I forced out a breath. “Dammit. Now I’m starting to question if he even has Esteban?”
“You sound like me, with the trash mouth.”
“Whatever.”
A couple of seconds passed, then I thought I heard a sniffle.
“I have no idea what to tell Juan,” she said. “I…I rubbed all over that…fucking animal, made him feel like he was all that. And what do I have in return for whoring myself out? I don’t have Esteban, that’s all I know. Juan will be even more devastated, if that’s possible.”
Another sniffle.
“I know it won’t be an easy conversation,” I said.
Sean thumped my shoulder and motioned for me to follow him and Bolt.
“By the way, I…I wondered if he had…hurt you earlier.”
Weaving through countless shelves of supplies, I stayed close to Bolt, who followed Sean.
“I had to act like I was unconscious. Too much drugs,” she said.
“Did you?”
“What, snort the coke? First line of the night, then nothing after that. He was like an anteater, just sucking it up his nose. It was vile, just like him.”
“How did you avoid taking any more?”
“I literally tossed it off the bed, let it blend in with the carpet. He was so whacked out, I could have turned into Godzilla and he wouldn’t have known better.”
A brief chuckle.
“I like hearing your laugh. It reminds me of the good times.”
“Britney…”
“I know. I can’t undo the past. I have to be accountable for what I’ve done. I understand that. I want to do the right thing.”
Her words, the authenticity behind them, caught me off guard. I could still feel a longing for her, for us. But it couldn’t be. She had taken it too far.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’m sure you will. But that’s a good thing, right?”
I noticed the back door up ahead.
“Look, we’re about to start trailing Amador. You sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“He’s a lunatic. Whether it’s the drugs or his natural personality, he’s paranoid, volatile, and he smells like a pig.”
“We heard him tossing glasses last night, during his first outburst.”
“You know, during his rant, he literally sounded crazy, as if someone should fit him for a coat that ties in the back. But during all that, he was wondering if a member of the Trujillo family had come back to the island and was attempting to seize control of the drug-smuggling business.”
I recalled Sean’s history lesson about El Jefe and his thirty-year reign of terror. I began to wonder if the real or imagined return of the Trujillo clan had to do with Amador’s outburst and quick exit.
“Thanks for the info. I’ll run it by my friend.”
“Your friend.”
“Was that a question?”
“It was nothing. I’m headed home, talk to Juan. I need a shower, some way to wash this night off my body and out of my mind. Call me if you guys find out anything about Esteban, a sign of hope to lift Juan’s spirits.”
I tapped the red button just as the door opened and a blistering sun scorched my eyes.
18
“You don’t carry a portable battery for situations just like this?” Bolt toyed with the tablet, pushing buttons, tapping the screen. It was dead.
We’d lost the GPS signal about a mile down the road. We hadn’t seen a soul in the last ten minutes, let alone a procession of Hummers.
Sean gave him the eye as we stood next to the moped, five-foot weeds nearly rising above Bolt’s head.
“Given your experience and background, I would think you’d have every gadget. Don’t you have a P or a V?”
“You mean Q?” I asked, my eyes scanning the exterior of a dilapidated building. Bolt felt certain that Amador and his team could be holding Esteban in that building. He said he’d once been held here against his will many years ago, when he refused to be a drug runner for the gang of addicts who’d basically taken over one of the factory floors. He was certain most of them had died, given their chosen lifestyle of using tainted needles.
“I’m no James Bond. This is the real world. And we might find that out real quick.” Sean removed a pistol from his waistband, checked the chamber, then handed me the weapon.
“Never seen one like this.”
“It’s Russian-made from back in the 1990s, called the Makarov. It’s the best I could do for a backup that isn’t traceable.”
I nodded, wrapping my hand around the grip. “I like the weight.”
Sean took out another handgun and prepped it.
“That doesn’t look familiar either,” I said, my eyes still on the lookout for Amador or anyone who might be associated with him.
“Not used in America much. But they’re missing out. Called the Glock Killer. It’s a Steyr M-A1. Feels like it’s glued to my hand, which helps if I get pulled into a skirmish.”
“Which way?” I asked Bolt.
“What, you have nothing for me to protect myself?”
“We’ll protect you,” I said.
“These aren’t just for defensive purposes,” Sean said. “Isn’t there some place we can hide Bolt? I know Julio escaped and would do some real damage if he caught Bolt again, but if we find Amador, shit is going to hit the fan.”
Glancing around, I spotted a tiny wooden shack, barely larger than a phone booth, surrounded by more weeds. “Outdoor bathroom. Want to hang out in there?”
“You’ll have to use that gun on me if you expect me to step inside that shithole.”
“Didn’t think you would.” I gazed left and right, but still couldn’t see the end of the massive building.
“Down here,” Bolt said. “This door has always been open, and then we can wind our way through, moving toward the front.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sean said, his handgun by his thigh.
We approached a metal door, about ninety percent of the yellow paint chipped off, similar to the entire façade of the building.
I leaned forward, peered through a small, foggy window with what appeared to be a bullet hole at the center of a spider web of cracks.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones to carry guns into this place,” I said.
