by Gregory Colt
He continued to stare a moment considering, then smiled and laughed. I guessed that meant we were good. It was better than a gun in the face. That happens to me more often than you think.
“What can I do for you, priest?” he asked with his back turned to the grill, which consisted of bars laid over a series of oil drums filled with charwood.
“There’s something I want and something I need. I know you can help with the one, and I’m hoping for the other.”
He turned around and leaned over the counter. “All right, priest. What do you want that Jabari can provide?”
“I want an order of the worst barbeque you serve.”
Jabari laughed so hard the bar shook. “And so you shall have it,” he said, slapping the counter before ducking into the back. When he returned I didn’t watch what he was doing. Sometimes it’s better not to know.
I busied myself looking at the old photos, news articles, posters, and billboards on the walls. Everything was old and faded except one bright white paper pinned in an open space. It had a big picture in the middle and handwriting beneath it. I reached into my jacket pocket and slid out the photo of Ruby that Thomas had given me. It was the same. Looked like Thomas didn’t waste any time with those fliers this morning.
I kept the photo in my hand and turned back around. Jabari called out an order and walked over to me.
“And what is it you need?” he asked.
I caught his eyes and motioned towards the flier on the wall. He didn’t miss the look. Jabari grabbed a newspaper and flipped through it until he came to the page he wanted. He folded it over, laid it on the counter, and pointed to a photo of a cop. I shook my head no. Interesting. He could have asked in Swahili. But he didn’t.
“What is your interest here? What do you care?” he whispered over the counter.
I laid down the photo of Ruby I had. The same photo in the flier. I waited until I was sure he recognized her then flipped it over. It said To Tommy, Love Ruby in a flowery script. Beneath it was Ruby Jordan 12th Grade in a different handwriting; the same handwriting on the flier.
“He asked me to take a look around,” I said.
Jabari waited until the folks at the table behind me left. When they did, he brought out a stereo from the back, to cheers no less, and set it on the table and started some music. I didn’t recognize it. Some old blues song. I only caught the part ‘me and the devil, walkin’ side by side’.
“I don’t know if I believe you,” he said, coming back around the bar. “But Thomas is a good kid. The girl too. Maurice—the girls call him M&M—is about to have a breakdown. This is the fourth or fifth girl, all in the last several weeks. Her boyfriend searches with his friends. And of course, Maurice always has his eyes out. I cannot say if they’ve found anything or not, but both still search.”
“Did you see what happened? The evening she ran off?”
“No. I did not see it. Brandon came in and told me. He was angry.”
“Could you tell me where to find Brandon?”
“I do not think he has anything to do with her disappearance.”
“I don’t either, but I still should talk to him. It would be a big help knowing what direction she went off in. What she was wearing. Where he’s searched. And if you could point me towards M&M, I’d be grateful.”
“I understand. Brandon works at a garage about two blocks south. As for M&M, your guess is as good as mine, but if I may, you might have better luck at the shelter.”
“Thomas mentioned Ruby volunteered there. For a Mr. Sawyer.”
He nodded.
“And why might I have better luck there?”
“As I said, Ruby is not the first to go missing. I am sorry this has happened to her. But no more so than any of the others. This isn’t about a missing girl, priest. This is about why there are no longer people out at night. Yes, I know what you are thinking. In this neighborhood, only the underworld would be out. It’s true. I tell you even they are not to be found. Or they travel in large groups when they do. This is about why there are a half dozen pushers that have operated around here for years and are nowhere to be found these past months. This is about the stories everyone hears yet no one tells. The monsters that come out at night.”
Well, that wasn’t a disturbing thought. Neighborhood like this could be messy at the best of times, but he seemed to be getting at something else.
“I don’t understand,” I said. Because I didn’t.
“Neither does anyone else.”
I nodded. “And you think these answers can be found at Mr. Sawyer’s shelter?”
“Roman Sawyer,” he said, “is an interesting man. Educated. Caring. He is in a good position to hear news from those on the streets. Perhaps even more so than Maurice, who spends his time looking. Even if Roman cannot help you, there are those there who could. They will know more about what is going on in the night. There will be many addicts. They may be able to shed light on where the old pushers and dealers have gone. They’re closer to it than the rest of us, being vulnerable out on their own. They may have useful information and not even realize it.”
“I’ll make the trip to see this Roman a higher priority, but I can’t afford to get involved with a bunch of missing dealers.”
He paused a moment to sniff at the air, then smiled. “I understand. You want to find the girl. That is good,” he said, shaking my hand. “And now I declare my lowest quality barbeque finished!” He turned to work at the grill, and soon delivered me a masterpiece of culinary delights on a platter; his worst meats, the worst roll he could find, and the last corn on the cob in the warmer. I took one experimental bite and knew exactly why Brandon ate all his meals here.
Jabari tapped on the bar to get my attention and pointed to a tall, muscular kid who had walked by in a red t-shirt and jeans, talking to an older couple outside.
“Brandon?” I asked.
He nodded.
I looked again and the three were still talking. “Jabari, can I get this to go?”
