Moving Target

by R. A. McGee

  “Mike’s run himself ragged. They won’t let him help with the investigation. He won't sleep; he just sits there, phone in his lap. Like he expects Pima to call him out of the blue or something.”

  “Would she?” Porter said.

  “Call us? Of course. She’s not a bad kid, she doesn’t run away. If she’s not here, something is wrong. My question is, why does Joe Palermo think you can help?”

  “Just a long shot.”

  Terri nodded her head back and forth. “Fair enough. A long shot is better than no shot at all.”

  “Can you tell me what’s happened so far?” Porter knew what he’d read in the file, but he wanted to hear it from the family. Maybe they’d have something new to tell, or an idea that the FBI hadn’t seized on already.

  “Bless them, everyone’s been looking so hard, but they don’t have anything. They asked everyone they could think of; nobody’s seen anything. If we were in some city, they could check traffic cameras, I guess. Try to see if they could get a peek of her somewhere. Not here. There isn’t any of that. The sheriff told me sometimes people just stay gone. What kind of shit is that to say to someone?” Terri’s voice cracked and Porter watched her eyes fill with tears. Masterfully, she composed herself, pushing aside the emotions.

  Porter imagined she’d had plenty of practice the last few days.

  “So that’s the word from the sheriff? I’d expect them to know more locally than the feds. They don’t have anything?”

  “They haven’t done anything. At first, they didn’t want to look into it yet. Said they had limited manpower and figured Pima would turn up in a few days. ‘Most missing kids her age are runaways,’ they told us. Mike flipped his lid, and threatened the sheriff. Told him if he didn’t get his ass in gear, he’d have the Department of Justice come in and investigate every little thing about the sheriff’s office.” Terri leaned forward and rubbed her hands over her face.

  “I’m sure that went over well.”

  “Swimmingly.”

  Porter glanced around, seeing the pictures and mementos of an average family. “What about your son?”

  “Bryce? What about him?”

  “They talk to him?”

  “Sure, but he doesn’t know anything. He can only help as much as he can. He’d do anything to get Pima back, but he’s just a kid.”

  Porter nodded as he listened. “Mind if I take a shot at it?”

  “At what, speaking to my son? I don’t even know you. The only reason I let you in is because you say Joe sent you. That name carries weight with Mike. But until he finds out exactly who you are…”

  “I don’t blame you.” Porter adjusted on the supple leather and sank a bit deeper into the cushion. “Mind telling me about Pima?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “You said she’s not a bad kid, that she wouldn’t run away,” Porter said.

  “Never.”

  “Tell me what kind of kid she is.”

  Terri looked at Porter for a moment, then closed her eyes. “Pima is… different. She’s just different. She is the sweetest girl you’ll ever meet. So kind, has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. Smart, too, but more book smart, you know?”

  Porter nodded.

  “She not very mature yet. I mean, she’s only thirteen, for God’s sake. People expect a kid her age to know how the world works and Pima’s not there yet. She’s quiet and shy, she’d probably go a week without talking if nobody asked her to. She’s a watcher, you know?”

  “I think so,” Porter said.

  There was the sound of a door opening and Porter looked to see Mike Newton shuffling out of his room, on steadier feet than when he’d gone in.

  “Joe said you were okay. Said you were here to help and I could trust you. That’s high praise coming from him.”

  “I’ll take the vote of confidence,” Porter said.

  “Sorry I was…” He made a circular motion near his head. “…out of it earlier. I just… it’s been hard.” Mike’s demeanor had shifted, and while he still looked like death, he was coherent and lucid.

  “No apology necessary,” Porter said.

  A silence passed over the three for a few moments. Terri spoke first.

  “Can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?” she said to Mike.

  Her husband looked at her, then toward Porter. “Excuse us.”

  The pair walked into the kitchen and around the corner.

  Porter stood and waited, looking at the artwork on the walls. It was nice, but he was sure Mike didn’t make enough money to have a real Vermeer on the wall.

