Fukiya regained Myk’s attention by saying, “I live very simply.”
Myk nodded. “I see.”
When he and Fukiya first met, most of the man’s frame had been hidden beneath his parka. Now, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, the sleek power in his neck and arms were revealed. He looked to be in top physical shape.
“I will keep an eye out for the men,” Fukiya promised.
“Thanks.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you come to me?”
Myk told the truth, “Because I know you care about my wife.”
Fukiya smiled softly and dropped his eyes, but when he raised them, they were steely with resolve. “I care enough to make this pledge. If Nelson gets through you, I will be waiting.” Fukiya bowed. “Happy hunting, Mr. Chandler.”
Myk bowed respectfully in return. “I’ll keep in touch.”
Back in the car, Myk drove to the center. It was only a few blocks away, but he picked up the phone to see if Sarita had already left for the market. He needed to talk to her about Nelson as soon as possible.
Her phone was still ringing when Myk pulled up to the curb. He spotted Shirley and some of the Army members piling into the van. He put the phone down and relaxed knowing they hadn’t left yet. Getting out, he walked up expecting to see Sarita behind the wheel, but Silas was seated there instead. “Hey, grandson.”
“Hey, Silas. Sarita around?”
“Nope, she went with a police fella. He said he had some pictures he wanted her to look at downtown. Something to do with that fool Fletcher’s murder.”
Myk went still. “How long ago did they leave?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago. Why? What’s the matter?”
Myk wasn’t sure, but the fact that she wasn’t answering her phone coupled with the knowledge that the police didn’t suddenly just show up and take citizens away without calling first, made him suspicious. “Silas, I want you to send the fastest kid you have over to Fukiya’s right now. Tell him Sarita may be missing.”
“Sure.” Silas studied the emotion playing over Myk’s face. “You think she may be in trouble?”
“Not sure. She’s not answering her phone. Hand me a piece of paper.”
Silas picked up an envelope on the seat. Myk snatched a pen out of his pocket and hastily scribbled his cell number. “This is my cell number, if she comes back, call me. If I find out anything, I’ll call you.”
Myk was already running to his car. Inside he grabbed up the mailer, shook out the pictures of Nelson and his bodyguard, then ran back to the tight-lipped Silas. “If you see these two, call me.”
Silas studied the picture, but when he looked up to ask Myk for more details, Myk was already back in his car. A second later he roared away.
Myk got hold of Walter and quickly explained the situation. They agreed to meet at the Fed offices to see if their friends could help. Myk kept calling Sarita’s phone. It rang steadily, but no one answered.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the police car, Sarita could hear the phone ringing inside her purse. This was the third call since she’d left the center but because the officer had forbidden her to answer it, she had to let it ring. She knew by the ring tone—the first few notes of “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf” that it was Chandler calling. She wondered how long it would take him to figure out she was in trouble.
She sensed she was in trouble the moment the policeman walked into her office. She didn’t know why, but the feeling was strong. She’d never seen him before. He said there’d been a break in Fletcher’s murder case and asked would she, as a neighborhood leader, come down and look at some perp sheets to see if she recognized anyone. When she told him she couldn’t do it that day, hoping she could put him off, he pulled a gun, and that was that. He promised not to shoot her or any of the children if she came along quietly.
Sarita had no choice but to cooperate. With him right behind her, she went downstairs and, careful to keep her manner even, told Shirley and the others she’d meet them at the market because of the pics the officer wanted her to review. They’d waved, and she and the policeman went on their way.
That had been about twenty minutes earlier, and now, she was being driven deep into westside, traveling on unfamiliar streets in an area devastated by blight, drugs, and neglect. “Where are we going?” Sarita asked him again.
“I can’t tell you, Mrs. Chandler,” he said impatiently, “so please, stop asking.”
“Am I being kidnapped?”
Silence.
Sarita knew being afraid wouldn’t help her, but she was scared to death because she was certain the cop was tied in with Big Tiny Crane and his employer.
