BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  I could only imagine the theatrical performance Alisa was giving the power broker.

  Storrow slowed to a stop, swung his head in my direction, then back the other way, still speaking to his “friend” on the other line. Suddenly, he thrust the phone away from his body, his mouth half open. Looking beyond me, he cleared his throat then turned into a small alley near a cluster of trees. I passed by, seemingly disinterested, my eyes looking straight ahead.

  The fix was on.

  As soon as Storrow disappeared into the green brush, I flipped around and followed his footsteps, moving heel to toe. Rounding a corner of dense shrubs, I spotted the oversized Chief of Staff about twenty feet away, peering in between branches.

  “Delilah, where are you hiding? I’m here, Delilah. I’m ready to take you in my arms.”

  I would have laughed my ass off if Storrow hadn’t looked so pathetic. The dog in heat turned his back to me while calling out for his mystical lover—a.k.a. Alisa—who had coaxed Storrow into following the trail into this abandoned space. He was under the impression that he’d made a secret admirer in the last couple of weeks when speaking to a group of tourists in the senator’s office. Apparently, texting him a couple of pictures off the Internet showing a voluptuous blonde, along with the perfect balance of seductive temptation and innocent girl-next-door conversation, created a sex-starved Storrow.

  Lifting my knees, I moved in closer, my eyes doing a final scan of the area to ensure we didn’t have any unexpected visitors.

  “Delilah? I know you’re here,” he said, cupping his hand to his mouth.

  I whistled softly, and he turned around with a smile splitting his ugly mug. His face dropped instantly, jiggling from the sudden motion, his hands rising above his waist into some type of defensive karate position.

  “Don’t come near me, maggot. I’m fully trained to inflict bodily harm on people like you.” His eyes looked over my shoulder.

  “Looking for Delilah?”

  Bewildered eyes cocked forward, and his arms dropped automatically. As if a switch instantly flipped, he jerked his head left and right, searching the backside of the buildings around us, looking on rooftops, high in the trees.

  “Don’t tell me this is one of those sting operations,” he said, twisting around in a full circle so fast his coat fluttered liked a cape. “What are you, FBI? I know, you’re the fucking press, aren’t you?”

  He snapped his fingers a foot in front of my face, but I didn’t move or change my expression, stern but solemn.

  “You wearing a wire?” He moved closer, as if he was going to frisk me, but he looked into my eyes and thought better of it. “I know, there’s gotta to be a camera and mics hidden all around in this little cove. You don’t have shit on Edwin R. Storrow. Nada.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  The lines in his face changed their course. Standing taller, he sucked in his gut. “What did you just tell the chief of staff to this nation’s most influential senator…boy?”

  He was baiting me, just like my old sergeant with the DPD a year earlier. Back then, I let my anger dictate my next move. I only had one purpose for Edwin R. Storrow.

  “If you think you’re drawing me into doing something that will be caught on the cameras positioned around here, you’ve not read this situation very well. You need to ask your boss for some Emotional Intelligence training.”

  He turned his head like a confused dog.

  “Forget it. It’s above your head, obviously.”

  “I knew there were cameras set up. Well, you don’t have anything.” He threw his arms up then smacked them on his trousers, his demeanor bordering on hyper.

  “Who said there were cameras? It’s just you and me, muchacho.”

  “You’re full of shit.” He poked a finger in my face, then turned his middle finger upward and flipped off all the birds watching from the tree. “Fuck everyone watching this. I’m going to sue your ass and anyone connected to this little sideshow. Oh, I can’t wait to start making phone calls.” He rubbed his hands like he was about to carve a juicy turkey.

  I shook my head, amazed at what kind of idiot I was dealing with, yet also wondering how this guy might have been involved in kidnapping Natalie.

  “Storrow. I need information from you. You give that to me, you’ll never see me again.”

  Resting a hand just above his belt buckle, he chortled while attempting to suppress the belly jiggle. “I’m not stupid. This is nothing more than pure entrapment. My lawyer is going to tie you to a skewer and roast your ass until it’s charred.”

