Damaged Hope (Street Games Book 3)

by L. K. Hill

  Hunt froze, eyes flicking toward the Gabe. “The detective is quite busy, Ellie. I’ll send him a note from you.”

  Hammond made no other reply and the guards escorted him from the room.

  Gabe massaged his temples with his fingers as Hunt entered the room, flicking on the lights. The interrogation room now sat dark.

  Hunt paused at seeing Cora.

  “Oh," Gabe said. "This is my colleague, Detective Cora Williams. Cora, Agent Hunt.”

  They nodded at one another.

  “You all right, Detective?” Hunt asked.

  Gabe glanced up at him, but didn’t answer.

  “Does he always do that?” Cora asked.

  Hunt shook his head. “Not always. He’s done it before. He’s attempted it other times. Sometimes I run out of questions and he’s still willing to talk. Other times he clams up and refuses to speak again. I have no choice but to end the conversation, or sit all day, wasting my time. Today he was…obviously agitated.”

  “He knew I was here,” Gabe said quietly.

  Hunt nodded. “Yes, I believe you're right.”

  “What did it all mean?” Cora asked. “The stream?”

  Hunt cocked his head to one side. “What do the two of you think?”

  When Gabe didn’t answer right away, Cora did. “He put an emphasis on little.”

  Hunt nodded. “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “I thought,” Gabe said, “maybe he’d revealed too much. Maybe he regretted revealing the stream and tried to downplay its importance.”

  Hunt hesitated again. “Perhaps.”

  “You don’t think so?” Cora asked.

  “He emphasized the word little because it’s important, and he wants us to focus on it,” Hunt said. “You’re on the right track. I think he’s lying about the stream itself. Did you notice how he leaned back before answering?”

  Gabe nodded. “So…there’s no stream on the property?”

  “Hard to say,” Hunt answered. “I think the little stream is important, but probably not in the way we think. Did you also notice the lying stance before saying the ranch was out of state?”

  “So you think it’s in state?” Cora asked.

  Hunt nodded. “Cross check ranch and farm properties in the southern Nevada desert against the phrase ‘little stream.’ It might be the name of the property, or perhaps part of the address. A street name, or county.”

  “Yet he said the ranch was out of state,” Gabe said. “Couldn’t the ‘little’ part have also been a lie?”

  Hunt grinned with approval. “Now you’re getting somewhere, Detective.” He shifted his gaze to Cora, who’d been making notes on what Hunt said. “Add ‘big stream’ and variations of it to your search. The emphasis is important, but he’s still lying. Might have told us the opposite of the truth."

  “All right,” Cora murmured, still writing.

  “The pigs were the children,” Gabe said quietly. “What about the chickens?”

  Hunt heaved a deep sigh. “Chickens are smaller than pigs. Daintier. I believe they both represent the children, Detective. The pigs are the boys. Chickens are the girls. The man who kidnapped your brother preferred boys. Obviously. But occasionally—twice, according to Hammond—when he didn't find a suitable boy, he’d bring a girl. It wasn’t optimal for him, but acceptable. Better than nothing.”

  Gabe nodded, digesting the information. He felt numb.

  “He did confirm,” Hunt said quietly, “Dillon is…”

  He didn’t seem to know how to finish. Gabe gazed up earnestly. “I accepted my brother's death a long time ago, Agent. It’s not a shock.”

  “It’s always a shock,” Hunt said firmly, “when it’s personal. Even if it’s only confirmation of what you already expected. You must give yourself time to absorb it, Detective.”

  Gabe nodded. “I will. I’ll have to contact my family now.”

  Hunt raised an eyebrow. “They don’t know yet?”

  Gabe shook his head. “I didn’t want to upset them without something concrete. Wherever this place is, my brother is buried out there. If I can recover his body, it will give my parents some peace.” He glanced up to find Hunt gazing down on him with a furrowed brow.

  “My deepest condolences, Detective,” Hunt said quietly.

  “Thank you.” Gabe sat back. “The ‘being eaten’ part? Do you think the kidnapper actually cannibalized them?”

  Hunt frowned, leaning against the wall. “Possibly. I tend to think not.”

