Hope and Honor

by Marilee Brothers

Nick pushes away from his desk. “Screw it! I’m going out there.”

  Billy warns, “Don’t go alone. There are probably guns in the house. Call Paco. He knows how to deal with bad guys. I’ll follow you out there and we’ll be in touch by cell phone. If you need help, I’ll call for reinforcements.”

  I whip out my phone and punch in Paco’s number.

  He listens carefully. “So these are the dudes who kidnap girls, hook them on drugs and force them to turn tricks to support their habit?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Billy says I can beat the shit out of them?” His tone is gleeful at the prospect.

  “No, Unc, I didn’t say that. Sometimes your mere presence is extremely persuasive. You’re coming along as a bodyguard for yours truly and Nick. Okay?”

  To say Paco is enthusiastic is an understatement. The prospect of meting out justice to bad guys who kidnap teenage girls brings joy to his heart. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Right now, I’m grocery shopping with Aida at some friggin’ organic food store.”

  Uncle Paco? Grocery shopping? For organic food? I try, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

  “I heard that,” he mutters. He lowers his voice, “The bigger her tummy gets, the happier she is. I don’t want to mess it up, so cut me some slack.’’

  An hour later, he shows up on his Harley.

  Before we take off, Billy pulls me to one side, his hands cupping my face, his forehead touching mine. “I want you to be careful. We’re dealing with nasty guys here. From what you said, this Pete dude probably can’t wait to get his hands on you.”

  Although I didn’t mention the groping incident, Billy zeroed right in on the risk.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  He tips my head back until I meet his gaze. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Paco and I pile into Nick’s truck. The intrepid crime-fighting team has expanded to a trio. Paco, Nick and me. Four, if you count Billy who will be parked nearby, ready to help if need be.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re standing on the front porch of the drug house. I press the doorbell. Paco doubles up a fist and pounds on the door. Utter silence. The house has an empty feel to it. I try the doorbell again. Nothing. Nick twists the doorknob. Locked.

  We step off the porch and scan the front of the house. The drapes are tightly closed. Definitely a no peek zone. Nick heads for the back of the house. Paco and I follow, checking out the dusty basement windows concealed with pull-down blinds.

  The backyard has an ancient picnic table and a rusty swing set. Leaving no stone unturned, we rap on the back door and try twisting the knob. The place is sealed up like Fort Knox.

  “Screw this,” Paco says and pulls a slim device from his pocket.

  Despite his ham-sized hands, he has a delicate touch with a lock pick. In less than a minute, the back door is open.

  I’m on the phone to Billy. “We’re going in.”

  He says, “Paco?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Leave your phone on. Check for an alarm. If you see one, get the hell out.”

  We close the door behind us. No alarm. It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust to the gloom. The air inside is cold and musty and reeks of spoiled milk, greasy food and garbage. I swallow hard to keep from gagging.

  Paco pulls a small but powerful LED penlight from his pocket. He flashes it around the greasy kitchen and the adjoining living room, illuminating a ratty couch, two hardback chairs and a small TV on a stand.

  “We need to check the basement,” Nick says, charging ahead of us.

  The door leading to the basement is tightly locked. Paco picks it open and fumbles for the light switch on the wall. He flips it up and down a few times and mutters, “Power’s off.”

  He aims the light downward, illuminating a rickety, wooden staircase. It creaks ominously under his weight.

  “Be careful, little girl,” he warns and grips my hand as we descend the steep stairs with no handrail. I reach back and take Nick’s hand.

  My feeling of dread grows as the light flashes around the small, dingy basement, completely devoid of human life. The air is permeated with the stench of raw sewage. Two cots with rumpled sleeping bags are pushed against one wall.

  Paco shines his light on a plastic bucket covered with a board. “Makeshift toilet.”

  Nick sputters, “God damn it! The girls were here. I know it. Where the hell are they?”

  I get on the phone and tell Billy what’s going on.

  He says, “Check the garbage. If you see anything that looks like evidence, don’t touch it.”

  Though none of us are eager to hang around longer than necessary, we track the beam of light as it bounces around the room.

