When I arrive at Benny’s apartment complex, I’m relieved to see his disgusting-looking car in the lot. In the back of my mind, I’d considered driving to the school where he and Ziggy are enrolled. Silly me. Of course, he decided to cut classes after his late night doing who knows what?
I’d also thought about calling Paco. He’d be willing and eager to scare the crap out of Benny again. Same story with Billy. But, I decide to opt for a woman’s touch. Even though Benny isn’t much younger than me, he’s still a kid. Smoking a butt load of marijuana tends to stunt your emotional growth. If I’m right, Benny is probably working things out with the mental capabilities of a fourteen-year-old boy. I could be wrong, but it’s worth a try.
As I walk his door, I remember the elderly gentleman who is not fond of Benny. I rap on his door. Footsteps approach.
The door opens a crack and a bristly face appears. “Do I know you?”
I give him my dimpled smile. “Hello there, sir. We met a while back when I came to retrieve my sister from your neighbor, Benny. Do you know if he’s home?”
“Yeah,” he growls. “The little shit’s home. Came in late last night. Blasted his damn music ’til three in the morning. Had to call the manager again. They need to throw his ass out of here.”
“Okey dokey, then. Thanks. Have a good day.”
He opens the door wider. “You a friend of his?”
“Not really,” I admit. “I’m trying to track down my sister again and thought maybe she was here.”
“No,” he says. “I saw him come in last night. By himself. The walls here are thin. If he had a girl in his apartment, I’d have heard her. I’m not deaf, ya know.”
“Many thanks,” I say and edge away.
He watches as I move to Benny’s apartment and rap on the door.
“Waste of time,” he growls. “Not an early riser.” With that, he retreats, but keeps the door open.
When Benny doesn’t respond, I hammer the door with my fist and yell, “Open up, Benny. It’s Mel. Don’t be scared, I’m by myself.”
The drapes part narrowly. A heavy-lidded bloodshot eye topped by a lock of greasy green hair peers out at me. The eye darts back and forth, checking for danger. When he sees none, he opens the window a crack. “Where’s the gang banger?”
“I told you, I’m alone. Can I come in?”
He slams the window shut, shuffles to the door and opens it. I’m treated to a full-length view of his scrawny bod, clad only in grubby beige pajama bottoms barely clinging to his bony hips. His bare chest sports a tattoo of a full-sized marijuana plant, the words Mary Jane, and the image of a nubile young woman clad in short shorts and a halter-top. I’m momentarily speechless.
His head swivels left and right, his nostrils flaring, sniffing the air for danger. “You sure you’re alone?”
“Yes, Benny. I’m alone.”
Aware of his lifestyle, I’m betting he has the munchies. “How about you get dressed, my friend, and I’ll take you to breakfast. You look like you could use a good meal.”
His expression brightens and he steps out onto the landing. “Far out, man.”
I take him by the shoulders, turn him around and give him a little push. “I said, go get dressed. Pants. Shirt. Shoes. Got it?”
He shuffles inside. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. No shirt, no shoes, no service.”
Once inside the diner, I make sure were seated well away from the crowd. Benny orders the Big Boy special, the three-egg omelet with diced ham along with biscuits and gravy. My tummy is growling after a night with Billy, so I settle for a veggie omelet with hash browns. I feel super righteous about the vegetables.
We wait for our order, slurping coffee and gazing suspiciously at each other across the table. I let the silence settle, hoping Benny will be uncomfortable. He leans back against the bench seat and closes his eyes, awakening only when our food arrives. We dig in, still not talking. I thought I was good at waiting, but Benny is better. I know when I’m beat.
I say, “Saw you last night. You drove into the parking lot at Nick’s, then turned around and drove away. I thought maybe Ziggy was with you, but she wasn’t.”
He scrapes the last bit of food from his plate and stuffs it in his mouth. I admit I’m surprised when he uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. It makes me wonder if Benny has a caring mother somewhere who taught him table manners.