  “Why?” Cora asked.

  “It’s too obvious a reference for Hammond. Everything he says is cloaked in riddles. Perhaps we shouldn’t rule out the possibility of it being literal, but I think it’s metaphorical. These children disappeared. The father consumed them in some way. Being raised for food. All could be metaphors simply for murder."

  Cora tsked, looking disturbed. "There’s nothing simple about murder, Agent Hunt,” she said.

  Hunt smiled sadly at her. “Forgive me, Detective, but everything about murder is simple. So simple we can’t comprehend it. There’s premeditation to consider, but the act itself requires little thought, little feeling. Even less understanding of the human condition.” He sighed and peered toward the dark interrogation room. “Hammond is complicated. Murder is not.”

  “What else did you gather?” Gabe asked.

  “The thing that stands out most is 'preparing the children,' rather than eating them. If he’s telling the truth, and I think he is, it confirms what we already theorized. Hammond was most likely the first child taken, the oldest. The kidnapper treated him more like a true son than a victim. Others were held hostage until the father decided to kill them. Hammond participated in some way.”

  “Do you think he helped kill them?” Cora asked.

  Hunt frowned, considering. “Based on how angry he became when I asked if he ate them, no. Probably not. The preparation might have been physical, or emotional. Might be detailed and ritualistic or as simple as bringing them to his father when he wanted them. No way to tell yet.” Hunt sighed. “Whatever Hammond did, or had done to him, eliminated his capacity for empathy.”

  He glanced down at Gabe. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Detective. At least your brother is at peace now. This pedophile could have found worse ways to twist him.”

  Gabe frowned. He didn’t mind the statement concerning Dillon. Being at peace after such a horrifying ordeal was the best thing for his brother. Gabe didn't doubt it. But did Hunt mean they ought to have pity for Hammond? That, Gabe resented. Knowing any reply would come out bitter, he changed the subject. “What else?”

  “What about the fox?” Cora asked.

  Hunt paused, “I couldn’t say for sure. He’s hinting at something. I can’t make it out yet.”

  “It’s a common metaphor,” Cora said. “Suggests—what? A spy? Someone else who knew? Or watched?”

  “Perhaps,” Hunt nodded. “He’s mentioned the fox before. I’ve never pushed it before today. I’ll try to learn more as the interviews continue. Right now, I don’t have enough information to have a gut instinct." He shrugged. “The rest is nuances. I’ll review the tapes and make my official report for this session.”

  “Tapes?” Gabe asked.

  “Yes. There’s a pinhole camera in the wall over my shoulder while I talk to him. It’s focused on his face. That way I can review the interview and study the details of his expressions. Try to glean more. I’ve been sending my reports to your captain by email. I can CC you, if you’d like.”

  “Please do,” Gabe said. “Will you speak to him again today?”

  Hunt shook his head. “Especially as he became violent at the end, best to let him simmer down. I’ll start fresh tomorrow. Nine a.m., if you want to come again.”

  Gabe nodded and rubbed his temples with his fingers. He ought to thank Hunt, but couldn’t summon the words. A moment later, the door clicked and Gabe and Cora were alone.

  Cora fell into a squat beside him. “Wha
t can I do, Gabe?” Genuine concern filled her expression.

  Gabe breathed deeply and got to his feet. She followed suit. “Help me look for a ‘little stream’ in southern Nevada.” He crossed to the door.

  “You need to sleep, Gabe,” she said, as he put hand on the doorknob.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ll sleep when I can bury Dillon. For real.”

  He walked out into the prison corridor. He'd wanted to put his brother to rest for decades. Strange that as he found his first hope of actually doing it, he felt fear too.

  Chapter 8

  Kyra breathed carefully, softly, afraid to snap the tension permeating the tiny warehouse with too strong an exhalation. Something about this meeting felt wrong.

  At the center of the space sat a make-shift desk with crates on either side for chairs and a lantern for light. Beside the lantern sat an open computer case. The laptop it held had been locked into it with a chain and padlock.

