Murder on a Saturday Night

by K. C. Sivils

  While Heat didn't like women or trust them, the reality was he loved the idea of women. Heat enjoyed watching an attractive female sashay by as much as any other red-blooded male. He liked the sound of their voices, their scent, and the way they dressed. As much anger as Heat still felt for Anna, she was still the standard by which Heat judged all other women.

  The decision to get Amy off the street and out of the life had been a spur of the moment decision for Heat. His better nature just couldn't leave her trapped in a life filled with misery and a certain early death. Yet, as difficult as it had been for Heat, he was glad Amy worked for him and that she was a part of his life.

  She’d only tried once to pry the lid open to the box where Heat kept his feelings regarding Anna locked away and buried deep inside. He’d made it clear Amy was never to tread that path again though Heat knew full well she had figured out much of what made him tick long before Anna ever darkened the door of his office.

  Blondie was much the same as Amy. Another lost sheep who'd fallen victim to human traffickers. If Heat would follow his own advice, the advice he required Amy and Blondie to follow in order to be his employees, he would have learned from a shrink that the two girls he'd rescued were proof he needed to let himself love someone.

  The sound of the passenger door opening broke Heat’s reverie, ending the confusing searching of his soul, leaving him with no answer as to why Anna would pick a Nick Devereaux over him, and even more painful, why she would stay with such a man.

  "Here," Boucher announced, handing Heat a warm sandwich wrapped in paper. "Place was jam-packed. Here are your chips and your diet coke." Boucher shut the door and made a face. "I'm not listening to that while we eat."

  “Yes, you are,” Heat groused, taking a sip of his drink. “You know the rules.”

  A pained sigh escaped Boucher. “He who drives picks the music.” He cast an evil side-eye Heat’s way. “I’m driving next then.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Smile, Anna,” Sharon ordered in her best she who must be obeyed voice. “A little retail therapy is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Mom, I don’t know,” Anna replied, staring out the passenger window of the SUV.

  “Mother knows best,” Sharon countered, reaching over and giving her daughter a gentle nudge. “Besides, it’s my treat.”

  A faint trace of a smile made its way to Anna’s face. “Well, if you’re buying, I guess it’s okay.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  Neither spoke as Sharon navigated her way through the Houston traffic en route to the Galleria. "How does James live like this?"

  “Mom, it’s worse in L.A.”

  “Speaking of which.”

  “Mom, I’m not going back until Nick is found.”

  Sharon opened her mouth to speak her mind, thought better of it, and snapped her mouth shut. Frustrated, Anna let out a heavy sigh and groaned.

  "Out with it, mom, it'll just fester until you speak your piece, and then we'll get in an argument."

  “Very well. Just remember you insisted.”

  Pausing to glare at another driver before aggressively changing lanes without signaling, Sharon accelerated and then braked, bring the SUV to a halt at the traffic light.

  “What if you fired James? Well, not fired him, but told him to wrap things up and pay him for his time and expenses.”

  “What?” Incredulous, Anna raised her voice. “How could you even suggest that?”

  “See, I told you.”

  “Mom!”

  “Fine,” Sharon snapped. If now was the time, so be it. “The man won’t work. WON’T work! When was the last time he went to an audition or took an acting class?”

  “Mom, Nick takes care of the Becca and Adam.”

  "If you call taking care of the children leaving them with neighbors or your father and I while he goes off to who knows where and spends your money.”

  Heat flashed through Anna. She grabbed the dashboard in front of her with both hands and pushed back as hard as she could.

  "Oh, that's just rich coming from you, mom! Need I remind you it was you and dad who taught me once you're married, there is no my money, his money! It's OUR money!"

  "And in ninety-nine percent of all marriages, you'd be right to call me out on that, Anna. But in Nick's case, it's your money." Sharon cast an angry glance at her daughter. "Your father and I have an excellent idea of how much of your money Nick has wasted."

