Terrell and Bobby, guys from Dre’s old neighborhood, nodded their agreement.
“That’ll definitely get their attention,” Bobby said.
D’wan, a buddy of Mossy’s, held up his hand. “Wouldn’t it be easier to follow the dude home and grab him there?”
“Probably,” Dre said. “But I’m tryin’ to send a message. I want to do this on The Shepherd’s turf.”
“Hold on a minute, everybody,” Dre’s brother Anthony was leaning against the wall, taking it all in. “We can’t do anything illegal.”
Everybody stared at him in disbelief. Out of respect for Dre, they held their tongues and waited for him to respond.
“What we’re about to do definitely ain’t legal,” Dre said to his brother. “I told you before you came over here, I got this. You’ve always been squeaky clean. If you wanna stay that way, you should leave now so if this blows back on us, you won’t be a part of it.”
Anthony scratched his forehead. “I want to help get Brianna back too, but…”
Dre walked over to his brother and threw an arm around his shoulders. “I know that. But you don’t need to be here. Just go home. I’ll call you as soon as we get Bree back.”
Anthony shrugged. “Well, if y’all don’t really need me…”
Apache mumbled something indecipherable as Dre escorted his brother to the door.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll handle it.”
They could all see that Anthony was eager to leave. His face relaxed the second Dre opened the door, freeing him.
“Man, Anthony is a punk!” Apache said as soon as he was gone. “He was always the first one to run from a fight even when we were kids.”
Dre stopped Apache with a hard look.
“Don’t say another word. He’s still my brother. I’m not blamin’ him for wanting to stay on the up-and-up. Anybody else here got a problem with what we’re planning to do?”
Dre took his time sweeping his eyes around the room, making eye contact with the remaining six men. The looks he got back were sure and strong.
“Terrell and Bobby, I want you to head over there a little later and case the joint. If Mossy or I try to do it, they’ll recognize us. In the back near the men’s room, there’s an emergency exit door. When the time is right, I want you to grab Clint and shove him out into the alley. Maybe you can catch him coming out of the men’s room.”
“Won’t the alarm go off when that door opens,” Bobby asked.
“It didn’t when they threw us out of it,” Mossy said. “Messed up a perfectly good pair of pants.”
“I’ll be driving Mossy’s van, waiting for you in the alley with the engine running,” Dre said. “What I don’t know is whether one of the bouncers will be guarding that door. I doubt it. But that’s what I need you to tell us. Text me when you find out.”
“We got you,” Terrell said.
“Okay, then. Gus and D’wan, you’re going to drop in much later. I want everything to go down around one-thirty in the morning. The club will still be pretty crowded then. I need you to start a fight. While the bouncers focus all their attention on breaking up the fight, Terrell and Bobby can grab Clint.”
“Got it,” D’wan said.
Dre looked at his watch.
“Mossy, I need you to check out the abandoned warehouse where we’re taking him. It’s in Gardena on Maple off Alondra. A dealer I know used to operate out of there. Most of the neighboring buildings are empty too. But I want you to make sure. I need you to be there to open the doors for us. Also, check for any surveillance cameras in the area.”
“Sounds like you’ve given a lot of thought to this,” Terrell said.
“I have,” Dre replied.
“What about me?” Apache asked.
“You’ll be in Mossy’s van with me.”
“Aw man! I wanna see some action.”
“You’ll see plenty of action. I’m gonna let you make him talk.”
That put a big smile on Apache’s face. He whipped something out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. “This little gadget right here,” he said, holding up a stun gun, “can make a mute man speak.”
Mossy frowned and scratched the back of his neck. If he had his way, Apache wouldn’t even be in the room.
“I don’t want to rain on this parade,” Gus said, “but we gotta consider the fact that grabbing this dude could put your niece in even more danger.”
Dre had already considered that. He prayed that Loretha was right. That the rumors of The Shepherd ordering others to kill for him were just that.
“I have to take that risk,” Dre said. “After we do something as brazen as walking into his club and snatching his boy, he’s gonna understand that we mean business.”
“Are you one hundred percent sure that he really has your niece?” Gus asked.
“He’s supposed to be sending me a picture. He thinks he’s about to get twenty-five grand, so I’m sure he will.”
“So instead of the money, you’re gonna try to trade Clint for Brianna?”
Dre shook his head.
“Naw. From what I hear, this dude doesn’t care about anybody but himself. He’d sacrifice Clint the same way he would one of the girls he’s pimpin’. I want Clint for two reasons. One I think we can get his weak ass to tell us where Brianna is. And two, if The Shepherd thinks we’ve gotten Clint to spill the beans about his operation, that gives us a whole lot more leverage than twenty-five grand.”
Chapter 47
Day Three: 11:15 a.m.
Clint yelled a string of expletives as he dragged Brianna out of the motel room and hurled her into the backseat of his Escalade.
“You stupid little bitch!” He climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced back over his shoulder. “You need to get with the program!”
Brianna cowered on the floor, mentally blocking out his tirade.
She tried to remember what had happened before Clint punched her in the face. She did remember having her teeth clamped tightly around the man’s penis. She must have briefly passed out. When she woke up, she saw the man hopping around the room as if his feet were on fire.