  As he moved toward a sculpture of a moose, the man and woman of the house came back in.

  “You want to talk to Bryce? Why? What good do you think that will do?” Mike said.

  “Sometimes adults are shit at listening to kids,” Porter said. “Or maybe he knows something and is just scared to talk. It can’t hurt.”

  Terri eyed him warily.

  “I’m great with kids,” Porter said with a grin.

  “I… okay. Sure. But we get to listen in,” Porter said.

  “I’d expect no less.”

  Terri stood and walked past the kitchen to the bottom of a staircase with wooden steps and a red runner leading up it. “Bry? Can you come here for a minute?”

  There was a slight delay, then the clamoring of footsteps across the upper level.

  A small boy appeared, his eyes nearly hidden under a shock of curly hair. He was thin and slight, and Porter figured when he grew up, he’d be on the small side like his father.

  “Who are you?” the boy said from the middle of the staircase.

  “Porter. Who are you?”

  “I’m Bryce,” the boy said proudly.

  “Bryce, Porter is a friend of Daddy’s. He wants to ask you some questions. Is that okay with you?”

  The boy shrugged and leaped the last four stairs to the bottom landing.

  “Your mom and I will be in the kitchen, okay champ?” Mike said.

  Bryce nodded absentmindedly.

  Terri led her husband around the corner, but not before she pointed at Porter and tugged at her ear.

  Porter nodded. “That your bike outside?”

  Bryce shook his head. “No, that’s Derrick’s.”

  “Who’s Derrick?”

  “My friend. We played tag and he lost so he had to let me use his bike for a whole week. Can you believe it?”

  “You must be good,” Porter said, kneeling to look the boy in the eye.

  “Nah. He fell down,” Bryce said with a laugh.

  “That’s his own fault. He should be more careful if he’s trying to beat Bryce Newton at tag.”

  The boy wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and fixed Porter with a solid stare. He had his father’s brown eyes. “You looking for Pima?”

  “What makes you say that?” Porter said.

  “Ever since she got lost, that’s the only reason anybody wants to talk to me.”

  “I want to talk about whatever you do. Unless there’s something you want to tell me about Pima?”

  “No. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Who said you were stupid?” Porter said.

  Bryce fidgeted in place. “I think everybody thinks it. They keep asking me if I forgot something when I talked to the last grown-up. I keep telling them no, but they won't listen.”

  “Fair enough. How about I just ask you a question about Pima? She’s your sister, right?”

  The boy nodded his head and his curls flopped around his face.

  “Then you know her pretty well?”

  “She’s my sister, duh.”

  “Does Pima have a boyfriend?” Porter said.

  “Eww, gross.”

  “What—you mean to tell me a handsome fella like yourself doesn’t have a bunch of girlfriends?”

  “No, that’s silly. I only have one or two.” He motioned Porter closer and lowered his voice. “Sometimes they fight over me at recess.”

&n
bsp; “See? I knew you were a ladies’ man.”

  Bryce blushed.

  “So, even though you have a few girlfriends, you never heard Pima talk about a boyfriend?”

  “Nope,” the boy said, shaking his head.

  “Okay. One more question?”

  “Mmmm, I guess so. OK KO is going to be on soon.”

  “I don’t want you to miss anything,” Porter said. “Who is Pima’s best friend?”

  “That’s easy. Me.”

  Porter laughed.

  Bryce’s face grew dark. “I am.”

  “Of course you are, big man. I meant, who is Pima’s best friend that’s a girl? You know, does she have sleepovers or anything like that?”

  Bryce brightened up. “Oh. That’s different.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terri Newton peeking her head around the corner, far enough away that her son didn’t notice, but close enough to listen in.

  “That’s Scarlett,” Bryce said. “She always spends the night and they won’t let me in their room when they watch movies. It makes me mad.”

