Ungoverned

by Shawn Raiford

  There was a small, white desk to the left of the bed, with a small chair under it, and a small mirror on the wall above it.

  Many notebooks, with pretty writing on the covers, little hearts above the i’s, lay on top of the desk. Lukas pulled out the chair, grabbed one of the notebooks, and flipped through it. It looked to be some kind of workbook for math homework.

  He read a couple of notes in the margins. “Bobby, likes you Heather! He told me this morning!”

  Lukas went through a couple more notebooks, a workbook on English grammar and spelling. He put them down and looked at the mirror. Some pictures were stuck in between the frame and mirror, and some had been taped directly on the mirror.

  He gazed at smiling faces and his eyes widened when he saw one in particular. He stood, reached out, and grabbed the picture off the mirror. He brought it closer to his face. The picture had two faces. A young girl, and a woman. She looked a little different in the photo, but the woman was Rose. Over the years, her appearance had changed so many times, but Lukas knew Rose when he saw her.

  Was she fucking this guy on the side? She couldn’t have been the girl’s mother, never took enough time off to have a kid. Maybe she was playing step mommy?

  He put the picture back thinking he needed to keep searching the house. He poked around some more, looking in the closet and drawers, finding nothing else in the girl’s bedroom.

  The next bedroom belonged to a young boy.

  He smiled at the sight of boy things throughout the room. The twin bed looked like a race car. There were toys strewn about the floor, action figures, toy cars, and Lego. Everything a young boy needed to spend his afternoons.

  He sat on the bed, noting the mattress’ softness. He then laid out, his feet hanging over the end. The pillow was not as soft as he liked. He put his hands behind his head and felt something hard, poking from under the pillow. He reached under the pillow, grabbed the object, and pulled it out. He stared at a small book.

  He noted a picture was taped to the cover. It was of the boy and Rose. Lukas opened the book. It contained a few pages with doodles and photos of the boy, his mother, and his father. He turned the page with two pictures on both facing pages. On the top it read, “Hascal and Aunt Chloe, Two Cutie Pies!”

  His jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe it. This woman was Rose, here they called her, Aunt Chloe.

  His phone vibrated, and he fished it out of his pocket and answered. “Tell me you have Rose, Eddy!”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Rainwater On An Elephant’s Hide

  Exhaling, my breath fogged the window. “I’m going to talk to them guys.” Not taking my eyes off the house, I opened the driver’s side door.

  Mitch sighed. “No, Chloe!”

  “He doesn’t have to let us in. We enter when we have an arrest warrant, these people don’t scare easy,” Henry said.

  I winced. “What do you mean by, ‘these people’?”

  Mitch looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Rich people shut up quick and aren’t intimidated by cops at all. He’ll have a lawyer here so fast it will make your skirt spin. We need something solid.”

  “I’m not a cop, I don’t need to follow any of your rules. I’m not trying to make a case to present in front of others.” My leg hung out the door.

  Mitch looked over at Henry.

  He paused as if thinking about it. Henry shrugged. “Let’s go kick some ass!” he said, pointing his chin towards BM’s house.

  “You go knock on the door but then what? What would you do? How are you going to get inside?” Mitch asked.

  I looked back at the house. “I can force my way inside, it’s what I do.”

  Mitch sighed. “Chloe, look, I can’t, in good conscience, be a part of that.”

  “That little girl could be getting raped as we speak, Mitch! She has to be more important than any case that will help your career.”

  My words rolled off Mitch like rainwater on an elephant’s hide.

  Mitch shrugged, then exhaled audibly through his nose. “Or it could just be a man with his daughter, paying a visit to a friend.”

  “I’m going in!” I opened the door and exited.

  Opening his door, he shouted, “Damn it!”

  I walked fast across the street, then two car doors closed.

  Not bothering to turn around, I said, “I’m going to check on her! You two better not try to stop me!”

  They didn’t answer.

  I walked through BM’s yard and kept heading towards the door.

  “Chloe, wait!” Mitch said.

  I turned. “What?”

  He pointed to himself and Henry. Then he pointed at spots on each side of the front door, signaling to me that’s where they would be.

  Winking, I gave him an ‘OK’ sign with my hand.

  I pushed the doorbell, and there was a chime inside the house.

  A few moments later, the door opened. A well-dressed, white man in his fifties, stood at the door. “Yes?”

  Mitch’s eyebrows shot upward, and he pointed at the man. “You’re Bradley Miller!”

  The girl stood next to the Hispanic man, a small deer caught in the headlights.

  The Hispanic man frowned, not liking my presence. Too bad.

  Bradley Miller shifted his weight to the other leg. “Yes, how can I help you?”

  Bradley Miller was ‘Bowel Movement’. He would definitely pay for what he’d done, but first I needed to check on the girl.

  I pushed past him while he made a face, and raised his arms as if being held up at gunpoint. “Uh, excuse me!”

  I stopped, and determined that the girl appeared to be fine physically. I turned to face the door.

  My brother and Mitch were inside the house now, and Henry shut the door.

  “Mr. Miller?” Mitch asked, pursing his lips.

  Pointing at him with his thumb, he asked, “You know this guy?”

