Five Minutes

by R. Lanier Clemons

  Adrienne matched her stride. “How can you see anything from here?”

  Jonelle wiped sweat from her brow. “I can tell if someone goes in or out. That’s all I’m concerned about right now. If Riley doesn’t come out in another half hour, I’ve got to figure out a way inside without becoming the next feature event on ID Investigation Discovery TV. Speaking of which, I’ve been thinking about how they managed to set up the cameras.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Playcat probably has their own surveillance, so I’m guessin’ the cops must’ve set up theirs nearby, probably next door. Problem for them is they don’t have anything past the entrance because there were no shots of you beyond the outer door.”

  “True. Wondered about that. But what if they didn’t show you everything?”

  “Burt would’ve said something.”

  Adrienne lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting. So. They don’t care about the naked stuff. They wanna know who’s going in and out because it might tell them about the drugs.”

  “Right,” Jonelle agreed. “Plus, they know about Watkins. While their focus is drugs, I don’t think that’s the reason she’s in there now.”

  Adrienne stopped short. “Sounds like it’s getting crowded in there.”

  “And it might get even more so,” Jonelle said. “Fire department requires all commercial buildings have two exits, so there’s another way inside there.”

  “Probably in the back,” Adrienne said.

  “I went around there when you went inside the other night. Luther going through the trash distracted me from searching around, plus it was hard to see. Gotta find out what’s back there. You stay here,” Jonelle said.

  For once Adrienne didn’t insist on accompanying Jonelle. That whole surveillance thing with her face splashed everywhere must have scared her best friend more than she was willing to admit.

  Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a CSX train rumbled. Before searching the back, Jonelle studied the front of the building. While she hadn’t seen anyone else go in or out of any of the other doors, the long concrete building contained several windows on the main level covered with mesh, and long narrow windows above. All indications pointed to the fact that the structure housed businesses other than Playcat.

  Parked at the curb on the end closest to the entrance of the dead end street was a white delivery van, rear doors facing her. She couldn’t tell if there was writing on the side or not.

  “What’re you gonna do when you get around the back?” Adrienne asked.

  “Not sure. You got your phone?”

  Adrienne nodded.

  “If I get into trouble, I’m gonna call nine-one-one first. You’ll be my second call.” After pausing to glance once more at the front, she left Adrienne and started to cross the street.

  “Just so you call somebody. Hey!”

  Jonelle stopped.

  “Let’s synchronize the time. If you’re not back in an hour, I’m callin’ . . . somebody. Even if it’s only Burt.” Adrienne’s brow furrowed.

  Jonelle took advantage of her friend’s anxiety. “Stick around and keep watch on the vehicles. If anybody gets too close, pull out your pepper spray and call for help.”

  “You sure you don’t want me coming with you?”

  “I think you’d be more help here.” Jonelle patted the holstered gun secured around the waistband of her cotton capri pants and covered with the tunic top she wore.

  “Makes me nervous when you take that gun,” Adrienne said.

  “It’ll make me more nervous if I don’t,” Jonelle replied.

  Jonelle inspected the front once more and hurried to the back. While she hadn’t seen any movement in front, that didn’t mean the occupants weren’t there.

  The belabored rumble of another CSX train thundered in the distance. Her rubber-soled shoes crunched along as she skirted broken bottles and crushed cans. Up ahead, next to a large trash container stood a blue recycling bin. She grabbed a handful of the cans and dumped them inside.

  “Help you, Miss?” The deep voice startled her. She turned and faced a black man holding a large plastic garbage bag.

  “Didn’t see any sense in these lying on the ground when there’s a perfectly good recycling bin sitting right there.”

  “You do that a lot, do you? Go around picking up other people’s trash?”

  “Only when necessary.” He didn’t smile at the remark, so she’d best get on with it. “Actually, I’m a PI and a client of mine, works in, um, well, she’s an actress. I’m helping her out on a case that involves the film studio a few doors down.”

