Shattered Lives

by Joseph Lewis

  It was then he noticed the strangely dressed old man with the long gray hair tied back in a braid smiling at him. He didn’t know the old man and had never seen him before, and he didn’t know why, but somehow, Tim felt reassured and not very scared at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Chicago, Illinois

  Jeff and the boys pulled into the parking garage across from the hospital and parked on the third level. George couldn’t put his finger on anything in particular, but he had an uneasy feeling. He almost grabbed his knife and scabbard, but decided at the last minute not to.

  They walked down the cement and metal stairs with Randy and Danny in the lead, followed by George and Billy, with Jeff limping behind. They came to the ground level of the garage and noticed Jeremy’s red Ford Expedition parked in a reserved slip with an FBI tag on the rearview mirror, next to two other vehicles similarly marked. George slowed down and ran his hand along the back of a tan Taurus.

  Shadow, be careful, but you need to hurry. The blond boy is in danger.

  It was crystal clear, and he had no doubt about whose voice it was, having heard it every day his life. Stunned, he hesitated and fell in step with Jeff.

  “You okay?” Jeff asked quietly.

  He nodded and walked quickly to catch up to Billy. They stopped four abreast at the corner and allowed two cars, a FedEx truck and bus to pass and then jogged across to the glass front door under an ornate brick walkway with George leading the way. There were four glass doors with the one on the far right being handicapped accessible. George led the boys and Jeff through the doorway and stood in the lobby, holding his arms out like a crossing guard.

  “What’s up?” Billy asked.

  George didn’t answer, but scanned the lobby.

  A visitor’s booth was directly in front of them with an elderly woman behind it. Behind the booth was a bank of elevators and what looked like a gift shop. To the left and right were hallways, but from their angle, George couldn’t see down them. To their immediate left and right were chairs, but only a woman and two small children sat in them. The woman spoke into her cell phone. The little girl read a book, while the little boy colored. The rest of the chairs were empty.

  Then George spotted them- a man with his right hand in his suit coat pocket, holding onto the right arm of a blond boy about the same age as he was.

  And his grandfather.

  His grandfather nodded at George, who remained still, staring at the trio as they walked towards them.

  “I think that’s Tim,” Randy said, starting forward with his hand up in a wave.

  George held Randy’s arm and said, “Randy, go get Agent Pete. Billy, go get your father. Danny, go find the police or security.”

  “Huh?” Billy asked.

  Not taking his eyes off the man and the boy, George said, “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, but-“ Randy said.

  “George?” Jeff said.

  “Randy, Agent Pete is on the second floor. Billy, your father is on the third floor in the room full of sun. Do as I say. Now.” George said urgently.

  He didn’t know how he knew, just that he did.

  “The stairs are there,” Randy said, and the twins took off on a run. As they neared the stairs, Randy said, “George means the sun room at the end of the hall on three.”

  Danny watched them leave and then jogged towards the visitor’s booth.

  “George, what’s happening?” Jeff asked, stepping up next to him.

  Shadow, don’t let the man leave with the boy.

  Ignoring Jeff, George walked directly at the man. As he did so, the boy glanced at George’s grandfather. The man jerked the blond boy forward, but then stopped twenty yards from the front door. He looked both left and right, but didn’t move. The blond boy looked up at him, then at George’s grandfather and nodded slightly.

  Grandfather, are you talking to Tim?

  Shadow, you need to be very careful. You cannot trust this man . . . this biligaana.

  Jeff stepped forward next to George, but George held his left arm out holding him back.

  Quietly through clenched teeth, the man said, “You’re the Indian boy.”

  George stared defiantly at the man and said, “There are cameras, and they see you very clearly.”

  The man glanced up at the ceiling and saw that George was right.

  “Get out of my way you little fucker or you’re dead.”

  George didn’t move, but as Jeff tried to step in between the man and George, George held his arm out preventing Jeff from doing so.