The policeman turned down an alley, and the car bumped its way along the cracked pavement past overflowing Dumpsters, fence-charging pit bulls, and a bearded homeless man slumped in sleep against a listing garage.
At the end of the alley, the cap stopped the car in front of a square squat building with a large corrugated metal door on front. The building was brick, and tight wire mesh covered the two windows. The building reminded her of the old car repair places that had once been prevalent in the neighborhoods before the city’s downward spiral.
The phone rang again.
The policeman said tersely, “Give me that.”
Sarita reached in her purse, but as she fumbled for it, she pressed what she hoped was the SEND button before handing it over. He rolled down the window and tossed the phone out. So much for that, she said to herself. When the metal door on the building began to rise, she drew in a shuddering breath and began to pray.
The police car pulled forward into the interior of the unlit building. Once it was in, the door lowered again.
Myk’s phone rang. He picked it up. Seeing Sarita’s name on the display made his heart pound. “Sarita, where are you?”
Drake, Walter, and the Feds looked up quickly when Myk spoke her name.
“Sarita!” Myk shouted. Silence. Myk studied the display again. “It’s sending, but no one’s on the other end,” he told the others.
The DEA agent peered over Myk’s shoulder at the display for a moment, then said eagerly, “Let’s see if the phone company can trace that signal before the battery dies.”
Myk opened his mouth to agree but his words faded away at the sight of Saint striding angrily into the room, his green eyes flashing, the hem of his long coat flying.
Saint didn’t mince words. He leaned down and barked in Myk’s face. “How in the hell did she get snatched! Where were you?”
Myk stood and met his half brother’s anger. “You and I can do this after we find her.”
Drake stepped between them. “Saint, leave it alone. Myk’s right. Face off later. Let’s find her first.”
Myk was seething. He’d already beaten himself up over this. No one felt worse. He cared deeply for her, and not knowing where she was or if she was still alive was scaring him to death. Saint’s anger was nothing compared to the fury Myk had reserved for himself.
Saint demanded, “Did you at least let Kerry know she’s missing?”
Myk nodded. “Yes.”
Saint snapped back, “Finally, something right!”
Myk’s eyes blazed.
Apparently Saint didn’t care about his big brother’s anger. He marched out, yelling back over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”
And he was gone.
Myk and Drake shared a look. Myk growled, “Let’s get that signal traced.”
When Sarita’s eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the building she saw two armed men. One of them, a thin brother in a lime green suit, opened her door and motioned her out. He then took her purse. The other man, dressed in Miami orange, just stood there looking menacing. Out of the shadows stepped Big Tiny Crane. He was dressed in preacher blue pinstripes, and his gun matched his girth.
“Let’s go,” he demanded.
Sarita moved forward. Discarded batteri
es, rusted tools, and car parts littered the oil-stained floor. A chop shop? She didn’t know, but right now, the building’s function was the least of her problems.
He gestured her up a flight of wire stairs, then around the railed catwalk. Below her, she saw the cop backing his car out of the building. She wondered who he was and, more importantly, who she was going to meet.
Sarita saw Faye first. The bruises spread across Faye’s face made Sarita’s steps slow. Faye met her eyes. Sarita saw fury in them. Before Sarita could react further the behemoth pushed her forward. “Keep walking,” he said.
Sarita moved, but she couldn’t help but look back at Faye with concern. Was she in line for the same kind of abuse? Only then did Sarita see Clark Nelson. He was dressed in all yellow and sitting in the middle of the room on a battered black leather recliner as if it were the throne of Ethiopia, and he, Haile Selassie.
He greeted her arrival with a deadly smile. “Well, well, well. Hello, Mrs. Chandler. Glad you could make it.”
Sarita raised her chin. So, this was Crane’s employer. “Why am I here?”
“To answer a question or two.”
“About what?”
“The diamonds you took for Fletcher Harris the night he was killed.”
