"You need to get off your ass and get your people out there banging on doors."
"I'll do everything I can. If she's out there, we'll find her."
Nate tightened his fists. "If she's out there. What does that mean? You think she was abducted by aliens, little green people? Jesus, you people have your heads up your asses."
Nate watched Peterson fidget; he could tell the man was at a loss for words. Nate wanted to smack the silly smirk off Peterson’s face, but instead he took a deep breath and stormed out of the room.
•••
Nate pulled into a gravel lot and eased his motorcycle toward a row of Harleys, lined up side by side like dominos. The Bandido clubhouse was a small, two-story brick building, with big metal double doors.
A mountain of a man wearing a Bandido leather cut stood in front of the building. Nate shut off the rumbling engine, climbed off the bike, and walked toward the intimidating fellow. "I'm the Irishman," Nate said.
"You don't look Irish to me," the burly man said as he ran a comb through his jet-black hair.
"I'm only half Irish and was born here in the States. My father moved here to run business on this side of the pond," Nate said.
"Hell, I don't give shit about any of that," the burly man said, pulling out a cell phone. He made a call and put the phone to his ear. "The Irishman is here," he said. "Diego will be right out," he told Nate after he disconnected.
Nate pushed up the sleeves of his jacket, making sure his four-leaf clover tattoo was visible.
A moment later the big double doors opened, and the president of the Bandidos stuck his arm out for a handshake. "Club president Diego Sanchez," he said, his voice low and raspy.
Nate responded with a firm handshake, hoping Diego wouldn't notice his sweaty palm. "I guess you know who I am," he said, looking up at the tall man.
Diego was much younger than Nate expected. He had short black hair, combed back nice and neat; his skin looked surprisingly soft and smooth.
"Come inside," Diego said. "You don't look Irish," he added as he led Nate into the clubhouse.
"Only half Irish," Nate said.
"Yeah, I know. Our pretty little mutual friend filled me in on everything about you. She's a smart one, that woman."
"She's a keeper," Nate said, following Diego through a sea of leather-clad bruisers, as they cocked back, crossed their tattooed arms, or rubbed their tattooed necks, while giving him an intimidating stare.
"We missed her after she moved away. Only been back here a few days, and she's already cooking the books for one of our new holding companies. We buy up shitty businesses, here and there, to run money through."
Diego led Nate into a room where two other Bandidos sat at a small wooden table. "This is my VP and our Sergeant at Arms. Have a seat."
The two men nodded, and Nate took a seat at the table.
"We all know why we're here," Diego said as he sat down. "We've been in the meth business a long time. Knowing the H is where the real money is, we've been looking for a better pipeline. Moving that shit across the border is just too damn risky.”
"I'm your solution. You know my prices are low, and I can get as much as you need," Nate said.
"We know the price is right, but what about the purity?" the VP asked.
Diego rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. "We will take one kilo and test the purity. If we're happy, we’ll take the other nine off your hands."
Nate nodded. "I'm good with that," he said.
•••
Nate shut the bathroom door and locked it. He needed to get away from the rowdy biker party, to clear his spinning head.
He leaned over the porcelain counter, turned the faucet on, and splashed the cold water over his face. When he looked up, he was startled by his own reflection. Dark circles lined his eyes, he was wearing a grubby three-day old beard, and his normally spiked hair was falling to the sides.
Nate took a deep breath, wiped his face with a hand towel and made his way back to the barroom.
Nate was near the exit when Diego spotted him. "You're not leaving, are you? It's early, you must have another drink at the bar, Irishman. You're our guest tonight," he said, walking up to Nate and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I insist."
"Sure, I could use a few more," Nate said, turning back toward the bar. Nate couldn’t wait to leave, but knew better than to upset Diego.
"I have to handle some business. I'll be over in a little bit. You just enjoy yourself," Diego said.
Nate plopped down at the bar. A few seats separated him from anyone else. Without asking, the bartender brought him a beer and a shot of tequila.
"Drinking alone?" said a female voice from behind him.
Nate turned his head. "Not if you join me," he said to a dark-haired woman he figured to be in her late twenties.
"I'm Maria," she said as she sat next to Nate.
"They just call me the Irishman," he said.
"You don't look Irish."
"I get that a lot," Nate said, and tossed back his shot of tequila. "You don't really look all that Hispanic," he added.
"My father was white," Maria said.
"Was?"
"He passed away not that long ago," she said and flagged the bartender over. "A couple of shots here."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Nate said.
"He was an asshole, ran off after my mom got pregnant. She died too, when I was young. The club just sort of adopted me."
"That must have been an interesting upbringing," Nate said, and took a sip of beer.
Nate felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around.
Diego gave a head nod. "I was told you rode in on a nice bike. The MC and I have decided we'd like you to go on a run with us."
"A run?"
"We're taking a truckload of meth to one of our other charters. Myself and a few others will be providing an escort."
Nate nodded. "Sure. Meeting here?" He wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to bond with the bikers.
