by Chad Zunker
Four other agents stepped out of the building and met them on the sidewalk. They had arrived a few minutes before Zegers and Farley. All of them wore civilian clothes: sweatshirts, windbreakers, jeans, khakis. Zegers had instructed his whole team to dress casual so they wouldn’t stand out on the streets. Instead of his usual snazzy sport coat, Zegers wore a dark-blue Auburn Tigers hoodie, jeans, and tennis shoes.
“Anything?” Zegers asked Norton, head of this group of agents.
“The building is definitely a makeshift homeless shelter.”
“What do we have in there?” Zegers asked.
“Probably fifty or so,” Norton replied. “Mostly on the second floor. But they are scattered throughout the building. Elevator doesn’t work, of course. We’ll have to take the stairs up in the middle.”
“Everyone got his photo?” Zegers said.
They all held up their phones showing the booking photo of Parker Barnes that Zegers had taken from the juvenile justice center. Parker wore the orange jumpsuit with his pale face looking sullen and his shaggy brown hair hanging down over his ears.
“All right, let’s see if we can find him in there.”
Zegers followed his agents across the parking lot toward the building. So far, they’d had few leads, even though Zegers had managed to pull in a dozen agents to aid in the search. The fact that the US Attorney’s Office was bringing a lot of additional heat to the situation helped Zegers get the resources he needed. While pissed that the kid was missing, Mark Anderson was also as hopeful as ever that the boy was the key to getting his trial back on track. According to Anderson, Parker Barnes would not have run away if he didn’t know what happened to their dead witness. They just had to find him. As if to annoy Zegers, the federal prosecutor was even driving around town himself in his fancy Mercedes, looking for the boy. Zegers had checked in with Agents Jeter and Hernandez, who had been monitoring David Adams all day, but they had nothing much to show for it. They said the attorney drove a few places, but there had been no hints that he knew where the boy might be hiding.
Zegers followed his agents into the wide-open first floor of the building. Half of the exterior walls had not been finished, so a chilly breeze pushed through the structure. Because of the concrete, it felt even colder to him inside the building than outside. There was trash strewn all over the place on the first level, but no sign of any people. They hit the building stairwell in the middle and traveled up to the second floor.
Zegers immediately spotted a large group of the homeless gathered in the farthest corner of the building away from the front. They probably chose the second level because they were more hidden from the street, and the wind was not quite as bad up here. Zegers noticed a huge collection of makeshift tents, some covered in blankets, with more trash everywhere. There were also several campfires going at the moment. Zegers did a quick count and guessed there were indeed around fifty people, many sleeping on the hard concrete with dirty blankets. Some had sleeping bags; others sat in camping chairs. There was also a lot of smoking and drinking, with other assorted drug paraphernalia being passed around.
“Be cool, boys,” Zegers instructed his team. “Don’t spook anyone.”
As they approached the group, Zegers and his crew drew suspicious stares. Even though they weren’t dressed in police uniforms, it was clear they didn’t belong here. A few guys immediately got up from the floor and started leaving, as if the sign of any outsiders was enough for them to split. But most of the group held steady while closely watching Zegers and his crew. His agents began flashing the photo of Parker around, asking if anyone had seen the kid and mentioning him by name. They got mostly blank stares and shakes of the head. Some couldn’t respond at all; they were so high at the moment. Zegers didn’t see a lot of young faces in this group of people. Where were the runaway teens?
Farley came back over to Zegers. “One of the guys told me the kids are upstairs on the third floor.”
“Then let’s go up,” Zegers said.
Farley summoned the others, and they all hit the stairwell again. Entering the third floor, Zegers noticed a collection of about twelve street teens all huddled in the far corner. This group was much more skittish than the downstairs group. Upon spotting the group of men approaching, the teenagers immediately began gathering their things to get out of there.
Norton jumped in to stop them. “Hey, stop! FBI! Everyone stay put.”
Zegers cursed at that foolish move. It was like lighting a match near a gas leak. Now the group of kids was really on the run, making mad dashes for exits. Zegers and his crew stepped right into the middle of the chaos, grabbing kids to look at them as they all tried to scramble to get away. Zegers frantically searched the dirty faces for any signs of Parker Barnes. Most of these boys looked older than Parker. There were also a few girls. But none of them stayed still long enough to really examine them. Zegers had Parker’s booking photo up on his own phone. He kept bouncing his eyes back and forth between the photo and the kids before they were able to pull away from him. It was all happening so fast that he couldn’t be sure if he missed someone. Within seconds, the floor was completely empty of kids, leaving only the agents standing there and staring at each other.
“Nice work,” Zegers scolded Norton.
“What the hell was I supposed to do? They were all about to bolt.”
“They were walking away, not running,” Farley said. “Until you opened your big mouth.”
“Just drop it,” Zegers interjected. “Anyone see anything?”
They all shook their heads.
“What about you, boss?” Farley asked.
“No, I don’t think the kid was here.”
TWENTY-TWO
Richie was driving around central Austin in his truck with Manny sitting in the seat next to him when a text suddenly popped up on his cell phone. He snagged it from a cupholder, stared at the urgent message, and then nearly rear-ended a car in front of him before slamming on the brakes just in time to avoid the collision.
