by Jonas Saul
“Idon’tknowhowtodoit,” she managed to say, the words jumbled together as one off her arid tongue.
“What?” Jane asked, turning from the window. “Then how are you dependent?”
She swallowed and grimaced at her dry throat, before raising her eyes to look at Jane. “This was done to me. While I was at the Enzo Cartel compound.”
“I read about that.” Jane stared out the window again. “Blair. Help her.”
Blair slid across the seat and leaned toward Sarah. He pulled tools from a small case in a compartment under his seat and began setting up. Inside her, a tiny voice screamed to stop him. Her hand twitched. She almost did. But one shot of heroin wouldn’t hurt anybody. Just one. Then she would beat it. She would win. She always did. This was it. One shot.
Jane stared at her.
“While he’s getting ready, tell me about your sister.”
Overwhelmed, even intoxicated at what Blair was doing with the heroin beside her, that she didn’t completely understand what Jane was saying.
“Yes,” Jane said. “Your sister. Tell me about her.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know that. But she talks to you? Keeps you safe? Correct?”
Blair tied something around her right bicep. He then tapped her inner arm.
“You could say that.” Why the questions about Vivian?
Something sharp pricked her arm. She laid her head back and closed her eyes as Blair pulled the strap off.
Almost instantly, the pain all over her body receded and she began to feel better. Fantastic, really. She even felt her mouth form a smile as her mind raced on. What now? Where to go? What to do? Nothing made sense and everything was all right again.
“Your sister,” Jane persisted. “Is she around now?”
“Always. Around.”
“Did she tell you to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“Can you hear her at all times?”
“No.”
“When can’t you hear her?”
“Brain addled.”
“Addled?”
“Booze. Whiskey. No Vivian.”
This thinking thing wasn’t fun. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to rest. Sleep for a week. Then she’d beat the drug. But for right now, just relax. Enjoy the ride. Wherever they were going.
“How about drugs?” Jane asked.
“Same as alcohol. Unless Vivian’s angry. Nothing stops my angry sister.”
“Enjoy this trip, then. It’ll be your last.”
Sarah was falling. Fading away. Moving fast along a tunnel of some sort. An eighties song by Def Leppard popped into her mind. Something about fading away and burning out.
“What was that song?” she heard herself ask.
“Blair. Lock her in her room when we get home. She doesn’t leave that room until she’s clean. Get Dr. Wesson over to help her deal with it.”
“Yes,” Sarah said as if in a long tunnel. “No more drugs. I’m good now. No more.”
The tunnel cracked in the middle and she dropped down somewhere. Her mouth opened and nothing came out as she fell under the spell of her new best friend.
Chapter 28
At the hotel, Aaron collected their things and checked out. He followed Parkman to his hotel where Aaron had agreed to stay until they found Sarah and everything was over.
“What if Sarah comes back to our hotel?” Aaron asked. “And I’m not in that room?”
“There’s a high chance you won’t be in that room when she comes back if you didn’t make this change.”
“Really?” Aaron set the bag with their meager belongings in the corner. “How so? You really think the Mexican authorities are going to come after me?”
Parkman was about to dial Casper.
“It’s just too dangerous. They won’t come as cops. They’ll come in their regular clothes, but they’ll come. Too many for one man to handle. What we saw at the police station, when they all exited the building like that, was a warning. ‘Leave Mexico’ was written all over it.”
“You think I should leave?” He sounded angry now. “Tail between my legs with Sarah out there somewhere?”
“No, Aaron. I don’t think you should leave. But you need to calm down. Have a drink. Mellow out. I’m not the enemy here.”
Aaron glanced around the room and found an inviting chair. When he dropped into the seat, he deflated like a spent balloon.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I’m calling Casper now.” Parkman dialed out. When Casper answered, Parkman relayed everything they had learned.
“Okay, maybe it was me who is in the wrong here,” Casper said. “I shouldn’t have left Mexico.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll get someone to come to your hotel. Watch your room.”
“That won’t matter if a dozen cops come looking for blood.”
Parkman waited on his side of the line as Casper thought to himself. Aaron held his face in his hands. Parkman opened the sliding door and stepped onto the balcony.
“Parkman, I’ll send three of my best men. They can watch front and back entrances. Give you a heads up if trouble’s coming. There’s something to be said about a warning. You’ll be able to get out of wherever you are in time.”
“What about Sarah? They let her go. She could be anywhere. Don’t you have some kind of jurisdiction over certain FBI cases?”