  “Yeah, he’s a City Councilman.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed.

  In a professional voice, Mitch said, “Sir, we are Homicide Investigators on a case.”

  The man who brought the girl appeared to be in his mid-forties, thin, but I believed he knew how to take care of himself in a fight.

  I moved towards her, and found only fear in her eyes.

  Bradley frowned. “Excuse me, what are you doing?”

  Kneeling, I ignored his question.

  Mitch had his badge out. “Sir, Mr. Miller, we are Homicide Investigators with HPD, we are here investigating the murder of a little girl, Samantha Ramirez.”

  “Hey, are you okay?” I asked her in Spanish.

  “Yes, my daughter is okay,” he said in Spanish, clutching her shoulder.

  The girl grimaced, squirming to get free from him. “No es mi papa!” She then reached in her belt. Pulling out some keys, she scratched his hand.

  Wincing, he released the girl’s shoulder, and pulled back his hand. “Ouch!

  The girl ran to me and I put my arm around her.

  The Hispanic man looked at his hand, a red line ran across the top.

  Smiling, my heart swelled a little at the fight inside this little girl. Glancing at him, the man Mitch called Bradley Miller. I wanted to ask him something, but instead I spotted something strange. Henry’s face turned white as a sheet. I turned my head and spotted the monster.

  He looked so old, now. After all these years, the scar on his face was beautiful. The last time I saw his face, the scar was a bloody gash.

  Henry’s eyes bulged. “UNCLE!”

  My eye twitched.

  Henry’s face contorted, reaching for his pistol, pulling it out.

  Uncle reacted fast, moving for the hallway to the right.

  Henry aimed wildly, and fired.

  Uncle disappeared behind a wall, escaping the barrage of bullets.

  The Hispanic man pulled out a hand cannon. Looked like a damn Desert Eagle. He escaped too behind Uncle, without firing.

  Henry starte
d to chase Uncle, but I felt compelled stay with the girl.

  Rage controlled him, I could see it in his eyes. Then a mini movie flashed in my mind. An exchange of gunfire. Henry shot dead. My heart skipped a beat. “NO! Please stop, Henry!” Then I reached out to him and grabbed his arm.

  Henry stopped, and stared at me. “That was him, damn it!”

  I put my arm around the girl. “Yes, I know, but you aren’t thinking straight. The rage is controlling you! Did you see the size of that guy’s gun? You want to get into a gunfight with a little girl here?”

  Henry’s eyes emitted contempt for me.

  I continued. “Besides, Uncle was unarmed.”

  Henry growled. “Even better!”

  My eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? You ready to murder him in front of witnesses?”

  He sighed, scratching his head.

  Mitch stepped forward. “Partner, she’s right. That little girl’s more important at the moment. We saved her from him.” He pointed at BM.

  Henry didn’t look at the man.

  Mitch put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll catch him another time.”

  Henry took a moment and nodded in agreement.

  “What the hell? You cops come in here and start shooting at my guests? I’ll have all of your badges!” Bradley said, waving his hands.

  Henry walked over to Bradley and poked him with a heavy finger. “The older guy with the scar was your guest, right?”

  “Yes, but none of you are guests! Get the hell out of my house!”

  Pointing at the girl, Mitch asked, “Why’s this girl here Bradley?”

  “You should address me as Mr. Miller,” Bradley said indignantly, smugness dripping from his words.

  Mitch moved in close, his face stopped a couple of inches from Bradley’s. “Why’s she here?”

  Bradley didn’t answer.

  “This little girl told me the man who brought her here, isn’t her father.”

  Henry’s holstered his weapon, then crept closer to Bradley, his fingers disappearing into fists. Henry punched him, hard.

  Bradley fell like a grandma with a bad hip.

  Mitch didn’t move, only watched.

  I did too.

  The girl stepped behind me, grasping at my jacket.

  Henry straddled Bradley, grabbing a fist full of shirt. He pulled Bradley uncomfortably close. “I should kill you where you stand for having that man in your house.”

  Bradley’s eyes pleaded with me, then Mitch.

  Covering the girl’s eyes, I wasn’t sure if my brother was going to kill this man. If he did, I didn’t plan to stop him.

  Henry rammed his head into the tile floor, bringing his face close to BM’s. “We know you raped and killed Samantha Ramirez and this little girl,” he pointed at the girl, “is her replacement!”

  Chapter Fifty

  Patted The Pistol

  He had to admit it was a bit exciting.

  That man really shot at him. He and Javier barely escaped. Norman was happy Javier had the pistol.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Javier said. After climbing the back fence of Bradley’s, Javier called one of his men, Umberto, who was waiting a block over. Javier had come prepared. Now, they sat in the backseat in a car, driving down the road.

  Norman chided himself for not being as equally as prepared. It wouldn’t happen again. He couldn’t believe that those lowlife cops found him. He recognized them when one of them mentioned their names to Bradley.

  These cops should have been dead meat on a slab in a morgue by now. The younger cop knew me! How? Norman could count on one hand the number of people who knew he was back in Texas.