He smiled and nodded, took my platter, and transferred it into some styrofoam contraption. He slid it back over to me and put down a big styrofoam cup full of sweet tea as well, with lid and straw.
Brandon said his goodbyes. “What do I owe you?” I asked.
“Find the girl,” he said. “And next time you order the most expensive dinner I have.”
I bowed gratefully. “Thanks, Jabari,” I said, grabbing everything and heading out of the big garage. Well, that had turned out easier than I thought it would.
“Brandon!” I called out to him. He turned around and waited.
“Yeah?” he asked.
I caught up with him. “Hi, Brandon. I’d like to ask you about Ruby Jordan.”
A gust of wind blew my jacket back and Brandon’s eyes went wide. He dropped his gaze to my chest and stared at my gun. Crap, he was going to run. I took a step closer.
“Brandon,” I started as I took a second step. He leapt forward and slapped his hands beneath mine, sending styrofoam, tea, and ambrosia everywhere, then tore off down the sidewalk. Son of a bitch!
Chapter Seven
Brandon is fast. I know because I’m fast and I hadn’t caught him. He knew these streets. I didn’t. If I didn’t catch him soon I’d lose him. I considered my options. He was racing south. Fifty-fifty chance picking one direction to cut him off. I could outlast him maybe. Exhaust him and wait it out. I sure as hell wasn’t going to run him down like this.
Sometimes it’s a blessing having choices taken away. Another block or two and I’d have lost him, but Brandon turned a corner and ran into a salvage yard. I was in time to see him slip inside an old building near the back of the lot I followed him into. I had him. But why would he let himself be cornered after a few blocks?
No, that wasn’t right. Not a few blocks. Two. South. Like the garage he worked at.
“Ah, hell,” I whispered. I have a tendency to wax eloquent during times of distress. And distress was on my mind whe
n the garage doors opened and three guys stepped out with Brandon. On second thought not such a blessing. I’ll keep my choices thank you very much.
Two of the three guys jogged wide around the heaps of scrap metal. By the time Brandon and the third guy were close, two other sets of shoes crunched on the gravel behind me.
Brandon, who looked tougher now, pointed at me. “This is him. This is the guy. Came after me with a gun and everything asking about Ruby. Well, now I got questions for you!”
“Brandon, I’ll answer all your questions—” I started.
“Damn right you’ll answer my questions!” he said.
“Brandon! Listen to me! Thomas said—”
“Thomas! Man, how do you know Thomas? Where is he? What have you done?”
There is a split second when you know what’s about to happen but you can’t do anything to avoid it. Well, I could. Saved my life half a hundred times. It was like my own personal Spidey sense. I knew what he would do. How he would move. What I didn’t count on was one of the guys behind me leaping forward in silence and hooking my arms back.
I made eye contact with each and every one of them in front of me and gave a polite nod. “Gentlemen.”
* * * *
“Oww!” I jerked my hand back. Stupid paper cut adding injury to insult. No clues, no new direction, no nothing, and all I had to show for it was a bloody thumb. One of many reasons I preferred fieldwork. I grabbed a napkin left over from the sandwich Abner brought me for lunch and wrapped it tight.
I’d made my calls. No one had seen or heard anything. Not the contacts I’d made through the museum, or in college, or my travels, or the local fences. Even from my own team I was only able to get ahold of Sam. He would ask around and meet me tomorrow in his office at New York University, but in the meantime...
With nothing to do but wait, images from this morning filled my mind and my eyes glistened. I stood and paced around the room to get a hold of myself, which made it worse because when I passed the trashcan I thought I smelled blood. I made it to the bathroom just in time. I thought I would vomit again, but the trash needed taken out right then. I went to do it and took the lid off prepared to run back to the sink. But, there was no smell. I took a closer look and there were no clothes, no blood, no anything. In fact, it was a clean new liner. Scented with lemon no less.
I stood there a full minute breathing deep before going back to the sink and cleaning up while making a mental note to thank Adrian. I hadn’t realized he’d taken it out. That was… thoughtful. He’d still ran off leaving me alone to do all the work and I was pissed about that, but he made sure I wasn’t left alone three feet from…that. I was thankful. And a million times more comfortable in these sweat clothes. And the coffee with purified water was good. I was better off in every way right then than at any point all morning. What I needed now was another distraction, something to focus on, to stay busy.
I played with my phone for a minute, investigated Roarke’s weird black candle, and then spun a loose knob on one of the desk drawers. Two seconds later I had the top drawer open.
There was the .38 where Adrian had left it on top of a blank notepad with some scattered pens and pencils. I shut it and opened the larger bottom drawer. It was full of loose papers, newspaper clippings, photographs, and a large album with loose pictures stacked beside it. The top photo looked like Adrian. A young Adrian. Interesting.
I admit I was curious to do some research on Knight. I was convinced he didn’t have anything to do with this morning. But, research is what I do and I wanted to shed some light on the mystery that is Adrian Knight. So I lifted the heavy album onto the desk along with the loose stack of photos.