  “Sure, you do, mom.”

  The long light turned green, and Sharon eased out into the intersection.

  “Don’t think I’m the only one who knows, either.”

  Puzzled, Anna gave her mom a quizzical look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  "You've never kept it from your father and I that Nick gambles, wastes money, you know, that sort of thing. What you kept from us was the extent of his problems." Sharon replied knowingly. "Becca told us the extent of your financial losses."

  “She did what?”

  “Becca isn’t stupid, Anna. She’s old enough to know things, especially being the daughter of a celebrity.”

  “Mom, you can’t believe what the tabloids and gossip sites say,” Anna exclaimed. “Becca knows that.”

  “She’s also quite skilled at computers,” Sharon replied, leaving it to Anna to grasp the implications.

  Minutes passed before Anna spoke.

  "You're telling me my daughter has been poking around in my financial affairs?"

  "Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you. And Becca's smart enough to know to mention it to her grandparents."

  Sharon watched her daughter from the corner of her eye, noting the seething rage building. “You better not be getting mad at Becca,” Sharon warned. “She’s worried about you, Anna. Becca sees how hard you work, the sacrifices you make.”

  “So, my daughter spies on me and hates her father? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “Did I say Becca hates her father?”

  “You implied it,” Anna shouted.

  “I most certainly did not,” Sharon answered calmly, infuriating Anna further. “What I will say is this, the situation cannot go on like this. Someday, the calls will stop coming. You won’t get the parts you get now, and the money will begin to dry up. What will you do then?” Sharon paused, hoping her words were getting through. “Because when the money is gone, I can assure you, Nick will be gone.”

  A familiar buzzing sound caught Anna’s attention, disrupting her response. Sharon watched as her daughter frantically fished through her purse to retrieve her phone.

  “Mom, I got a text.”

  Had Sharon not braced herself for her daughter's scream, the likely result would have been a car wreck. Instead, without speaking, Sharon slowed the SUV and put on the turn signal. Then, easing the car into the parking lot of a convenience store, she brought the car to a stop and put it in park.

  Anna sat speechless, loosely holding her phone and staring at the screen in a state of shock. Without saying a word, Sharon took the phone from her daughter’s grasp, steeled herself, and looked at the phone.

  “Dear God in Heaven,” she gasped.

  Dropping Anna’s phone onto her lap, Sharon reached for her own purse to retrieve her phone. Her fingers flew over the touch screen, first unlocking it and then flicking through her contacts. Finding the number she was looking for, Sharon hit send and placed the phone on speaker. Static came from the phone as the connection was made.

  A gruff, masculine voice answered. “Hello?”

  “James, where are you?”

  ---

  Katie took a sip from the lukewarm bottle of water and made a face.

  “If you don’t like it, don’t drink it,” the younger of their two captors informed her.

  “Ignore him,” the older man replied, reaching his hand out towards Katie. “Let me see that bottle.”

  Fearful of angering either of the men, both of whom were dressed in black from head to toe and
wore black ski masks covering their faces, Katie handed the man the bottle.

  "I'm sorry," the man replied. "Let me get you something cold to drink." Katie watched fearfully as the man returned to the van and climbed in through the open back doors. She could hear him rummaging through one of the two ice chests briefly. Then, finally, he returned with two bottles, offering the first to Katie and the other to Becca. Both girls took the bottles without question.

  An air of obvious disgust emanated from the younger man. Then, without warning, the older man swept the right leg of his partner out from under him, tripping him. A swift kick to the ribs followed as the older man straddled his partner and sat on him. With both hands, he grabbed the youth's shoulders, lifted his head up, and then backhanded him with a hard right.

  "I will not tell you this again," growled the older man. "There is never any reason to mistreat someone unless the job requires it. Providing cold water is a simple thing, you idiot. Dehydrated captives do not help us do our job. Nor does mistreating them make them more docile and easier to handle.”

