THE INNOCENT: A Cowboy Gangster Novel

by CJ Bishop

  “I changed my mind,” Matt murmured sickly. “I don’t need a bathroom. I can hold it.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Nevin pleaded and turned around. The beam of his flashlight swept up over the wall behind them. “Matt!” he screamed and scrambled backward, nearly dragging Matt off his feet.

  “What…?” Matt flashed his light in Nevin’s horrified face then jerked around to see what he was staring at. Matt stumbled into Nevin. “Jesus!”

  Nevin shook his head furiously, his heart beating a hole in his chest. “Th-That’s not Jesus.”

  Chapter 1

  …Two Weeks Earlier…

  Clint shrugged off his outer shirt and used it as a rag to wipe the blood from his hands, face, and neck before tossing it to Cochise. The Egyptian wadded the soiled garment into a ball and dragged it across his cheek as he stared, unremorseful, at the bloody carnage around them.

  “These were just the grunts.” Cruz walked over and stood beside Clint. Blood matted his shirt to his chest and dampened a few strands of hair. “We need to find the ringleaders.”

  “Do the others know anything?” Clint ran his fingers through his damp, sticky hair, unfazed by the blood smeared through his short strands.

  “I don’t know,” Cruz admitted. “No one has talked to them yet.”

  Sanchez motioned toward one of the doorways. “They’re in one of the back rooms.”

  Clint swept passed them and exited through the doorway. They were in an old, empty warehouse that was as cold as a fucking freezer. Some of the windows were broken and tiny snow drifts had gathered on the inside window sills.

  Cochise, Cruz, and Sanchez followed the cowboy down the shadowed hallway where he paused outside a room. The rusted hinges groaned as he opened the door and stepped inside. His jaw tightened and throat pinched.

  A small horde of kids huddled in the corner of the large room. Wide, fearful eyes darted between Clint and his men. Clint stared back, sickened by the sight of their condition; scrawny, undernourished, filthy ragged clothes. Not one of them wore shoes. Some of the older boys—sixteen at most—gathered the younger boys and girls behind them protectively. They knew they couldn’t protect themselves or the younger ones, not if Clint and the others chose to abuse them. Still, they stood as guards, ready to put up a fight.

  Admirable.

  Clint walked over and halted a couple feet back. “Where were they taking you?”

  One of the older boys answered warily, strong fear resonating out of him. “Nowhere.” His young voice was adopting a masculine edge as he neared adulthood. Tonight, it shook with the dreaded acceptance of his fate. Clint studied him; blond locks peeked forth from dirty strands, his maturing face gaunt and hazel eyes slightly sunken. His filthy clothes hung loosely on his skinny body. The kid was hardly more than a shell of what he should be.

  Something pinched in Clint’s heart and he wished the dead men back alive—so he could butcher them all over again, torture them more viciously than before…if that were possible.

  “What?” Clint asked.

  “The buyers were coming here,” the boy mumbled. “At five-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  His jaw clenching, Clint glanced at the three men with him. Their faces were hard as stone, murder in their eyes. “How much are they paying?” Clint asked the kid.

  The boy blinked. “A thousand a head for the boys. Fifteen hundred for the girls.”

  Clint released a stiff breath. “How do you know this? They talk in front of you?”

  The kid nodded and murmured, “To them, we’re just…merchandise to be bought and sold. We’re…we’re not even human.” The look on the kid’s face disclosed his fear that Clint and his men wouldn’t see them as human, either.

  Clint stared at him. “What’s your name?”

  The young man frowned with uncertainty, hesitated, then whispered, “Jacob.”

  How long had it been since someone asked his name? Or even cared that he had a name? How long had it been for any of them? Clint’s hard stare flickered through the kids. Their ages went as young as seven or eight, he was sure of it. Disgust and rage boiled inside him as he thought of the bloodied corpses on the cold, concrete floor in the other room. He fought the urge to return to them and stomp their heads into the hard surface, crush their skulls with the heel of his cowboy boot until there was nothing left.

