Girl Jacked

by Christopher Greyson

  A lot of people were moving by their checkpoint. The families going home chattered back and forth. Besides the heat, the feeling was upbeat.

  He turned to Chandler. “Are you hot?”

  “Yeah.” A cocky grin spread across his big friend’s face as he nodded his head. “That’s what all the ladies say.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up,” Chandler shot back. “It’s two hundred degrees out. What a stupid question. I’m about to spontaneously combust.” He laughed and finished off another bottle of Gatorade.

  Jack turned to look at the approaching crowd. Something was wrong. People talked all around, but a strange pocket of silence approached them. He scanned the faces and noticed the source of the silence. A woman dressed in a black burqa was walking with a little girl dressed in the same head-to-toe black dress. He could only see their eyes because of the slit on the front. Other than that, they were covered.

  Many women wore burqas, but there was something wrong with this pair. The mother kept the girl at arm’s length as they walked.

  “Chandler. One o’clock.” Jack nodded toward the approaching pair.

  Chandler stood next to Jack on the left. His smile vanished when he saw them approaching.

  “The mother is freaked.” Jack’s chin tipped up. “She’s probably being forced to wear a vest and is trying to keep the little girl out of the way. Can we separate them?”

  “I can get the girl,” Chandler said as he started walking toward the edge of the crowd.

  Jack moved to the right.

  Chandler looked back, and Jack nodded. Chandler kept moving.

  The crowd kept shying away from the pair. The mother and daughter picked up the pace as a pocket formed around them. Jack looked at the girl. Judging by her height, she was six or seven years old. He could see her rich brown eyes. They gleamed. She was happy. She had no idea of the danger she was in.

  Jack watched the mother. Her eyes darted all over, but she never looked directly at Jack. He glanced over and saw Chandler making his move. His friend took two huge strides, scooped the little girl up in his arms, and headed back to the checkpoint.

  “STOP,” Jack commanded in both Arabic and English. “Hands up.”

  The mother watched as Chandler carried her daughter away. She then turned back to look at Jack. He saw her eyes as they changed from fear to relief and then as the relief changed to a look of hate.

  “Hands up,” he shouted again at her as the crowd scrambled for safety. With his finger on the trigger, Jack hesitated. He’d never shot a woman before. She began to raise her arms up slowly.

  It was then Jack realized his mistake.

  He saw the large hands of a man.

  It wasn’t a mother worried for her daughter. It was a man worried for his own safety. He was scared because it was the little girl who’d been forced to wear the suicide vest.

  “CHANDLER,” Jack yelled.

  Chandler looked back at Jack as he cradled the little girl in his big arms. Their eyes met for a second before the white flash.

  The explosion knocked Jack to his knees. His hands hit the dirt. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see clearly, and his ears rang. His fingers clawed the ground in front of him. The hard dry ground had now turned soft . . .

  . . . He opened his eyes and stared down at gray carpet with black flecks. He gazed at the pattern he was sure he’d seen before but couldn’t place where.

  The funeral home.

  Jack stood up. He was at the funeral home where they held Michelle’s service. Chandler stood at the rear near an open coffin. He was wearing his dress uniform and tears rolled down his face. His arm was around Michelle’s shoulder. She wore her long hair pulled back, and she had on a simple charcoal dress. She glanced at Jack, and she was crying too.

  Jack staggered forward. They were both gazing into a coffin. It was purple and white with pink flowers.

  Aunt Haddie? No . . .

  It felt like he was walking through knee-deep mud as he forced himself to keep moving forward. Chandler glared back at him, and Michelle wept.

  “My babies!” The cry behind him caused him to turn around.

  Aunt Haddie stood in the doorway of the funeral home. She looked even frailer as she took small steps forward.

  “My babies,” she cried as she held her hands out. “All of my babies are gone.”

  Jack turned back around and raced to the coffin. Replacement’s body lay inside. Her emerald green eyes were now grey and lifeless. Her mouth was frozen in a twisted scream. Her eyes had been taped open.

  “Alice, no . . . ALICE!”

  Replacement was shaking him. She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear clearly. His trembling hands gripped the back of his head. He gasped for air.

  “Jack? Jack?” Replacement held his shoulders at arm’s length. “It’s just a dream. You were dreaming. You must have taken a nap.”

  Jack grabbed her and pulled her close. He was panting, but he still crushed her to his chest. He straightened his arms and looked at her.

  Concern filled her eyes.

  “You’re okay. It was just a dream,” Jack muttered and stood up.

  He swayed like a drunken sailor as he turned around.

  “I just walked in and you were . . . yelling my name.” Alice looked up at him.

  “I’m sorry.” Jack shuffled into the kitchen and looked at the clock, eight fifteen.

  Damn.

  “I need my car.” Jack rubbed his eyes.

  “What? Why?” The color drained from Replacement’s face. “I was going to borrow it tomorrow too.”

  “You can. I’m meeting a guy tonight. Hey, how is the website job going?” He tried to smile.

  “Good. It’s nothing special.” Replacement followed him into the kitchen. “They need some updates. Nothing big. Who are you meeting?”