Finally, he says, “Yeah, about that. I wanted to check and see if she made it home, but I chickened out when I saw her dad come out the back door.”
I don’t want to spook him so I try, very hard, not to sound threatening. “Back from where?”
He shrugs. “Well, you know. From there.”
I want to reach across the table, wrap my hands around his scrawny neck and scream, “There? Where the hell is there?” But, I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to think like a fourteen-year-old. “I guess you’re worried about her too. Her dad is waiting for her to come home. Do you know where she is?”
He blinks rapidly. “You don’t know?”
“No, Benny. I don’t know. That’s why I’m feeding you breakfast and asking you.”
“Aw, man,” he says. “Maybe she’s with Darcy.”
Calling on the last shred of my patience, I say, “Who’s Darcy?”
He gives me his full, frontal sleepy-eyed stare. “She’s a chick from school. I think she and Ziggy are tight.”
“Ziggy told her dad she was staying with a friend. Do you know where Darcy lives?”
“Yeah, I gave her a ride once.”
Maybe Ziggy was telling the truth in her note to Nick. Maybe she’s hanging out with a girlfriend. But, something doesn’t ring true. I need to pry more information from Benny. “Obviously you care about Ziggy. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been checking on her last night. Talk to me.”
His furtive glance darts around the room. Then, he gazes at the tabletop and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I could be wrong, but the last time I saw her, she was hanging with some bad dudes. That’s why I’m worried about her, man. She’s a sweet kid. She doesn’t know what’s she’s getting into.”
“Like what?”
“Aw, shit! I guess you don’t know.”
“So, tell me.”
He peers into my eyes. “I heard they hook girls on drugs and then, you know, make them do bad things.”
I lean across the table and whisper, “Like prostitution.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
“Will you show me where Darcy lives?”
“Sure.”
The good news? He’s not lying. The bad news? Benny’s memory has been heavily influenced by the love affair with his favorite girlfriend, Mary Jane.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Benny directs me to a shabby trailer park at the edge of town. He points out Darcy’s home, a vintage thirty-five foot trailer with a flaking paint job and aluminum foil covering the windows. A series of warped boards are propped against the bottom of the trailer in a feeble attempt at skirting. My empathy for Darcy is growing by the second. No kid should have to grow up in a place like this.
Benny stays in the car while I climb onto the cement blocks serving as steps and rap on the door. I hear a television program playing in the background and the sound of shuffling footsteps.
The door opens, revealing an elderly woman with bright blue eyes. Her head is crowned with fluffy, white hair like a dandelion gone to seed. She’s clad in red polyester pants, a baggy white sweater and slippers. Another thought circles my brain. No old lady should have to live in a place like this.
She looks me over. “What can I do for you? Are you from the school? Did Darcy skip out again?”
I explain that I’m looking for Ziggy and ask about Darcy’s whereabouts.
She frowns and a cloud of suspicion shoots through her soul, dimming the brightness of her gaze. “My granddaughter isn’t here. Haven’t seen her for two days. When I got home from bingo that day, she was gone. Left a note, said she was st
aying with Ziggy.”
“I was hoping I’d find Ziggy here.”
“More than likely, they’ve run off together. Darcy does it on a regular basis.” She heaves a dispirited sigh. “I’m too damn old for this.”
She fetches the note. It’s similar in content to Ziggy’s, obviously written on a computer and signed with her name scrawled at the bottom.
“Maybe you should report her missing.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Why? She’ll turn up in a few days. Probably Ziggy too.”
I give her my contact information and ask her to call if she hears from Darcy.
I join Benny in the car. His chin rests on his bony chest. It’s morning naptime. When I slam the door, he snaps to attention, rubbing his eyes.
“No Darcy?”
“No Darcy or Ziggy,” I say.
“Bummer. Now what?”
“You said Ziggy was hanging around with some bad dudes. Do you know where I can find them?”
He pulls out his cell phone and steps out of the car. “Give me a sec.” He strides away from the car and turns his back.