“I do. But not this one. For some reason, no one is talking about what the FBI are doing in Rosarito. To tell you the truth, it scares me and I don’t scare easily.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever it is, it’s huge. International ramifications. And Sarah’s smack dab in the middle of it with no external support. They’re tracking inquires on the case as well.”
“They are? How? Why?”
“After making my initial calls, I got a call back from Washington—”
“FBI?”
“No. Homeland Security. Something had come to them from the National Security Agency in Fort Meade. It all centers on Rosarito.”
“How did you know about the NSA connection?”
“A friend of a friend.”
Parkman let out the air he’d been holding. “Who do you not know?”
“Evidently the right person to fill in the blanks here.”
“Okay, we will sit tight until we hear more. How will I know your guys have shown up?”
“I’ll call you back with names. My guys will have ID. Just don’t get killed in the meantime. And don’t go anywhere. I’ll need a few hours.”
“Call me when you can. I’ve got a plan in the meantime.”
“What is it—wait. I don’t want to know.”
“I wouldn’t say over the phone.”
“Stay safe, Parkman. We’ll get Sarah back. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I know.”
Parkman clicked off and stepped inside to tell Aaron about his plan, but the room was empty.
Aaron was gone.
Chapter 29
Waking up was a chore. The weight of her body pressing into the mattress seemed heavier somehow. She couldn’t have possibly gained that much weight in the time she’d slept. But how long had she slept? She tried to open her eyes but the headache kept them closed.
Nothing felt good. Her bones, her muscles, or the aches and pains. Pins and needles pricked at her skin, roaming her body as if every limb and every joint had fallen asleep and was now just waking up.
She tried to move her arms back and under her to sit up, but something held her down. Something offered a dull ache in her right arm.
What the hell is that?
She considered her situation. A Mercedes. The Turners and their offer of dinner. Did she eat dinner with them? Get drunk? Do drugs?
The reality came sweeping in. Heroin. Blair had shot her up. That was the last thing she remembered. The high. The rush. But now what? Was this the coming down part? The sobering up or whatever withdrawal was called?
&nbs
p; She tried to open her eyes again, but failed the second time.
“Be still,” a man said.
She hadn’t detected him earlier. “Who are you?”
“Dr. Wesson.”
“Was there an accident?”
“No accident.”
She swallowed, her throat drier than the last time she was awake.
“You’re helpful,” she whispered.
He moved away from her. After a moment, he moved closer again, this time on the other side.
“You’re experiencing withdrawal symptoms, Miss Roberts—”
“Sarah’s fine.”
“Your pupils are dilated. Your mouth is probably dry. Over the next few days, until you’re off heroin, you will likely experience some of these symptoms: restlessness, sweats, chills, possible muscle and bone pain, insomnia, diarrhea, vomiting, and cold flashes, to name a few. I will help you through it as much as I can without getting you hooked on anything else, Miss Roberts. You’ll be past the worst inside a week.”
“Sarah,” she mustered, her voice feeble, weak.
As he moved throughout the room, she focused on the sounds in an attempt to determine his whereabouts. He was moving away. Far away. A door clicked. The hinges squeaked.
“Why did you just say your name?” he asked.
“Call me Sarah. Not Miss Roberts.”
“You will always be Miss Roberts. You’re a patient, a number. We’re not friends. I won’t use your first name.”
She cleared her throat, opened her mouth to lick her lips, then said, “I’m a number? Gee, thanks. Make sure you look both ways before you go fuck yourself.”
After several seconds, the door eased closed. The light behind her eyelids faded. She tried to open her eyes again, but gave up after a minute, drifting back to sleep under the influence of whatever Dr. Strangelove gave her.
Chapter 30
Parkman darted across the room and bounded into the hotel corridor without slowing down. He lost control and shoulder-smacked the opposite wall.
It was empty. Aaron wasn’t there.
He ran for the elevator, wondering why Aaron would just leave without saying anything. What purpose would that serve? They needed to work together. Most importantly, they needed to stay together. Either something big happened because of the Enzo Cartel ordeal or something was already underway and somehow Sarah had gotten herself tied into it.
With Homeland Security calling Casper to question his interest—or to quell it—the threat level to Sarah and those involved with her raised to THREATCON One. This had the potential to swallow them whole.