  “Guy’s name is Hank Foster. I also got the name of the guy on the tape. Charlie Harding. Hank Foster reported him missing.”

  “Good work. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. The problem is that Hank Foster also reported a girl named Tiffany McAllister missing five months ago.”

  “He reported both of them missing? Are you sure that you have the guy from the tape?”

  “Yeah. I found out the video was filmed a year ago. That narrowed down the field.”

  “Nice work.” Replacement smiled.

  “I need to ask Hank about Tiffany. She showed up dead. Then I’m going to ask about Charlie. Keys?”

  She handed him the keys, and he grabbed his jacket.

  “What about your crutches?”

  “I need to strengthen the leg,” he called back.

  Replacement shut the door and hurried to catch up to him.

  “You’re not coming. Go get something to eat.”

  “What? No. I’ll drive.”

  “No.” Jack stopped and turned to her. “You can’t come. Don’t even try.”

  “I can help.” She raised herself up on her toes.

  “No. Listen. It’s not happening.” Jack shut his eyes, and the images from his dream flashed into view. “Seriously, no.” Jack tried to soften his voice, but he knew it still came out cold and angry.

  Replacement didn’t say anything. She turned and went back to the apartment.

  Jack pulled up in front of the small VFW hall. Twenty to thirty cars were in the parking lot. He headed for the main door, scanning the faces of the few people outside smoking cigarettes. Hank Foster’s last mug shot was ten years old, but he didn’t appear to be one of the smokers huddled next to the building.

  Jack opened the door to a medium sized room with folding chairs set up in neat rows. Less than a quarter of them had someone sitting on them. It was your typical AA meeting. He picked a half-empty row and sat down.

  A man at the front was speaking about how he stayed sober. Jack didn’t pay too much attention to him at first. He was looking at a man seated three rows from the front next to a colu
mn. The man was ten years older, but he was sure he was watching Hank Foster.

  “How many people right now want to drink?” Hands shot up all over the room, and then the man speaking raised his own hand. “I do. The problem is, I won’t stop. I’ll just keep going. I drink because I’m a drunk.”

  The man behind the podium had everyone’s attention now, including Jack’s. “There’s only one way I have stayed sober. How? My higher power? Get real. That self-righteous crap doesn’t keep you sober. I know what power is, and it ain’t me, it's God pure and simple. He keeps me on track one day at a time, moment by moment. But, He expects you to step up, twelve steps exactly. Don’t drink, work the program, and ask for help. That’s how I have stayed sober for fifteen years.”

  Jack shifted in his seat.

  After he finished, there was a small round of applause as an older man rose and moved next to the podium.

  “Ten minute break. Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”

  People stood up and filed for the doors. Jack’s eyes stayed on Foster. He rose and shook a woman’s hand. He watched them talk. After a few minutes, Foster headed for the back door too. Jack moved right behind him.

  Jack walked out the door and onto the big porch filled with smokers.

  “Hank?”

  Hank Foster turned to stare at Jack. He was in his forties, but he looked older. Rough. His long hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was predominantly gray, but black streaks still ran through it. A full beard and mustache partially covered his pockmarked face. The well-worn leather jacket seemed too large for his slim frame.

  “You the cop that called?”

  Jack got the feeling Hank wanted to talk alone and his saying cop as loudly as he did had the desired effect. Everyone else left the porch, leaving the two of them alone.

  “I am.”

  “What did you find out about Tiffany?”

  “You’re aware that she’s dead?”

  “Yeah. Who do you think paid for the funeral? You got anything new on her?” The man took a step forward.

  Jack’s rear foot shifted, and he let his center of gravity drop lower. The veins in Hank’s neck began to stand out, and he clenched his jaw. Jack could see he was trying to control his anger but was losing the struggle.

  This could break bad.

  “No. I was calling about Charlie Harding, but you brought up Tiffany. Do you file a lot of missing person reports?”

  Hank took a drag off his cigarette, and Jack noticed he switched hands when he took it out of his mouth.

  He’s a righty. His cigarette is now in his left hand. He’s getting ready to punch.

  “I filed two.”

  “One of them is dead. I’m concerned for the safety of the other.”

  “Me too; that’s why I filed the missing person’s report.”

  They stood staring at each other for a moment and then Foster relaxed.

  “So you still have nothing. Jeez.”

  “How did you know Tiffany?” Jack asked.

  “Man. I try to do the right thing and I get looked at?” Hank flicked his cigarette off the porch.

  “If you want to do the right thing, just answer a couple of questions.”

  “Fine.”

  “How did you know Tiffany?”

  “I was her sponsor.”

  “I thought AA didn’t allow different sex sponsors?”

  Hank straightened up, and he peered at Jack. “You in the program?”

  “Was. You sponsored a girl?”

  “Not officially. She was the same age as my daughter. I thought I could help.”

  “What happened?” Jack relaxed his guard a little but resisted the urge to lean against the railing.

  “She missed a meeting. I called her, nothing. She missed more. I freaked. I kept going to the police, but they don’t care about whores even if they’re kids. I filed the report, but they came back a couple days later and said she was already dead.”