  The kids shivered in their little huddle. The room was freezing. The floor like a block of ice. And the kids without shoes or warm clothing. How the hell had they survived this long?

  Clint rejoined Cochise, Cruz, and Sanchez. “We need to get them someplace warm.”

  “We’ll need a bigger vehicle to take them all,” Cochise said.

  “There’s rig out back,” Cruz spoke up. “I think maybe it was what they were transporting them in. It looks like a small moving truck.”

  Clint rubbed his mouth and glanced at the kids; he hated the thought of loading them back up like cattle. But they had to get them out of here. He nodded. “Get it ready.”

  Cruz and Sanchez left the room.

  “What’re we going to do with them?” Cochise asked low, his eyes heavy.

  His words reached the kids and they pressed closer together, the little ones hugging one another in stark terror as tears rolled down their dirty, gaunt faces.

  “We’ll take them back to the main house for now,” Clint said. “Get them warm and fed. Then we’ll go from there.”

  The Egyptian stared at the kids, his face straining, a storm of emotions raging behind his gray eyes. “We should have killed them more slowly,” he muttered with a chilling edge.

  Clint nodded. “We should have.” He looked at the Egyptian, started to speak, then clamped his mouth shut when a strangled wail erupted from another part of the warehouse, then men shouting. Clint and Cochise bolted from the room and ran toward the cacophony of raised voices. They found Cruz and Sanchez, along with their men, restraining a man who had been shoved face down on the ice-cold concrete. Sanchez stood with his foot firmly planted between the man’s shoulder blades, holding him in place.

  “Is he one of them?” Clint growled.

  Cruz nodded. “He was hiding. Tried to sneak out one of the side doors.”

  “Please…” the man croaked, his voice muffled against the cold floor. “D-Don’t kill me…”

  His breath quick and hard, fury pumping through his veins, Clint walked over and rammed the hard sole of his cowboy boot down on the back of the man’s neck, grinding his face into the concrete. Sanchez stepped off and backed away. Clint’s face twitched as he looked at Cochise. “You wanted another one to torture?” Clint jerked his foot away and wrenched the man up off the floor and shoved him at the Egyptian. “Merry Christmas.”

  Cochise caught the man by the throat, his powerful hand squeezing until the man’s eyes bulged in his head and he went into a panic as his air was cut off.

  “Take your time,” Cruz told the Egyptian. “We don’t want him dead too soon. We still have a few questions that need answering.”

  “Boss.” One of Cruz’s men—Rodriguez—walked over, a large yellow envelope in his hand. The contents were slightly bulky. “We found this.”

  Cruz frowned and took the envelope. “What is it?”

  The younger man nodded at the item, a troubled look straining his face. “Photos…of kids.” He glanced at Clint then back to Cruz. “Maybe kids they’d planned to grab. I don’t know.”

  Cruz started to open the envelope when Rodriguez stopped him.

  “There’re kids in those photos…” the younger man’s stare jumped to Clint again, “that we know.”

  Fear cut through Clint’s heart and he came forward like a bull. “What kids?”

  Rodriguez swallowed. “I don’t remember their names…the twin boys and…” His eyes darted anxiously between Clint and Cochise. “Jules. And his little friend, I don’t know his name-”

  “Reuben?” Clint snatched the envelope away from Cruz and dug out the
photos. Hearing that their kids were among these photos—and seeing the reality of it were two different things. His heart dropped like a lead weight when his eyes fell on the innocent faces of his babies. His vision blurred for a fleeting moment—then turned red.

  “I don’t know where they were taken,” Rodriguez said. “It looks like a park…”

  The men scattered out of Clint’s way as he whipped around and in two long strides, was in front of the Egyptian. Clint wrenched the man from Cochise’s grip and slammed him against the wall, nearly knocking him unconscious. He squeezed his throat, choking the fucker.

  “Who took these pictures?” He shoved the photos in the man’s reddening face. “Who?!”

  The man clawed at his tightening hand, mouth gaping but no sound emerging. Clint eased his grip a fraction and the man gasped, sucking in gulps of air.

  “Speak!” Clint roared in his face. “And it better be the fucking truth!”