  “There,” I say. “A garbage can under the laundry tub. I doubt it’s been emptied lately.

  As Paco reaches for it, I caution, “Don’t touch it.”

  He pulls the sleeve of his shirt down to cover his hand and extracts the stained, plastic wastebasket from beneath the grubby laundry tub. It’s jammed with fast food cartons empty water bottles and greasy paper towels. Paco tips the wastebasket to one side and dumps the contents onto the concrete floor. He uses his foot to separate congealed French fries and bits of moldy lunchmeat. One final nudge of his foot loosens a nasty mash-up of wadded toilet paper.

  Four dirty syringes tumble out. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.

  Paco swears.

  Nick’s eyes glitter with fury.

  Where the hell are the girls?

  Chapter Forty-One

  The next few hours are filled with a flurry of activity. We visit Darcy’s grandmother and convince her to come with us to fill out a missing person report, along with Nick. While Billy guides them through the process, I collect Buttercup, pay another visit to Benny and tell him what we found.

  “Here’s the deal, Benny,” I say. “You called somebody who knows about the drug house. You need to talk to the cops, give them the name of your contact. Or, you could tell me and I’ll tell them.”

  His eyes roll with panic. “No way. Those guys are bad news. If I get labeled as a snitch, it’s all over.”

  “I know you care about the girls. You told me you were worried about them.”

  I keep talking, trying to wear him down, but his fear of reprisal is stronger than my powers of persuasion. I strike out and leave feeling despondent.

  Billy promises he’ll light a fire under the higher-ups in the department, try to convince them it’s a matter of urgency, not simply a case of two teens on the run. Nick and I go back to the pub and get to work, although our hearts aren’t in it.

  By the time I get home, it’s well after midnight. I’m physically and emotionally drained. I check my phone one last time, hoping to hear from Ken Hitchcock or Anna. Despite the drama with Ziggy, the twins are always there in my thoughts.

  I climb into bed, but sleep eludes me. My body is tired, but my mind is revved up and treating me to images of Ziggy, helpless and in a drug-induced stupor. When I finally drift off, I wake frequently to pound my pillow into submission and straighten the bed covers I’ve kicked off.

  At three a.m., I’m awakened by the shrill summons of my cell phone. Blindly, I reach out and knock the phone off the bedside table. I switch on the light, retrieve the phone and glance at the screen. Riley Rathjen. A jolt of alarm zips through my body. I’m now fully awake. Why would Riley be calling me in the middle of the night? “Riley? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Ziggy, Mel. She’s here and she’s not in good shape. You need to come out. Now.”

  My brain is still a bit foggy. “Ziggy?” I repeat. “She’s at your place? Darcy too? But…?”

  “Not Darcy,” he says. “Get out here as fast as you can.”

  I pull myself together. “I’ll bring Nick. What about Billy? Should I call him?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, bring Billy. Ziggy thinks Darcy is in big trouble.”

  After a quick call t
o Nick and Billy, I throw on some clothes and fire up Buttercup. On the drive to the Rockin’ R ranch, Nick and Billy question me.

  Finally, I lose my patience. “Look, guys. I’ve told you everything I know. Ziggy is at the ranch. Darcy isn’t. We’ll have answers soon.”

  The Rathjen house is ablaze with lights. Buttercup screeches to a stop and we run for the house. Being fleet of foot, I’m the first one to dash through the door.

  The entire Rathjen family is in the living room with Ziggy who’s shaking and wrapped in a blanket. When she sees Nick and me, she begins to sob.

  “Daddy, Mel, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  The Rathjens part so Nick and I can join Ziggy on the couch. We both murmur comforting words. She clings to Nick as he wraps his arms around her.

  He says, “You’re okay now, kiddo. Daddy’s got you.”

  Leaving Ziggy in Nick’s care, I join Billy and the Rathjen family.