Brianna knew that she would get another beating when they got back to the house. She was scared but also a little numb. Maybe Freda would give her another drink. That made everything a little easier to handle.
The car finally came to a stop inside a dark garage. Brianna had no idea where the house was located. Clint had made her cover her head with a black pillowcase during both legs of the trip. A door in the garage led directly into the kitchen. Because she’d been forced to lie on the floor in the backseat, it was impossible to signal anyone for help.
Clint hopped out and opened the back door of the SUV. Snatching her by the arms, he started lugging her toward the back door of the house. One of her four-inch pumps flew off and hit Clint in the groin.
He bent over and winced.
Still a little high, Brianna giggled.
“I bet you won’t be laughin’ when I get your ass inside!” Clint yelled.
Freda met them at the door. “How’d she do?”
“This bitch is crazy. I don’t know why Shep even wants to fool with her. She nearly bit that dude’s dick off.”
Clint powered past Freda, dragging Brianna behind him.
“What are you gonna do?” Freda asked, following after them.
“I’ma kick her ass until she gets the message.”
“Don’t mess up her face again,” Freda warned.
Clint yanked her down the hallway and into one of the bedrooms, with Freda following after them. When he hurled her onto the bed, Brianna’s shoulder hit the wall. She yelped like a wounded puppy. Clint left the room and returned seconds later with an extension cord.
The prospect of another beating snapped Brianna out of her drunken haze. She hopped off the bed and cowered in a corner of the room.
Freda jumped in front of Clint, shielding Brianna.
“Hold up, Clint. You’re too
upset. You need to calm down. You can do this later.”
“No, I need to do this now. Get out of my way.”
“Shep just called,” Freda said. “He needs you to call him back right away.”
“He can wait.”
Freda didn’t move. “No, he can’t.”
Clint was breathing hard, his chest heaving up and down. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face.
The standoff lasted several seconds, then suddenly, as if he was out of energy, Clint stomped off.
Freda turned to Brianna, who was balled up in the fetal position, massaging her shoulder, too shell-shocked to cry.
“You owe me, little girl,” she said, wagging her finger at Brianna. “I only stopped him because I knew he was mad enough to kill you.”
Chapter 48
Day Three: 11:30 a.m.
Angela sat in Harmony House’s Trust room on the twin bed opposite a sleeping Peaches.
Sitting there, Angela acknowledged for the first time that she’d built a professional wall between herself and her juvenile clients. She represented girls like Peaches every day. She was no different from Shenae or Jolita or any of her other clients. Angela had always been willing to go to the mat for them on the legal front, but when she walked out of the courtroom, she filed them away with the rest of her cases, refusing to let their tragic lives intersect with hers.
She had an excellent excuse. Becoming personally involved with a client would be unprofessional. Any good lawyer would agree. That didn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t do something to help those girls who weren’t her clients.
Over hot chocolate and donuts, Peaches had shared her story. She began in an emotionless, matter-of-fact fashion, as if there had been no pain. But soon, cracks in her stony demeanor unveiled a battle-weary little girl. The child’s story burned a hole through Angela’s heart.
Peaches had been living the life of a normal little girl in nearby Inglewood when her father was killed by a drunk driver two days before Thanksgiving the year she turned eleven. Her mother sank into a dark depression and three months later, took her own life. Peaches and her ten-year-old brother were passed around from one relative to another, each one resenting the burden they posed on already-tight resources.
Somehow, Peaches weathered these difficulties and did well in school. While walking home alone one day—she had never managed to make many friends—four boys from the neighborhood jumped her in an alley, pulling a train on her. The traumatized child ran home to an aunt who blamed her for being fast. Her grades started to plummet and she became combative toward her aunt, who eventually put her in foster care. That was where she met her twenty-four-year-old boyfriend, Gerald. A pimp with a long history of targeting emotionally scarred young girls, he promised to marry Peaches and she readily ran away with him. Within two months, he’d put her on the street, forcing her into submission with verbal and physical threats, tempered by occasional acts of kindness.
“He used to take me to the Red Lobster,” Peaches had proudly announced as if she was referring to a five-star restaurant.
Gazing across the room at this sleeping child, Angela declared to herself that this one little girl would be hers to save. She closed her eyes and prayed for Peaches. Then prayed yet again that Dre found Brianna before she could be sucked into this sick world.
Peaches finally began to stir. She sat up against the headboard and rubbed her eyes. She winced in pain at her own touch, having forgotten about her bruised face.
“Why you starin’ at me like that?” Her words came out garbled due to her busted lip.
“I’m sorry,” Angela said, turning away. “I didn’t mean to stare. Do you want something to eat?”
She puckered her lips. “Look, I don’t need you crowding me. I can take care of myself.”
Angela had already been prepped by Loretha as well as by her own experience with sexually trafficked girls. In the beginning, they carried mountain-sized chips on their shoulders. Their way of protecting themselves from further hurt and disappointment. It would take time to tear down her wall of distrust.
“Okay then.” Angela got up and started toward the door. “Just let me know if you get hungry.”