  “Well, I could use a bit of a tan.”

  “Funny. You really think I’m going to stand here and listen to more of your bullshit? Screw you,” he said, starting to take a step around me.

  Throwing my arm upward, I caught him square in the chest, his forward progress instantly halted. He looked down at my hand then back in my eyes.

  “I only want to talk. Don’t give me a reason to take it beyond that.” My eyes never left his. I could feel my neck throbbing at an increased pace. I took in a few deep breaths, creating an internal restrictor plate to keep my pulse in check for now.

  “Damn shoes, I think I have a rock in them. Give me a second.” His voice had turned into that of a cheap shoe salesman. He dropped to a knee and stuck a finger in his shoe.

  “I don’t have much time,” I said, taking a quick survey of the area to ensure no one would interrupt our conversation. “Storrow. Stand up.”

  He jumped out of his position, tossing dusty gravel in my eyes, then took off running the opposite direction. Tiny particles of rock scratched my eyeball. But I didn’t have time to deal with it. Tears flooded my face as I darted forward seven or eight steps, then kicked my Doc Marten left, clipping Storrow’s enormous foot.

  He dropped liked a California redwood.

  “I think I heard teeth rattle,” I said while I pulled my eyelids over my eyes.

  “Fuv you.” Lying flat on his stomach, he brought a hand to his chin, where a trickle of blood oozed between his fingers.

  “Were you trying to say, ‘Fuck you’?” Ignoring my comment, he glanced around and saw no one, then he started yelling out loud. “Help me. Someone help. I’m been robbed by a black fug.”

  I dropped a knee into his back, pulled out a bandana I’d purchased in the Reagan National Airport souvenir shop, and pulled it around his mouth, gripping it in my hand.

  “Listen to me, asshole. You’re going to tell me everything you know about Natalie Lopes or I will fuck you up. Got it?”

  He paused for just a second, and I tugged on his gag, yanking his blubbery neck backward.

  He released two loud grunts. “Okay,” he sputtered around the bandana.

  I eased up on his bridle, but I didn’t entirely remove the gag from his mouth.

  “Start speaking.”

  “What do you want to know? She’s just some girl I went on a date with.”

  “You’re married with two kids, right?”

  “So. What’s your point?”

  “You’re a piece of work.”

  “Hey, I’m no different than every other guy out there. I was just looking for a good time. She was there, so I—”

  “Did you pay to have sex with her?”

  Another pause. I gripped the bandana tighter, but he held up a hand.

  “Hold on. Yes, I paid for her services.”

  “A week ago Monday?”

  “Yeah, I think that was the day. Sounds right.”

  “Where did you take her?”

  “Went to a bar in Alexandria, then finished up at the Ritz in DC. What’s it to you? Do you want a piece of her?”

  I shoved his face into the stained concrete and smashed it around.

  “You’re a sick bastard. Did you know she’s only nineteen?”

  “The younger they are the tighter they are, they always say.” He laughed.

  I rammed my elbow into the back of his head. “You’ve got to be the dumbe
st man in DC, I’ll give you that.”

  Still feeling gravel scratching my corneas, I wiped my eyes. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “I told you, last Monday night.”

  “Did she just leave your room, or did you drop her off somewhere?”

  Just then, a gun snicked only inches from my ear. I froze, but my gut exploded into my throat, and I had to swallow the bile, careful not to nudge my head.

  “You…you get your ass off M-Mister...Storrow.” The voice was quivering, young, and male, but higher pitched.

  “Okay, I’ll get off his back nice and easy.” I spoke with a soothing calm, hoping his finger wasn’t as jittery as his voice. Not wanting to spook him, I kept my gaze straight ahead and I began to edge my body upward.

  “You’re just one of those homeless hooligans, aren’t you?”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Ignore him, Bradley. He’s just a hooligan,” Storrow said, rolling onto his butt to face me and his little buddy. “He mugged me. Told me he wanted to sodomize me. Can you believe that?”

