by S. S. Segran
Marshall checked his side mirror before changing lanes. “Did you mention any of this to the Knight of the North? Runaways and orphans are something he keeps a close eye on.”
“Knight of the—oh. Victor. I actually did think he’d be interested, but after everything that happened, and how reclusive he’s been the last few years… this might be too sensitive for him. I thought I’d let him maintain his low profile and focus on his regular job.”
“Mmph, fair point. We all have to make a living somehow.”
“You two still not talking?”
“Not unless we have to.”
Gwen saw his jaw tick, saw hurt lapping like flames in his eyes. As overwhelming as her curiosity was, she didn’t press further. Friendships sometimes soured, and Marshall, with his golden heart, had trouble being disliked by those he cared for.
The man let out a long breath, then glanced at her with his boyish grin. “How’re things with Dominique?”
She grimaced. “They’re as good as can be, but the motherland needs her and every other African Sentry. There’s so much happening on the continent that the media never covers. She can’t afford to stray too far, even for a short visit. I miss her a lot. We may be cousins, but she’s more like a sister to me.”
“When she comes for a visit, let me know. We can grab a couple other Sentries and have a night out. Haven’t done that in a while.”
“Oh, I am totally down.”
They pulled up at the spick-and-span Brazilian steakhouse. As they neared the restaurant, Marshall offered Gwen his arm. She took it with a smile. The second they stepped inside, the aroma of delectable South American cuisine wafted into their noses. A hostess led them to a table by one of the numerous large windows. Once they’d gotten their appetizers from the cold buffet, knife-wielding servers came around with long skewers and shaved off chunks of meat.
Gwen took a bite, and the tender, savory piece almost melted in her mouth. “Holy smokes,” she gushed. “This is so good!”
Marshall hummed contentedly as he tasted his first morsel. “Never been to a Brazilian steakhouse before?”
“Only once, when Domi was stateside two years ago.”
“That’s—uh, one sec.” Marshall pulled his vibrating phone from the pocket of his khakis. “Man, I keep forgetting to put my notifications on silent.”
Gwen mumbled noncommittally, most of her attention fixed on her plate. She lost herself momentarily in the flavors dancing on her tongue, then realized that Marshall was being awfully silent. She looked up and found the other Sentry half-glaring at his phone.
“Marshall?”
He blinked, then slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry. Got an AMBER Alert. A fifteen-year-old girl was just reported missing in Riverdale, a couple hours from here. She’s been absent since last night.”
Gwen’s dark eyes narrowed. “What’s her name?”
“Claire Garcia.”
Gwen whipped out her own phone and shot out a message.
“You’re gonna take this case,” Marshall guessed, watching her.
“The skiptracer I’m working with will let me know if this girl falls in the demo we’re tracking. If she does, I’ll get on it.”
“And by that you mean, talk to witnesses and family members?”
“Right.”
“They openly speak with anyone who comes knocking?”
“Of course not. There’s an art to it.”
“I hope it doesn’t involve fake badges.”
“Tch, please. This isn’t a TV show.”
It was barely an hour later, when the pair was heading back to the Mustang, that Gwen received the message she’d been impatiently waiting for. “Here we go,” she breathed.
Marshall opened her door for her, then went around to slide in behind the steering wheel. “I take it that means Claire’s a smart kid?”
“She was top of all her classes in her freshman year, and she’s in the National Honor Society. A local paper even did an article about her just a few months ago. They crowned her the ‘Engineering Prodigy of Riverdale’.”
Marshall veered the car back onto the highway. “That’s a bit cheesy. Says a lot about her, though.”
“Mmhm. Shall we hit Riverdale?” When Gwen noticed his expression, she cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“Nngh, no. Well, I mean, Riverdale isn’t exactly… Look, the city’s overall crime rate is twice the national average. Most of it is theft-related, but… and by the time we get there, it’ll be dark…”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried.”
“I’m just being cautious. It would be better to go during the daytime. But you also wanted to go to Salt Lake City, didn’t you? Riverdale is another forty minutes’ drive north from there.”