  The man swallowed hard beneath Clint’s hand. “We…we send out…scouts…into the neighborhoods…looking for potential…merchandise.”

  His lips flattening against teeth in a snarl, Clint began to squeeze again. “Merchandise?” He forced himself not to crush the motherfucker’s throat. “Where is the scout now? Is he one of the men we killed?”

  The man shook his head, eyes watering as he fought for air.

  “Where the fuck is he?”

  “He went out…” the man croaked. “…for a…retrieval.”

  A retrieval. Clint suddenly released the man, who sagged to the floor. “Fuck!” He hurriedly dug out his phone.

  “What?” Cruz asked uncertainly, on alert.

  “The park in the photos,” Clint said tightly as he sent out his call. “It’s our neighborhood park.” He looked at Cochise. “The boys are there now.”

  •♦•

  “Do you think you’ll marry Chris?” Noel pushed himself back and forth on the swing, dragging the toes of his sneakers through the dirt where the ground was worn into a groove from countless kids playing on the swing set.

  “What?” Noah’s face scrunched as his cheeks immediately warmed. “He’s like, way older than me.” He used his good leg to rock his own swing.

  “I didn’t mean right now.” Noel rolled his eyes and shoved off the tip of his shoe a little harder. “I mean, someday.”

  Noah shrugged and watched Jules and Reuben playing on the plastic slide, bundled up like little Eskimos, their noses and cheeks a rosy red from the chilly air. The park was deserted but for the four of them. It was only a couple blocks down from Clint and Axel’s place—convenient for when the two little boys were visiting.

  “You think about it, don’t you?” Noel smiled. “At the wedding, you were pretending you were up there with Chris, huh?”

  “Whatever,” Noah mumbled with a quiet laugh. “I’m only fifteen. Why would I be thinking about marriage?”

  “In the future,” Noel stressed again.

  Noah thought about the reception and his dance with Chris. He was pretty sure Chris was just humoring him and didn’t take his crush seriously. It didn’t feel like just a crush to Noah, but to the person who was “crushing”, it probably never felt like just a crush. Maybe he wasn’t really in love with Chris. He kind of hoped he wasn’t. Chris wouldn’t wait for him; why would he? Why should he?

  “I try not to think about it,” Noah whispered, suddenly feeling a little bit depressed.

  “Why?”

  Noah shrugged and stared at the ground, the tip of his sneaker dragging through the cold dirt. Even with thick socks, his toes were starting to get chilled. The little boys didn’t seem fazed by the cold.

  “You’re not a little kid,” Noel pointed out. “Back in the western times, and even earlier, fifteen-year-old boys were practically considered men. In some ancient cultures, that was the age they were put through rituals to become warriors.”

  Noah looked at him dryly. “And how does that help me? That was then, this is now. People don’t look at someone our age and see a man. To Chris, I’m just a kid.”

  A small smile formed on Noel’s face. “Are you sure about that?”

  “What do you mean?” Noah asked cautiously, yet curiously. A part of him was always eager for someone else to see something forming between him and Chris. He figured if he saw it—or thought he saw it—then it was just wishful thinking.

  “I don’t know.” Noel’s smile grew. “I just haven’t seen him treat you like a kid. You say he sees you that way, but what proof do you have? When has he ever treated you, or talked to you like a kid?”

  Noah hadn’t thought about that. Was it all in his head that Chris thought of him as a kid?

  “He saved the first dance at the reception for you,” Noel reminded. “And he didn’t dance with anyone else afterward.”

  His brother’s words made him feel real good, but he was afraid to build up too much hope. “Yeah…but still…” His words died, and he went still, his pulse quickening.

  Noel frowned and followed his stare. “What’s wrong…” He went silent alongside Noah, then whispered, “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know.” Noah swallowed and stood up from the swing, his eyes locked on the man who had appeared out of nowhere—and was talking to Jules and Reuben. He moved forward, feeling more hindered than ever by his gimp leg. “Jules! Reuben!” he called as he and Noel headed their way. “Come on! It’s time to go home!”