  “You are not leaving the hospital with him. Any minute, Agent Pete will be here. The police or security will be here even quicker. Leave now while you can.”

  The man looked to his left, then to his right, and licked his lips.

  “What’s going on here?” It was a short, slightly overweight security man who had emerged from the hallway on the left.

  Danny followed slightly behind, but stopped well away from them. The security man kept coming, his hand on his .45 still in his holster.

  “Nothing, officer,” the man said pleasantly. “I’m FBI, and we seem to have a little misunderstanding that’s all.”

  “Just walk away,” George said quietly.

  “I need to see some identification,” the security man said.

  The man finally let go of Tim, and Tim moved off behind and to the side, and it looked to George that his grandfather took hold of Tim’s arm and led him away.

  Shadow, let him leave before he shoots someone.

  George stepped aside giving the man a path to the front door, and the man started forward.

  “Hold it!” The security man said. “I want to see some identification.”

  The gun in the man’s suit pocket barked loudly, echoing off the steel and glass of the lobby. As the security man fell to his knees, the man pulled his gun from what was left of his suit pocket, pointed it at the security man and shot him again in the chest.

  The mother with the two children screamed, as did the elderly woman in the visitor’s booth. Several people emerged from the hallway to see what had happened and then just as quickly disappeared back to where they had come from.

  George pushed Jeff to the floor, kneeling over him and shielding him as best he could.

  Danny knelt down next to the visitor’s booth and shouted, “Dad!”

  The man pointed the gun at George, thought better of it, and raced out the door.

  Shadow, watch where he goes, but be careful.

  George placed on a hand gently on Jeff and said, “Watch over Danny and Tim.”

  He took a look at Tim lying on the floor and then at his grandfather who smiled and nodded at him. He scrambled to the security man, and feeling for a pulse, found one, but it was faint.

  “Call 9-1-1,” he yelled to the elderly woman in the visitor’s booth. “And get a doctor here right away!”

  George grabbed the security man’s .45 out of his holster, flicked off the safety and chambered in a load. Then grabbing it in both hands and pointing it at the ceiling, he ran to the front door, squatted down to the side and peered out.

  “George come back!” Jeff yelled after him.

  A shot rang out shattering glass, but the bullet sailed harmlessly into a wall across the lobby.

  “George, come back here!” Jeff yelled again.

  Ignoring him, George stepped through the door keeping low and ran behind one of the stone pillars of the walkway.

  There were no other shots.

  He ran from one pillar to another, until he was at the last one across from the parking garage entrance. He heard a car start up, its tires squealing.

  Shadow, be careful.

  George watched as the tan Taurus with the FBI tag barreled through the garage and broke through the wooden gated entrance.

  Never having fired a handgun, and more out of instinct than firsthand knowledge, George aimed at the front passenger tire and sent a bullet into it. The Taurus was travel
ing too fast to negotiate the turn, and when the tire blew, the man lost control of the car and it slammed into a parked car ten yards from where George knelt. The horn went off, and the airbag deployed. Two oncoming cars stopped and the would-be good Samaritans started to climb out to see if they could help the driver.

  Knowing for certain that neither driver should get near the Taurus, George shouted, “Get back! FBI!”

  The men got back into their cars, and one of them locked the door. He stepped around the stone pillar holding the .45 with both hands, pointing it at the man in the crumpled Taurus just as two Chicago PD patrol cars screeched to a halt.

  “Drop your weapon!” one officer shouted. “Do it now!”

  George lifted one hand high in the air, and moving ever so slowly, laid the .45 on the pavement and then held his other hand high above his head.

  “Get on the ground, Scumbag! Hands behind your head! Lace your fingers!”

  George did as he was told as he watched one officer approach him cautiously. The gun the cop held looked to George as big as a canon, and for the first time, he was scared, though he refused to show it.

  One officer approached the Taurus and yelled, “This guy’s FBI. He’s alive!”