  Rick says, “It was the weirdest thing. It’s my poker night with the guys, so I was out late. I’m heading home in the Rockin’ R truck when something catches my eye. A flash of white in the ditch and it’s moving. I stop the truck and roll down the window. That’s when I see the girl. Guess she recognized the logo on the truck. She sort of staggers toward me, screaming, “Help me!” Didn’t realize it was Ziggy at first. She looked like shit.” He pauses and re-thinks his words. “Sorry. Guess you can see for yourself how she looks. Strung out. Dirty. Panicky. She said some guys were after her. Anyway, I brought her home and told Riley to call you. We didn’t ask her a bunch of questions. Just tried to get her to calm down.”

  Billy offers his hand to Rick. “Thanks, man. A lot of people wouldn’t have stopped. We’ll take her to the hospital, get her checked out.”

  Before we leave, Ziggy goes to Rick and hugs him. Her voice is muffled against his chest. “Thank you. Thank you. You saved my life.”

  Rick looks embarrassed, but pats her back. Riley tells Ziggy she can have her job back whenever she wants.

  We load Ziggy into the car. Nick sits in the back seat with her. Billy and I keep our mouths shut as she pieces out the story. Her tears continue to flow and she murmurs in disjointed sentence fragments

  “Should have listened to you, Mel…we were stupid…should have known better…they shot us up.”

  The last bit makes my blood run cold, but I don’t need an apology. “It’s okay, sweetie. Everything will be okay.”

  “Darcy,” she mutters. “We gotta find Darcy. Oh, God, I think she’s dead.”

  Between sobs, the story comes out. She and Darcy were invited to a party at an abandoned warehouse, a place well known for illicit drugs. Aware they would never get permission to attend, they concocted the ‘staying with a friend’ story. The girls were scared and nervous about attending and made a pact that they would stick together. Drugs were being used openly and booze was flowing. The girls were handed a drink and the rest of the evening was wiped from their memories. They woke up, sick and disoriented, locked in a grubby basement.

  “We had to use a bucket to go to the bathroom. Two guys were in the house. When they came into the basement with food, they wore clown masks and then…” she pauses and takes a hiccupping breath. “They injected stuff into our veins.” The deeper she gets into the story, the more agitated she becomes. “Darcy freaked out. She’s diabetic. She needed her insulin.”

  “Did she have it with her?” Billy asks.

  “It was in her backpack when we went to the party. When we woke up in the basement, it was gone. She begged the guys to find it for her. They just ignored her. One guy held her down, the other guy injected her and told her she’d be feeling better soon.”

  From listening to her story, I’m sure the girls were being held in the house we broke into. “Did you hear a doorbell ring or knocking on the door yesterday?”

  “Yes, I heard it. Darcy was passed out and I was trying to get her to wake up. A little later, I heard a bunch of yelling. One of the guys came downstairs. He was talking on his cell phone. I couldn’t hear much, but it sounded like he was getting chewed out. He said stuff like, ‘Yeah, it might have been her. Black hair. Blue eyes. Short. Hey, chill. How the hell would I know who she is?’ ” Ziggy takes a shaky breath. “That’s when I knew it was you, Mel, who rang the doorbell and knocked on the door. I had to pull myself together. I had to get help for Darcy.”

  We all listen without interrupting as she relates the rest of the story.

  Ziggy overheard snatches of the phone conversation and knew they would be moved to another location after dark. She says, “I figured it was my only chance to get away, but first, I needed them to think I was totally out of it.”

  Fearful she’s about to be injected again, she feigns unconsciousness. Darcy doesn’t have to pretend. She’s slipped into a diabetic coma.

  Sometime later, the men return to the basement. One of them picks up Darcy and hauls her up the stairs. Ziggy forces herself to remain limp as she’s lifted and carried from the house. Darcy is thrown onto the back seat of a four-door sedan. Ziggy is tossed, feet-first onto the floorboards. When they slam the door, it bangs against her head. It hurts like hell but she doesn’t dare cry out. Ziggy is banking on men’s carelessness. Obviously, they believe the girls are not an escape risk.