“Oh, alright, fine. We’ll hit Salt Lake City tomorrow and then Riverdale after. Worry wart.”
Marshall let out a scoff of laughter and reached out to lightly push her cheek with his knuckles. She swatted him away good-naturedly. They enjoyed the ride in companionable silence interspersed with relaxed exchanges as they sped back to Provo. Marshall’s phone occasionally dinged with text and email notifications from its place in the cup holder; Gwen recognized only half of the names, but these were Sentries from all over the world.
She leaned back, savoring the blast of the AC. Outside, the setting sun left behind an amethyst sky with dwindling splotches of gold ink. She missed this—the days when they were younger, riding around the state during college breaks, searching for adventures and lending hands when needed. They’d never been close enough for either to call the other their best friend, but they were unwaveringly loyal to one another. Then Marshall enlisted with the Marines when he turned twenty-four, and Gwen moved to California to pursue a career in interior design. For eight years all communication between them stopped, as often happens when paths diverge.
He’d retired only half a year ago, slowly readjusting to civilian life; Gwen thought he was handling it spectacularly well—she knew a couple of people who’d gone into various branches of the military and returned much different people. Marshall had been the one to seek her out and they quickly reconnected as if no time had passed.
Sometime between her reminiscing and their sporadic chats, she dozed off, satisfied and full on a good meal. She was woken by a hand shaking her shoulder, and trudged after Marshall back into the house where, suddenly overcome by exhaustion, she promptly fell into bed in the guestroom.
At nine the next morning, the sun found them in one of Salt Lake City’s homeless districts. They’d parked some ways off and continued on foot. Gwen’s skiptracer friend had given her the information of a man who claimed he’d seen the abduction of James O’Connor. Unfortunately, the only name he went by was Ace and she didn’t have a photo of him. The Sentries ended up spending a half hour awkwardly asking around until a bedraggled woman in tattered clothes told them that they were in the wrong place, and gave them directions to a block a couple of miles south.
When they arrived, it only took a few minutes of questioning before hands pointed toward a cheerful black man in a worn baseball jersey leaning against a wall, smoking and talking to a group of people. Gwen glanced at Marshall, who nodded once, and they made their way over. The man, still engaged in his chat, noticed the approaching pair and kept his eyes locked on them until they were a few feet away.
“Ace?” Gwen asked tentatively.
The man grinned around his cigarette. “That’s me. What can I do you for?”
“I heard you gave a statement to the cops about the boy who’s gone missing. James?”
The grin was wiped clear off Ace’s lips and his brows slammed together. “Who are you?”
“Concerned people,” Gwen said lightly, hoping to seem disarming. “I’m Gwen, and this is Marshall. I have a friend who looks into missing people, and I help out where I can. This case popped up last week in our files.”
“You with the police?”
“No.�
�
Ace stared at them for the longest time. Then he dropped his cigarette, grinding it out under his heel, and indicated for the Sentries to follow him. They did, and once they were away from nosy ears he spun around to face them with an appraising eye.
“You from ’round here?” he asked.
“Provo,” Marshall said. “I guess you know James, huh?”
Ace scrubbed his fingers over his head. “Shoot, man, everyone here knows James. We call him Tack—’cause he’s sharp as one, see. I just happened to be the guy who saw him get pulled into that freakin’ van.”
“So it was an abduction?” Gwen asked, heart racing a little faster.
“Gwen—it’s Gwen, right? What would you call a fifteen-year-old kid getting dragged kickin’ and screamin’ by three guys with their faces covered?”
Gwen let out a small breath. “Do you know which direction they took off in?”
“West. I would’ve chased ’em, but…” Ace shrugged despondently. “I got no car. And I can’t walk too far with this bad knee, either.”
“I understand.”
“We’re trying to locate James and his abductors,” Marshall said. “We’re hoping they’ll lead us to others. Can you remember anything at all that might help—”
“Wait,” Ace said, blinking. “You’re for real? You two are actually looking into this? What can you do that the cops can’t?”
