Hard Trauma

by Franklin Horton

  He’d located the offices for his residential construction company in Barrio Santa Rosa because there were existing buildings with large lots that weren’t very expensive. Within a few years of locating there, Bill could see that the neighborhood was turning. The kind of people he referred to as yuppies were moving into the neighborhood. They wanted houses in quaint historical neighborhoods like Bill’s and he wanted to provide them. He began investing all his profits into bank foreclosures and neglected properties in the Barrio Santa Rosa community. It went so well that it was soon the entirety of his business.

  He made good money and he lived well. He had an RV, a nice boat, and a vacation home south of the border. Then the recession, specifically the building crunch of 2008 or so, hit him like a brick to the face. Even in this fairly robust market he was caught with eleven properties he couldn’t sell and eleven loans that had to be paid. While in the past his properties were under contract before he was even finished with the work, now his properties lingered on the market and the loan payments nibbled away at his savings.

  Then, the icing on the cake, his wife became ill. Despite insurance, her illness further eroded their nest egg. In a little over seven months he spent nearly a half million dollars and still lost his wife. The best property in his portfolio was his beautiful home in the El Encanto neighborhood of Tucson. With his children out on their own and his wife deceased, it was just him in the house. Homes in that neighborhood were recession-proof. He put the home on the market at $599,000. In less than a month, he’d sold it for a little more than a half million dollars.

  He moved his belongings to his construction company’s headquarters and lived in the RV, which he parked on the back lot. Since that time, twelve years of hard work had seen his neighborhood start to come back around. Barger dug his way out of the hole and was now successful again. He had a nice home around the block from his offices and retirement was just around the corner. Soon he would be able to disappear to his house in Mexico and not come back.

  The lucrative sideline he’d entered with Tia had come about by accident. When he’d finally moved out of the RV and into his home, one of his employees approached him about borrowing the RV for a few days.

  “Why?” Barger asked. “Going camping?”

  “No, my aunt wants me to drive her somewhere. She wants to take an RV because it’s more comfortable.” Barger would later find out that the woman wasn’t actually his aunt, she was just known as Tia in the neighborhood. She was everyone’s aunt.

  “That RV was expensive,” Barger said. “I can’t let you have it for free. I might rent it, though.”

  “She has money. She’ll pay.”

  “Tell your aunt to call me.”

  Barger hadn’t expected her to call but she did. She paid up front in cash and assured him that they would cover any damages. Soon they were renting it twice a month. Barger didn’t know what they were doing and he didn’t ask. The arrangement provided a nice little stream of income, a couple of thousand dollars a month, until Bill’s employee didn’t show up for work one day and never came back.

  A couple of weeks later, Tia was in his office with a stack of cash, asking him to drive the RV for her, and she was prepared to pay. After thinking on it overnight, Barger took her up on her offer, and soon learned the nature of their business. Tia went around the country collecting vulnerable young women, then sold them into prostitution.

  Barger coped with the morality of what they did by reminding himself he was just the driver. This was not a job he would have taken when he was younger and more capable of hard work. However, in middle age, his body was paying the price for his chosen trade. He was wracked with arthritis, his knees and hips needed replacing, and his discs were deteriorating. As sore as long hours of driving made him, it was easier than hanging drywall and laying tile.

  For the most part, Barger had no guilt about this trip. He was over it. His mind was already on getting home. He intended to plant himself in his Jacuzzi tub with a nice cold beer. After a couple of more beers and a hefty dose of ibuprofen, he would call it a night. He’d wake up tomorrow with a clear conscience and go back to work on his latest house.

  When he reached his neighborhood, he eased the vehicle into the lot and parked it below the security light. He pocketed his revolver and grabbed the duffel bag with his clothing, locked the RV behind him, and climbed into his pickup for the short drive around the block. Had he not been so tired, he might have walked it.

  He was supposed to clean out the RV as soon as he got here. Those were Tia’s orders. He didn’t like orders, though. He’d do it when he was damn well ready to do it. That would be tomorrow morning at the soonest. He was too tired. Besides, she had a lot of nerve asking him to clean the vehicle when she’d sat on her ass the entire way home. Lazy and crazy, that’s what she was.

  He circled the block and turned into his driveway. He hadn’t installed the automatic opener yet so he was forced to get out and open the iron gate by hand. He got back in the truck and parked, closing the gate back behind him. His little neighborhood was quiet out on the street, with most people settled in for the evening.

  In the distance, he could hear the ever-present hum of city traffic. A siren wailed somewhere. None of these sounds would penetrate the thick adobe walls of his home. He failed to notice the pickup across the street with Virginia tags. Had he seen that from his truck, he might have continued driving on past without even going home. He’d have called Tia and told her to check into it. He didn’t see it, though, and went inside, glad to be home.

  28

  When the headlights came toward Ty, he dropped his sun visor and slumped in the seat. With his dark clothing, he was hoping he didn’t stand out in the interior of the truck. He didn’t want to look like a guy sitting in a truck waiting on someone, even though that’s exactly what he was. His heartbeat sped up as the pickup headed in his direction, then swung into the entrance of the house he was watching.