Sarita stilled. Gathering herself she lied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. The diamonds were in Room 1533. I found some of Fletcher’s friends down in Alabama, and before they died, they said you were the one Fletcher sent to the hotel to pick them up.”
Sarita shuddered at the implication but didn’t respond.
He smiled again, but it was the smile of the devil. “Do you know what a whipping boy is, Mrs. Chandler?”
Not sure why he’d asked, Sarita answered warily, “Yes, they took the whippings for child kings and queens.”
“Ah, you’re intelligent, too. I like that. Yes, the little kings couldn’t be spanked, so some poor kid from the village was brought in to be hit instead. Well, Faye here is going to be yours. Every time you tell me a lie, this is going to happen.”
He snapped his fingers and the big man walked over to Faye and slapped her face so hard the force caused to stumble and cry out.
“Hey!” Sarita screamed in outrage and started across the room but was stopped immediately by the gun the big bodyguard turned on her.
Faye had a hand to her face and was weeping softly, but her eyes were fiery with hate. She spat, “You’re a real big man, aren’t you Nelson?”
He shot her a look. “Shut the hell up before I give you back to Big Tiny. He said you called his name real loud last night.”
Sarita shuddered. Had Nelson really given Faye to the bodyguard? Apparently so, because the big man was smiling, and Faye was staring back venomously.
Nelson told Faye, “Fix your face. You look a mess.”
Faye walked stiffly over to the pink overnight bag sitting a few feet away and angrily yanked the case open.
Nelson said to Crane, “Find Mrs. Chandler a chair so we can tie her up. She’s going to be staying with us a while.”
Suddenly, two shots rang out, and everything seemed to go into slow motion. Sarita hit the floor. Big Tiny Crane stumbled back, and twin bursts of blood spurted up out of his chest like a fountain. An astonished Sarita looked up just in time to see Faye calmly turn the Luger in her hands on the wide-eyed, terrified Nelson. She pumped him once in the leg. He went down with a high-pitched scream.
Sarita scrambled up and ran for the stairs. “Come on, Faye!”
Faye aimed at Nelson again, higher this time, but the gun jammed.
“Run, girl! Come on!”
But Sarita had forgotten about the men downstairs. They came charging into the room, guns drawn. One man grabbed Sarita and threw her against the wall so hard that she saw stars. The other trained his gun on Faye. Faye gave him a smug smile and let the gun drop slowly from her fingers to the floor.
The air was thick with the smell of gunfire. Sarita looked over at Crane’s prone body. He was dead. Nelson was slowly dragging himself off the floor and into the chair. The bullet caught him in his bad leg. Much to the satisfaction of the pleased-looking Faye, he was bleeding profusely. “You bitch!” he screamed.
She snarled, “I got your bitch, you bastard! You gave me to that cretin like I was some whore on the street! Be glad I didn’t kill you first.”
Nelson barked at his rescuers, “Tie them up, then get me to a doctor!” He looked at Faye, and said, “When I get back, I’m going to kill you personally.”
Faye tossed back, “I died the moment I let you put your filthy hands on me.”
Two old office chairs were found and dragged into place. The thug in the lime green suit held his gun on Sarita and Faye, while Miami orange pushed Sarita and Faye onto the seats. Their arms were forced behind the chairs and their wrists bound. He then knelt and tied another length of rope around their ankles. He made sure both sets of knots were tight.
Once Nelson was satisfied the women would stay put, his henchmen helped him out of the room, leaving Faye and Sarita alone. A few moments later, the lights went out.
As the silence settled, Sarita looked over at Faye, and said. “You okay?”
“No, but, he’ll never rape anyone ever again.”
In spite of the way they’d met initial tension between them, Sarita’s heart certainly went out to her. “If we ever get out of here, I’ll testify for you.”
“Thanks, and I’m sorry for—all of this. I was so mad at you and Myk—I, I’m just sorry, that’s all.”