The elevator door opened maddeningly slow. Before there was room, Parkman squeezed through the opening and attacked the close-door button. A young couple clutching small carry-on suitcases leaned back to give him room. He nodded at the male before facing the door as the elevator descended toward the lobby. Soft music chimed from tiny speakers above his head. For an excruciating moment he imagined the elevator getting stuck. The three of them calling out for help. Sarah lost somewhere in Mexico and Aaron running nowhere in particular.
A short, sharp shake of his head dispelled negative thoughts. They’d never dealt with Homeland Security, the NSA or any other CIA-type agency other than the FBI in the past. It scared him to think what they could do to Sarah or Aaron. If they got tied up with a spy or an organized crime network, or worse, a terrorist, any one of them could end up on a no-fly list or incarcerated for years under some kind of Patriot Act or something. Akin to gambling, you had to bet on the house winning every time in a case like this. As Franz Kafka once said, “In man's struggle against the world, bet on the world.” As far as Sarah Roberts was concerned, Parkman would bet on her. All in.
The elevator doors finally opened on the lobby. Parkman squeezed through, stumbled into a luggage-laden cart, pivoted around it and regained his balance. People were checking out, checking in. Others were storing their luggage, and still others were heading into the smaller casino his hotel offered. But Aaron was nowhere in sight.
He tried Aaron’s cell number. After five rings, he disconnected. His eyes darted left, then right. He rocked on his feet, back and forth. What would Aaron be thinking? Where would he go? Would he leave the premises entirely?
Parkman pushed through a family of five and trudged down the hotel’s front steps so fast he almost lost his footing. At the bottom, he looked up the street toward the hotel where Sarah and Aaron had rented their room.
Did Aaron go back in hopes of meeting Sarah there? If so, would a rogue police officer be waiting for him?
Parkman wrung his hands together for a moment, contemplating his next move. Casper’s men were on their way. Protection was coming while Casper worked his magic. All Aaron had to do was sit tight. Instead, he’d gone off on his own without a word to anyone. Parkman shook his head in denial. The only person who was ever able to get through to Aaron was Sarah. He was just too headstrong.
Parkman had to find out if Aaron was at his old hotel. He had no choice. Worst case, if he was wrong, he’d be back within fifteen minutes, way before any of Casper’s men showed up.
He walked up the street, cell phone in hand. Halfway there, it occurred to him to execute the plan he’d mentioned to Casper. He wanted to call Toronto Police himself, see what he could find out. Maybe he could get through to the police station, get Spencer on the phone and have more answers before he found Aaron.
Parkman made the call. He was directed to homicide where a young female voice answered.
“Detective Martin. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a detective by the name of Spencer.”
“Got anything else?” Martin asked.
“Anything else?”
“More than one name.”
“Just Spencer. That’s all I remember.”
“May I have your name?”
Parkman didn’t have time for this. He was almost at Aaron’s hotel now. Slowing his pace, he found a bench and sat down to focus on the call.
“My name is Parkman. I’ve worked with Detective Waller before he retired. My colleague and I worked with Spencer regarding the Drake Bellamy incident at the Roger’s Centre about four years ago. Right now, I really need to speak with Spencer.”
The woman on the line cleared her throat. The line crackled. He feared she’d set the phone down. The sound of keys being pressed on a keyboard resonated to him.
“Excuse me, Detective Martin, I need your full name.”
“My name is Detective Tracy Martin. Detective Waller doesn’t work here anymore. Hasn’t for some years. Just looked him up. Nothing.”
“I don’t need to speak to him. I need Spencer.”
“Right, well, can’t help you there.”
“Is he retired? Change departments? What? How can I find him?”
“There’s no record of a Detective Spencer on my computer.”
Had he got the name wrong? He didn’t think so. He usually remembered names well. It was his job.
“Is there something else I can help you with, Mr. Parkman?”
“Just Parkman,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry. I missed that.”
Parkman stared across the street, his vacant eyes picking nothing up as he thought of his next move. “Are you able to see all the detectives or is there no Spencer in homicide?”
“No Spencer, period.”
“Then someone has erased him.”
“Excuse me?”
“There was a Spencer. He saved Drake’s life—” He probably shouldn’t have said that name. “I need to go.”
“Sir? Parkman, what did you just say about saving someone’s life?”
“Nothing. Gotta go.”
“Sir. Stay on the line—”
Parkman disconnected. In a daze, having no idea what was going on, he got to his feet and entered Aaron’s hotel from last night. With only a few people in the lobby, it was easy to see Aaron wasn’t here.
He entered the casino that
had reopened after last night’s attempted robbery and car accident out back. After a five-minute walk through, Aaron was nowhere to be found.