  A man got out of the truck, opened the gate, and drove on through. Once inside, the truck door swung open again and the man slid out. He threw a duffel bag over his shoulder and closed the gate. He paused there a moment, looking out onto the street. He didn’t appear to have noticed Ty in particular. It was like he was just checking out his neighborhood, taking the temperature of his surroundings. When he was satisfied, he turned away and limped inside.

  None of the video footage from the Petro Panda or any of the social media pictures showed the driver of the RV. Ty couldn’t be certain if this was him or not. If it was, where was the RV? More importantly, where was Gretchen?

  Ty didn’t know what to do. He had a man he didn’t recognize and no RV. The woman he wanted to speak with was nowhere in sight. Was she already inside the house or was she with the RV somewhere? He noticed the truck had a logo on the side of the driver’s door. It was faint, no doubt faded by the harsh desert sun. He rooted around in the back seat to find his binoculars and studied the logo. He was initially pleased to see the name on the logo read Barger Properties. The name was right, but how did that help him? He still didn’t have any answers.

  He put the binoculars on the passenger seat and picked up his phone from the center console. He was going to do a quick search on Barger Properties and see what he came up with. No sooner had he typed in his search query than he noticed more headlights coming toward him. He clicked off his phone, not wanting to glow of his screen to give away his presence in the parked vehicle. As the vehicle passed, he looked out his window and saw the outline of emergency lights on the roof.

  Shit. It was a cop.

  Even worse, he was looking directly at Ty.

  They made eye contact and Ty didn’t know what to do. Should he give a casual wave, like he was just hanging out waiting on someone? Was this the kind of neighborhood where people sat in cars late at night or was Ty’s presence something that would be of concern to the officer? If he was suspicious, he might circle around the block and come back to check Ty’s identi
fication.

  He couldn’t allow that. If the police discovered he had an assault warrant in Virginia they might lock him up. He didn’t know exactly how that worked. He didn’t know if he’d be extradited but it was better to not take the chance. He dropped the phone back in the console, started his truck, and headed down the street.

  Ty didn’t know where he was going at this point. He was simply focused on putting distance between him and the cop. At the end of Barger’s block he hung a left, keeping to the speed limit. His mind was already steps ahead, assuming the safest thing to do at this point was to get a hotel room for the night. He could settle down and regroup. Then his headlights reflected off the shiny sidewall of an RV parked in a lot to his left.

  He hit the brakes and slowed to a stop in the road. There were no lights along the street and Ty couldn’t make out the license tag in the darkness. He could, however, make out the peeling sign fastened to the front of the cinderblock building and illuminated by the amber glow of the sodium security light fastened to the front of the building.

  Barger Properties.

  As he considered turning into the parking lot, another set of headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. He glanced up and saw that a car several blocks back had turned in his direction. While he didn’t know for certain it was the cop, he couldn’t take a chance. If it was, he’d just given the officer probable cause to pull him over. There he was, idling in the middle of the public street, directly in front of a closed business. If Ty was a cop, things like that would certainly get his attention.

  He held his breath and accelerated to the speed limit. He checked his truck’s navigation system, searching for the closest busy thoroughfare and heading in that direction. The vehicle behind him soon closed the distance and was on his bumper, lights on bright. Ty’s Virginia tag boldly announced that he didn’t belong here.

  They passed below a streetlight and Ty chanced a quick look at his rearview mirror. The vehicle behind him was indeed a white Impala but there were no emergency flashers on the roof of this one. He let out a sigh of relief, then signaled and turned into a parking place. The other driver punched the gas and shot around him. When the vehicle was past, Ty raised his shirttail and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  He sat in the unfamiliar neighborhood for nearly thirty minutes trying to decide what to do. He constantly monitored his mirrors, watching for cops. At no point did he see the police car that had passed him earlier. He needed to relax. He wasn’t even certain that the warrant in Virginia had materialized. Other than Lieutenant Whitt, no one had notified him of anything. Without a warrant hanging over his head, he could be a lost traveler who’d wandered into this neighborhood by mistake.

  The smart thing to do would be to find a hotel room and call Cliff Mathis in the morning. He could tell him he’d located the RV and see if Cliff could help him figure out the next step. That would have been the smart thing.

  Instead, Ty made a U-turn and headed back in the direction of Barger Properties. He parked along the street a short distance from the business and killed his engine. When he was certain there were no cars coming from either direction he slipped out of the truck. As casually as one could do such things, he approached the closed business. He pulled a short Streamlight flashlight from his shirt pocket, thumbed the button on the back, and flashed a beam of light onto the tag. It was the same RV.

  He circled the vehicle. The curtains weren’t drawn around the windshield, something people often did when they were sleeping inside. He listened for any sounds–the television, talking, or snoring. He climbed the single step leading to the side door and peered through the window. Seeing nothing of interest, he got brave and flashed his light around the inside. He didn’t see anyone.

  On the inside it pretty much looked like any other RV. There was no personalization or decorating of any kind. There was nothing to make him think the woman from the photo might be inside. The front of the RV, facing the business, was secluded from the street. Ty climbed up onto the bumper and flattened his face against the windshield. He clicked his flashlight on, peered through a gap in the curtains, and gave the interior a more thorough examination. Aside from a little trash, there was nothing that caught his attention. Then something near the bedroom door reflected his light back at him.