She had stepped into the hallway and was about to close the door when she heard Peaches’ distorted voice.
“So what they got to eat?”
Angela held her smile inside and reentered the room. “Let’s go downstairs and find out.”
In the brightly colored, lime-green kitchen, Angela found chips and tuna salad and made a sandwich for both of them. The other girls were in a group session at the moment. Peaches would join them tomorrow, after an orientation with Anamaria.
They sat on stools at an island in the middle of the kitchen. Five minutes passed without a word between them.
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” Peaches said between chews.
“Who said I’m feeling sorry for you? Just because I made you a sandwich doesn’t mean I feel sorry for you.”
“Well, I just wanted you to know. Don’t nobody force me to do what I do. I make my own decisions.”
“Okay.”
They continued to eat in silence. There was so much Angela wanted to say and do for this child. But she knew too much enthusiasm too fast would be met with rejection.
“You lucky,” Peaches said after a while, her eyes on Angela’s hair. “You got good hair.”
Angela laughed. “Yep, I do have good hair. And so do you.”
Peaches’ face scrunched up like a balled-up piece of paper. “No, I don’t. My hair is way too nappy.” The girl’s dark brown hair was a mass of thick, shapeless strands pulled back behind her ears.
“Your hair’s not nappy,” Angela said. “It’s actually curly.”
“You trippin’.”
Angela reached across the table and felt the texture of Peaches’ hair. “I bet I could show you how to make your hair look like mine.”
“I bet you can’t.”
Angela stuck out her hand. “Okay, then, it’s a bet.”
Peaches clutched Angela’s hand. “So what we bettin’?”
Angela thought for a moment. “If you win, I’ll take you to see a movie, provided it’s okay with Loretha. If I win, then I’ll take you to see a movie.”
That made Peaches crack up. “Okay. That’s a good bet.”
Angela took the last bite of her sandwich and stood up.
“You leavin’?” Peaches asked, almost wistful.
“Yep.” Angela tossed her paper plate into the trash can near the side door. “Have to go to a meeting. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“So when you gonna do my hair?”
Angela silently cheered. She was making a connection.
She pulled a small plastic container from her purse. “Here’s the gel I use. I’ll have Loretha show you a YouTube video. It’ll teach you how to use it. I want you to give it a try first.”
Peaches opened the container and took a whiff. “This smells good. But I’m tellin’ you, my hair is really, really nappy. My Aunt Gina used to call me beady bead.”
“Just give it a try. I think you’re going to be surprised.”
“Don’t forget about our bet.”
“I won’t.”
Angela walked around the table and gave Peaches a hug. She stiffened, as if she was uncomfortable with being touched. After a second or so, Peaches politely squirmed free.
Angela placed the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Okay, see you later.”
“You comin’ back today, right?”
This time, Angela didn’t suppress her smile. “Right.”
Chapter 49
Day Three: 12:10 p.m.
“I really think you should give this some more thought,” Wainright pleaded. “This isn’t going to go down well.”
What Ortiz was directing him to do was nothing short of retaliation and he wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, it was his job to carry out all the unpleasant tasks
the principal was too much of a coward to do himself.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Ortiz ranted. “Just do it. Bonnie Flanagan disobeyed a direct order and she needs to be taught a lesson.”
Wainright left the principal’s office, shoulders slumped. He had his instructions, and if nothing else, he was a soldier who knew how to follow orders. He checked the teachers’ schedules to confirm the time of Bonnie Flanagan’s free period.
Bonnie was cleaning the whiteboard when he entered her classroom. He closed the door behind him.
“How’s it going?” Wainright asked.
“Hey, Rich.”
She sounded as if she was glad to see him. That would soon change.
“I have some good news and some bad news,” he began.
Ortiz had come up with a legitimate educational reason for his decision, but Wainright knew Bonnie wouldn’t buy it.
Bonnie stepped over to her desk. “I’ll take the good news first.”
“Your Honors students performed exceptionally well on the last round of state testing. Your students ranked the highest in the school and the district. Your teaching strategies have produced some phenomenal results. Ortiz is very impressed with what you’ve achieved.”
“Thanks,” Bonnie said, sounding wary about the other half of his message. “So what’s the bad news?”
“We’d like to try out your teaching strategies on some of our lower-performing students. So Mr. Ortiz has decided to do some mid-year juggling of classes. Ms. Williams started maternity leave last week, so you’re being reassigned to teach her classes. Effective tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! You have to be kidding!” Bonnie locked her arms across her chest. “Those are the most unruly students in the school. And what happens to my students? I have three Honors classes.”
“A sub will take over your classes using the teaching strategies you’ve developed.”
“Not on your life! How can you—” She froze as if a light bulb had just clicked on in her head. “This is retaliation,” she said, slowly. “Mr. Ortiz found out that I spoke to Brianna Walker’s mother. That’s why he’s doing this.”
Ortiz had, of course, instructed Wainright not to mention the visit he’d had from Brianna’s mother and uncle. It was Ortiz’s position that this was an administrative decision with no connection at all to that visit. As weak as it was, that was the principal’s story and Wainright was sticking to it.
Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2) Page 18