I can’t make out his words, but there’s a whole lot of gesticulating going on with his free hand.
When he returns to the car, his sleepy eyes sparkle with excitement and he offers a fist to bump. “Damn, this is cool. You and I make an awesome crime-fighting duo. Like Batman and Robin.”
I return the fist bump and bite back a sarcastic response. Batman and Robin, also known as, Nosey Mel and her stoner sidekick, green-haired Benny. I say, “So, I guess we’re on our way to a new location. Right?”
“Wrong. I don’t know the location yet. The guy I talked to has to talk to another guy who might know. It’s how stuff like this works.”
“Enlighten me.”
“These dudes have a bunch of drug houses. If things gets hot in one place, they move to another.”
It’s time to cut to the chase. “Bottom line, Benny. Does your friend know where the girls are?”
His brow furrows in concentration as he tries to formulate an answer. “Maybe.” His cell phone buzzes and, once again in spy mode, he steps out of the car to take the call. He nods and, using his pointer finger, he writes on Buttercup’s dusty hood. He opens the car door. “This isn’t a sure thing, but I got the address of one of the drug houses. Good thing you don’t wash your car and it ain’t raining, cause I don’t got paper and pencil.”
He does his best to guide me. We make frequent stops to check his notes on the hood. Just when I think we’re hopelessly lost and going in circles, he points at a street sign labeled Ponderosa.
“Turn there.”
Buttercup screeches in alarm as I crank her into an abrupt left turn. The asphalt peters out and we’re on a rutted dirt road.
“You sure about this?” I ask Benny.
“Yep. Keep going.
We bump along for at least a mile. The houses are spaced farther and farther apart.
Benny leans forward and points at a one-story cement block rambler set back from the road. It looks like a typical family home with an attached garage and kids’ bicycles parked under the overhanging roof next to the front door. “There.” After his one word declaration, he slithers down in the seat until he’s out of view from oncoming cars or anyone else remotely interested. He whispers, “These guys are dangerous. They might think I’m a narc.”
It’s then I realize half my intrepid crime-fighting duo has an extreme case of the jitters. I pat his knee. “No problem. I’ll handle it now.” I drive past the house. “I have a plan. Since I’m going solo I’ll need a wardrobe change. Take off your shirt.”
“Huh?
Actually my plan isn’t entirely fleshed out, so let’s call it a glimmer of a plan.
A quarter mile down the road, I make a U turn and stop. I strip off my denim jacket and pull the Nick’s Pub T-shirt over my head. I hand it to Benny who is seemingly in a state of suspended animation. Not surprisingly, his gaze is locked on my boobage, which I would describe as not voluptuous, but adequate in size and perkiness. I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Shirt. Now.”
Still staring at my chest, he smiles dreamily and whips off the black T-shirt emblazoned with a death’s head. I dig a tissue out of my purse, wipe off my lipstick and run my fingers through my hair until it’s standing on end. I look over at Benny. “Do I pass?”
“As what?”
“As a teenage girl you might see at a rave, who’s looking for drugs.”
Benny’s eyes widen in appreciation. “You definitely pass. So, you’re playing the drug angle?”
“Got a better idea?”
“No, but you need to be careful.”
I drive slowly to the house, pull into the driveway and park. I reach for the door handle. “You keep watch, okay?”
“Well, duh, of course I will. We need a secret sign, though. In case something goes wrong. Partners always have a secret sign.”
“How about this, Benny, if I turn around and scream, ‘Call 911,’ that will be our sign.”
“Okey dokey. Good luck.”
I pick my way across a sparse lawn dotted with patchy weeds. As I step to the front door, I hear shrieks of laughter and applause from a TV game show playing in the background. Drapes covering the front window part briefly. A face appears. Before I lift my hand to knock, the door flies open. A large, muscular man steps through, closes the door behind him and joins me on the porch.
He grins and laugh lines appear around his startling blue eyes. His gaze roves over my body. “What can I do for you, sweet thing?”
