by B. A. Morton
Now that he’d adjusted the mirror, Connell found himself distracted by what he saw in it. He listened to Gerry with half an ear as he watched the vehicle parked across the street, way behind him. The fact that it was there wasn’t the problem; the problem was the two guys inside who seemed particularly interested in what he was doing. He scrabbled in the glove box for a pen, squinted hard and jotted down the license plate on the back of an envelope. He pulled his attention back to Gerry when he realized he’d stopped speaking.
“Sure you do, Gerry, you’re the man, the guy who recovered twenty million for the government’s secret slush fund. You can do anything.”
Gerry smiled and Connell heard the amusement in his reply. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, sniff around, keep me posted so’s I can justify your pay, and Tommy ...”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful this time. You’ve been out of the loop for a while and there are some seriously messed up people in the big, bad city these days, not least this crazy cop killer who’s running around making a name for himself. You being a country boy, you gotta keep your wits about you.”
“Don’t worry, Gerry. I learnt my lesson. Lizzie insists that I wear protection.”
Gerry laughed. “Hey, I don’t want to know what goes on behind your closed doors.”
Connell smiled. “I’ve got a vest in the trunk of the car, Gerry.”
“It’s no good unless you’re wearing it.”
“Sure, Gerry, and if I was still a cop in this crazy town, I probably would wear it to bed, but as I’m not, I figure it can stay in the trunk. I’ll catch you later. Let me know if you hear anything I might find useful.”
“Are you going home tonight, Tommy? Even superheroes needed to rest up once in a while.”
“We’ll see,” replied Connell, with one eye on the mirror. His life wouldn’t be worth living if he didn’t.
Connell glanced back up at the building. First things first, there was no way he could leave Lydia alone in that apartment at the mercy of every Terry in the neighborhood. It was time to catch up with his buddy Marty, or more specifically, Marty’s wife Charlene. Not content with their own six kids, Charlene ran a shelter for at risk youngsters, kids who would otherwise end up on the streets. He was hoping she’d have room for Lydia. Charlene was a big woman and very persuasive. He was sure she’d be able to convince Lydia to take advantage of the opportunity.
He punched out Marty’s number and sat back with his phone at his ear. “Hiya buddy, I need a favor. Is Charlene around?”
“Tommy, you always need a favor.”
Connell grinned. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”
The guys in the mirror had got out of the car. They were dressed in suits, cheap shiny wrinkled suits and were currently engaged in some rather obvious charade which would ultimately bring them across the street and within earshot, or gunshot, of Connell. As he couldn’t decide which, and was in no position to take any kind of shot in return, he kept them in his sights and hoped a delivery truck would appear and remove the need to make a decision of any kind.
“Mm, but these favors seem to be stacking up in one direction, Tommy.”
Connell broadened his grin. “What can I say, I’m high maintenance. One of these days you’ll be glad that I owe you so many. Collect enough and you can trade them in for something cool like a ride on a lawnmower.”
“I can hardly contain my excitement.”
“Is she home, Marty?” Connell wound down the window, and reached out, twisting his wing mirror to the optimum angle, so that if the guys made it across the street without being hit by a truck, he would see them coming and hopefully have time to duck.
“She’s at the shelter. Anything I can do?”
“I need a safe place for a sixteen year old teenage rebel.” He pictured Lydia. “She needs a firm hand and a woman’s touch.”
Marty snorted. “That’s what we used to say about you, Tommy.”
“You’re a funny guy, Marty. About the shelter, has she got room? It’s important.”
He squinted at the mirror and tried to get a make on the guys who he imagined he knew, but just couldn’t place. There was something wrong in the picture he was seeing, something that didn’t add up, and he knew he was being thrown by it but couldn’t work out what it was. They had their backs to him and were still too far away for any kind of identification. Short of getting out of his car and introducing himself, squinting in the mirror was the best he could do.
“I don’t know, Tommy. I can check and get back to you.”
“Appreciate it, buddy.”
“Are you in town, Tommy?”
“Yeah, just hanging out, sniffing around for Gerry.”
“What does Lizzie think about that?”
“Lizzie is cool about everything I do.” He winced as he said it, waited to be struck down. Lizzie wouldn’t quit worrying until he pulled up in the yard. Who could blame her? He attracted trouble like a magnet and had the scars to prove it.
“Are you playing me, Tommy?”
“Hey, Lizzie is the best thing that ever happened to me, do you think I’m going to do anything to hurt her.”
“You’re fooling around with Gerry. Somebody’s bound to get hurt.”
“Lizzie loves Gerry …”
“I’m guessing she loves you more.”
Connell cocked his head. “What can I say, I’m a lovable guy.”
“Yeah, sure,” replied Marty. “I had a dog just like you when I was a kid. Wagged its tail, licked your hand, nicest dog you ever met. Still didn’t stop it from getting flattened by the UPS truck.”
“Gee, thanks, Marty, I’ll keep my eyes on the road from now on.” He did just that and discovered the guys had disappeared from his line of sight.
“So what’s keeping you away from home?” asked Marty.