  “You piece of shit,” the officer said, kicking George hard in the stomach.

  All the air burst out of George’s lungs, and he nearly passed out from the pain and lack of breath. One arm was yanked up high, nearly out of its socket and a handcuff was slapped on. His other arm was similarly yanked and cuffed and then he was kicked again, this time in the ribs.

  “Get away from that boy now!”

  The officer whirled around and pointed a gun at the voice.

  “FBI! You kick that young man one more time, and I’ll kick the shit out of you!”

  Fading in and out, George recognized the voice.

  A gunshot rang out, and the officer near the Taurus fell to the ground. Another shot rang out from inside the Taurus, and blood and brain matter sprayed over what was left of the windows and interior.

  The man was dead.

  George whispered to Pete, “Tell Skip not to let them contaminate the crime scene.”

  And then he passed out.

  Later when Skip debriefed the scene, he couldn’t actually remember what Pete had said for sure, or what, if anything, the cop had said. He remembered Pete throwing a roundhouse at the cop’s nose and was certain he had heard bone and cartilage snap. He was certain the cop hit the ground and didn’t get up right away, and that the cop’s face had dissolved in a mass of blood and snot.

  Skip had stayed with George until a nurse, orderly and doctor showed up with a gurney, then he worked the crime scene, though there wasn’t much to figure out.

  The cop near the Taurus took one in his vest, and he’d be sore as hell, but he’d live. Other than that, nothing else to deal with except to fill out reports and sit through a phone call to Dandridge and Storm with he and Pete and Jeremy on the other.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  His grandfather looked like he always did: plaid button-down long-sleeved shirt, leather vest, and faded blue jeans with well-worn leather cowboy boots. His long gray hair was braided back and held in place with a leather tie. His face looked like old, brown wrinkled leather, aged by the desert winds and the Arizona sun. His brown, wrinkled hands were clasped behind his back, and every now and then, he turned his face to look at the sun, which was bright and shiny. George couldn’t look at it because it was too bright. Almost painful. George was a shade taller than his grandfather. The joke between them was that either George was growing or his grandfather was shrinking. That brought a smile to George’s face.

  ‘You saved the blond boy, Shadow.’

  ‘I saw you talking to him.’

  His grandfather nodded and said, ‘He was scared, ready to give up.’

  ‘Give up?’

  He nodded again, looked up at the sun and said, ‘The blond boy has been through a lot, and he thought his time was up. It isn’t.’

  ‘You know when someone is going to die?’

  His grandfather looked at George, smiled, shook his head and said, ‘A feeling.’

  George didn’t say anything but continued to walk next to his grandfather. He didn’t know where they were or where they were going. The only thing that mattered was that he was with his grandfather.

  ‘Grandfather?’

  ‘I can’t tell you what to do, Shadow. It is your choice,’ he said reading George’s thoughts.

  George remained silent.

  ‘Your brothers have the heart of a lion.’

  Puzzled, George glanced at his grandfather, then back at the ground. It was a dirt road that seemed vaguely familiar to him.

  ‘One quiet, one not. Both love fiercely. Both loyal. Deep as the Canyon. They share the same heart, the same mind.’ His grandfather paused and then said, ‘They have come to care about you.’

  ‘My brothers?’

  Ignoring the question, his grandfather said, ‘Your father could be Dine’, our people. Your brothers would be fierce warriors, especially the one.’

  ‘You called him my father.’

  His grandfather smiled at him but continued walking.

  ‘I should live with them?’ George asked.

  ‘It is your choice. It has always been your choice.’

  ‘But you called him my father. You called them my brothers.’

  His grandfather stopped walking, looked up and sun, smiled and said, ‘It is a choice.’

  A storm of emotions rose in George. Longing. Love. Fear. Confusion. He didn’t know which was the greater feeling, but he felt them all.

  ‘Trust your heart, Shadow. Always trust your heart.’ His grandfather smiled at him and nodded.