Sarita nodded. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”
“My mother was a cop.”
Sarita was surprised.
“Yeah. Back in the eighties, sharpshooting was my talent for the Miss Virginia pageant. Hit six bull’s-eyes in a row.”
“Did you win?”
“Nope. Came in second to a blond baton twirler.”
Sarita smiled.
Faye added, “My sidearm is like the slogan for that credit card. I never leave home without it. Me having a gun and being able to use it never crossed Nelson’s mind. He paid for underestimating me.”
Nelson wasn’t the only one, Sarita thought to herself.
With each passing hour, Sarita and Faye began to wonder if Nelson was coming back. They’d spent most of the afternoon trying to work their hands free of the rope, but had succeeded only in rubbing their wrists so raw that they stung and burned. Dusk could be seen falling through the wire-covered window across the room. It was getting dark, and because it was also December outside, cold. Sarita at least had on coat and jeans; Faye did not. Her pale blue cashmere sweater set and matching skirt were cute, but not designed to keep her warm. Her coat was in Nelson’s limo.
“How’re you doing, Faye?”
“Terrible,” she said in a shivering voice. “I wouldn’t mind dying here if I knew he was somewhere bleeding to death.”
“Let’s keep a good thought,” Sarita drawled drolly. She knew Mykal was looking for her, probably moving heaven and earth in the process, but that wasn’t much help to her and Faye at the moment.
The sound of a soft skittering broke the silence.
Sarita shot panicked eyes around the room. The sound came again.
Faye asked, “What is that sound?”
“Rats.”
Faye uttered a one-word curse.
“Big Tiny is going to be dinner. We really need to get out of here, Faye.”
Sure enough, Sarita could see the eyes of the scavengers glowing back at her in the settling darkness. She knew the rodents would wait for a while to see whether she and Faye were a threat, then, little by little, they’d approach the corpse. Sarita thought she might be sick.
As she and Faye watched tensely, the rats began to shed the shadows. First one, then two. They were your standard city rats; gray, ugly, big as pampered suburban house cats, with tails long as snakes. Sarita hated rats; everyone in the city did.
They were moving in a steady stream. A few brushed by Sarita’s and Faye’s ankles. Both women screamed with alarm and tried to move away, but they couldn’t. Their only recourse was to sit there cringing, and yelling, hoping it would scare the creatures away. The awful feel of warm fur scraped Sarita’s ankles again and again. She closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t be bitten.
But the rats didn’t seem interested in live prey, at least for the time being. With the feast awaiting them and the smell of blood in the air, they were drawn in ever-growing numbers. Soon the silence was filled with their snarls and squeaks as they fought and fed. Sarita could hear Faye crying softly. Tears were running down Sarita’s cheeks, too.
Sarita had no idea how much time passed, or how many rats were convened over the corpse, but suddenly, the lights were on, and the sound of automatic gunfire sent the rats scrambling.
Sarita’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the glare, but when they did, there sat Clark Nelson in a wheelchair. Flanking him were the two armed men from before.
Clark smiled. “Bet you’re glad to see me.”
Both women hated to admit it, but yes, they were.
Eighteen
The phone company wasn’t able to give Myk an exact read on the signal from Sarita’s phone, the technology wasn’t that precise; however, they were able to narrow the location to a ten-block section on the westside. So, for the past several hours, Myk and his people, some city police officers and Federal agents, had been combing the area within the targeted grid. They went through abandoned homes, alleys, neighborhood garages, even Dumpsters, but found no trace of Sarita. They hadn’t been able to find Nelson either since he’d checked out of his hotel. Faye was missing, too. They all seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Dark had fallen, and Myk was sick inside. Where was she! He’d talked to Saint about an hour earlier and although his half brother was still angry, the two of them had managed to discuss possible strategies without jumping down each other’s throats. Saint and some FAA agents were at the airport keeping Nelson’s private plane under surveillance.