“Just figured more eyes improves the chances of finding the kid.”
Ace sighed. “Man, I don’t know what I can tell you. They came at nearly three in the morning when most everyone’s asleep. Most except Tack and me. It was like they knew that. It’s such a shame. Tack’s a real good kid—lost his parents in a house fire a couple years ago, and the rest of his family lives in Poland but no one reached out to him. Like he didn’t exist.”
Neither Gwen nor Marshall interrupted Ace as resentment swelled in his tone.
“What kinda people do that, leave a kid hangin’? He was put in a foster home but it made him miserable. With all the abuse he took, who could blame him for being angry at everything? And he kept running away from ’em. It’s real easy to forget he’s not actually from the streets. But he has a big, big heart. He’s always good to everyone around here, and we’re pretty protective of him, y’know? And he’s real smart, man.” Ace tapped the side of his head with a finger, nodding. “I remember him talkin’ about quantum computing or something one time, could barely keep up with him… It’s just a damn shame.”
“What about the abductors?” Gwen asked. “And their vehicle?”
“Black van, dirt on the license plate. As for the men, two tall guys, real slim, and another one, short and stout. They were quiet. And fast.”
Gwen exchanged worried glances with Marshall.
“They would’ve known something about James—uh, Tack, right?” Marshall asked. “Seems they knew where and when to find him. You noticed any new faces around here lately?”
Ace’s forehead furrowed as he rested back against a railing and stared at the ground. Gwen resisted the urge to shift her weight from one foot to the other as the silence lingered. A few moments later, Ace stirred.
“Actually,” he said slowly, “there was a guy. I thought something was off about him, but then again there’s a little something off with a lotta people ’round here. But he was different. Too sharp-eyed, I think. I seen him walkin’ around with Tack sometimes, but the kid’s usually saying hi to everyone so I didn’t really pay it no mind.”
Gwen took out her phone, nodding for Ace to continue while she jotted notes.
“Medium height, maybe five-ten? Brown hair, brown eyes. He had a grayish beard. Pretty unassuming, which I guess was the point. And now that I think about it—son of a—how did I miss this?” Ace whirled around and strode away, calling over his shoulder, “Wait here!”
He returned a minute later with a nervous-looking redheaded teenager who wrung his hands. Gwen’s gut twisted. She’d cased out the streets long enough to recognize a user when she saw one.
“Hi, sweetie,” she murmured.
The boy licked his chapped lips, looking at her, but didn’t answer. Ace grunted. “Brendan, you remember that guy who shared a dinner with you last week?”
Brendan nodded jerkily. “Yeah. Real nice—nice man.”
“You guys got kinda tight, didn’t you? What do you know about him?”
“He…” The boy wrung his hands a little faster, blinking rapidly.
Ace snapped his fingers to get the teenager’s attention. “Hey, buddy. Right here. You’re good, man. Talk to me.”
“He saw me… saw me staring at his sandwich and gave me half. Then sat down with me. Talked a bit. He asked about—that kid that was nabbed. I keep forgetting names.”
“Tack,” Ace said.
“Tack. Yes, Tick Tack. Ticky Tack. Tack Tickity—”
“Brendan. Focus.”
“Sorry. I, uh, asked him why he’s got so many questions about Tack, but he just said it’s none of my, uh… soaping business?”
“You mean ‘sodding’?” Gwen cut it.
“Sodding! Yeah, yeah. That’s it.”
“Did he maybe have an accent?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah, he kinda did. But he tried to talk like a local.”
Marshall turned to Ace and voiced what Gwen wanted to ask. “Do you get lots of foreigners around here?”
Ace shrugged. “A few, I guess. The odd tourists. But this guy looked like he knew his way around the city, so I think he might have been here a while. Brendan, you remember anything else?”
The teenager shook his head, then said thoughtfully, “Well, I did get a selfie with him.”
Ace threw his hands up. “Boy, are you kidding me?”
