Feeling his heart rate increase at the sight of them, Reed ran a quick scan of the group, no faces in particular jumping out at him. About the only thing he could make out with any certainty was the fact that while they were all young, none appearing to be anywhere near their teen years, their faces bearing the first hint of lines around the eyes and mouths, much closer to Bethanee Ing than Tek-Yen Dang in appearance.
“Something’s not right,” Reed whispered, again sweeping his gaze over the small grouping, seeing Gilchrist glance over in his periphery.
“What’s up?” the young officer asked.
Ignoring the question, not exactly sure how to answer it just yet, Reed superimposed the sight of the girls onto the information he already had in place, letting it fit over the known quantities, looking for the gaps.
As he did so, Ward coordinated SWAT team as it fanned out in a wide arc, the officers and FBI agents the falling in behind them. With weapons leveled, they moved in coordinated silence, hemming in the group of Jade employees, nobody so much as saying a word.
The closest form of any opposition at all came from some of the men standing in suits, the looks on their faces ranging from hostility to annoyance, such a collection of emotions making it nearly impossible to determine their intentions.
“Gentlemen,” a voice called, raised to be loud enough to be heard by all, shattering the silence, jerking the attention of the room toward it. “Is all this really necessary?”
The voice belonged to a man descending a set of stairs from the second floor. Wearing a grey suit with a burgundy shirt and patterned tie, his shoes polished, his hair gelled into place, he walked slowly, hands held wide by his side.
“This is a respectable establishment, with customers that always pay their tabs and employees that file their taxes.”
Even without having ever seen a photograph of the man, having not read so much as a full physical description, Reed knew on sight that it was Frank Wu. Feeling a spike of repulsion in his stomach, he watched as the man descended one step at a time, his face wearing only a look of concerned surprise, his hands still out wide by his side.
Not one person moved as he continued to descend the steps, finally making it to the ground floor and stopping. “May I ask what this is all about? Why you couldn’t have knocked on the door or picked up the phone?”
Despite it being the first time Reed had ever encountered the man, the similarities to so many like him over the years was too much to bear, every internal warning light he had going off in unison, telling him there was much more afoot.
Unable to stop himself, not waiting for any directive from Ward, knowing that it would probably bring heat down on him, Grimes, and maybe even the entire precinct, Reed did the only thing he could think to, the only possible avenue he had to release even the smallest bit of the vitriol he felt for the man standing a few feet away, trying his best to play ignorant to the spectacle spread before him.
Tucking his chin down to his chin, Reed simply aid, “Search,” the word loud enough to draw several stares his direction.
Billie was gone, a black bolt searing a path through the crowd, before the word had even left the air.
Chapter Sixty-One
The Muscle had decisions to make.
When The Businessman had called, he was just on the cusp of extracting what he needed from the girls. After their time spent on the porch, each was fighting off frostbite, their bodies wracked with cold, their skin pale to the point of translucence.
Leaving them both tied up, he had resumed his perch on the recliner, allowing them to the feel the warm air, to smell the pizza in the air, watching as they balanced themselves on wobbly legs, their bound hands unable to rub any blood back into their extremities.
Having been through the process enough times to recognize the signs, The Muscle knew they were nothing more than dominoes teetering on an edge, needing only a small nudge from him before toppling over, every piece of information they held about to come spilling out.
When the phone rang, he almost ignored it, only even considering the notion because it was the special ringtone he employed for The Businessman, an unending string of a baby crying, the sound closely approximating what he heard every time his partner opened his mouth.
Even at that, it took several moments before he pulled himself away from the impending joy of tormenting the girls to take the call.
After learning why he was being summoned, he was glad he had done so, even if he would never admit it.
Just as he would never confess to the fact that if the situation was reversed, there was no way he would have called The Businessman to give him a heads up.
Far from the first time The Muscle had been forced to leave someplace at a moment’s notice, the only thing he grabbed was his leather jacket from the floor, shrugging it on. Everything else remained where it was, the flat screen more than payment enough for the accumulated garbage in the place, the unit a month-to-month rental, a joint he would never return to.
Feeling not the slightest hint of remorse, The Muscle moved for the girls, hearing their whimpers, seeing them cower as he snatched them both up from the ground, tucking one under each arm. Combined they weighed no more than two hundred pounds, their skin cold and clammy to the touch, neither squirming or wiggling as he pressed them tight against his rib cage, the oversized coat blocking them from view.
“Either one of you say a word, you’ll wish you were never born,” The Muscle seethed as he walked out the back door, leaving it stand open, and descended the short stairwell.
Out back, the yard was cloaked in darkness, The Muscle long ago having removed the bulbs from the security lights. The only sound was his boots crunching against gravel as he walked to the Caprice and set one of the girls down just long enough to jerk the back door open.