  “You’re one sick son of a bitch!”

  “Bradley, he’s lying,” I said.

  “Shut up, do you hear me? Shut the fuck up, or I will put a bullet in your head.”

  He bounced his gun off my head. Instinctively, I threw a hand back, and a knot had already formed. Something wet slid between my fingers, and a waft of copper passed by my nose. If I had to guess, it was a small-caliber pistol, maybe a three-inch barrel. I’d bet my life’s savings he couldn’t hit the side of a barn from ten feet. But I wasn’t going to find out.

  “Listen, I’m a former officer for the Dallas Police Department. I’m investigating the disappearance of a young woman, just nineteen years old. How old are you, Bradley?”

  “I’m…I’m twenty-one. I’m just an intern working in the senator’s office.” I heard his feet shuffle. Sounded like hard soles. He was probably wearing dress clothes, so it would be difficult for him to move quickly.

  “I’m a private investigator, Bradley. My license is in my back pocket. You’re welcome to check it out.”

  “You don’t need to check a damn thing, young man.” Storrow scooped his lard ass off the concrete, and I saw the blood stains splattered on his blue shirt. He dusted himself off. “This man is wanted by the DC police for numerous muggings and, reportedly, at least one rape.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “Jesus Christ, sir. I…I…what should I do?” Bradley asked Storrow.

  “Just hand me the gun. I’ll keep him here until you get the police.”

  A pause, and I slowly turned my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bradley’s boyish face, a couple of pimples, no facial hair to be seen. He looked like a gangly high school kid and seemed just as naïve.

  “I know,” Bradley said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call nine-one-one, of course. Then I don’t have to leave him alone with you, sir.”

  Storrow walked past me over to the intern. “Bradley, I think it’s best to hand me the gun and personally go find an officer. Just run across the street to the office, find a Capitol security guard, and bring him back. Do you understand?”

  This prick belittled everyone under his thumb, which only made me wonder how he treated Natalie.

  “But…but, sir, I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can, and yes, you will.” Storrow’s callous baritone seethed with vicious indignation.

  Eyeing the pair, I summoned all my energy and quickly thrust my leg backward like a pissed off donkey. The heel of my foot caught Bradley square in the chin, and he dropped straight to the ground, his gun flying off to the side.

  “Shit!” Storrow yelled, lunging for the gun.

  Planting my pivot foot, I swung my body around and whipped my other foot directly into Storrow’s protruding gut. He fell to his knees while holding his belly.

  I grabbed the gun and stuck it in my jeans.

  Two minutes later, I’d used their belts to bind their legs and arms around two small trees about ten feet from each other.

  Bradley was conscious, shifting his jaw back and forth. “I guess you just proved you are a hooligan. You going to sodomize us? Wait until my dad hears about this.”

  I turned to Storrow, who rolled his eyes. He knew who had the upper hand.

  “Bradley, listen closely. You’re going to be the star witness at Storrow’s trial.”

  “What? You’re flipping crazy.”

  Wrapping my bandana around Storrow’s mouth again, I held it like reins on a horse. “Talk, asshole. Natalie. Where did you last see her?”

  “That two-bit whore?” he mumbled.

  I rammed his forehead into the tree.

  Bradley seemed more shocked at Storrow’s language. “Sir, who are you talking about?”

  “Shut up,” Storrow growled while biting the wadded-up bandana

  “I can use your head like a battering ram, and you’ll lose lots of brain cells. Given what I’ve heard, you don’t have many to spare.”

  He tugged his arms, but they hardly moved an inch. Exasperated, he said, “She wouldn’t do what I wanted. Said she was too much of a lady.” He used a prissy voice. “I just wanted to screw her up the ass. Isn’t that what all whores are used to?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Bradley said, his face contorting.

  Gripping the reins of the bandana, I brought Storrow’s head back, prepping him for another tree slam.

  “Stop!”

  “Talk, dammit!”

