by Billy Kring
“That, or the pressure will drop to nothing. If he’s grinning like he wants to hurt somebody, he’s stepped to another level.”
John hung up his phone and came inside. He had a little grin. Hunter and Randall looked at each other as John sat down. John said, “It’s bullshit. They say Jason had an ounce of coke on him, and Jesse’s nose showed a small amount of powder, and that was swabbed at the scene. It checked positive for cocaine. The initial take is that Jesse and Jason are crooked, and were killed during a busted drug deal.”
Randall said, “No way.”
Hunter said, “They were murdered, then set up so it looked like a drug deal gone bad.”
Randall and John looked at her, and she said, “We had some surveillance footage of something real similar to this. They plant it, rub the coke on mucous membranes, and leave a trace on the nose or mouth, like that.”
John said, “Did you catch them?”
“No, they made it to Mexico before we got to the house.”
The three friends talked the rest of the evening and waited for the ten o’clock news to air. By ten-fifteen, they’d seen all the news, including the death of a man on a jet ski, two robberies, an abandoned puppy story, and traffic reports. Again, they muted it but left it on. Randall said, “We going down there tomorrow? We’re still covered under the task force designation.”
John said, “We should. Not to step on anybody’s toes, but to help out. We’ll let them know right up front about that.”
Randall glanced at the television, then pointed at it. “Take a look.”
The weatherman pointed at a large, circular cloud formation in the Atlantic as he said, “–is tracking steadily west. Initially, strong wind shear prevented the system from developing, but since turning westward, Hurricane Kyle has entered a stage of rapid intensification and is expected to become a major storm.” He changed the weather map to show Kyle’s projected path, saying, “It is still two days away, but be aware, South Florida. We may be in for a bad one. Start your preparations now.”
Hunter looked at John and Randall, saying, “It’s never dull with you two, I swear.”
John said, “It could miss us, too. We’re near the edge of the projected path. Key Largo is in the center.”
Randall said, “I’m for it missing us. Now, you two get out of my house so I can clean up and watch a movie or something before I go to bed.”
Hunter said, “There’s nothing to clean up. I already did it.”
“Why, yes you did. Thank you. Now get out. I don’t want you making fun of my movie choices.”
John said, “See you in the morning.” He stood, “Hey, you’re not watching the one with Jar Jar Binks in it again, are you?”
“Out.” John grinned as Hunter joined him and they walked out of the house.
Hunter left him to go to her car, “See you tomorrow.”
“See ya.” He drove home and parked in the drive, choosing not to put it inside the garage tonight. He unlocked the front door and went to the bedroom to place his pistol and badge on the chest of drawers by the bed. As he entered the living room, his phone rang. It was Young Anson. He answered, “Hello, Young.”
Young said, “I’m sorry for the late call, Detective, but I hope you will help me.”
“If I can. What’s the problem?”
Some friends in Little Haiti told me that Ariel Baimby is missing.”
“The fortune teller?”
“She is not a fortune teller, but yes, that is her. She’s been missing since yesterday, but was seen today, riding on a jet ski with a muscular young man.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. It sounds like she’s having fun.”
“The young man was on the news tonight. He was killed in Biscayne Bay.”
Young had his attention, “Was there a report that Ariel was on the jet ski when he was hit?”
“They didn’t see the accident, but saw her earlier with him as he left the Miami Marina. It seems those at the marina thought she was Rihanna, the singer.”
“I can go down there and put word out with the other agencies and look around myself.”
Young said, “I believe she is here, in Pembroke Pines, held against her will. I would like for you to help me check this.”
John ran one hand through his hair, “Okay.”
Young said, “I knew you would. You are a good man, John Quick. I am outside your front door in my van.”
“Give me a minute.” John went in the bedroom, changed to jeans and a pullover Izod, and then put his pistol and badge on his belt. The last thing was the windbreaker to conceal the pistol and badge. He texted Hunter and Randall that Ariel was missing, then went out the door and hopped in the van’s passenger seat. “Let’s go.”
Young pulled away from the curb and said, “This house is owned by one I believe to be Tonton Macoute. There are rumors he has another home where he holds dark rituals, including sacrifices.”
“But not this one?”
“I do not believe so.”
“How did you come on this information?”
“A friend.”
“Do you have a name?”
“It is not important.”
“If there’s a kidnapping victim in there, it will be.”
“Perhaps later.”
John rode in silence for a few minutes, then asked, “How many are in the house?”
“I do not know.”
“Do you know any of the names of those involved?”
“No. I was told they are all bad people.”
“I don’t have a warrant to search the house, Young.”
“I know. Do what you can. Ariel is in danger. I believe this.”
They drove through the various Pembroke Pines neighborhoods, and with each one they didn’t enter, John grew increasingly uneasy. When Young eventually turned into one, John knew where they were going.
Young stopped in front of Jean Claude Villard’s house and said, “This one.” He opened the driver’s door and stepped to the front walk. “Let’s talk to them, see what they say.”
John reached for his phone as he said, “I’m calling for backup.”
“No, John.” Young said. When John turned his head, he saw the pistol.