  He inclined his head. “So how come you’re back here?”

  “Research.” Even though technically she was on his turf, his questions were getting on her nerves.

  After a few more seconds studying her without comment, he broke into a grin, threw his head back, and laughed. He strolled over to the green trash bin and flung his bag inside, throwing up rotten smells of wasted food and used up debris.

  “Don’t mean to trespass,” she said, attempting to gain control of the situation, “but I couldn’t figure out any other way to get to the back of this place. What do you know about that adult film studio—Playcat, I think it’s called?”

  “Not much. Guy who owns it’s named Jasper. Only conversation we had is an agreement that we keep the gang bangers from hangin’ out. You let ’em loiter, and they’re like leeches. They grab hold, suck you dry. As long as those folks keep their business inside, I don’t bother them. They do their thing and I do mine. So far it’s working out.”

  “What is it you do?”

  “I own a barbershop slash beauty supply house. We cater to most of the shops around the city by providing most of what they need, from equipment to shampoo, creams, lotions, whatever. Except stuff for manicures and pedicures. Don’t get into that.”

  Sweat rolled down her face. “Mind if we stand over there under the shade?”

  “This gonna be a long conversation?”

  Instead of answering, Jonelle walked to the overhang between his store and the one next to it with boarded up windows.

  She waited for him to catch up. “All I’m interested in is what you know about the studio. Especially the guy who runs it and whether or not you’ve noticed a silver SUV coming and going.”

  “You wanna know a helluva lot.”

  “I’m a PI. It’s what I do.”

  Jonelle’s phone chimed with a text from Rainey insisting she call the office. She turned off the phone without responding. She thought about asking the guy his name then decided against it. Best keep the whole thing loose and informal. “So what about the guy and the car? Anything?”

  “Don’t know Jasper’s last name. Only speaks when you speak first. Keeps to himself, though he does spread fliers around when he’s got a new, uh, film coming out.”

  “What do you know about one of his most popular actresses? Her name’s Tamora.”

  “Actress?” He snorted with derision. “You call what they do acting? Besides, Jasper did say once they’re referred to as models. As if that makes it all right.”

  He stared off in the distance as if trying to put together the name with a face. “Think I know who you mean. Pretty, got bazoomkas out to here. Skinny waist. She don’t speak, either, but I caught her smiling at me a couple times. Don’t want the kinda grief her kind would cause, and, besides, my wife would kill me . . . and her, too.”

  Her kind? Jonelle studied him a little more closely. While he didn’t give up a lot, she got the impression he didn’t miss much, either. “She has a little girl, and the little girl has been abducted. I’m trying to find out everything I can about what could’ve happened.”

  He whistled softly. “She got somethin’ to do with that?”

  “I don’t know. Hope not. The only way I’ll be satisfied is if I exhaust all possibilities. Where do you suppose the back of the studio is?”

  “Down here. Easier if I show you. C’mon.”


  Jonelle followed the broad-shouldered back about three-fourths of the way down. Considering that half of the spaces were boarded up, she was surprised the area was relatively clean. “Who else has a business here?”

  He turned his head slightly. “There’s also Cho who sells dry cleaner supplies, and Monty’s got a wholesale button company.”

  “Buttons?”

  “Yep. They gotta come from somewhere.”

  He stopped and pointed to a recessed door. “That’s the place. Don’t think you’re gonna get inside without a key, though, ’cause like my place, and everybody else’s, the back’s always locked. The front’s on a security system, and you gotta be buzzed in. Or have a key. But I suppose you already know that.”

  He turned to go.

  “Wait a sec. What about the car?”

  “Oh yeah. Been seein’ that a lot more lately. Snooty bitch . . . uh, sorry. She ain’t too friendly which is okay by me.”

  “Is she always by herself?”

  “Seen her sometimes with an average-looking dude and a raggedy-looking light-skinned guy. They don’t speak, neither.”

  For some reason, Jonelle didn’t want him to leave, but there was nothing else, except . . .