  “She OD’d injecting meth.”

  “That’s a lie.” Foster jumped up so fast that Jack’s hand instinctively went out in front of him.

  “Easy.” Jack shifted.

  “You don’t give a—” Hank snarled.

  “Hey, I’m the cop who’s here right now looking into this, so how about you just answer my questions? First, why do you think it’s a lie?”

  Hank paused. “She didn’t do meth.”

  “She did drugs.”

  “Not meth.”

  “Could have been the first time?”

  “Not meth.”

  Jack was getting frustrated. “She did drugs and was a prostitute. Why would she not do meth?”

  “She was a person too. She said she’d never do meth because she thought it would make her go instantly crazy. She said she saw someone go nuts and start ripping at their skin. It freaked her out. I know it sounds weird, but she was different. And, she never shot up. She never would. She hated needles.”

  “She hated needles enough to never do meth?” Jack shook his head. “Even if she was desperate?”

  “Even if she was in total withdrawal. I went through that with her. It was bad. Real bad. She didn’t do needles. Do you know people who are so freaked they don’t fly? They wouldn’t get on a plane for any reason? She was like that with needles.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve gone over it in my head. She was trying real hard. She was clean. No drugs and no booze.”

  He’s not telling me everything. He’s holding out.

  “Hank, look, I’m the guy who’s trying to find out what happened.” Jack took a step forward.

  Hank looked up at the night sky. “She was having money issues. I offered her what I could, but it wasn’t much. She couldn’t ask her parents. It might have been she ran down for a quick trick.”

  That would explain why she was at the motel.

  “Okay. What can you tell me about Charlie Harding?”

  “Not much.”

  “Were you his sponsor?”

  “Yeah. Not long. He was a good kid. He had it hard. Him, there wasn’t a drug that he wouldn’t take.”

  “What happened?”

  “He disappeared. I haven’t heard of him since. He was living at the shelter so the stinking pigs . . . sorry . . . police just assumed he moved on.”

  “Why do you think differently?”

  “Because he was happy. He just got a job. Crappy gig doing dishes, but it was work.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know. He just vanished. I filed the report and checked a couple of times but nothing.”

  Jack held out the still picture from the video. “This him?”

  Foster held the picture and stared at it for a while. He didn’t say anything but he nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t know. This picture is from a video taken late last October.”

  “It must have been around when he went missing. It was before Halloween. What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know . . . yet. Do you know if he’d ever been to White Rocks Eastern College?”

  “He went there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I took him there. I do a Scared Straight thing every semester. We go and scare the crap out of rich kids. Tell them how screwed up drugs make your life.”

  “Charlie went with you? When did you go?”

  “When school first started. What’s that, September? The professor uses us to kick off the class. Tell the kids about drugs. I know it’s a dog and pony show, but it’s a chance to warn them.” Hank shrugged.

  “You know the teacher’s name?”

  “Franklin. Dr. Franklin. He teaches out at the college.”

  “Did Tiffany talk in front of the class?”

  “No.”

  “So she never went with you?”

  “No.”

  “Did either Charlie or Tiffany ever say an
ything about going there again?”

  Foster shook his head as he lit another cigarette.

  “Okay then Hank. Thank you for your time.”

  Jack nodded. Hank did the same, but he didn’t extend a hand, so neither did Jack. As Jack walked away, Hank called to him.

  “Hey. I’m telling you straight. I know Tiffany didn’t do meth, no way. I’m telling you, she got girl-jacked.”

  Chapter 32 ~

  Speed Kills

  Jack spent the next few days going back and forth over all his notes and the police reports. He started a new notebook and copied everything over to organize it. He created a timeline starting with Charlie Harding right up to the present day.

  He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Six o’clock. Replacement’s still not back.

  Jack pulled his sweatshirt on and headed out for his walk. He needed to think and build up his strength. His leg was still killing him, though he wouldn’t admit that to the doctor. He was good at masking pain.

  He looked down the stairs with dread. The deep muscles in his thigh still throbbed. The hardest part of going down the steps was trying to bear all his weight on one leg. After he finally made it out the front door, he was glad it wasn’t that cold. He’d walk down to Finnegan’s and then up toward the library and back. His usual two-mile lap.

  I have to get to Aunt Haddie’s tomorrow. I’m not going down that road again.

  He’d been calling her every few days, but she was adamant he visit in person.

  Jack picked up the pace as his thoughts turned to Replacement. She borrowed the car every day to get to her job. She wouldn’t talk about it, so he gave up asking. He was considering picking up a used car for her. Not having his was getting to be a logistical pain.

  Great we need another car and a new place.

  A car horn sounded and Jack turned to see Mrs. Sawyer pull up alongside him and crank down her window. The boat of a car she drove made her appear even smaller in the front seat.

  “I’m so glad to see you up and about, Jack. Did you like my flowers?” Her old eyes twinkled.

  Replacement throwing out the stupid flower cards is still causing me grief.

  “I loved them. Thank you so much.”