  Kyra and twenty of Josie’s other guards stood in a semi-circle behind their boss, who sat on the crate to one side of the desk. She didn't recognize the man he did business with, but then she knew almost none of the faces of Josie’s bosses or the higher-up gang leaders.

  This man's features weren't distinctive. Except for his chin. The longest Kyra had ever seen, it looked like it stuck out several inches farther than his nose. The length was probably deceptive, but it gave that impression.

  Behind Mega Chin, fifty of his people stood in a semi-circle around him, as Kyra and Josie’s guards did around Josie.

  After speaking with Sadie and Mrs. Rosary, Kyra arrived at work—barely on time, which received a scowl from Josie—and was informed she'd be part of his personal guard for this meeting.

  “Do not be flattered,” Josie told her, matter-of-factly running his eyes over her body. “Dis is not a compliment for you. I simply need more people dan usual, so nearly everybody working tonight will participate.”

  Kyra merely nodded, knowing better than to ask questions. When Josie turned away, she rolled her eyes, wishing she could kick him in the balls. Not an option, of course.

  While waiting around with nearly two dozen others, the strangeness of the situation occurred to her. An escort through the city wasn't odd. Josie always had one. Why would he need a bigger guard to meet a gang boss?

  Now, as Kyra stood, gun displayed obviously on her hip with the others, it felt stranger still. Kyra didn't know if Mega Chin truly belonged to the Sons of Ares—she wondered if anyone working for Josie knew for sure—but once they’d arrived, shouldn’t the guard have been unnecessary? It felt like they were guarding Josie against Mega Chin, which shouldn't have been the case if he and Josie were both members of the Sons of Ares.

  Not to mention, they’d been instructed to face inward, toward the two men, rather than outward to guard against the dangers of the Mire. While she couldn’t hear the words exchanged by Josie and Mega Chin, she watched and absorbed everything, filing it away for later.

  Josie and Mega Chin had come face to face across the desk. The tension could have been shattered by a bullet. Their faces might have been carved from stone. Both taking a seat, they began talking. Josie handed Mega Chin a product of some kind. It had been sampled, first by several of Mega Chin’s guards, then by him. Now a woman in the Mega Chin's retinue punched keys on the laptop. Every so often, he leaned over and whispered what Kyra assumed were instructions in her ear. Each time he did, she nodded and typed madly for several minutes.

  Surely this couldn’t be one of Josie’s bosses. Mega Chin must be buying drugs from Josie, who held the authority to sell for the gang. The computer must be transferring funds from one account to another.

  So why did Josie say the meeting would be between him and another gang member? Why the lie to people who worked for him? He owed them no explanation. Josie’s profession wasn't exactly a secret.

  Abruptly, the woman working on the laptop closed the computer. Two more guards came forward and took hold of the case. The padlock clicked loudly, securing the computer in its home. Josie and Mega Chin continued to talk in quiet tones. Minutes later, they shook hands across the desk and rose, their business concluded.

  Good. It was nearly midnight and Kyra felt more than ready to retire. She usually stayed out later than this, but her abdomen ached dully. No doubt a result of her brush with death the other night. Her jaw, where the gentile Cam had punched her, aiming for Sadie, felt like it had undergone a root canal. It had been numb at first, but the lack of sensation hadn't lasted long.

  She’d have to accompany Josie back to his place first. Then he’d dismiss them all.

  Kyra wanted to talk with Gabe. Lay all of tonight’s events out for him and ask his opinion. If the police could make use of the information, good for them. It had nothing to do with finding Manny, so it mattered little to her. In fact, realizing Mega Chin probably didn't belong to the Sons of Ares had been a disappointment. The one boon she'd seen in tonight’s work was to possibly learn the identity of someone higher up in the gang. Obviously that wouldn't be the case.

  Josie rose and came into the circle of his guards. “Let’s go,” he said in his thick Caribbean accent. They closed in around him, a wall of bodies four-deep on each side.

  Outside the warehouse, Josie’s SUV waited, surrounded by the other cars for the guards. Just as they protected him on foot, they would ride in surrounding cars as they made their way back toward his turf on the other side of the Mire. This alley lay as far from Josie’s territory as you could get and still be in the Slip Mire. Not far from where the warehouse in the Carmichael district held depraved human trafficking only a week ago.