  “When she wouldn’t let me…you know, I called a guy, and he came and got her.”

  “Called who?”

  “Called himself Randal. Looked like a big Texan, brass belt buckle, boots and all.”

  “He was here in DC?”

  “Flew in from Dallas, I think. I don’t know for sure. I gave her a little sedative, hoping she’d relax a little, but she just passed out. I thought about it, but it takes all the fun out of it.”

  “He just picked her up and carried her out. And that’s the last time you saw her?”

  “Yep.”

  “Anything Randal tell you about Natalie?”

  He paused. “I don’t want my face bashed in anymore, so I’ll tell you. Remember, I’m just the messenger. He said, ‘We have a way to deal with girls who don’t cooperate. We train ’em like animals and sell ’em like steers. Then they won’t have any choice but to give in to their owners.’”

  A jolt popped at the base of my skull.

  I found Storrow’s phone and scrolled through his recent calls.

  “Which number is it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Without hesitation, I rammed his head into the tree. “Which number?”

  His finger pointed to one with a 214 area code. Dallas.

  I turned and chunked the gun onto the roof of a nearby building.

  “The FBI will be in touch with both of you.”

  “Who’s going to let us go?” Storrow asked.

  “I’ll ask that guy with the dreadlocks and little dog to drop by and untie you.”

  I jogged all the way to the nearest Metro station, dialing Alisa at the same time.

  21

  Three women with gray hair who didn’t speak a lick of English finally took their wrinkly paws off Natalie. Standing on a small, round platform, the nineteen-year-old felt different than she had since she was snatched from the DC hotel room days ago. She first touched her legs. They were smooth, covered with a sheen of lotion. Taking in a breath, she smelled strawberry and peaches with a hint of vanilla. Quickly moving her hand to her hair, she could feel it was clean and soft. She pulled a lock around to her nose, but a wrinkly hand reached over and smacked her wrist.

  A woman with three chins wagged a threatening finger in Natalie’s face, barking orders at her in some foreign language.

  Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she recalled the last couple of hours. An injection that first made her woozy then knocked her out
. When she awakened, she was shivering, naked, sitting on cold tile with a drain next to her butt, her breathing restricted by a burlap sack over her head. A woman tugged it off her head, then water blasted her body from three directions. The power of the water chipped away days of filth, sweat, blood, and other substances she couldn’t repeat in her mind. The water ceased, firm hands grabbed each arm, and she was guided into a warm room with heavy lights, carpeting, colorful clothes hanging on racks.

  That’s when the geriatric team began their transformation. For Natalie, it felt like she was being molested—an all-too-familiar memory since she checked into Hotel Hell. But she knew it was pointless to ask them to be gentle. There was a purpose to this makeover, and it wasn’t to build her self-esteem.

  Her fingers rubbed silk, and she eyed her outfit—if two pieces of material could be classified as an outfit. Barely covering her breasts, her top was a muted orange, nearly see-through, a single spaghetti strap clinging to her bony shoulder. A purple sarong wrapped her hips and not much more.

  Her eyes caught a shade of blue wrapping around her left pinky finger. Holding out her hand, she noticed the shape of a crown. She racked her mind trying to recall when she’d received the tattoo.

  Suddenly, her body lurched forward, and she realized her round podium was propped on a conveyer belt, reminding her of an airport baggage system. It approached a thick curtain, two men on either side. They didn’t look familiar. She could hear music and a person’s voice over a speaker on the other side of the curtain.

  A hand gripped her arm, and she whipped her head to see the yellow teeth of Tex.

  “Stay on this podium. Smile, dance like you want to be bought. If no one buys your ass, we’ll be forced to kill you.”

  She was going to be sold like a piece of meat, a sex slave, given her sultry appearance.

  As he released her arm, she saw something strapped to his shoulder, then the podium jerked forward, and the two men peeled back the curtain. Darkness filled a vast space. She could only see the conveyor belt a few feet in front of her. Ten feet in, the podium stopped, and a cone of light encased a girl on her hands and knees.