The top one was of Knight and the rest of the stack was him and two other young men all smiling and wrestling and making ridiculous poses. I flipped open the album and browsed over the first page of photos to see if I could identify the two guys. Only a handful of pictures had labels. Nick Roarke’s name was on the back of one or two of them, but the third man only appeared every couple of pages. Between each photo it was obvious months had gone by, years perhaps, and only one of his pictures were labeled. It was the three of them again. One of the earlier ones. What looked like dirt, or soot, covered them. Made their shining dog tags stand out even more. On the back, it read Premier jour de printemps‘99. First day of spring 1999. In French. Fascinating.
* * * *
The garage was quiet and still except for the ice machine I was using and distant grunts and groans coming from the boys who sat in the dirt against one of the outside walls.
I filled five quart-sized Ziploc bags with ice and walked back into the salvage area in front of the garage, tossing one to each boy as I passed.
“What’s the last one for?” Brandon asked as I sat down in front of them with the last bag of ice.
I sat and looked at him.
“For me,” I said, resting the ice over my wrists. They had torn raw again during the fight and bled along with my knuckles.
Brandon gave a half-hearted snort and straightened his back careful to keep the ice over the corner of his eye. Looked like it would bruise nicely come morning.
“Winning is not all it’s cracked up to be,” I said to no one in particular.
“Losing’s not so hot either,” the guy on Brandon’s right said.
“Well, there’s that,” I said.
I took another look at them to see if I’d missed anything more serious. A black eye, two busted lips, a bloody nose and sore ribs, but it looked like their pride had taken the brunt of it.
“All right guys, let’s try this again,” I said.
Brandon looked like he would get angry again, but the others were happy to stay sitting right where they were. I focused on Brandon.
“I mean let’s start over. I’m something of an investigator. Name’s Adrian Knight,” I said.
“That supposed to mean something?” Brandon said.
“Nick Roarke, you ever heard of him? Helped a friend of Ruby’s a while back. Jessica Hayes,” I said.
All three of the other guys nodded. Brandon sighed.
“Yeah, him we heard of. Ran off some dude harassing Jess. None of that explains what the hell you’re doing out here looking for me or why you’re walking around carrying. You work for him or something?” Brandon asked.
“We work together. Sometimes. I owe him a favor and said I’d keep an eye on things while he’s away. Thomas came around this morning looking for Nick to help find his sister. So here I am,” I said. “And I carry the gun because you never know when four guys are going to jump you in a salvage yard.”
The kid on the far left laughed then hugged himself, holding his ribs as he slid down the wall to lie in the dirt.
“Stop. Owwhwwh. Don’t make me laugh,” he said.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Ruby was missing and we been looking everywhere and somebody shows up asking questions looking for me—” Brandon started.
“Hey, what are you apologizing to him for. He broke my nose, Brandon!” interrupted the other kid next to him.
“Yeah and he could of shot ya. All of us. And he didn’t, stupid,” Brandon replied.
“I’m stupid? You’re the one who ran in yelling about some dude out to get you and crying for help,” the kid said back.
Brandon hesitated. “I know,” he said. The other kid started in again but Brandon held his free hand up cutting him off. “I know, all right! It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
The other kid seemed mollified and didn’t reply.
“So what is it you want me for?” Brandon asked, looking back at me.
“Had some questions is all. You’re her boyfriend right?” I asked.
Brandon nodded.
“I hear there was an argument and she ran off yesterday evening. Tell me about it.”
“We were supposed to meet for dinner. I come outta the diner early and she’s across the street all dolled up and paying M&M this huge wad of cash. I exploded. I mean I lo
st it, man. The thought of her working again, I lost my temper and ran over hollering and screaming at her. I mean I never even gave her a chance and she ran off upset.”
“What time was that? Did you go after her? What happened next?”
“Right before sundown maybe. I don’t know for sure. But, no I… I didn’t.” Brandon’s eyes watered and turned red. I thought he was going to break down and then Baaooom!
His hammerfist caved in the sheet metal siding behind him as deep as his fist. “I should have gone after her!”
Thank God fear had the better of Brandon when he’d turned to fight me. I might have had to get rough with him. There was no longer any doubt in my mind as to whether he had something to do with Ruby’s disappearance. If he had struck her in anger, she wouldn’t have lived. The look in his eyes wasn’t guilt. I’ve seen guilt. I knew it well. This wasn’t it. This was rage.
“Hey Brandon?” said the guy at the end, standing and holding his ribs.
“Yeah?” Brandon replied, looking over.
“Think I’m going to lock up for the afternoon and head home.”
Brandon nodded.
The other two guys stood.
“Hey man, I think we’re gonna head out too. Take some aspirin and lay down or something,” said one of them.
“Yeah. All right,” said Brandon.
“Give us all a call after sundown and we’ll be ready to head back out,” the other said.
I waited until they were gone. “What happens after sundown?”
“We’re planning a walk. You know, seeing what all there is to see,” he said.
“Looking out for something suspicious? Hope to catch a lead on Ruby? Or maybe someone who saw her last night?”
“You got a better idea?”
“No, actually I approve. More eyes and ears out the better. I’d be doing the same if I were you. You keep cool and don’t harass anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Don’t lose your temper and make a bad situation worse, you hear?”