  It had to be Art. Carter was as loyal as puppy. But Art never knew about his old moniker, Uncle. Carter didn’t either. How could that cop know that? Was he on some international crime BOLO list? That woman was a mystery too.

  “Who the fuck were those guys?” Javier asked.

  “Cops.”

  “Really?”

  Norman nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  He hated explaining things, but felt as if he owed Javier. “One of them said they were Homicide as they entered Bradley’s house.”

  “I didn’t hear that. What are we going to do?”

  Norman was always cautious to the extent of being paranoid. It was why he had never spent one night in any jail. His instincts told him to run.

  But he wanted to fight. This was his home and he wanted to stay. “I’ll take care of this, don’t worry.”

  Javier gave Norman an ugly look, but didn’t say anything.

  “He didn’t hit you?” Norman asked, looking at Javier’s legs and torso, but only saw a cut on the back of his hand.

  “No way, I am a fast runner, I’m Mexican!” Then he laughed at his own joke.

  He pointed at the cut on Javier’s hand.

  Javier looked at it and grimaced. “Yeah, that little bitch cut me,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have shot her in the head.”

  Norman thought about it and he agreed that Javier should have killed the girl. The cops had her now, and that could prove to be disastrous. He hoped she didn’t know his name nor of any others who worked with Javier. He wanted to ask him, but decided against it. There were bigger problems at the moment. Besides, the girl, even if she did know a name or two, she wouldn’t be able to tell them geographical locations.

  “You okay, Blanco?”

  He nodded, not verbalizing his disgust at the situation. He needed to take care of the things he could at the moment.

  Norman put his hands on the console in front of him. “Did you shoot anyone in there?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think so. That cop just started shooting, so I shot back!”

  “Who was that woman?”

  Javier shrugged again. “I never saw her before.”

  He dug into his front pocket and came back with a cell phone, punching buttons on the phone’s keypad.

  “Who you calling Blanco?” Javier asked, raising his left hand, pointing his pistol at Norman.

  It was hard to trust people in this business. He raised his index finger, as in hold on for a second. He held it up and showed Javier the face of the phone, as he slowly pushed the Speaker button.

  Javier nodded, but kept aiming.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice.

  “It’s Norman.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Lukas, we have a huge problem”

  Lukas breathed heavily into the phone’s receiver. “What do you mean?”

  “The two cops I paid you to kill, just showed up at my client’s home.”

  Javier smiled and stopped pointing the pistol at him.

  “Those cops shot at me, and I bet they are arresting my client right as we speak!”

  He looked down at his phone.

  Norman raised the phone to his mouth. “Lukas, you better fix this or I’ll hire every goddamn hitter this side of the Mississippi and send them after you!”

  “No need for threats, Norman, calm down,” Lukas said.

  “Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, one of those cops tried to kill me in there!” His blood pressure was rising, feeling as if his eyeballs might pop out.

  “Tell me, what happened?”

  “We were at the client’s house, new merchandise arrived, then the two cops and a woman barged in and started shooting. Me and a friend barely escaped with our lives.”

  Lukas asked, “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Just a few minutes ago!”

  “In a house?”

  “Yes! You need to send your guys to the house and solve this problem!”

  “You don’t think they will arrest your client?”

  “Lukas, they entered the house without being invited in and one of them fired a fucking gun at me without provocation! I doubt, very seriously, they were there to arrest anybody!”

  “Do you have any idea how they found you?”

  “I think a ma
n who used to work for me gave them the address. No one else had the address.”

  “Alright, give me the address.”

  Norman gave Lukas Bradley’s address.

  “Okay, my guys will be there shortly.”

  “Lukas, I consider this to be your fuck up, you better kill those cops!”

  “No problem, it will be done,” Lukas said.

  “Nobody from your crew better lay a finger on my client. He hasn’t paid me yet.” He thumbed the red End button. Norman looked over at Javier and forced a smile.

  He nodded at Norman.

  “Javier, you just have to know how to talk to these assholes, you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand what you mean. I deal with lowlifes every day, that is why I carry this,” he patted the pistol, “with me everywhere I go. You never know, Blanco.”

  “I just hope he takes care of this fast.”

  Javier asked, “So, where you want to go?”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  On The Coffee Table

  Teresa took a sip of diet Sprite as she watched a TV show on Telemundo.

  A loud knock at the door scared her. She stood, a worm of worry turning in her stomach. She walked over to the door, and opened it.

  A man she recognized stood at her door. Teresa never liked blond hair.

  “Oh, hi, please come in.” She stood aside and waved him in.

  He smiled as he slithered by her.

  “Well, Mr. White told me he was sending someone, but I didn’t expect him to send you.”

  He examined the apartment. “Why not me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you have better things to do.”

  He didn’t have a bag or envelope in his hands.

  Maybe he had the money in a pocket inside his jacket?

  It made more sense.

  “So?”

  “So, what, Teresa?” he said with the pizazz of an iguana on acid.

  “Mr. White said he was giving me money so I could get out of town.”

  He grimaced, his hands patted his pockets, looking at her, shrugging.

  “What?”

  “Teresa, I don’t have any money,” Carter said, plunking a pistol down on the coffee table.