  Ty turned the light back in that direction and squinted, trying to make out what he was looking at. It was too far away and too small. He moved back to the side and climbed onto the single step leading to the entrance door. He flattened his face against the door glass and angled the beam of his light toward the back. He could clearly see what the object was now. It was a padlock hanging from a hasp. The disturbing thing was that the placement of the padlock meant it was intended for locking someone in the back bedroom.

  Could Gretchen be locked in there?

  Throwing caution to the wind, he searched the area around him and found a fist-sized rock in the abandoned landscaping. Returning to the door, he hesitated only a second before throwing the rock through the glass. The safety glass shattered but did not fall from the frame. Ty scanned the area and found a foot-long section of rebar with an orange ribbon tied around one end. He used the steel rod to punch the remaining glass from the opening.

  When he had a hole he could safely get his arm through, he reached inside and unlatched the door. He backed up and it swung open, shards of glass raining out at his feet. Only then did it occur to him that he was probably making way too much noise. It was too late to worry about it now. He bounded up the steps and headed toward the back room.

  “Gretchen!” he whispered. “Are you in there?”

  He paused and listened. There was no answer. He closed the distance to the door and placed his ear against it. He pulled the padlock and found it locked securely.

  “Gretchen!” he hissed louder.

  With no reply, he shined the light around the room while he considered what to do. He spotted a garbage bag sitting in one of the dinette seats and picked it up. He opened it and flashed the light inside, spotting a ball of blue cloth in the bottom. He pulled it out and the sight of it was like a punch to the gut. It was a shirt he recalled from a memorized photo. Blue with a yellow frog.

  Gretchen’s shirt.

  It was damp and he soon discovered a pair of damp shorts in the bag with it, everything covered with strands of hair, and he wondered if it was Gretchen’s. He couldn’t tell for sure, though the shirt told the story. There could be no doubt Gretchen had been in here. He closed the bag and barreled toward the locked door, raised a foot, and stomped. Wood splintered and the doorframe gave a loud crack, the flimsy door falling into the back bedroom.

  He stepped onto the flattened door and it gave way beneath his feet. It was obvious in a split second that there was no one in the tiny room. Shining his light around, he spotted a narrow doorway to his left. A closet? Bathroom?

  He tried pulling on the door but there was no room for it to swing open with the broken door taking up all the floor space. He went back into the main living area and grabbed the end of the broken door. He started tugging it backward, trying to get it clear of the other door.

  Ty bumped into something. Before he could turn to see what he’d run into, he heard the arc of a stun gun. He was familiar with that sound but there was no time to react. His muscles went rigid and he toppled to the floor. As he dropped, he was certain he’d been busted. He’d drawn too much attention by parking so obviously on the street. He’d moved around the neighborhood the same way a criminal would when he was staking out a business.

  A powerful flashlight beam hit him in the face. Ty squinted against it, waiting for a Tucson police officer to slap the cuffs on him. The light turned away for a moment and Ty saw that it was not a police officer but William Barger, the flashlight now held like a club. Ty crushed his eyes shut as the heavy Maglite came crashing down on his skull.

  29

  Barger’s loud ranting roused Ty to consciousness. He had no idea how long he’d been out but
his head was splitting. Though he suspected he had a concussion, that only mattered if he was going to survive, which remained to be determined. One eye was matted shut with dried blood. He cracked the other and could see light coming from somewhere around the front of the RV. There was a bulky shape, presumably Barger, crammed into the dining area with his back to Ty. He was shouting into his phone.

  “I told you it’s a fucking Virginia driver’s license! That can’t be a coincidence.”

  In the silence after Barger spoke, in the insular bubble of the RV, Ty could hear a voice through the speaker of Barger’s phone. He couldn’t make out the words but the tone was calmer than Barger’s.

  “I don’t know how he found me,” Barger snapped. “Maybe he’s been following us for days.”

  Ty held his breath and strained to hear. He could make out a voice now, hoarse and female.

  “That makes no sense,” replied the voice. “Why would someone follow us from Virginia? If they knew anything, they’d have called the cops. You need to calm down.”

  “Then why the hell is he in my RV!” Barger demanded. “Somebody needs to figure this shit out! This isn’t my job. I did my part.”

  “You need to calm down...” the voice began before becoming so quiet that Ty couldn’t hear it any longer.

  “He trashed the place,” Barger said. “He busted out one of the windows and kicked down the bedroom door. Damages are supposed to come out of your end, not mine. That’s always been the deal.”

  Taking advantage of his distraction, Ty explored his circumstance. He didn’t want to give away the fact he was conscious so he made small adjustments to his body to see what had been done to him. He shifted his fingers, groped around, and determined that thick zip ties bound his wrists. They weren’t proper flex-cuffs, though, and not handcuffs. His feet were not bound. He was lying on his right side and the void beneath his hip told him that his Glock had been taken. He wasn’t certain about the knives he carried but he couldn’t imagine someone taking the Glock and leaving them. With his hands behind his back he couldn’t check for them.