  “Before you go. I’m curious about something. Do you own or rent your space?”

  He cocked his head, a slight smile playing on his face. “Rent. And because we’re, according to the state, reclaiming the area for commerce, the city gives us a huge tax break. As long as Playcat keeps their nose clean and don’t get into anything too hinky, everything’s okay. We all look after each other. If you’re interested in learning more, you know how to find me.” With that, he gave a mock salute and left her standing there.

  She needed to find a way to get inside without anyone seeing. Her eyes wandered all around the structure. A small security camera was aimed high above the door.

  “Damn.” Did it belong to Playcat or the cops? Was it real or for show? Too late to worry about that now. She hoped the thing was fake and only used as a deterrent or at least no one was staring at a monitor with her face splashed across the screen.

  She patted the phone clipped to her pocket, slightly guilty she’d turned it off. She turned it back on and checked the screen. Messages from Rainey and the kids would have to wait. She skirted the door and stood next to the first mesh window. Even as tall as she was and standing on tip-toe, she couldn’t reach the window. Someone had placed several plastic buckets next to the trash bin. She walked over and picked the largest one that could hold her weight.

  That done, she stood on top and, shielding her eyes, tried to look inside. Nothing but black. They’d painted the windows, which made sense considering the business. Angry at wasting so much time, Jonelle considered leaving the bucket where it was. Instead, she hauled her makeshift stand over to the other window and got the same result except for a round spot which looked as though someone had scratched off the paint.

  Jonelle squinted through the hole.

  A pair of eyes stared back.

  CHAPTER 39

  Got me one of them throw-away phones. Had to take her in the store with me to get it. A few nosey busy-bodies commented about how cute she was, but most didn’t pay us any attention. Bought her a bag of chips. She wanted a butterfly coloring book but they didn’t have any so she chose a brown-and-white stuffed puppy.

  She’s been quiet for a while, but it’s hard to go in and out when I need to check mail. Everybody’s so busy chasing their tails, going here and there. I’m done with that. Been thinking about hiding somewhere that nobody’d think to look for us. Problem is how to sneak in without anybody seeing?

  Need a good lie. Or maybe not. The mother ain’t too bright. Sometimes I think the contact’s feeding her drugs in order to keep her quiet and agreeable. I hinted my suspicions in my text yesterday. Only response was to keep my ideas to myself.

  One person sent me a personal text agreeing with what I said. Big surprise.

  Claims he knows some stuff nobody else knows. Alls I do is wave a couple bills in front of the guy’s nose and he tells me what I wanna know about the drugs. He don’t care what happens to who, when.

  That PI hasn’t been around in a while. Wonder what that’s about?

  CHAPTER 40

  Dark eyes stared back at Riley. She ducked. One hand flew to her mouth to squelch the scream threatening to explode from within. Was the vision real or . . . ? Once she caught her breath, she rose slowly and brought her eyes back to the hole. The other eyes were gone—if they were there in the first place.

  Riley took out her knife and, going as fast as her shaking fingers allowed, chipped away at more of the paint to get a better look. She didn’t plan on sticking around for someone to complain about what she’d done. All she saw was bright sunshine, blue sky, dark green trash bin. She scraped away more paint and . . . brown hands gripped the mesh on the window.

  Fascinated, Riley’s eyes first took in the dark hair, dark forehead, brown eyes, and a face she recognized. She groaned.

  The detective mimed opening the window. Riley shook her head. She’d already tried that. Next, Jonelle pointed to the right and mouthed the words “door” and “open.”

  Riley shrugged. “What door?” she mouthed. She’d stopped at the seam in the wall.

  More frantic pointing.

  Riley hurried back the way she came and slipped inside the narrow hall. Though she couldn’t hear any voices, somebody must be looking for her by now. She hurried to the end of the short corridor and faced another wall. She tapped gently. A hollow sound echoed.