  ‘Will I see you again?’

  His grandfather placed a hand on George’s shoulder and smiled warmly at him.

  ‘When there is a need.’

  ‘Grandfather, please don’t leave,’ George said sadly.

  ‘Trust your heart, Shadow. There you will find me. There you will find answers.’

  His grandfather walked away, hands clasped behind his back, face turned up at the sun. As he grew smaller in the distance, George heard him say, ‘Yes, I think your father and brothers are Dine’.’

  Then he turned and smiled, and faded away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Chicago, Illinois

  “Cochrane was FBI! He was right here . . . with our kids, and you didn’t know he was part of the group that took our boys!” Ted Bailey yelled.

  Pete expected harsh and accusatory words. What made it worse was that he didn’t have answers. Stephen was embarrassed by his father. Mike was embarrassed for Stephen. Tim and Brett listened without emotion or judgment. Jeremy sat quietly, not much help when the discussion centered on the investigation.

  It had been a busy morning and afternoon. Manville had been killed by Cochrane, who had injected him with Dilaudid. Patrolman Juan Ortiz was found in a dumpster by maintenance personnel. His neck had been broken. Both Douglas Rawson and Victor Bosch were killed in Cook County Jail. Exactly who did the deeds wasn’t yet known, but Cochrane was responsible. Tim was almost kidnapped, and who knows what would have happened if Cochrane had left the hospital with him. A security guard was shot and killed in the hospital lobby, and George was almost shot and killed along with him.

  What bothered and upset Kelliher the most was that under his watch, three FBI agents were involved in the human trafficking of boys, and all three were dead. Dead, along with any leads they had. Hell, they didn’t even have a direction in which to investigate.

  He had called his old partner, Storm, and explained everything that had happened, and after that phone call, made a second one to Dandridge. He made the same offer to both: turn in his resignation effectively immediately.

  And both rejected it.

  “How can we trust you?” Ted Bailey asked, standing up.

  Fair question, Pete thought. Under the ci
rcumstances and in their place, he wouldn’t be very trusting either and would probably ask the same question.

  “I trust him,” Brett said, turning around and staring at the man. He was angry, so he stood up to face him defiantly, daring him, challenging him. “I saw him take on those perverts in that building. He almost got himself shot. He saved us.” He stopped and glared at him.

  “I do too,” Tim said, turning around also.

  Stephen and Mike turned to stare at him in silent support.

  “Guys, let’s quiet down,” Pete said, clearing his throat.

  Tim, Stephen and Mike turned back around. Brett glared at Stephen’s father, then turned around and sat back down.

  And not for the first time did Jeremy consider that these thirteen and fourteen year old boys were in some respects, older and more mature than the high school kids he worked with. He knew they’d be changed, different after all that had happened to them. He knew that they would be numb and indifferent to much of what kids their age were excited by or interested in. He knew they were certainly more serious than they ought to be, but given the circumstances, that was understandable. He only hoped that they’d regain some of the lost childhood that was stolen from them.

  “Here is what I can tell you,” Pete said, trying to get the conference room back in order. “Our computer guy, Chet Walker, has done some preliminary diagnostics on Cochrane’s phone. We know he sent an email to several individuals, and we’re working on who those individuals are.”

  “About as quickly as you discovered who Cochrane really was I suppose,” Ted Bailey snarled as he sat back down.

  “How safe are our boys?” Laura Pruitt.

  “Cochrane almost kidnapped your boy!” Bailey said.

  “Dad, shut up!” Stephen said.

  There was silence. All heads turned first towards Stephen and then to his father, who got up out of his chair again.

  “What did you say?” Bailey asked through clenched teeth quietly.

  “He said, Shut up and sit your ass down!’” Sarah Bailey, his wife, said. “In fact, leave.” She glared at him and then said, “Stephen and I will ride back with Mark and Jennifer.”