“What the hell, bro?” Manny said. “Trying to get us killed?”
Richie turned to look at Manny. “We got eyes on the boy!”
“Where?”
“Four blocks from here,” Richie said, whipping his steering wheel to the left and stomping on the gas.
The truck tires squealed on the pavement as he did a swift U-turn into the next lane, causing several cars coming from the opposite direction to swerve and slam on brakes. The truck rapidly accelerated. With his left hand clutched on the steering wheel, Richie set his right hand down on top of his gun on the seat next to him.
It was time to end this right now.
TWENTY-THREE
Along with several other boys, Parker ran as fast as he could down the sidewalk away from the abandoned office building where he’d been hiding out the past couple of hours. His heart was racing so fast his chest hurt. The FBI? Parker couldn’t believe it. How did they know he’d be there in that building? How did they find him so fast? He thought he’d be safe just hanging out there for a while. He’d been in the building twice before with Skater, who seemed to know everyone out on the streets. None of the other kids had asked him any questions—which was not unusual. Most guys just kept to themselves. Which was what he’d wanted. Although one nice guy had come over to him in the corner and offered to share some bread and peanut butter. Everything was going well until those FBI men had unexpectedly showed up, flashing his photo to everyone.
Parker nearly tripped over a curb just thinking about it again. One of the FBI men had grabbed him by the collar before he could get away. It had nearly choked him and taken him off his feet before he hit the concrete square on his butt. Then the man had flipped Parker over and stared him right in the face. The man had looked back and forth between Parker and the photo on his phone several times. Parker thought it was over—that he’d been busted. But the FBI man suddenly let him go and moved on to the next kid. Had the man really not recognized he was the same kid
in the photo? Had cutting off all his hair really worked that well?
Parker didn’t know for sure, but he was glad to get the hell out of there with the others. But where would he go next? The FBI had found him so quickly. Two older runaway boys were running up ahead of him. One of them was the nice guy who had offered Parker the bread and peanut butter. Parker was following that guy but not sure what he was doing. He was just running on adrenaline at the moment. Everyone had scrambled in all different directions. Finally, after a few more blocks, the boys in front stopped running and started walking. Parker did the same but hung back a bit. Peering behind him, Parker could still see the abandoned office building in the distance. He’d gotten away. But would he ever get that lucky again?
“Hey, kid, come here.”
Parker turned back around to see the boy with the peanut butter inviting him to join them up on the sidewalk. He was probably sixteen or so, with dirty blond hair hanging around his shoulders. He had tattoos of spiderwebs all over his hands. The other kid may have been older than sixteen. He had black hair that was completely shaved on both sides of his head. Parker could see tattoos on this guy’s neck of fire-breathing dragons. A lot of the runaways on the streets had tattoos. Parker wondered if he’d end up with a lot of tattoos one day—assuming he didn’t get picked up by the FBI and hauled off to rot in prison.
Parker hesitantly walked up to them.
“You the kid in that photo?” the blond guy asked Parker.
Parker shook his head. “Nope.”
“Yeah, you are,” the other guy said. “Why they looking for you?”
“That’s not me in the photo,” Parker insisted. “That kid had long hair. I don’t.” Parker pulled his hood off to show his shaved head.
“That’s true,” admitted the blond guy. “Still, you kind of look like him.”
“I said I’m not. So drop it.”
“Okay, tough guy,” the dragon-tattoo kid said with a smirk.
Both teenagers squinted at him, as if they were trying to figure out whether they believed him—or if they cared. But the fact that they were even wondering about it really made Parker feel uncomfortable. How was he going to hide out for several more weeks if the FBI was showing his photo to everyone out on the streets? He might not last the day. He could cut his hair, but he couldn’t change his whole face.
He was starting to feel scared again. But that feeling paled in comparison to how he felt just two seconds later when a black truck suddenly pulled to a stop on the street right next to them. Parker glanced over. The driver’s window was down, and two guys were sitting in the front of the truck, staring at him. Parker made direct eye contact with the driver and felt his heart drop to the concrete. He’d never forget the face of the man from the park.
For a second, the guy with the goatee just stared at him with narrowed eyes, as if trying to make sure Parker was the same kid. Probably because of the hair. Parker hoped if he just stayed still and acted cool, the guy would assume he wasn’t the one they were looking for. Then Parker saw the recognition settle in on the man’s face. The guy immediately opened his door, jumped out of the truck, and Parker spotted the gun clutched in the guy’s right hand.
“What the hell?” said one of the runaways.
“He’s got a gun!” said the other kid. “Let’s go!”
The two boys took off. Parker spun around, began running in the opposite direction. Then he realized he was headed right back toward the abandoned office building where he’d just escaped the FBI. Those men could still be out looking for him. So he darted left at the next street corner, cut in behind more office buildings. He had no idea where he was going but knew he couldn’t stay out in the open for too long. The goateed guy would probably shoot him.
After passing by the first office building, Parker noticed a parking garage beneath the second building. A car was pulling out from behind an electronic bar gate. Parker glanced behind him and spotted the goateed man and the other guy racing around the street corner and hustling down the sidewalk toward him.