“That’s an entry hole. Someone was shooting inside,” Sean said, his body stiff and his eyes still scanning the exterior to ensure we weren’t ambushed for the second time in two days.
I reached for the handle, but only found a hole. Leaning my shoulder against the door, it didn’t budge.
“Must be rusted shut.” I stepped back then popped the door a little harder. Nothing.
“Bolt, you got another way into this place?” Sean asked.
“There are many ways, but this is the most concealed,” he said.
Leaning down, I peered through the open hole. “Metal pole angled against the door. Obviously someone put that here to keep people out.” I rose up and clapped my hands. “Bolt, we need another way in, some place where we wouldn’t be noticed.”
Bolt stuck an eye in the opening and held up a knowing finger. He darted away from the building, toward a row of shorter, bushy trees laced with wiry weeds. He plodded around in the weeds, looking for something.
“Bolt, keep your head down. Amador’s thugs could see you.” I waved an arm to no avail.
“He’s ignoring you,” Sean said.
“Would you expect anything more?”
A few seconds later, the resourceful teen hopped back next to us, holding what looked like a small baton from my old track and field days, but just thin enough to fit through the door’s hole.
“Nice. Did you know it was out there?”
He inserted the steel pole into the hole. “The area around this building used to be called the killing fields,” he said, pulling the pole so hard that veins bulged through his neck.
“Do I want to ask?” Tapping him on the shoulder, I took another peek thr
ough the opening, readjusting the placement of the foot-long lever.
“You can find anything around this place, including dead bodies. I got lucky I didn’t trip over one.”
“So we know this place doesn’t attract the opera crowd,” Sean deadpanned, as he wiped his brow dripping with sweat.
With one hand on top, I swung the side of a closed fist horizontally. Metal clanged off a concrete slab, and I nudged the door open with the tip of my sandal.
“Ladies first,” I said just as Bolt took a foot inside.
He paused, shaking his head, releasing a teenaged chuckle. “I owe you one.”
The room was deep and wide, pillars situated every thirty feet or so. Oddly, the ceiling and columns had been encased by beadboard and painted fluorescent yellow sometime in the past. Bolt led us across the enormous space. It was nearly impossible not to step on half-empty bags of trash or longer metal poles, creating unwanted noise.
“I’m afraid they’re going to hear us coming,” Sean said.
“If they’re here.”
“Trust me,” Bolt said. “If they’re in this place, it’s not in this section. We called this section the swamp.”
Taking a few more steps, rotted wood with nails sticking up dotted the floor.
“Careful. Q didn’t load me up with any tetanus shots this morning,” Sean said.
Glancing up, they saw the ceiling had caved in. A leafy, dense vine engulfed the entire space and had extended its fingers along the ceiling that was still intact.
“Looks like something out of a Harry Potter movie,” I said.
“You watched those?” Sean asked.
“Samantha’s obsessed over Hermione lately, so I’ve sat through a few minutes here and there. Her mom would rather see her infatuation center on someone with a little more…uh, cultural diversity.”
“Sounds like a spitfire.”
“Who, Samantha?”
“No, your ex-fiancée.”
“You couldn’t imagine,” I said with a straight face.
“Your mother is pretty much the same way,” Sean said, tiptoeing over every board and nail, joining Bolt near the edge of another doorway.
I paused for a second. I didn’t know how protective of Momma I’d become, at least when it came to the man who she believed had simply abandoned her, us. She wasn’t all wrong, but I’d learned a great deal about Sean the last few days. He was no longer a target in my mind.
Bolt guided us through a narrow hallway, and then up two darkened flights of concrete steps no wider than four feet.
“Hope no one is claustrophobic,” I said, my hands pressed against the unmovable walls.
“I’m good,” Bolt said, all business.
At the top, it opened into a wide hallway, windows on both sides and an object sitting in the middle. “What the hell is a gurney doing in the middle of a factory?” The gurney’s cushion was covered with a gooey, orange stain.
“The story told to me was that the owners wanted to have everything onsite so the workers would have no reason to leave. Probably came from a medical room and some homeless person or addict took it for a spin.”
I avoided the stained gurney and walked down the hallway, noticing mushrooms growing from the window sills. Leaning closer, I tried to peer through a cracked window.
“No sign of the Hummers.”
Sean nodded and followed suit on the other side. “Clear on this side too.”
Toward the end of the hallway, spears of light found their way into the hall, and I could see the dust and grit floating through the air.
Suddenly, Sean choked, then released a flurry of rapid coughs before finally clearing his throat. The echo lasted a good ten seconds.
“You okay?”
“Something about bad air that gets me going.”
“There’s got to be asbestos throughout this entire facility,” I said, following Bolt into a dark room, the door lying on the ground next to a load of crumpled bricks.
“Where the hell you taking us?” If I looked away from the door, I couldn’t see my hand.
“Could be a trap,” Sean said.
“Chill, my man,” Bolt said. “I know where I’m going, I just don’t want to—”
I flipped on my phone flashlight. “What the—?”