Diego shook his head. "We never bring any of our company trucks on the premises. Meet at my house. I'll get you the address."
"No problem."
"I see you've met Maria. She's a good girl, you be kind to her," Diego said, and walked away.
Maria smiled. "Most of these guys are good people. They do what they do for their families," she said.
Nate wanted to tell her they were also destroying other families, but instead he tossed back another shot.
TWENTY
October 7, 2015
Nate loved cruising his motorcycle on warm summer nights, but he didn't normally ride this late in the year. The cold air was stinging his face and burning his lungs. He felt some needed relief when he slowed down and turned into the Oakbrook subdivision.
Brick two-story homes lined both sides of the road, and there was a stop sign every few hundred feet.
Nate finally arrived at the MC president's address and parked his bike along the street.
President Diego Sanchez was standing at the door. "Come on inside," he said, when he pushed it open.
Nate stepped through the door. The house was spotless. A large brass crucifix hung on a crisp white wall, above a sectional couch.
"Coffee?" Diego asked.
"No thank you."
"We'll leave as soon as the truck gets here. Should be any minute."
A young boy Nate figured to be around eight ran into the room. "Daddy, don't go," he yelled.
Diego stuck his arms out and caught the boy as he jumped. "Daddy won't be gone long. Where's your mother?"
"Right here," said the beautiful woman who stepped around the corner.
"This is my old lady," Diego said to Nate.
The woman scrunched her nose. "You know I hate it when you call me that."
"I'm sorry, baby," Diego said and gave her a soft kiss. He set the boy down and watched him run out of the room.
Nate was shocked to see this type of family dynamic, when the father wa
s an outlaw biker.
"It's here," Diego said, pointing to the door.
Nate watched out the window as a cargo truck and three rumbling motorcycles stopped in front of Diego's house.
•••
Detective Peterson pulled into the driveway of the house next door to Ruby's.
He stepped out of his bright red Honda Accord and stretched. He squinted from the sunlight, and watched the young boy running a Hot Wheel through gravel. "Hey kid, you shouldn't be so close to the road," he shouted.
The child looked at him, made some grunting noises and went back to playing.
Peterson made his way to the front door, smoothed his tie, and banged on the thin glass.
A woman in her early thirties, with two small girls hugging her hips, answered.
"I'm Detective Peterson with the missing persons unit. I was wondering if you were home the night of September twenty-second?"
"I probably was. I don't go nowhere. I saw on the news that neighbor girl gone missing."
"Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm here. I'm asking around in case somebody noticed anything out of the ordinary that night. Perhaps some sort of commotion?"
The woman frowned. "There's always commotion around here. I don't even get up and look out anymore."
"So, you don't remember—"
The woman cut him off. "I don't even remember what day the twenty-first was—"
"Twenty-second."
"Whenever it was, I didn't see anything."
Peterson looked over his shoulder. "Thanks for your time, and you maybe shouldn't let that kid play so close to the road."
"Boy, get over here, before I put a spanking on that ass!" the woman screamed in response.
Peterson turned and walked away, appalled.
•••
Nate followed the cargo truck and line of motorcycles across the bridge from Kentucky to Ohio. His face was getting chapped, his bare knuckles were stinging, and his mind was racing as fast as the Harley's engine.
He wondered if his sister was locked in a cage, getting beatings, or being raped, as he wasted his time following this parade of outlaw bikers across town.
•••
Nate and Diego watched as Diego's men unloaded cardboard drums from the truck and dollied them into a garage.
"That seems like a lot of meth," Nate said.
"Shit’s almost worthless these days," Diego replied.
"At least you're getting rid of it."
Diego lit up a cigarette. "Selling it at cost."
“Making room for the H?”
Diego nodded.
“I think you’ll be happy with the product.”
The men finished unloading the meth and Nate followed Diego to the MC headquarters. They spent the rest of the afternoon drinking beer.
•••
Detective Peterson couldn't believe someone finally wanted to talk. "Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, lemonade?"
"No thank you, Miss Marino. On second thought, I'll have some lemonade," Peterson said as he sat down at the kitchen table.
He looked at the terribly outdated wallpaper and grimaced.
Miss Marino’s shaky hand filled a glass with ice and poured lemonade from a big plastic jug. "I sure hope you boys find that sweet woman. She's lived across the street from me for years. She stopped over to check on me every weekend.”
"So, you knew her well?" Peterson asked.
Miss Marino pushed her bifocals up from the tip of her nose. "Well, not really," she said, setting the lemonade in front of him.
"No?"
"She never stayed long. We didn't say many words to each other. Not much in common, I'm seventy-five years old, you see, dear."
Peterson stood up and walked over to a calendar hanging from the wall. He flipped the calendar to September and pointed to the twenty-second. "This is when she went missing. Do you remember this day, Miss Marino?"
She nodded. "I'm old, dear, but my memory is still good."
"That's great. Do you remember if you heard anything that woke you up that night?"
She shook her head. "No, not that night. Those neighbors on the other side of her. They in and out all hours of the night.”