  Disgusted, the older man let go of his partner and stood up. “If I have to remind you to obey my rules one more time, you’ll be done with this job.”

  With caution, eyes filled with hate and locked on the older man, the youth stood up slowly. “Fine with me,” the younger man snarled. “Just pay me what I’m owed, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Really now.” Without warning, the older man reached behind his back and produced a compact 9mm. “There’s one in the chamber,” he warned, the handgun correctly held with both hands and aimed directly at the center of the younger man’s forehead. “Say one word, and your employment will come to an appropriate end.”

  Fear replaced the hate in the younger man's eyes. The red flesh that showed around his eyes and lips turned white, no doubt from fear.

  Watching the youth tremble in fear, his bluster having vanished, the corners of the older man’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “That’s what I thought,” the older man said.

  "Girls," he said politely. "I have no intention of harming you. Cooperate with me, and you have nothing to fear from me. My job now is to take the two of you to my employer." Sidearm still in his right hand, he walked calmly to the rear of the van and sat down on the bumper. "Now, eat up and finish your water. I'll find a place where the two of you can have a little privacy to do your lady business, and then we'll be on our way."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Boucher watched his friend from the passenger seat, noting the scowl on his face when Heat answered his phone.

  “Still in Baton Rouge.”

  While Heat listened intently to the person talking on the phone, Boucher polished off the last of his sandwich and busied himself wiping the crumbs from his shirt and onto the floor of the SUV. Heat's changing facial expressions made it clear the caller was in the process of delivering bad news.

  “Send it to me,” Heat finally said. “I’ll get back to you.”

  Boucher didn't say a word. Heat's foul mood had darkened further during the short duration of the phone call. Heat's phone buzzed, causing him to stare at the screen. In the process of examining the photo, the knuckles of Heat's left hand, which was holding on to the steering wheel, turned white.

  “Take a look,” Heat finally said, holding the phone out for Boucher to take

  “Anna’s kid, right?”

  “Yeah,” Heat snapped. “The other girl is Becca’s best friend.” For once, Boucher remained quiet. Heat would explain when he was ready.

  “Call Arceneaux,” Heat ordered. “We need to see what he’s got.”

  “Won’t be much,” Boucher replied, staring at the image of two young girls sitting on a grassy bank near a bayou.

  "That was Anna's mother," Heat announced. "Anna got the text with that picture, and she's freaked out."

  "I would think so," was Boucher's muted response. "I would definitely freak out."

  “Seems Becca and this other girl, Becca’s best friend Katie, had snuck out in the middle of the night to go to Becca’s house. Somebody grabbed them.”

  Tilting the phone at a different angle, Boucher’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at the image. “That ain’t Texas, Heat.”

  His friend shot Boucher a curious glance.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ain’t Texas, that’s for sure. Looks familiar, but it ain’t Texas. Everything in the picture says Louisiana, the grass, those trees there,” Boucher pointed at the picture, “they’re cypress. I know this spot.”

  “The job has just changed,” Heat said, starting the engine. “I don’t care about Nick Devereaux anymore. We’ve got to find Becca and the other girl.”

  “Think we’re wasting our time here?”

  "I don't know," a frustrated Heat answered. "But we need to find out what we can about this guy Devereaux was with. This has to be connected." Pulling out into traffic from the parking lot, Heat thought for a moment, then nodded at his phone.

  “Call Sam. Tell him things have changed. We need to see everything he has on this Smith. If that grease I laid on Sam wasn’t enough, sweeten things by telling him we’ll trade what we know about what Devereaux was up to in Baton Rouge.”

  “Heat, he was just here to go to the Tigah’s game.”

  “We’ve got to figure out if we’re wasting time here, Elijah. If I have to choose between finding those girls or Nick, it’s not even a choice.”

