She hopped back into the tunnel, ready to reverse her trip, but paused at the lamb. With the Maglite, she moved the statue, catching it with the back of her other hand as it toppled, uncovering a hole crammed with folded dollars. Once photographed, she retraced her steps back into the darkness, running hard, until the passageway fork appeared once more. Cherry veered into the other section of tunnel. The airspace was increasingly stuffy, almost fetid, with each step, forcing a slowdown, her breathing more labored. Maybe it’s a lack of oxygen. Hope I don’t pass out.

  As she trudged down the slope, Cherry’s flashlight flickered on something ahead, like structure reinforcement mounted into the concrete wall.

  The sweat on her skin chilled.

  Cherry quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. Revulsion affected her breathing as she fumbled with the Maglite.

  The torch revealed a mass of carefully stacked bones. Rows and rows of animal bones, animal skulls. Cherry struggled to breath normally. She moved forward, flashing the light. At the lowest part of the tunnel, the concentration of skeletal remains was now human, deep shadowy eye sockets of skulls gawking back at her.

  Cherry stopped in place and grabbed her phone. Crap! Dead zone.

  Still jarred by the freeway vibrations, she pushed along the path, now sloping upward. It ended at a push-lever door, just like the kind found in stairwells of office buildings. As it opened, its mechanism made a low squeak. She stopped pushing and slipped into a room with a few toys strewn on the floor. More toys and packs of adult diapers occupied wall cubbies. There were dolls, like the one Paula had loved and eventually took home. An old-fashioned discipline paddle hung from an elaborate wood crucifix.

  Gazing through a peephole in the wall, Cherry saw Pastor Wardens’ office. At level with her hand was a wall plate in the image of an open bible, in the center of which was a light switch. Cherry flipped it down, the lights in the creepy playroom went out, and the wall plate “bible” glowed a lurid red.

  A section of the wall was silently released, swinging toward her. The other side of the wall panel held the shelves of books she had seen during her original visit.

  Summoning her athletic stealth and grace, Cherry edged in. Pastor Wardens sat right before her, holding an enamel pen, studying an accounting ledger, leather bound with an unhinged padlock attached to the side.

  She sidled up, hardening her knuckles. As Cherry was about to slam Wardens, he flung his pen at her face, sharp end striking her brow bone.

  Her eyes boiled over. “Fucker! You’ve got prison-stint reflexes!”

  Wardens got hold of a chunky desk statuette. “Death to the blasphemous!”

  He hurled the object. Cherry dodged, though it grazed her hip. He lunged for another icon, but Cherry got there first, sweeping the remaining collection to the floor. Wardens sprawled himself over the desk, his ringed fingers wriggling and stretching to reach the figurines.

  Cherry grasped a fistful of cassock, yanking him closer. Wardens’ bleached teeth snapped at her flexed arm. She wrenched her limb away, narrowly avoiding la mordida profunda, and slugged his temple area till he was slumped and loopy. She ripped off the fascia sash from his robe, then thrusted the groaning, incapacitated man back in the seat. Cherry tethered him to the chair, lassoing the sash around his middle, wrists bound to the armrests.

  “You’ve got some fucked-up fetish, weirdo.”

  Two steps away from Wardens toward the waiting room door, Cherry kicked it open, startling Mrs. Flor. Cherry backed the prissy receptionist, in her rolling desk chair, against the wall. Urine dripped off the edge of the seat. With a finger poked at the terrified woman’s sternum, Cherry used the other hand to knock the handset off the phone cradle and dial 911.

  “Errant Sheep Tabernacle! At 14 Shutter Street!” Cherry shouted toward the mouthpiece after she heard contact with the dispatcher. “BODIES! SEXUAL ABUSE! BONES!”

  She told the operator she was going to wait outside. Cherry put her face close to blubbering Mrs. Flor.

  “Don’t you dare move, Toots.”

  Racing out the office door and down the sidewalk, Cherry marched across the Shutter property driveway to the utility door she had left unlocked at the carport, reaching inside to grab the hefty bolt cutter tool. Three steps from the door, Cherry began smashing the red Lexus LC, setting off the car alarm. Fury took over, as Cherry relentlessly dented the body and broke headlights in rhythm with the horn.

  In between swings, Cherry heard coming from the vet office entrance a familiar sound of calf-leather loafers crunching over asphalt rubble. Then came the shouting.