  “I’ll bet it does,” Porter said. He held out an enormous hand toward Bryce. “You answered all my questions perfectly. I guess your mom was right about you being the smartest kid in the world.”

  Bryce laughed and shook Porter’s hand, then darted off, back upstairs two at a time. Porter watched the boy with a smile, trying to remember what it was like to be that young.

  Nine

  “Cute kid,” Porter said as Mike and Terri exited the kitchen and walked toward him.

  “Yeah, but he’s a handful,” Mike said. “Always have to worry about what he’s doing and where he’s at. If it’s ever too quiet, you can be sure he’s up to no good. Not like Pima, she always so quiet and she just…” The man trailed off and sniffed hard, like his sinuses were bothering him.

  Terri looked from her husband to Porter. “Mike tells me you used to work for Joe?”

  “A long time ago,” Porter said, “I was his task-force officer.”

  “You still in?” she asked, having slipped herself supportively underneath Mike’s arm again.

  “Nope. Been out a few years,” Porter said, taking slow steps toward the front door.

  “Good for you,” Mike said. “This job just takes from you. Chews you up day after day until it spits you out.”

  “Mike,” Terri said.

  “It’s true,” Porter said. “I figured I’d get out before I got chewed too bad.”

  “Smart man,” Mike said.

  Porter made it to the front door, the Newtons tailing along behind him.

  “Joe said you were going to help. How?” Terri said. “You still haven’t told me that part.”

  “I don’t want to bore you,” Porter said. “But you can help me with something.”

  Her eyebrows raised.

  “Who’s Scarlett?”

  Mike squinted. “She’s… she’s from church, right?”

  “School,” Terri said. “They’ve been pretty tight the last couple years. We called her mom; she said she hasn’t seen Pima.”

  “I’m sure she hasn’t,” Porter said. “Can I get her mom’s number?”

  Terri exchanged phone numbers with Porter, a text coming through his phone with a contact card for Scarlett’s mother. Then she went into the kitchen and pulled a picture off the refrigerator. It was Pima and a girl with long red hair, in front of a wall with a falcon painted on it. “That’s them.”

  “Go Falcons,” Porter muttered. He put his hand on the doorknob and was stopped by Mike.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  Porter nodded at Terri and stepped out onto the concrete walkway.

  “Joe told me what you do,” Mike said once the door was shut tightly behind them.

  “What’s that?”

  “Please. You think I care what it takes to get my little girl back?”

  Porter looked at the man.

  “If there’s something you can do, do it. If I can help, I will. Understand me?”

  Porter didn’t answer, instead looking at the small man, who was shaking with intensity.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “I’m tracking,” Porter said.

  “Good,” Mike said. “Good.” With that, he turned on his heel and went back into their home, slamming the door behind him.

  Porter walked the rest of the way to the parking pad and back to his Yukon. He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air.

  Ten

  When Pima had come to, she was tied to a chair with some kind of bag on her head. She could taste dirt and blood and snot in her mouth. She’d cried until she was out of tears.

  She tried to remember where they’d taken her and how she’d gotten tied up. She tried to figure out where she was and why she had a bag on her head. All she knew was that her head was throbbing and she couldn’t see.

  When she concentrated enough to hear things, she could make out the sounds of people walking around and the faint din of voices. From time to time there was a slam, like a door somewhere.

  And that was it.

  Eventually, the footsteps drew closer to her and she heard a door creak open in front of her. There was a click, and light shone through her hood. Someone pulled it off her face.

  Pima blinked, her eyes trying to adjust to the brightness. Once they did, she was looking at a girl with dirty blonde hair, not much older than her, wearing jeans with holes and a white tank top with her bra strap visible.

  “What the hell, Seth?”

  The girl stood up and looked across the room. Pima followed her gaze and saw the rest of the group. She recognized Seth and Dusty from the forest, but not the two other men.

  One stepped forward; he looked like Seth, with better skin and teeth. “You idiot. You stupid idiot.”