Connell swiveled in his seat and craned his neck trying to check out his blind spot. With some relief he spotted the guys lurking three cars back, checking out the scenery. Lurking was fine, he decided, as long as there were three cars between him and them. “A missing child,” he replied “a freaky little kid who nobody gives a shit about. I’m just going to do some checking around, see what I turn up.”
“You need some help?”
“You could run a license plate for me.” He read out the details from the envelope.
“Anything else?”
“Sure, buddy, I need Charlene to take the big sister, so’s I don’t have to worry about her as well.”
“You worry too much, Tommy.”
“Tell me about it. I’m turning into you.”
“Would that be so bad?” laughed Marty.
“Sure it would, I’d have Charlene on my case twenty-four-seven.”
Connell called the hospitals next while he waited for Charlene to come get Lydia, but no little girls had been admitted. Then he checked the morgue and was immensely relieved to find out that they were short on little girls too. So Molly was out there somewhere, he just needed to know where to start looking.
When Charlene still hadn’t arrived and the guys in the suits had run out of hide and seek games, he began to get a little edgy. He didn’t really want to sit and let his imagination come up with all sorts of possible outcomes and didn’t have the time for it either. He called Marty back, left Lydia’s address and got out of the car. He was pretty damn good at games too.
Chapter Three
The bar where Lydia had met Terry was a block and a half from the apartment and the weather was warming up. It was going to be a hot one, so Connell left his car parked where it was and walked the short distance, casually glancing behind each dumpster as he strolled, just in case Molly, or something belonging to Molly, had been abandoned closer to home, and using each of those checks to keep an eye on his following fan club.
He was aware, as he walked, they were closing the gap, but they kept just out of his line of s
ight and he chose to ignore them for now. If somebody thought it was worth their time to follow him around town, then he must be onto something. He just wasn’t sure what that might be. Either Gibbons and Scott were getting jumpy and hoping to delay a call from Gerry, or even better, their mysterious employer was aware of Connell’s interest and had decided to show a little in return. It would save him a whole lot of time and work if they just introduced themselves, but he thought that was unlikely. In the dark world of double dealing, people were rarely that sociable.
It was lunchtime, the place was jumping and Connell took a seat at the bar and considered the clientele from behind his beer. Working guys mostly, blue collar and a little rough around the edges. They were hard men by the look of them, with women who looked even harder, but there were no obvious kidnappers or stand-up weirdoes. He zeroed in on some younger guys playing pool, figuring if Terry wasn’t one of them they would know where he could be found.
He finished his beer and made their acquaintance.
“Lookin’ for a child molester called Terry,” he announced bluntly, and three of the guys turned to look at the fourth. Two years away and he hadn’t lost his subtle touch.
“I’m no fuckin’ child molester,” declared the kid, who looked about twenty, had the IQ of a retarded cockroach, and bizarrely, a mismatched pair of eyes, one blue and one brown. Freaky. Connell dragged his attention back to the matter at hand.
“You’ve been messing with a kid. What would you call it?”
The bar hushed as men with kids of their own paused and put down their beers to listen. Terry stepped forward, hackles raised, muscles bunched. His buddies at the pool table stepped back, not entirely sure what was going down. Putting on a show for his audience, he had a swagger in his step and whole lot of attitude, but Connell couldn’t get past the image of him caught in the act with his pants around his ankles.
“You better take that back or -”
“Or what, you’ll slit my throat?” Connell cocked his head, stepped forward and raised his own hackles, which he reckoned - in the hackle stakes - were way out in front. He pushed the kid hard in the chest, forcing him to stagger back. He followed it up with another push and a chair clattered to the floor as the boy took another clumsy step away.
“Who the fuck are you? I aren’t done nuthin’ wrong.” He was scared but the cockiness and belligerence of youth rose to the surface and he squared up again, unwilling to back down in front of his friends.
“Sure you have. You know a kid called Lydia?” Connell saw recognition in the boy’s eyes and a slow dawning fear. The guys in the bar settled down, returned to their drinks and conversation, panic over; they obviously all knew Lydia.
“Yeah, she’s a little whore,” the boy sneered.
“Is that a fact?”
Ignoring the kid, Connell swept his gaze around the bar, zeroing in on an older man who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. “You got kids?” Connell asked and the man looked around, realized he was the one being singled out and shrugged.
“Sure.”
Connell nodded, caught the eye of a few others and got the same response. “Well you don’t deserve them!” he growled. “These kids like Lydia, that you think are tramps, they’re what you all make them. You make me sick.”
He turned back to Terry.
“She’s also underage and you’re coming with me.” Grabbing him firmly by the collar, Connell man-handled him out of the bar and onto the street. His friends gathered at the doorway, unwilling to get involved, but interested nevertheless. If there was going to be a show, they wanted front row seats.
“Lydia’s kid sister’s gone missing. What do you know about it?” He pushed him up against the wall, his hand tight at the kid’s throat.
“That little loser? I don’t know shit.” The kid was sweating and Connell tried not to inhale his adolescent reek.
“You threatened her, Terry. What else did you do?” He squeezed a little harder, the kid’s face turned red and his multicolored eyes began bulging.