“Hey, hey, hey! I’m feelin’ a little out of it, mmkay? I just, uh… wow, that’s a nice jacket, Ace. That new?”
“Brendan,” Ace growled.
“Yup, sorry. I’m a bit spaced out. Here.” The boy produced a scratched phone from his pocket and fiddled with it before handing it to Ace.
The man looked at it, then showed it to the Sentries. “That’s him.”
“Perfect,” Gwen said, delighted. “Brendan, if I give you my number, can you text it to me?”
The boy chortled. “Don’t got a SIM card, but I’ll still take your number.”
Ace rolled his eyes and smacked Brendan on the head. Marshall snapped a photo of the picture with his own phone before Ace lightly pushed the teenager away. “All right. Thanks, man. Off you go. I’ll split my dinner with you tonight, a’ight?”
“Ace has a good face!” Brendan yelled as he disappeared around a building with a grin.
Ace shook his head, barely suppressing a smile, then looked at the Sentries. “I think that’s all you’re gonna get.”
“We appreciate it, Ace,” Gwen said, holding out her hand.
The man gripped it. “If you do find Tack…”
“We’ll let you know. I promise.”
As the Sentries returned to the Mustang, Marshall was furiously texting. When he noticed Gwen waiting for him to unlock the doors, he apologized and said, “I’ve passed on all the information to the Vaughns, including the photo. Knowing the twins, they’ll find a way to access the necessary databases to see if they can get a match in the UK.”
“Are they back in Wales?” she asked as they got into the vehicle. “Last I heard, one was in Chile and the other was in Romania looking into some cross-continental smuggling ring.”
“They wrapped up a couple days ago, passed off all their files and information anonymously to the authorities.”
Gwen was impressed. “They work fast. Good for them.” As they turned onto the main road, she added, “Maybe we should wait for the twins to get back before we expend unnecessary energy. In the meantime, weren’t we gonna head to Riverdale? It’s just a half hour from here, right?”
But Marshall didn’t seem to hear her. With a distracted expression and a set ja
w, he pulled up in front of a shopping complex. Gwen tugged at his shirtsleeve. “Marshall, what are we doing?”
“I want to get some grub for the folks back there. I’ve heard that meals in soup kitchens go pretty quick.”
Gwen sighed. She itched to stay on the trail, but there was a look on Marshall’s face—the one that often emerged during their college breaks. The one that said he was willing to help wherever and whenever he could.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s go.”
As they jogged into the complex and split off, she thought, This is good, Gwen. Okay? You can learn from him. Just because you’re on a hunt doesn’t mean you can’t take a few moments to make a difference in the here and now.
She was a go-getter and proud of that trait to a fault, but tunnel vision had always been her weakness. She needed to be always driving forward, moving, pushing, and sometimes it left others to stumble after her. Even worse, her blinders often prevented her from noticing people stretching a hand out for help. Marshall was usually the only one who’d ever had the guts to pull her away from her one-track mind, and she hadn’t had him as her equilibrium for nearly ten years. She snorted. Old habits…
Gwen met up with Marshall twenty minutes later; he had multiple bags of food and she’d gotten a selection of hygiene products. On the drive back to the area where they’d met Ace, Marshall gave her a small, knowing smile, which she returned.
They handed Ace the bags, and as the man passed around the items and food to a grateful crowd, Marshall’s phone dinged. He pulled it out to read the message and whistled, eyes wide. “Those boys work fast. G, let’s go!”
They leapt into the Mustang and he tossed her his phone. As they tore away, Ace called after them and waved, smiling hugely. Gwen waved back, then turned her attention to Marshall’s phone. The screen was open to an email. A photo of a fairly handsome man looked back at her—dark hair, dark eyes, lips pressed into a straight line on a clean-shaven face. No gray beard here, she thought. But that’s definitely him.
She scrolled down, reading each word carefully. “Well,” she said after a few moments, “I’m not going to ask how the Vaughns got all this info, but they sure are speedy.”
