asked specifically about the other people I can see in my visions, and one of them is a man named Thomas who lives in the United States. On a recent trip there for an educational conference, a curious thing occurred. I actually met this man from my visions. To say it was a coincidence would be an understatement. But the coincidences didn’t stop there.