I’m momentarily struck dumb. Not sure what I expected, but this guy is hot. Clad in jeans and a white, strapped T-shirt, commonly known as a wife beater, he’s oozes sex appeal. His well-defined biceps are emphasized with elaborate tattoos. Add to the picture, a casual brush cut, a dark five o’clock shadow, those mesmerizing eyes and what do you get? The perfect honey trap for teenage girls. Judging from my visceral reaction, I should add, and women of all ages. I give myself a stern warning. He’s one of the bad guys, Mel.
I’m still trying to string a few words together when he says, “What’s your name, honey? I’m Pete.”
“I’m, uh, Jamie.”
He points at Buttercup. “Is that your car? Kind of a beater, huh?”
“Yeah, it was my Grandma’s car. I got it when she died.”
He folds his arms and gazes down at me. “What brings you here?”
I shiver a little and use the back of my hand to wipe my nose. “My friend, Ziggy said I might be able to get some stuff from you guys. You know what I’m talking about. Right?”
Something flickers across his ice-cold soul when I mention Ziggy. Is he one of her captors? Is she inside the house? I’m so tempted to scream out her name, but that would be incredibly stupid.
“So, you’re a friend of Ziggy’s?”
“Yeah, is she here?”
As the words come out of my mouth, his gaze flicks away from mine. I’m not able to see in his soul, but his body language indicates he’s uncomfortable with the question.
“No, why would she be here?”
When I don’t answer, he looks me over again. “Such a pretty little girl. Sounds like you need something to make you feel as pretty as you look.”
A blush warms my cheeks. “I guess so.”
“Got any money?”
“Ten bucks.”
“Can’t get much for ten bucks, honey. Hmm, let me think.” He steps closer to me and traces a finger down my cheek.
I have to stiffen my resolve to keep from backing away.
Once again, he flashes his engaging smile. “Lucky for you, I do take other forms of payment. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Quick as a cat, his right hand grips the back of my neck and he pulls me up against his rock-hard body. His left hand fondles my butt. My face is smushed against his neck. I’m longing to use every ounce of strength in my body to smash a knee into his manly parts. In
fact, I’m trembling with the desire to do so. Fortunately, he mistakes my attempt at self-control as awe and fear.
He releases me. “So, do we have a deal?”
“You mean, right now?”
He chuckles. “I’m kinda busy right now, babe. Hit me up a little later in the week and we’ll talk business.”
I feign disappointment. “You’re not going to help me out?”
“Here’s your lesson of the day, babe. The payment always comes first. Then, you get the goods. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Head hanging, I slouch back to the car, feeling like I need a shower to wash away his touch. On the way back to 3 Peaks, I fill Benny in.
He’s aghast. “OMG, he was totally groping you? Do you think Ziggy and Darcy are in the house?”
“Yes, I believe they are.”
I know I’m in over my head. Time to call in the troops.
Chapter Forty
Billy, Nick and I are huddled in Nick’s office, trying to decide the best course of action. Nick chomps at the bit, ready to break a window or beat down the door. I can tell by Billy’s expression, he’d love to do the same. But, his situation is different. He’s not a private citizen. As a member of the 3 Peaks police department, he has to do everything by the book. To act otherwise would put his job in jeopardy.
“Can’t you or another officer knock on the door and ask about Ziggy?” I say.
“Sure, we could do that, but without a search warrant, we can’t go in.”
“What about probable cause?”
“Based on what? Did you ask if Ziggy was inside?’
“I did, but he looked away when I asked him. I couldn’t see into his soul, but I’m pretty sure he was lying.”
Billy’s expression is grim. “The girls haven’t been reported missing and it sounds like Ziggy’s friend Darcy is a chronic runaway. Not to mention, most of the information is from a kid whose life is dedicated to smoking weed. I doubt there’s a judge in 3 Peaks who would issue a search warrant.”
Hope and Honor Page 20