  Seth took off his hat and rubbed his head. “Damn it, Richie, what was I supposed to do, huh? She saw our spot.”

  The girl with the jeans stepped closer to Seth. “So what, moron? That’s why we put it where we did. We can move it all if we need to. We can leave it and let it get taken. Why else would we have disposable stuff in the forest? Shit.”

  Pima stayed quiet, looking around at the walls of the room. They were old and dingy, the carpet below her feet full of rips and burns.

  “I thought we should interrogate her, huh? Find out what she knows,” Seth said.

  “You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you gigantic piece of shit,” Richie said. “Because if you had, you would have known she was just some dumb kid playin’ in the woods.”

  Behind Richie, a man in a full camouflage outfit stood leaning against the wall. He had a smile on his face.

  Richie looked at him, daggers in his eyes. “You think this shit’s funny, Bart? Huh?”

  “Nope. Just goes to show that you can’t trust your brother and his big retard,” the man said as he rolled up a camouflaged sleeve.

  “Who the hell are you talking to, huh? I’ll beat your ass, Bart,” Seth said, taking a step toward the man.

  “Oh yeah? Let's go, tweaker.” The two men grabbed each other and started to struggle.

  “Get out!” the girl screamed. “All you idiots just get out.”

  “But Laura Bell, I was think—” Seth said, his hands on Bart’s collar.

  “I said get out, now, you dumb bastard.”

  “I ain’t no bastard,” Seth muttered.

  “You got all of Daddy’s taste for the smoke and none of his brains,” Laura Bell said. “Daddy would have never done this. It was stupid.”

  “I’m just saying, I was thinking about a way—”

  “Seth, shut your mouth right now or I swear to God, Bart will be the least of your problems,” Laura Bell said.

  “Okay, Sis, damn,” Seth said.

  “What are we gonna do?” Richie said.

  “You let me figure out what to do about the kid. You idiots worry about making enough crystal, got it?”

>   There was a murmur of assent around the room.

  “When’s the last time she ate?” Laura Bell said.

  “We ain't fed her yet,” Seth said.

  Laura Bell sighed. “What are you gonna do, starve her to death?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a thick, folded wad of money bound with a fat rainbow-colored rubber band. She pulled off two twenty-dollar bills and handed them to Dusty.

  “Please go get this girl some food.”

  “Okay, Laura Bell.” Pima saw the man give the girl an ugly look. Dusty shuffled out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the hollow floor.

  “Richie, go call Big Man. Tell him what happened and that it’s not going to hold up production. Tell him we’re still on target for the deadline.”

  Richie nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “The rest of y’all, go. Get out of here and do something useful.”

  Bart and Seth went into the hallway first, pushing and slapping each other. Richie followed them out, cursing them the entire way.

  Pima watched as Laura Bell shut the door behind the men, then turned around and looked at her.

  “They got you all tied up.” Laura Bell reached into her pocket and pulled out a small folding buck knife.

  Pima felt her heart speed up and she started breathing fast.

  “I ain't gonna hurt you.” Carefully, Laura Bell cut Pima free, then returned the knife to her pocket. “Look, I need to make sure you don’t have anything on you, got it?”

  Pima shook her head, confused.

  “Any kind of phone or tracking device or something. We can’t have anybody who's looking for you find us. Stand up.”

  Pima stood on shaky legs, the blood barely returning to them. Laura Bell ran her hands all over her, patting her pockets and arms and even pulling the front of her bra a couple of times.

  “That’s to make sure you don’t have anything in your cups there,” Laura Bell said. She reached down and pulled Pima’s shoes off and checked them as well. “Sit. You’re good.”

  Pima did.

  “My daddy taught me how to do that when I was younger. About your age, I guess,” Laura Bell said. “He liked to make sure nobody had anything on them when they were doing deals. Most people didn’t mind letting a girl search them. Bunch of perverts thought I was copping a feel or something.”