John said, “You have about a second to put that away before I make you eat it.” John’s door suddenly opened from the outside and two men stood there, both holding pistols. John said to Young, “You’re with them.”
“Yes, since we were children in Haiti. Now, exit out your door or we will shoot you.”
John stepped out of the passenger’s side and Young moved behind him as the others took John’s weapon and phone, then flanked him as they walked to the front door. Jean Claude opened it. He grinned, “Welcome, Detective. Please, come in.”
Young nudged him through the door, and John yielded to the push. He entered the foyer and continued into the living room, looking for any opportunity to escape. When he saw Ariel sitting in a chair in front of the television, he knew they were in deep. “Are you all right?” He asked. When she looked at him, John saw she was terrified.
Young backed up several steps and leaned his back against the wall, still holding his revolver on John. “You and your friends have interfered too often. We can’t have that.”
Marc Dessaline and Ringo Bazin entered the living room, and Marc said, “Behave yourself Detective Quick, or you will regret your actions.”
Ringo pointed at an oak chair that had been placed by Ariel, “Sit.”
John didn’t move. Ringo circled wide around John and stopped behind Ariel. He pulled out a pocketknife and hit a button. The thin blade opened with a snap, and he put the blade to her face, tapping the needle-sharp point on the skin at the corner of her eye. With every tap, Ariel’s eye twitched. Ringo pointed again at the oak chair.
John sat and put his forearms on the armrests. Ringo moved away from Ariel, folded the knife and put it in his pocket before walking across the room to stand beside Dessaline. Two of the
other men in the room approached John, each carrying plastic flex-cuffs. One of the men John recognized as the man he slammed to the ground on Hollywood Beach. The man limped as if he had a bad back.
Ringo and Marc watched as the men bent to bind John’s wrists to the armrests. Ariel felt a sudden premonition of what was coming, and she looked at John as he turned his head towards her.
He winked. Ariel caught her breath as John exploded out of the chair, grabbing both men by the throat and slamming their heads together so hard it sounded like someone banging together two coconuts.
The two men dropped, and John spun and grabbed the oak chair, flinging it at Young Anson, getting his whole body into the throw. Anson’s back was against the wall and he yelped an instant before the chair hit him and exploded into pieces. Several pieces stuck in the wall as Anson dropped to the floor with blood running from his forearms and his scalp. His revolver clattered on the tiles and John dove for it just as Ringo and Marc closed on him.
John dodged away from the pistol and came to his feet as Ringo grabbed for him. John caught the taller man’s wrist and pulled him close as he twisted and threw Bazin over his hip. The black man slammed hard on the floor and John kept his grip on the wrist as he spun again, stepping over the wrist to extend Bazin’s arm to full length, then he dropped one knee down with all his weight behind it, striking with the point of the knee like a sledgehammer on the man’s forearm.
Everyone heard the bones break. Ringo made a sound like “Haah” and fought to get away from John.
Dessaline came like a shadow and dropped on John’s back, sliding his forearm across the detective’s throat and pulling back.
John went with it and grasped Dessaline’s forearm with both hands as he put his feet against the wall and walked up it, coming full circle over the top and dropping backward, forcing Dessaline to fall off balance on his back, with John on top of him.
Marc twisted at the last minute and both men landed on their sides, with the impact separating them. Marc came to his feet an instant before John.
Ringo Bazin rose at the same time behind John. Ariel screamed, “Watch out!”
Bazin snapped a high, powerful kick that connected with John’s temple, and the detective dropped to the floor.
Young Anson picked up the revolver and ran to the downed man, wanting to shoot. Dessaline yelled, “No!”
Young stopped, then looked at Marc. Marc said, “We save him for the ritual. His strength will make a powerful offering.”
Young nodded, rubbed the places where the chair struck him, and said, “One of my ribs are broken, and my head is buzzing. He threw the chair so hard it was like a bomb blew up in my face. I have to sit down.”
Marc looked at Ringo Bazin, who stood there as if nothing had happened. He asked, “Your arm?”
“I will get ready in the bedroom so you can set and splint it.” He glanced at the unconscious man on the floor, then said to Dessaline, “Li se danjere, he is dangerous. Kill him now.”
Dessaline said, “No. In the ritual.”
Marc said to Jean Claude, “Tie him. We’ll move them before dawn, and I don’t want a repeat of what just happened. When you finish with the detective, try to rouse our men from the floor, and bandage Anson.”
~*~
Randall’s phone rang at 3:30AM. He fumbled for it, then checked the caller ID. It was Grandfather. Randall said, “Grandfather?”
“Itza-chu is in trouble.” Grandfather said. He’d used John Quick’s Apache nickname, Eagle Claw. “There are things involved I do not understand, a huge black thing with jaws and teeth, fire and wind. It is bad magic.”
John sat up, “It’s okay, Grandfather, I’ll tell him about this in a few hours when he gets up. We’re meeting first thing this morning.”
“They already have him.”
Randall felt his scalp prickle, “Let me call you right back. I’m going to call John.”
Randall hung up and redialed his friend’s number. It went straight to voicemail. He said, “John, call me. It’s important.”