  Two of Josie's guards opened the door of his armored SUV. Kyra and the rest would wait until he'd settled safely inside before climbing into their own vehicles.

  Gunfire sounded from inside the warehouse behind them. The guards closed in around Josie so tightly, they smashed Kyra into their line and she barely managed to raise her gun before she lost the opportunity.

  “What was dat?” Josie’s voice said from somewhere behind her. “Go find out, idiot!”

  Most of the guards moved forward, with a small retinue—Josie’s normal bodyguard—staying behind with him. Kyra moved with the others, glancing over her shoulder. Josie's personal guards shoved him unceremoniously into the SUV. The sound of the door closing echoed in the silence of the Mire as she moved back toward the warehouse.

  Kyra didn't feel fear. She did say a short prayer that she wouldn’t die tonight in the service of a horrible gangster.

  The scene they found in the warehouse proved much calmer than Kyra expected. Off to the right, a huge circle of guards stood, tightly packed and looking on. Mega Chin must be in the center. His guards would have closed in around him in the same way Josie’s were trained to. The makeshift desk had been packed away. A lantern still sat on the ground. Six feet from the site, barely inside the circle of light the lantern made, three people lay in pools of blood on the ground. Two men and a woman, none of whom Kyra recognized. They must all be Mega Chin's people.

  “What happened here?” One of Josie's guys asked.

  Kyra had never met the man who spoke before tonight. He took the lead, which meant Josie had probably been addressing him out by the car. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be a total waste after all. Kyra didn't know who Josie’s most trusted men were. This man might be one such. Kyra determined to learn his name.

  A woman from Mega Chin's retinue stepped forward. “Assassination attempt.”

  A heavy silence followed. The tension became palpable again.

  “Anything we can do to help?” Josie’s man asked.

  “We can take care of our own,” the woman said coldly. "And any assholes that come our way.” She motioned to the three corpses.

  Josie’s man nodded. “So I see.” He raised his voice and turned his head slightly, never taking his eyes off the woman. “Let’s go.”

  Josie’s guards moved backward as one. K
yra did as they did.

  A cry came from somewhere behind where the circle of guards protected their master. “The case! Angra, it’s gone!”

  “WHAT!?!” The voice came from the center of the circle of guards. Mega Chin pushed his way out and to where the cry came from. A small, squirrelly man stood with empty arms spread. “I had it when the gunshots came,” he sounded hysterical. “I set it down to get my gun. To help protect you. Now it’s not here.”

  Mega Chin—Angra, apparently—slid a large revolver from inside his jacket and shot the man between the eyes, then whirled toward the rest of them. “The assassination attempt was a diversion.” He stalked toward Josie’s man. “You want to help? Bring me that case. Otherwise tonight’s transaction will be the last between Josie and I.”

  Josie’s man hesitated. “Let me speak with my employer.” He gave a significant look to those around him, who stayed, hands on their guns, as Josie’s man turned and walked toward the warehouse entrance.

  “Josie must come himself,” Angra called out. Josie’s man stopped. He turned his head, as if to acknowledge the other man, but didn’t turn his body. “Otherwise,” Angra continued, “our relationship is at an end.”

  Josie’s man gave a quick nod and disappeared through the door. Long minutes ticked by. The tension quickly became exhausting. Angra paced a track into the dirt floor of the defunct warehouse, which both his and Josie’s guards stared on, alternately glare and sizing one another up.

  Kyra had a hard time keeping her eyes off the squirrelly little man Angra had shot. He lay motionless, and a wide pool of blood spread out around him, stemming from his head. More blood than it seemed possible to house in one body.

  The little man had been a gangster. He'd chosen this life and it got him killed when he failed his homicidal boss. Kyra told herself that feeling sympathy for him was totally absurd.

  Finally, Josie’s man returned. Josie strode in by his man’s side, looking irritated.

  “My people are happy to assist yours in this matter. Whoever dese people are, they can’t have gotten far, and my people know de Mire better dan anyone. Dere’s no reason for me to come along personally.”