In a split second, Parker made the decision to run inside the underground parking garage, hoping he might be able to win a game of hide-and-seek. A sign on a column said the garage had two levels. Entering, Parker found it filled with cars. Should he find a quick hiding place and hope the guys chasing him brushed right past? Or should he go deep into the garage to get himself lost? Everything within Parker screamed at him to keep running deeper and deeper into the garage. But he knew that was driven by fear. His gut instinct told him to hide right now. The men would never expect it. But did he have the balls to do it?
Gritting his teeth, Parker peeled off behind a gray Lexus SUV only ten cars down the first row. He dropped to the concrete and then scooted behind the back wheels against the concrete wall. He put his hand over his mouth to try to hide how hard he was breathing. He inched down even closer to the floor so he could see beneath the vehicle. Then he stopped breathing altogether. The two guys were inside the garage with him. He spotted their shoes and boots. They paused just three cars up from his hiding spot.
“You see anything?” one guy said.
Parker thought it was the goateed man. He recognized his voice.
“No, but he definitely ran in here.”
“Come on!”
As the men moved closer to his spot, Parker curled up as tight as possible and prayed he was invisible. Even though he needed to catch his breath in the worst way, he still held it so he wouldn’t make a single sound. The guys were directly in front of the Lexus now. They paused again. Parker nearly screamed. Then they moved past him. And they kept moving more quickly down the row of cars. Parker finally breathed again. But he knew there was no time to waste. When the guys reached the bottom level without finding him, they would quickly come back up on another search.
Parker eased around the Lexus on his hands and knees until he was near the front tire. He slowly peeked out. The men were nearly to the end of the first level where it made a turn and went to the next level down. The guy with the goatee briefly glanced back up the ramp. Parker darted back. Had he been spotted? If so, the guy hadn’t said anything. Parker eased back out to look again. The men were making the turn down to the next level.
Parker waited until they were fully out of view. And then he scooted around the front bumper of the Lexus. He hung close to the other vehicles so as to not expose himself until he was all the way back to the entrance to the parking garage. Before running out, he took a good long look around outside to make sure there wasn’t anyone else out there who might be searching for him. There were a couple of people on the sidewalks and a few others getting in and out of cars parked along the street. But none of them seemed to be on the lookout for anyone.
Taking another deep breath, Parker ran out of the parking garage. He hit the sidewalk at full speed and just kept running. Again, he had no idea where he was going or when to stop.
But Parker knew one thing for sure.
He couldn’t do this alone. He needed help.
TWENTY-FOUR
David parked behind Jess’s black Ford Explorer on the side of a dusty pothole-filled country road. A desolate plot of land that hosted a beat-up old RV trailer sat in front of him. The home of Richie Maylor, according to the employment form David had gotten from Freddy’s Salvage. It was out in the middle of nowhere. David had spotted only a couple of other residences for the past mile. Most were run-down trailers like this one, which looked like it hadn’t been moved in a really long time. Tall grass was growing up all around it. It was slightly off-balance and kind of sagged to the left. There was one vehicle parked out front, although he was certain it hadn’t been driven in ages. The old truck was rusted out, had two front tires missing, and had been completely enveloped in uncut grass and weeds. There were a couple of plastic lawn chairs sitting outside the trailer. A huge collection of what he guessed were empty beer cans covered the dirt ground around the chairs. There were a couple of rusted red barrels nearby. Other
assorted trash and junk was scattered here and there. The place was a real dump.
Getting out, David turned and watched as the gray Buick with the two FBI agents pulled to the side of the road about fifty yards back. He rolled his eyes and then walked over to where Jess was waiting for him near the front of her vehicle.
“Still back there, huh?” Jess said, peering around him at the Buick.
“Yeah. Our tax dollars at work.” He stared at the trailer. “Is anyone home?”
“I haven’t seen anyone. But I just got here.”
“You said you had interesting news.”
“Yes, I spoke with a bartender at the Burping Goat. He knew Richie Maylor—although he didn’t know his last name. He said Maylor was at the bar almost every night. But he hadn’t seen him since this past Sunday. He said Maylor left early but told everyone he was about to get paid and was going to buy a round of drinks for everyone when he got back later that night. But he never came back.”
David thought about the timeline. “Sunday night was when Max Legley was shot.”
“Right. Hard to believe that’s a coincidence. I just ran a background check on Maylor. He did eighteen months for violent assault.”
“So he fits the bill. You think Rick Kingston hired him to take out his business partner before he testified against him?”
“Maybe. Although I did a Google search matching up Maylor’s name with both Kingston and Legley and found nothing connecting them online. Not much showed up on Maylor at all. No social media. No apparent involvement in any clubs or organizations. No comments or posts on any online forums. At least under his real name.”
“So if it was Kingston, how did he find Maylor?”
“No clue. But the bigger question for me right now is how did Richie Maylor know that Parker was at the Hand-Up Home?”
“Right. Because he showed up right after I checked the kid into the facility.”
Jess looked toward the trailer. “Shall we go see if he’s home and ask him?”