  “It seems like we drove around for hours. Probably wasn’t that long since I wasn’t exactly myself at the time. My stomach was upset, big time. I kept praying I wouldn’t puke. I tried to stay really still, but I was able to reach under the front seat. That’s when I touched something. I ran my hand over it and realized it was one of those little umbrellas that fold up. I wrapped my fingers around it.” She continues, “The car finally stopped. The driver got out, told the other guy to keep watch. I’m praying they’ll take Darcy first. Please, take Darcy first. I lucked out. The driver opened the door and offloaded Darcy. He closed the door and I heard him walk away. A few minutes later, the other guy opened the door. He grabbed my shoulders and started to drag me out of the car. I, I…” She gulps back tears.

  Nick pats her back. “Take your time.”

  “I waited until the upper half of my body was out of the car. Then, I managed to get my feet under me. I remembered Mel telling me to go for the throat, nose or eyes if I ever got attacked. I gripped the umbrella like a baseball bat and swung it at him as hard as I could. It slammed across his throat. When he staggered backward, I jammed the point of the umbrella into his crotch. He doubled over, hit the ground and started yelling for the other guy.”

  I reach back and pat her leg. “I’m proud of you, Ziggy.”

  She hoped to jump in the car and drive away but the keys weren’t in it, so she took off running, knowing the men would give chase. Her only hope was to find a house, knock on the door and ask for help.

  “I kept running and hiding every time I heard a car coming. In the ditch, behind trees, anywhere I could find something to duck behind. It was really dark. I tripped and fell down a bunch of times. I kept looking for a house, but there weren’t any. Not sure how much time went by. Seemed like forever. I was so tired I could barely move. When I heard Rick’s truck, I just dove into the ditch. Then, I saw Rockin’ R Ranch on the door and who it was.”

  I glance into the back seat and see Ziggy is cradled in Nick’s arms, her head against his chest. She whispers, “Darcy. We have to find Darcy before it’s too late.”

  I glance up at the starry sky and direct a fervent prayer to my sister, Hope and to all the angels in heaven on behalf of Darcy. I pray they’re listening.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Back in 3 Peaks, I park in front of the hospital emergency room entrance.

  Billy says, “Wait here. I’ll go in and explain the situation.”

  Nick follows him in. Five minutes later, an orderly approaches the car, pushing a wheelchair.

  Ziggy huffs, “Geez, I don’t need a wheel chair. I’m not old.”

  Her feistiness makes me smile.

  The o
rderly says, “Sorry, kiddo. I’m the boss.”

  A young ER doctor takes charge and makes the decision to keep Ziggy overnight. He gently questions her about her treatment. She tells him they had both been injected with needles several times during the two days of their captivity.

  “Do I need to order a rape kit?” he asks.

  She stares at the floor. “No, we were scared they would, but they didn’t.”

  An hour later, the paperwork is done. Nick decides to stay with the Ziggy.

  The doc kicks Billy and me out. “Go home,” he says. “Get some sleep. We’ll clean her up and check her out. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  Since we arrived at the hospital, Billy’s been on his cell phone, trying to get the search for Darcy under way. His irritation grows as he keeps getting bumped up the chain of command. He finally gets results when he says, “Listen to me! This girl will die if she doesn’t get her insulin. Picture the headline: TEEN GIRL DIES WHILE POLICE DELAY SEARCH.” He listens for a moment and then flashes the thumbs up sign. He gives them directions to the house, clicks off and mumbles, “Bureaucracy sucks.”

  On the drive home, I question him. “What happens next?”

  “A detective will be assigned to the case, probably not me. Ziggy and Nick will be brought in for questioning. They’ll want to talk to you too. In Oregon, kidnapping with the intent to terrorize a person is a class A felony. When you factor in the age of the girls, it will definitely be taken seriously.

  “If Ziggy hadn’t escaped, where would she be right now? And, Darcy…” My voice breaks. “If she dies, she won’t be of any use to them and they’ll dump her somewhere. She might never be found. Somebody needs to talk to her grandmother.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  Dawn is breaking in cold, gray light when I park in Billy’s driveway. I pull out my cell phone. “She’s probably asleep, but I’m calling her now. She needs to know what’s going on.”

  I punch in the number, hoping the elderly woman will answer in the wee hours of the morning.

  After five rings, I hear her creaky voice. “Hello? Is that you, Darcy?”