  Boucher settled back in his seat, not saying anything as his friend sped down Perkins road, slowing to turn left onto Acadian to head back to the university campus. He thought for a minute and pulled out his own phone, putting Heat's phone in his shirt pocket. After thumbing through his contacts, he pulled up his contact information for Sam Arceneaux and hit dial, placing the phone on speaker at the same time.

  Their friend picked up on the second ring. “Detective Arceneaux.”

  “Sam, it’s Boucher.”

  Arceneaux’s voice cracked as he spoke.

  “Look, I told y’all…”

  "Things are different now. They snatched two teenage girls. At least we think it's the same people,” Boucher told the detective. "Changes things. Nick Devereaux just became secondary to getting these two girls back to their mothers."

  A strained voice came over Boucher’s phone. “Any idea who the girls are?”

  “Anna’s daughter,” Heat bluntly answered. “The other girl is her best friend. They were staying at the friend’s house and snuck out in the middle of the night to go home to Becca’s house. That’s all we know at the moment,” Heat lied.

  “I’ll get back to you,” Arceneaux answered, abruptly hanging up.

  Boucher picked up his drink from the cup holder and took a long sip, watching the houses on Acadian fly by as the LSU Lakes came up on the right. “Think we’ll hear from him?”

  “C’mon, Elijah. It’s two young girls. No self-respecting cop is going to let that go,” Heat answered.

  ---

  Ignoring the glare of his older partner, the driver fought back a grin as he aimed the van for another pothole in the two-lane road. With each bone-jarring impact, he glanced at the rearview mirror to watch the two girls be tossed about like ragdolls in the rear of the van.

  “Slow down,” the older man ordered.

  “I’m just having a little fun,” was the young man’s condescending reply.

  The older man spoke again, his tone calm, yet menacing. "You've had enough fun." The sound of the action of a semi-automatic pistol being racked put a period on the statement. Not wanting to further test the patience of his older partner, the driver eased off the accelerator and began dutifully avoiding the potholes.

  “How much further?”

  “It’s not far,” was the older man’s reply.

  “Look, this job is turning out to not be what I expected.”

  “So, you want to quit.”

  “I want to get paid,” the driver replied emphatically. “Then, I’m going to see
k employment elsewhere.”

  “That might be wise,” was the older man’s chilling reply.

  Five minutes passed with the driver carefully picking his way down the two-lane road. Turning onto an unmarked one-lane road, the driver slowed further. Branches struck the windshield and scratched the side of the van. Occasionally an unavoidable pothole jarred the vehicle, tossing the two girls in back about like ragdolls again. Each time the driver nervously glanced at his older partner, who said nothing, his gaze impassive as he maintained his focus on the road ahead.

  Sunlight filled the van as the trees and brush opened up to a large open area. The road curved to the right in a gentle arc, lining up with a corridor of old live oaks on either side, fallen limbs and weeds marked the sides of the road, in places becoming so narrow the van could hardly pass. The obvious deterioration of what had once been a well-maintained property saddened the older man, serving as a harsh reminder of why he had chosen to work for his current employer.

  "Pull up over there," the older man announced, pointing at a gravel road barely visible for the weeds surrounding it. The younger man did as instructed and put the vehicle in park, then turned the engine off.

  “This place must have really been something back in the day,” he remarked, nodding in the direction of the large plantation home. Surrounded by trees and shrubbery long neglected, the structure had a malevolent air about it, something one would expect to see or experience in a horror film.

  "It was," the older man responded. "Not that long ago, no less. Nature reclaims its own quickly when man is not around to maintain what he's built."

  "Well," the younger man started awkwardly, "I want to get paid, and then I'll be on my way."

  “Very well, if that’s what you want,” the older man replied, glancing in the back of the van at the two captives. He opened the door and got out, shutting the door behind him before walking around the front of the van where he waited for the driver.

  Growing impatient, he rubbed his hands together as if cold. “Well, c’mon,” he grumbled. “You aren’t going to get paid just sitting there.”