Marc – Day fourteen

I spent as little time in the office as possible. Solving crimes from behind a desk was improbable. The information I gathered in the field, however, was instrumental in making progress in all my investigations.

Nonetheless, I had to go to the office from time to time.

Seated at my desk, I flipped through the files on the unsolved murder of a local heroin dealer. While I scanned through the paperwork looking for the name of a witness, I couldn’t help but notice that Captain Sprague was in a heated telephone conversation with someone.

A former Marine investigator in his mid-fifties, he still looked the part of an active military man. Tall and physically fit with tanned skin and short gray hair, he could easily pass for a local surfer. His short fuse and violent temper kept most of his subordinates out of his office until they were invited, me included.

He paced the floor of his office as he spoke. The phone’s excessively long cord followed him as he walked back and forth, repositioning the items on his desk with each pass. Through the thick glass of his office walls, I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I didn’t need to. The expression on his face was one of disgust and his eyes were filled with anger.

He stopped beside the corner of his desk. With the phone clenched tight in his hand, he gazed down at the floor for a moment. As I started to look away, he leaned over and slammed the phone’s receiver down. The impact caused it to jump out of the cradle and land on his desk. After two more repeated unsuccessful attempts, he swept the entire thing off his desk and onto the floor with a violent brush of his arm.

“Watson!” he shrieked.

There’s my invitation.

I stood.

“Watson! God damn it Watson, get your ass in here!”

I walked to his office and pushed open the door. “Captain?”

He glanced at the phone and then at me. “Close the fucking door.”

I stepped inside and closed the door. “What’s going on, Top?”

“Nine. In the last twenty-four God damned hours. Nine.” He pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. “That’s one every, what? Two hours or so?”

“Two hours and forty minutes. Nine what, Top? What have we got?”

“Girls. Nine missing teenage girls. It looks like your fucking MS-13 gang is at it again. I thought we had this problem solved?”

My heart sank. The description was all too familiar.

Notorious for their use of violence as a means of retribution, the Mara Salvatrucha – or MS-13 – was a thorn in society’s side. Their presence in Southern California had turned portions of the state into a drug infested war zone. Sadly, their vicious acts didn’t begin and end with their members.

There had been eight girls kidnapped a few months prior, and although we made very little progress in solving the investigation, a local motorcycle club somehow stumbled onto the whereabouts of the girls, and saved them.

When their vengeance for the kidnappings was over, ten of MS-13’s most violent gang members were dead.

Although I had evidence to support my case, I didn’t file criminal charges against the MC, nor would I. The club, in my eyes, was a necessary predator. The gang members were their prey.

In the food chain, the grass feeds the grasshopper. The grasshopper is eaten by the snake. The snake is captured and eaten by the hawk. The hawk then deposits his spoils upon the earth, feeding the grass to support the growth of yet another grasshopper. The chain is endless.

The MC was my hawk.

The MS-13 gang was a venomous snake.

The MC, however, didn’t shit their spoils back onto the earth. They were a necessary part my food chain – as long as they didn’t become disruptive to the lives of the sheep I had taken an oath to protect.

And, so far, they hadn’t.

“That problem was solved, Top. Ms-13 is the most notorious gang in the Western Hemisphere. 70,000 members. It’s an ongoing battle, and it will continue to be an ongoing battle. Hell, I arrested that Linda Martinez girl the other night on a felony warrant, and I thought she’d give me something. The same as all the other chicas, she pursed her lips and took jail over talking.”

“Do something different,” he demanded. “I need these pricks off my streets, and I need this case solved now.”

“I’ve got informants on the streets that should be able to get me some answers, but I’ll need leniency.”

“What are you asking for?”

“Don’t ask any questions. And, when I bring these girls home, I’ll need something from you.”

The look on his face was all I needed to see. I had a different way of solving crimes, and it wasn’t always pretty. To get the answers – and the results – I needed, I often stepped outside the boundaries of the law.

When I did, it was best that no one ask anything about my whereabouts or my findings. My results spoke for themselves.

“Have you got any files on this yet?”

He waved his hand toward his desk. “Chief just sent it to me.”

“Forward me everything you’ve got.”

“I want these girls alive, Watson. Nine of them.”

I pushed his door open. “Makes two of us, Top.”

I walked to my desk and downloaded the documents. After opening them, I began to review the files for any similarities between the girls, where they were abducted, or how they were taken.