  “What the fuck! Who the hell...It’s you! You fucking loser dyke! I will annihilate...”

  Approaching sirens interrupted Sorin. Cherry faced him, bolt cutter raised. Sorin shuffled backwards, frightened of Cherry’s threat. Stomping her sneaker on one of his insteps, Sorin fell backwards to the ground. With the sirens getting closer, Cherry knelt one knee on the vet’s chest, holding the bolt cutter high. The first responders screeched into the driveway and through the alley. Any escape on foot was blocked, so Cherry unpinned him. She tossed the bolt cutter and pointed at the vet.

  “You want him, Sorin Robstone, for sexual abuse of persons with disabilities,” she told police who had guns drawn. Cherry held her hands up, moving further from Sorin.

  “HANDS BEHIND HEAD! KNEEL DOWN!”

  Police approached Cherry, and she complied. Her face grimaced with rocks poking her knee bones, fresh blood clot on the back of her thigh stretching painfully. A female and male cop ordered Sorin to roll facedown, then cuffed his wrists.

  Veda with Mitchum in her arms came into view. Ida, Esther and Mrs. Cantu were upon the scene.

  An officer grabbed one of Cherry’s arms to cuff. A chorus of no’s rained down from the team. Cherry heard Mrs. Cantu reciting a prayer.

  “She’s the good one here,” said Veda. “That asshole is the sleaze box you need to arrest.”

  Disregarding onlookers, the cop restrained her hands. Cherry remained cooperative.

  “I did punch this jerk’s accomplice,” Cherry said. “He’s tied up in his church office.”

  Through the cavalry of black and whites, Cherry saw Jill’s car stopping in the street. She could see Ann’s face, cozy in the sleeping bag, watching from the backseat window.

  “Through one of those doors in the carport,” Cherry said to the nearest officer, barely able to catch her breath. “There’s a dog cage, with a man in it. He was about to assault the young woman in that car over there.”

  Cherry lifted her chin toward Jill, who waved and pointed to the rescued abductee. Stu from Acme Descanso stood across the street, having strolled over to check out the chaos.

  Helen hobbled from Errant Sheep Tabernacle with her Bible and a crumpled face.

  “You are so fucked,” Cherry told her.

  Hand clamping over the crucifix locket, Helen burst into sobs.

  37

  THE RAPTOR FLATS SIREN

  Diabolical Sex Abuse Ring Busted

  Several individuals were arrested on suspicion of operating and participating in a sex abuse ring at 14 and 16 Shutter Street. A state-funded adult day-care facility was allegedly used as a front for the criminal organization. Via an underground tunnel connecting the properties, special needs adults were moved from the care facility to a fake storage space where sexual and physical abuse reportedly took place. It is confirmed one female day-care client was pregnant twice in the past year.

  Errant Sheep Tabernacle, presented as a Christian denominated organization with church status, at 14 Shutter Street had been paid by the State of California to run the adult day care for at least five years. The adjacent building at 16 Shutter Street houses VetBody Animal Hospital and the storage business where the abuse allegedly took place.

  The main suspects who face multiple charges are longtime Raptor Flats property owner and veterinarian Horace “Sorin” Robstone, and Theodore Wardens who presided over the now-shuttered Errant Sheep Tabernacle and refers to himself as a pastor though he lacks any official ordainment. Both Robstone and Wardens are alleged to be the masterminds of the crime ring.

  Also under arrest are Errant Sheep Tabernacle staff members Helen Smothson and Lucia Flor, and day-care attendants Steven Montalvo, Cesar Rivas, Desiree Rooney, and Felice Turner, all of whom are cooperating with the police investigation. Smothson confessed to a prominent role in recycling money the customers dropped in a designated spot, which she would retrieve and transport for laundering inside a hollowed-out Bible.

  Franklin Kitch-Sellars was arrested at 16 Shutter Street for intent to commit sexual abuse on a person with disabilities. The victim, a client of Errant Sheep Tabernacle Adult Day Care, was found by witnesses locked in a cage inside the property’s storage space, which had been restyled as a sex dungeon with bondage and torture devices.

  Kitch-Sellars is fully cooperating with police and has provided many details about the sex ring, allowing the investigation to advance rapidly.