Tossing the other one across the backseat, he watched as her frail body flew across the expanse, smashing into the passenger side door, before motioning with a finger.
“Go.”
With her legs still tied together, the second girl hopped forward two steps before diving in, her waif-thin body landing silently against the cloth seats.
Slamming the door shut behind her, The Muscle slid into the front seat and called the aging engine to life, the block sputtering twice before leveling out. Adjusting the front vents, he allowed the engine to warm for a moment, cold stale air blowing out at them.
Leaning forward, he reached up under the seat and wrapped his fingers around the gnarled grip of the Beretta 9mm he knew was nestled there. Drawing it up in front of the wheel, he checked the slide, made sure a round was chambered, and dropped the weapon down on his lap before pushing the car into gear.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The second floor of Jade was not entirely as it appeared, the place designed as an optical illusion, a series of partial walls and short hallways allowing for a path that could be followed by the feet, but not the eye. With each step through it Reed felt his adrenaline pulse a little higher, working fast to keep pace with Billie as she moved through each turn, her pace fast and even, never rising or falling.
Under the combined weight of his sweatshirt and the Kevlar, Reed kept his weapon extended, sensing that there were at least two officers on his heels, not once having glanced back to see who they were, his only thought on the matter being that he hoped it wasn’t Tucker or Gott.
On the floor below he could hear the first sounds of opposition, Wu’s voice rising into a steady diatribe, using words like warrant and probable cause and a host of others he had heard on late night television reruns but had no idea how to actually employee.
Pushing them from his consciousness, Reed continued moving, listening as Billie drew in great breaths through her nose, unraveling the trail laid out before her.
His first thought was of Tek-Yen, wishing he had brought the piece of clothing that was still tucked away in his sedan. Just as fast it was dismissed, Reed fully aware that she told him she had never been inside the
club, knowing the scent would do little good.
In its stead, Reed pushed on to whatever other smell Billie had locked on to, her poise and pace both making it clear that there was something in her crosshairs, propelling her forward.
Twice more the pathway twisted before them, ending on the edge of a small landing, the space opening up. To the left was a waist high railing overlooking the floor below, a single door standing on the far side, painted the same solid black as the walls around it.
Moving straight forward, Billie pulled up right at the base, continuing to pace back and forth, a single sound escaping her throat, letting Reed know that the trail continued beyond the blockade in her path.
“What’s he got?” a voice asked, Reed turning over his shoulder to see a SWAT officer by his side, a middle-aged man with a heavy shadow of facial hair, the rest of his body covered in protective gear.
“She,” Reed corrected, “and I don’t know yet.”
There was no pause for discussion, no contemplation of the next steps. Saying simply, “Cover me,” he lowered his gun to his side and stepped. Positioning his body to the side, his arm extended out across the expanse of the door, he grasped the handle and glanced back.
In addition to the man with the facial hair was a second officer, a female with blonde braids hanging down behind either ear.
“Ready?”
In unison both nodded tersely, their weapons already at shoulder height.
Twisting the knob in his hand, feeling it spin smoothly, Reed took one quick breath and shoved the door open, yelling “Clear!” as he thrust his body back out of the way.
On command, Billie was the first inside, her feet sliding once on the smooth floor before finding purchase, hurtling forward. A split second behind her were the two officers stepping through, Reed bringing up the rear.
In total it took the group no more than a few steps before pulling up sharply, the cramped space keeping them from moving any further.
Appearing to be an office, the room was roughly a dozen feet on either edge, the back wall comprised of an enormous aquarium, light spilling through from the floor below. Filling the bulk of the interior was an oversized desk, with a black leather couch along the left wall and a carpet on the floor.
Each of those items Reed saw, processed, and dismissed instantly, his focus instead drawn to more than a dozen young girls crowded on to the sofa, a handful more sitting crossed legged on the floor, their backs pressed tight against the opposite wall.
In the space between Billie paced back and forth, working her gaze over the girls before flicking it back to Reed.
“Down,” Reed said, Billie stopping where she was and falling to her haunches, the majority of the girls staring at her with eyes wide.
“Hands!” the female officer barked, her weapon still extended out before her, a few small squeals sounding out in response. “Now, hands, everybody!”
Instantly, pairs of hands appeared around the room, their pales surfaces looking like specters floating through the dim light.
Not one person had expected the club to turn over so easily. Knowing that the place was serving as a focal point for illegal immigration, was at least tangentially involved with the sex trade, most likely a dozen more transgressions that usually came with the territory, everybody had expected something closer to a shootout.
Never before had Reed known a place such as Jade not to have their own active security force, often the guys either former military elite with specialized training or people that had been grabbed off the streets, proficient through their own sort of customized lifetime learning programs.
While all of these people were generally more than able to handle themselves in a scrap, what they often lacked was any sort of decorum, the human embodiments of the cliché shoot first and ask questions later.