He called two additional times, but no one answered. His next call was to his Grandfather. He said, “I’m going to his house. He’s not answering his phone.”
Grandfather said, “I hope you find a clue, like they do on those television shows I watch.”
“I do, too.”
“Grandson.”
“Yes, Grandfather?”
“There are evil things all around John, and many people are caught up in it, including you. Death is there, too. Wear your medicine.”
Randall looked at the izze-cloth coiled on top of the chest of drawers, “I will, Grandfather. Thanks for warning me.” He hung up and dressed, pulling out a switchblade from a drawer to put in his pocket as extra insurance.
He thought about calling Hunter, but talked himself out of it, just in case Grandfather was drinking again and only having bad dreams. He was at John’s house in minutes, and noted the car in the driveway. It gave him a small thread of hope, but that evaporated when John didn’t answer the door. Randall used his own key to the house and entered to silence one experiences when the place is absent of living beings.
He flipped on lights and called John’s name as he went through the home. There was no answer. He entered the master bedroom and saw the bed made, looking like no one had slept in it. John’s gun was gone, and so was his phone. Randall chewed on the inside of his cheek, looked out in the back yard on the slim chance he was there, and saw nothing. He pulled his phone and noticed the text for the first time. He called Hunter and told her. She said, “I’m coming.”
Randall made coffee and then sat at the kitchen table. When he thought she was almost there, he took the carafe to the table and poured coffee into two cups, with cream in both. Hunter arrived a minute later, and Randall pointed at a chair on the other side of the table. “Poured you some coffee,” Randall said, “I think it’s gonna be a long day.”
She took a sip, added a few more drops of cream, sipped again and said, “Your Grandfather told you about this?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Have you checked the surveillance cameras?”
“I was waiting for you. Figured four eyes were better than two.” He rose from the table and retrieved John’s laptop from the small office, putting it on the table so they could both see, and then hit the keys to access the cameras. He used the mouse to roll back the time until they found what they wanted. The two friends watched it three times, from the time John pulled into his drive and entered the home, until he left and got into the passenger seat of the van out front.
Hunter said, “Nothing but the make. I never saw the plates.”
Randall said, “Could you make out the driver? He looked big, and maybe a black man, but that’s about it.”
“With the interior light not working, that’s all I could make out, too. We need to find a city camera that lets us see the license plate and the driver.”
“You want to ride with me, or call Andre and roll with him?”
“I’ll go with you. I’ll call and tell him what’s going on and he can meet us.”
Randall said, “I’ll close up the house and meet you at the car.”
By the time they reached the police station, Andre was waiting in the parking lot. Hunter told him about Ariel, too. They informed the Sergeant about their suspicions and he helped set up conference calls so all the traffic cameras could be checked quickly.
The results were not good. Not a single camera caught an image of a similar van.
“How can that be?” Hunter said.
“The cameras. We call them red light cameras, and they’re set at strategic locations, but not all over town. Somebody who knew what they were doing could bypass every one of them by staying off the major roads and avoiding busy intersections,” Randall said.
They were quiet for a minute, then Andre said, “Could John’s disappearance be tied in to Ariel’s?”
Hunter said, “I’m not ruling out anything
at this point. And we’re not giving up on Ariel, either.”
They stayed at the station, making calls, researching van owners, first only in Pembroke Pines, then all of South Florida. There were hundreds. By five PM, they were mentally exhausted, but not ready to quit. Randall said, “Come over to the house and we’ll figure out our next plan while we eat something. Andre, you’ve got family, so you don’t have to come.”
“I’ll be there,” he said.
When they left the building, Hunter immediately notice the increasing breeze, and high, white cirrus clouds on the far eastern horizon. Andre said, “The hurricane’s coming more our way.”
“How long before it hits?” Hunter asked.
“I’m guessing maybe thirty-six hours or so, give or take. We need to check the weather this evening.”
The news knotted up Hunter’s insides even more than John and Ariel’s disappearance. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she said.
Randall said, “We’re not stopping for anything.” He fist-bumped Hunter and Andre. He added, “I’ll get some things on the way home. See you two in a bit.”
As Randall drove, he thought of his friend. Where are you, John?
~*~
John and Ariel huddled together on the sofa as Dessaline gave orders in Creole to the other Haitians. The captives’ hands were flex-cuffed at the wrists, in front of their bodies, and both Young Anson and Jean Claude held pistols as they sat across the living room from the two captives.
Young had a large Band-Aid on his forehead at the hairline, and the light, pinkish color of it stood out almost comically against the Haitian’s black skin. Young gently massaged his chest where the chair hit as he half-listened to Dessaline. He never took his eyes off John and Ariel, like he was watching two loose cobras in the corner.
Ariel leaned to John and whispered in his ear, “Seven ships coming in tonight, all loaded with people and drugs.”
John whispered, “Did they say where?”
“Yes, three in Dania, four in Homestead. The ones in Dania are Haitians in two boats, and people from Syria, Pakistan, and Iran in the third. The four in Homestead are all drugs and something called…yellow cake?”