  Unable to see clearly, she gently pushed against the wood. The wall gave way slightly. Riley dug her fingers inside and shoved. The wall slid a few feet to the left. “I’ll be damned,” she said under her breath.

  A windowless door stood on the other side with a sliver of light creeping through a crack at the bottom. Her hand touched a cold, steel bar. If she pushed the bar and opened the door would an alarm sound?

  “Already screwed, anyway,” she mumbled, leaning her weight against the steel. The force caused Riley to stumble out into a brightness that nearly blinded her. Jonelle grabbed her before Riley fell to the ground.

  Riley braced for the sound of an alarm that never came.

  • • •

  “Don’t let the door close,” Jonelle yelled, letting go of Riley and lunging for the edge of the door. Too late. “Dammit!” Jonelle turned. All she saw were trash bins. No sign of Riley.

  “What the hell?” She couldn’t worry about that dipsy woman now. Instead of returning the way she came, Jonelle ran in the opposite direction. The distance to that end of the building was closer, and she wanted to go around the side and observe the front.

  Riley was on her own, and good riddance, though she worried what the woman would say if caught.

  “Hey,” a voice hissed.

  Startled, Jonelle couldn’t tell where it came from.

  “You deaf or somethin’? Over here.”

  A face she came to dislike peered from around a trash bin a few feet away.

  Jonelle shook with anger. Riley was supposed to follow her lead, not take it upon herself to go her own way. On top of everything else, she’d let the door close instead of giving Jonelle room to get inside. Sick and tired of being thwarted every which way, the only thing stopping her from hurling every obscenity she could at the woman was the fact that someone might hear. She gestured for Riley to come close.

  Riley shook her head.

  Jonelle felt for the gun. For a brief moment she wondered who’d miss the woman if . . . ashamed of those thoughts, she breathed in and out deeply. No time for emotion. She had to think.

  A quick glance at the studio confirmed no alarm sounded. No one came to check out the noise she made, so Jonelle relaxed a little. While curious what—if anything—Riley discovered inside, Jonelle couldn’t question the woman until she’d slowed her pulse and calmed down.

  Ignoring the homeless woman huddle
d next to the trash container, Jonelle crept to edge of the building and around the side and peered around the corner. The silver SUV was still parked out front. She pulled out her phone and called Adrienne.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Did you see anyone come out?” Jonelle asked.

  “All I’ve seen were a couple vans pulling up front and then leaving. I didn’t know this place had other occupants.”

  “Me neither. At first. Ran into a guy that sells barbershop and beauty supplies. He says in addition to his business and the studio there are two other occupants. He’s seen Watkins before but no child.”

  A few moments of silence, then, “You sure the child is still alive?”

  “Yes.” She refused to believe otherwise. “What makes me sick is that I think Tamora knows where Lark is, but for some reason, even though she could go to jail, she’s keeping quiet. Lark is somewhere safe—I feel it in my bones—which is why Tamora’s kept her mouth shut.”

  Jonelle had thought long and hard. “If the child’s not in the apartment building somewhere, the only other place is with Watkins.”

  “You sure? Doesn’t Tamora have a sister? It’d be easy to hide the kid with the others that go in and out of there, considering she runs a daycare.”

  A door opened. “Hold on. You seein’ what I’m seein’?” Jonelle asked.

  “Yep.”

  The cleaning woman stood in front of the entrance. Hands on hips, head swiveling back and forth.

  “Shit,” Jonelle said.

  “What?”

  The cleaning woman got inside her car. The engine roared to life, and she made a U-turn.

  “Look. The woman in that car’s gonna drive up, and she’ll either stop and ask about Riley, or she’ll take one look at you, see it’s not me, and leave. If she stops, put her on the phone.”

  “That thing needs a new muffler.”

  While she waited for Adrienne to come back on the line, Jonelle returned to the rear of the building. No sign of Riley. She breathed a sigh of relief. Good riddance.

  “Jonelle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She slowed down. When I walked up to her, she sped off. Sorry.”