"What about that day? Did you see Ruby outside at any point?"
"Nope, I haven't seen her since her last visit. Probably two or three days before that. Those neighbors, they think I don't know, but I know what they're doing."
Peterson walked over to the table, sat down and folded his hands. "What do you think is going on over there, Miss Marino?"
"Pot."
"Pot?"
"They're selling the pot."
Peterson nodded. "That very well may be the case."
"All day them young boys are over there, with their rears hanging out their pants. I know they’re over there to buy the pot. Can you do something about that?"
"That's not really my area. I'd like to get back to Ruby. That's why I'm here today."
"That Ruby is a sweet woman. She's lived across the street from me for years and stops over to check on me every weekend."
Peterson stood up and forced a half-smile. "I appreciate your time, Miss Marino, but I’d best be going now."
TWENTY-ONE
October 8, 2015
Ruby could hear baby Keith crying and her eyes snapped open. Suddenly, the cries were gone. She stared at the ceiling, a twisting maze of plumbing pipes, wires, and structural bracing.
The needle still came, but Ruby was spending less time in the drug-induced haze. She was building a tolerance to the poison coursing through her veins, but it was still difficult to stay conscious.
Ruby’s back ached from spending so much time on the sagging mattress on the concrete floor. Her bones creaked at every movement.
Depression and despair were setting in, leaving the fear of the unknown and fear of being killed behind. Her mind was going numb.
Ruby was fighting to hold herself together; she wanted all her feelings back, and she knew the moments when adrenaline would arouse her body's fight-or-flight response would offer her only hope of escape.
She was growing more confused by the day and knew she would soon lose grip with reality. Part of her wanted to let go, to give up; she was forcing her mind into clarity.
There had to be a way out. She wanted to stand up the next time she heard Animal coming, with hopes that she could claw and poke at his eyes, but with the drugs and lack of nutrition, her body was far too weak. Ruby could no longer stand on her own, but she had an idea. If she could make it back to the steps she had discovered, she would hide, and trip Animal when he was descending the stairs. A terrible plan, but the best her feeble mind could come up with.
Ruby slid off the mattress and rolled herself over, facedown and sprawled against the cold concrete. Too weak to make it onto her elbows and knees, she slithered snakelike on her belly. After several feet she needed a rest.
Ruby closed her eyes and her skin was tingling; it felt like a thousand insects were crawling across her flesh. She screamed, grew exhausted, and started to drift away, but snapped back to reality.
Grunting, she continued slithering across the floor.
After a few moments, she stuck an arm out and felt something that seemed odd and foreign, but she knew it was a leg and a foot. She scooted herself forward, just a few more feet, and ran her hand up the leg. The shock of feeling another person roused her senses. Ruby used the chair to pull herself to her knees. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest as she ran her hand across a face, to the back of a head, and down long hair. When she felt the tape covering a mouth, she struggled until it was ripped off.
"What's happening? Where am I?" came a groggy female voice.
"I'm Ruby. We've been kidnapped and drugged, but we're going to get out of here. What's your name?" Ruby asked. With the adrenaline coursing through her she was temporarily able to speak at full volume.
"I'm Nina," she said, her voice trembling.
&nbs
p; "Do you remember anything?” Ruby asked, running her hands down Nina's arms, feeling the leather restraints that held her wrists in place.
"I just remember getting home, after working my shift at the bar. Nothing after that," Nina said.
"I'm trying to make it to the steps," Ruby said, easing herself back to the floor.
"How long have you been here?" Nina asked.
"I don't know. I think maybe weeks," Ruby said.
"Jesus, what is he going to do to me?" Nina asked, her voice quivering.
"I've been out of it a lot. He's just been drugging me, so far, no pain…" Ruby started thinking about the sores on her feet.
"I can't move. I'm so scared," Nina said, panic filling her voice, causing it to tremble and trail off.
"We are going to get out of here," Ruby said.
"No we’re not. He's going to kill us," Nina said, her voice rising.
"Try to stay calm. My brother is a cop and I know he won't stop looking for me. I'm attempting to crawl to the steps. I’m having trouble with my joints, but I can slide on my belly. I made it to the steps once, and I can do it again," Ruby said.
"Please don't make him mad. He'll kill us both," Nina begged.
"If he was going to kill us, he would have already done it," Ruby said, slithering away on her belly.
•••
Nate ran his finger over the swirly pattern in the middle of the medallion he found at Ruby's. The first pawn shop had no idea what it was. He was grasping at straws, and praying this one could shed some light.
After tossing the pendant in his coat pocket, he got out of the Charger and made his way to a tiny brick building. In the store window a flashing sign read, CASH FOR GOLD.
A bell rang when Nate opened the door, and he was greeted by a man standing at a counter, backed by a wall of guns, ranging from hunting rifles to AR-style military weapons.
"I have this medallion I'd like you to take a look at," Nate said, pulling it from his pocket and placing it on the counter.
"Looking to pawn it?" the man asked.
Come Find Me Page 9