May Trayvor. 14. Blonde. Blue eyes. Rancho Del Oro, CA. Last seen at the home of a friend.

Theresa Wilson. 13. Blonde. Blue eyes. Tri-City, CA. Last seen at the 7-Eleven three blocks from her home.

Catelyn Mayberry. 13. Blonde. Blue eyes. Vista, CA. Last seen at the public pool.

My heart shot into my throat. Every one of the girls was in her early teens, blonde, and from the Vista area. Frantically, I flipped through each of the files. Upon reading the last one, I jumped to my feet, ran to the parking garage and dove into my car.

With lights and no siren, I made it to Vista in eight minutes. Just because Charlee’s name wasn’t on the list didn’t mean she was safe. If one hair on her head was out of place, I’d rain a terror down on the men responsible so violently that the world would not soon forget.

I screeched to a stop in front of the diner and peered through the window. At three o’clock in the afternoon, and with the lunch crowd long gone, the diner appeared empty.

Fuck!

I rushed to the front door and pushed it open. The brass bell that dangled from the door’s upper frame jingled as the door swung past it.

My eyes scanned the diner.

No Charlee.

No Jacky.

I hurried toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing here, mister?” a familiar voice asked from the diner’s right side.

I exhaled a long breath and turned to face her. Rubbing her tired eyes with the tips of her fingers, Charlee brushed her curly locks from her face and looked at me in disbelief of my existence.

“I uhhm. I think I lost one of my keys off my key ring this morning,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Is your mother here?”

“She’s in the back. It’s almost shift change. I forgot to tell you…” She twisted her hair into a bun, and seemed preoccupied as she did so. When she finished, she looked at me. “I forgot to tell you what happened.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a secret, so promise you won’t tell.”

“Okay.”

She squinted her eyes. “Can you be trusted?”

I shrugged. “Society thinks so.”

“Good enough.” She smiled. “I kneed a guy in the nuts.”

I couldn’t believe she had said such a thing. Nor could I imagine her doing it. Or needing to do it. I raised my eyebrows in wonder. “Oh really?”

“Yep. Hit him, too. He was a crap-hat. At the 7-Eleven. He was wacked out on something. Tried to grab me, and I hit him like this.” She thrust the heel of her palm outward as she extended her arm. “And, I gave him the knee.”

My heart began to race. “Which 7-Eleven?”

“Pala Vista. I walked there last night for a Mountain Dew. I didn’t tell mom. She’d freak out if she knew. You can’t tell her either, you promised.”

“I won’t.” I looked her over. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Nope. Just grabbed my wrist.”

“You’re sure?”

She held up her arm. “See?”

I tried to hide my interest. I swallowed hard, and then let out a sigh. “What did he look like?”

“Shaved head. Tattoos on his face. A ‘1’ tattooed on one cheek, and a ‘3’ on the other. Had a scorpion and a bunch of other crap tattooed on his neck, too. He was a little guy. Shorter than me. After I kneed him, I took off. Ran all the way home. Got there, and didn’t even have my Mountain Dew. Must have dropped it.”

“What time last night?”

“Right after dark, why?”

I shrugged. “Just wondering.”

She rubbed her hands together. “You going to find him? Take him in the interrogation room and slap him around?”

“I just might. Don’t go back to that 7-Eleven, okay?”

“I’m not. I’m not going anywhere after that.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“In fact, how about until I say otherwise, you don’t go anywhere at night alone? Can we make that happen?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Why?”

“There’s just a few guys I’m trying to find. The little guy might be one of them. So, until I get him found, you stay home at night. Deal?”

She gave her mock salute. “Deal.”

“So, how did you learn to defend yourself?” I asked.

“I don’t just read literature,” she said. “Jack Reacher’s good to break up the monotony of good literature. He’s my favorite. Lee Child’s is pretty detailed in his descriptions of hand-to-hand combat.”

I chuckled. “Jack Reacher, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to go talk to your mom, and see if she found my key,” I lied. “I won’t say anything to her, don’t worry.”

“Must be an important key for you to come back all of a sudden. You could have just waited ‘till tomorrow.”

I looked her over and grinned. She defined innocence. “It’s a pretty special key. It’s something I never want to lose.”

“I’ve got all the stuff I don’t want to lose in a special place,” she said. “You should try that. Keep the important stuff in a safe place.”

I smiled and then turned toward the back of the diner.

I’m doing my best to do just that, kid.