All I saw were dozens, if not hundreds, of beady eyes hanging off the ceiling and walls, encasing us like a shadow.
Just then, Sean tripped over an empty glass bottle, and the room erupted.
“Hit the floor,” I yelled, shutting off my flashlight on the way down. Wings fluttered all around us, mixing in with a symphony of screeches. Crouching over, I felt sharp pokes into my back and neck, a few peppering my head and arms as I tried to cover my face.
Moments later, the sounds died back, and I lifted to my feet. Bolt had already opened another door, and light spilled into the room. We stepped out of the cave, and Bolt took one look at me and cracked up.
“I guess the bats were full of mierda.”
Shifting my eyes, I could see stains on my shoulders.
“Do you think Britney’s going to want her clothes back?” Sean asked as we marched behind Bolt down a barren hallway, a few office doors on both sides. I peered in each one as we passed.
“She said they were for Juan,” I said.
“You don’t believe her?”
“Believing her will put your life at risk,” I said, wondering if she’d grown on me a bit in the last day.
“I’ve been around a few women like that in my line of work.” Sean poked his head into a vacant office.
“And what line of work is that?” Bolt asked.
Sean stopped in his tracks. “I thought we made it clear?”
“Kids are to be seen, not heard. A wise man once told me that when I was a kid.”
“Your Uncle Charlie?” Sean asked.
“Probably.”
“He knew what he was talking about.”
“Who is this Uncle Charlie? I need to meet him and explain that this is not the world of Christopher Columbus.”
I nearly stepped on something hairy and overstuffed. “You’re right, this is the world of bat caves, asbestos, and dead rats the size of dogs.”
Bolt lurched, as if he might puke. “I’m not a fan of rats. Been around far too many in my life.”
Just then, off to my left, I noticed a set of double doors missing. Turning, I spotted stained glass at the far end of the room.
“A sanctuary?” I stepped into a room with arching ceilings, stone columns, and mounds of rubble. One pew near the front was still intact and upright, although it leaned heavily to the right.
“A heavy Catholic population. Owners wanted everything onsite. A one-stop shop, I think I’ve heard people call it,” Bolt said.
“Looks like someone set off an explosive,” Sean said, leaning down and picking up tiny pieces of wood and debris.
We continued our trek, shifting through a large foyer that faced what must have been management meeting rooms. We passed a kitchen that still had ceramic bowls sitting on the counter.
“You don’t want to look in those,” Bolt warned.
I respected his counsel and steered clear of the bowls to look through a tiny hole in a bank of fogged up windows.
“Off to my right, three black Hummers parked in a triangle.”
Sean glanced up and down the hallway. “I’ve seen that before. Usually cartels or organized crime creating a barricade. Serves as a safe zone, creates confusion with all the cars looking the same. These guys are smart.”
“Wait,” I said. “I see one of Amador’s thugs. Holding what looks like an Uzi sub-machine. I think he’s supposed to be the welcome party.”
Sean nodded, and I could see his neck grow tense.
“We need to be careful from here on out,” Bolt said, stepping down the hallway. He paused, put a finger to his head. “I think they could be in one of two places.”
“Remember, we don’t want to just walk right in. We need to
observe first,” I said.
He gave me a frustrated shake of the head. “I watch the Bourne movies. I know how this is done.”
“Except people die in real life, Bolt. Just need to be extra cautious,” Sean said, moving to within three feet of our little sidekick.
Twenty feet farther in, I found a dead snake.
“You can make a pair of boots, Mr. Booker. Something to remember from your stay in the Dominican.”
Just as I nodded, the floor vibrated ever so slightly. I held up an arm, then moved a finger to my mouth. Padding closer to a pair of swivel doors, I began to hear a man’s voice.
I turned back to my team and mouthed Amador. Suddenly, the voice seemed like it was almost on top of us. Not knowing how many or their weapons, I turned to Bolt and threw up my arms, as if I was asking him where to go. I turned and fell into a Weaver stance, my Makarov aimed in the middle of the two doors.
“Mr. Booker,” he whispered, turning down a hallway off to my right, Sean at his heels waving me on. I lunged out of my position on the balls of my feet. Just as I hit cover, I heard hands smack the door and enter the hallway.
“¿Dónde está ese gilipollas? Julio dijo que lo había traído aquí hace treinta minutos.”
Walking as if his feet were on fire, Bolt scooted into a room and out the other side, then cut down another hallway before turning back around to Sean and me.
“Amador asked where the little prick was, Julio. His words, not mine.” He rubbed his face and glanced over my shoulder. Sean was already looking that way.
“Apparently, he’s waiting on Julio. He expected Julio to bring him thirty minutes ago.”
“We need access to the room they’re in without them seeing us. Can you do that?”
“Esteban could be in there,” Bolt said, staring at the wall, his chest rising with every breath. Flipping on his heels, he waved us onward. I moved up next to him, my eyes shifting constantly, more trash around one bend, the next a dam of discarded desks. The structure was a frickin’ obstacle course.
Sean barely made a noise walking in reverse with his back to us, both hands gripping his Glock Killer.
“Hold on,” Bolt whispered.
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 46