  The two little boys glanced his way, started to come to him, then paused when the stranger spoke to them again.

  Noah looked at Noel then picked up his pace the best he could. “Come on, guys,” he said as he neared the boys. He tried to keep his voice calm and even. There was no reason to think the man was a threat but the sudden knot in his gut urged him to take the boys home right now. “Let’s go home and get warmed up. Axel and Cory said they’d make us some hot chocolate with marshmallows when we got back.”

  “Hello.” The stranger smiled at the twins as they approached. “Are these two little tykes your brothers?”

  Noah shifted uncomfortably as he inched closer to the boys. “No,” he mumbled and drew the two boys against him.

  “But you two are brothers, aren’t you?” the man nodded at Noah and Noel, his smile holding. “I can see it. You look alike.”

  Noah didn’t like the way the man’s eyes studied them. “We have to go,” he said quietly. “We’re already late getting back home. They’ll come looking for us anytime.” That wasn’t true; they weren’t expected home for another half hour or so. But this man didn’t know that.

  “You don’t have to go right this second, do you?” the man asked. He flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for just walking up like this.” He sighed and lowered his eyes. “It’s just…I lost my little boy about this time last year. Your little friends here reminded me of him and…” He shrugged and glanced behind him at the car parked by the curb. “I…I thought it might make me feel better if I went Christmas shopping for my son, maybe make it feel like he was still here.” He shook his head. “But it didn’t. It made it worse.” He raised his eyes and looked at Noah, blinked and swallowed thickly. “Would it be okay if I gave the gifts to these boys? They’re realnice and expensive. It would make me feel good if I could give them to some little boys who would play with them.”

  The mention of gifts excited Jules and Reuben. “Can we have them?” Jules gazed up pleadingly at Noah. “Please?”

  Noah hesitated; the man seemed sincere, his grief genuine. “I don’t…”

  “Please,” the man implored. “It would sure brighten my holiday spirit if you’d let me do this.”

  The two little boys begged Noah.

  When Noah wavered, the stranger stepped back and motioned toward his car. “I have them right over here, in my car. I bought a lot of them. If you like, I could give you a ride home, so you wouldn’t have to try and carry them all.”

  At the mention of a “car ride”, Noah’s inner alarms went off lik
e crazy. He gripped the backs of the boy’s jackets and backed away, tugging them with him. “I-I don’t think so. You…you should give the gifts to needy kids. We have plenty.”

  “But Noah…” Jules pleaded.

  “No,” Noah murmured, keeping his eyes on the man. “You have lots and lots of presents. There’s kids out there who don’t have any.”

  The man stared at Noah and something shifted behind his eyes, though he maintained his same tone as he said, “I understand. Kids shouldn’t get in a car with a stranger.” He glanced at the little boys. “At least, let me give them one present each. They can carry them home.” He moved back slowly, indicating the car. “They’re just right over here.”

  “Come on, Noah,” Noel whispered shakily and clutched Noah’s jacket. “Let…let’s just go home.”

  “Where’s the harm in letting the boys each take a gift?” the stranger asked.

  Noah shook his head and pulled Jules and Reuben behind him with Noel. “No. We…we have to go.”

  “Well, hang on a minute.” The man suddenly had a hold of Noah’s arm. Not a forceful grip, but still strong enough to prevent him from retreating.

  Panic shot through Noah and he struggled to hold it down. “Let me go,” he said thickly and tried to pull back.

  The man held on, still acting as if he just wanted to talk to him. “Please, it would make me feel better if I could give the boys a present.”

  “Let go…” Noah’s vision blurred as he pulled harder against the man’s grip. “We have to go home.”

  Noel clutched his brother’s other arm securely. “Let him go.”

  “You boys are making this harder than it has to be,” the man murmured, dropping his friendly tone. He reached inside his jacket with his free hand and withdrew just enough for the two older boys to see the gun. He glanced around, making sure no one had approached the park. “Now, how about we all take a little friendly ride?”

  Noah’s chin trembled as fear crippled him. Tears welled up. “No…please…just let us go. We have to go home…”