“Nothing ... I didn’t do nuthin’,” he gasped.
“You told her you’d burn her books. How’d you know about her books? Did you go into her room?” He tightened his grip until the kid’s odor threatened to overpower him. He wondered whether maybe this kid had some weird stink gland in his neck that he had inadvertently triggered.
“No, I’ve not been in her sad-ass room. Everyone around here knows about her books. Everyone knows about her. I told you, she’s a little freak and her sister’s a whore. It isn’t nobody’s fault, that’s just the way it is. Hey, even their parent’s shipped out. If it wasn’t for guys like me, she wouldn’t have even made the rent.”
Connell dropped him in the gutter and sucked in a lung full of fresh air. He caught him with his shoe as he stepped over him and would have done more to educate Terry in the rights and wrongs of adult relationships, but he wasn’t a thug and didn’t have the time.
There was nothing more to be learned here about Molly’s disappearance and the clock was ticking. He could feel himself winding up inside. Hadn’t felt like that for a while and didn’t like it. He needed to focus. Life was shit for a lot of people and getting worked up about it wouldn’t help him find Molly Brown.
Connell got to Molly’s school around kicking out time, having lost his tail somewhere along the way, or maybe they’d just got a little better at hide and go seek. Either way there was no sign of them when he entered the school grounds and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing. While he could see them, even from a distance, he at least knew where they were.
He checked his watch. He still had other stuff to do, the stuff that Gerry was actually paying him to do, and that really had to be done before nightfall because no way did he want to be sniffing around in dangerous places after dark.
He made a mental note to call Lizzie and let her know he was still alive - ideally before he did his rounds of the local clandestine meeting spots where there was a distinct possibility of his mortality status changing - then he made his way through a tide of noisy, tired children as they swarmed ant-like from the building.
It was a big school, lots of kids and very little outside space. He recalled what Lydia had told him: Molly didn’t like noise or crowds. So there wasn’t much chance he was going to find her here but he might find out something about her, other than the fact she was weird.
“What can you tell me about Molly Brown?” he asked the Principal when he was seated in his office with a coffee in hand, courtesy of an obliging secretary. He inhaled the heady aroma, his first of the day, and was grateful for its ability to mask the similarly heady aroma of beer which, in hindsight, would not have made the best impression.
Principal Hogre looked over the top of his glasses and Connell found himself squirming under his scrutiny. He’d spent a good proportion of his school days in the Principal’s office and this guy seemed to sense it. It left him at a slight disadvantage, which wasn’t ideal when trying to obtain information that would ordinarily require a badge to secure.
He felt the need to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair, sniffed discreetly and hoped he hadn’t picked up a trace of Eau-de-Terry.
“What is your interest in Molly Brown, Mr. ..?”
“Connell, Tommy Connell. Molly is missing. I’m looking into her disappearance.”
“But you’re not a policeman?”
“No, Sir, I’m a private consultant, assisting the police.” It wasn’t a total fiction, in fact it had quite a ring to it. Private consultant, yeah, he could live with that. “I take it the police haven’t been around yet?”
Hogre studied him over the rim of his coffee cup before replacing it carefully on the saucer and re-positioning both on a pristine leather blotter. He gave a pronounced sigh. “No, I haven’t had that pleasure. Rather lax, wouldn’t you say. How long has she been missing?”
“Over twenty four hours.” Just what was going on with these cops? He felt
the need to make excuses on their behalf. “The police department is stretched at the moment, Sir. I’m sure you’re aware of the man hunt. I’m just one of many who’ve been drafted in to help out, to do the leg work, so to speak.”
“I see,” replied Hogre and Connell felt the guy’s eyes boring into him, seeking out untruths. Kids told stories - it’s what they did, he should know. Joe told whoppers and this guy had spent a lifetime sniffing them out. He did it for a living, rooting out all of those dog-ate-my-homework or ‘I had to go to my Grandmother’s funeral’ for the twentieth time stories. Connell was no match for him.
Hogre steepled his fingers and tapped them gently against his chin. “What you’re asking is strictly confidential. Why do you imagine that I would disclose confidential information to a man who walks in off the street?”
“Because I’m trying to find a little girl who nobody seems to care about, and I’m interested to know why that is, because call me old fashioned, Principal Ogre …”
“The name is Hogre.”
“... but I tend to think missing children should be found as quickly as possible.”
The Principal nodded. He may well be an ogre, but that didn’t stop him from making a decision. “There’s not a lot that I can tell you, Mr. Connell. Molly is a brighter than average child with some socialization issues.”
“What does that mean?”
Hogre sighed, removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “In layman’s terms ...”
“Sure.” Layman’s terms, was fine by Connell.
“She reads well, is academically ahead of her peers, but lacks the communication skills to put her thoughts and ideas into words. Simply put, she’s a loner, doesn’t mix, doesn’t share and doesn’t have any friends.”
“She’s a kid, for God’s sake. What makes a kid turn out like that?”
“There could be many reasons. Some children just don’t develop the skills they need for life.”
Why did that sound like bullshit? She was a kid, a little kid with no friends and no one had thought to do anything about it. “When did you last see her?” asked Connell.