This had been a different matter altogether. Not one of the security personnel that were gathered downstairs even carrying a weapon. While many had stood and glared, hostility obvious, not one of them made the slightest move to act on it.
The reasoning behind such inaction was now clear. By laying down, Wu had hoped to be able to slide by with merely hiding the deviant behavior upstairs in his office. Hoping that the myriad that masked the entrance to his office would make it a safe hiding spot, he had tucked away that which he knew would draw the largest target on the organization.
The girls seated before them were all some variation of what he had met at the diner the night before, ranging from fourteen to no more than eighteen, many wearing garish stage makeup, several donning only robes, their tops sagging open, revealing bodies with nothing on beneath.
With their hands raised, they made no move to cover up, wanton fear etched across their features.
“Holy shit,” the man with heavy facial hair whispered, Reed unable to do anything but nod, the same two words etched across the front of his mind as well.
Remaining silent, he stepped out of the office and pressed his waist against the railing overlooking the floor below, the scene exactly as it had been a few minutes before, every officer still standing at the ready, turned his direction, waiting to see what Billie had found.
“Captain Ward!” Reed yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. “You’re going to want to see this!”
Raising a hand overhead, the captain left Wu in the charge of the men standing to either side of him, disappearing from view. The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard as he ascended the stairs, falling quiet as he worked his way through the maze back toward the office, a series of mutterings making it to Reed, loud enough to be heard but just soft enough to be indecipherable.
Thirty seconds after leaving the floor of the club the captain appeared, his face drawn in tight, his gun cradled in either hand, resting before his waist. Glancing to Reed, he went straight for the office door and stepped inside, returning a moment later, his mouth turned down in a frown that resembled something Grimes was known to don from time to time.
“Jesus.”
“Yep,” Reed agreed. “Those are girls can’t be any older than-“
“Kids,” Ward said, cutting him off.
Again Reed agreed, this time merely nodding in response.
“You find the one you’re looking for?” Ward asked.
“No,” Reed said, shaking his head just slightly. “She doesn’t work on this side of things, said she’s never even been in the club before.”
Raising the top of his head, Ward motioned toward the floor below. “Right after you came up we got word from Captain Grimes. Seems they’ve gotten a hit back on Draymont Slade.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
The Muscle saw the first cruiser swing on to High Street and fall in behind him. No lights or siren, it stayed two car lengths back, sitting one lane over, making no attempt to advance or fall back.
“Shit,” he muttered, flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror, alternating it back to the front windshield. “He’s calling me in.”
Increasing his speed slightly, he watched as the cruiser did the same.
A moment later a second cruiser joined the group, matching the speed and position of the first, neither still making any effort to move on him.
“They’re bringing in the cavalry,” The Muscle muttered, shifting his focus in the rearview mirror, seeing both of the girls both huddled together, their bound hands and feet jutting out at odd angles.
Upon leaving the house, bringing them with him had seemed like a good idea. As it stood, there was nothing incriminating in his house to tie him to anything, the thought of grabbing the girls being that it would stay that way.
At some point his landlord would enter, finding nothing more than a nice television and a lot of garbage, hardly the sort of thing to get the police involved over.
The thought was to get away from the city and ditch the girls, exonerating him from most anything that could be tied to the partnership. They might have a few small infractions they could link him to – as a known felon he might
even have to do a nominal bit of time – but by and large he would be okay.
He was a survivor, and like most things, he would ride this out.
The problem he didn’t foresee in the moment, though he should have, was the fact that The Businessman had said on the phone that they were coming, meaning that he had spotted the police making a move on the club.
There was no doubt that the sniveling prick would dig into the usual shtick he used when he thought he was pulling a fast one on somebody, smiling a lot and cracking wise, trying to minimize the severity of the situation. More than once he had attempted such an approach on The Muscle, each met with more derision than the previous.
When that didn’t work, his next move would be to start pedaling anything he thought was expendable, having no problem shoving The Muscle into the line of fire if it preserved him and his precious spot in the organizational pecking order.
Pressing his mouth shut tight, The Muscle squeezed the steering wheel, feeling veins bulge the length of his arms.
He should have known better. Never before had The Businessman said that the supplier on the other side of the globe was family, though it would make sense, the only reason someone so young and inexperienced would be tapped for such a post.
Once before he had made the mistake of getting involved with a family organization, learning in excruciating detail where loyalty lines were drawn when blood was involved.
Back then he had promised himself never again, being seduced this time by a novel concept, changes in scenery, and a solid bottom line.
“Dammit,” The Muscle muttered, the sound close to a growl as he clocked the mirror to see a third cruiser had joined the envoy.
Reaching out, he switched off the heat in the car, the interior falling silent without the sound of the fan.
Far past random, the police were clearly looking for him, getting themselves in order, about to make a move.
The Partnership Page 28