  Authorities acknowledged a system had been set up, in which “johns” would arrange for illicit sex online through several sham entities. Robstone and Wardens reportedly maintained fake websites for custodial services, a Great Pyrenees dog rescue, and religious paraphernalia. The business-front internet scheme was originally designed by Glenn Ford, who is now deceased. Kitch-Sellars hinted Robstone could have been enabling Ford’s pedophilia in exchange for his webmaster services. Ford was found dead in his Valley Village home of an apparent suicide by overdose of ketamine, a substance often used as an animal sedative, after surveillance footage surfaced implicating him as the suspect in the molestation of an autistic child. Detectives are reexamining his death in light of his connection to the Shutter Street sex abuse.

  Existing cyber data is helping police track down other offenders.

  VetBody staff, the Errant Sheep Tabernacle volunteers and congregants have been questioned. Animal clinic staff have been cleared of involvement. Although it was determined volunteers and congregants were not involved in any of the sex crimes taking place, released investigation details indicate all “volunteers” were actually paid, and most members of the small congregation were paid to attend to give the illusion of an authentic church.

  The sex-ring money was laundered through the church collection basket and frequent bingo games. Volunteers are charged with aiding in the money laundering.

  Medical exams of all day-care clients found multiple signs of sexual and physical abuse. Though details continue to surface, lab results found various levels of ketamine and other animal sedatives in victims’ bloodstreams.

  Errant Sheep Tabernacle exploitation victims have been carefully placed in centers handpicked by the state to ensure their welfare.

  Regarding the female day-care client who was twice pregnant this year, at least one biological infant is healthy and has been adopted. The victim has not yet given birth to the second infant. DNA tests of both babies will be conducted to identify her rapist or rapists.

  A complex of underground tunnels connect the church and vet/storage business, as well as reaching as far as the opposite side of the freeway, where the Raptor Flats historic WWII air raid siren is located. The properties, including Quonset storage facilities beyond the freeway, are owned by the Robstone Trust. The tunnels allowed the exploitation to occur undetected until now.

  According to unofficial sources, one tunnel contained a catacomb mosaic of bones, both animal and human. It is said the human skeletons are the remains of a Tongva burial ground.

  “Both buildings have a checkered past,” says Aviva Krasner of the Raptor Flats Historical Society, who is acting as consultant for the LAPD. “During Prohibition, a speakeasy operated at 14-16 Shutter Street, which would explain the underground tunnels. It is rumored 16 Shutter was a onetime brothel.”

  Indeed, artifacts of Prohibition-era bootlegging were found in one of the tunnel arms.

  A stockpile of black market precious art and religious objects was discovered in and on the church grounds and in the Robstone-owned Quonset buildings. A largesse of stolen valuables was found inside the residence of Theodore Wardens, though a few antique jewelry pieces were in co-conspirator Helen Smothson’s possession. Wardens’ home was previously owned by his sibling Vernon Wardens, an adult-video producer presently incarcerated for tax evasion.

  Theodore Wardens is the subject of an extensive list of complaints, regarding several religious rackets he ran throughout the U.S.

  Unnamed sources say Robstone and Wardens are pointing the finger at each other, with Robstone claiming the ersatz clergyman constructed the catacomb. Wardens says the bones belong to the property owner. Regarding the sex abuse operation, both suspects maintain their innocence.

  A few animals under board and care at the VetBody office were transferred to The Love Pets clinic owned by Dr. Mishti Ghosh.

  With regard to the property of Robstone on Shutter Street and beyond, lawsuits are brewing seeking restitution from the suspects, as well as from the state. It is probable the Raptor Flats assets will be liquidated. Whether an auction takes place or another transaction form, the Tongva Tribe has launched a public campaign to occupy the property, given the archaeological find in the Shutter Street caverns, in the name of cultural restitution, to be developed as a cultural center. Tongva Elders have been spotted doing discreet cleansing ceremonies around the buildings. The Tongva cultural center concept is being championed by the Raptor Flats Historical Society.

  38

  Polka strains of “We Need a Little Christmas” made the neighborhood gathering at the Raptor Flats Historical Society quite festive. Host Aviva Krasner welcomed a steady flow of residents into the party. Healing was one of the purposes of the event, after the shocking news of the sex abuse scandal.

  Stu kept the ambience jolly as DJ, spinning a blend of winter-season tunes and hipster fare. In the spirit of giving, Acme Descanso Dispensary contributed a lot of the refreshments. Guests indulged in party platters of snickerdoodles and Mexican wedding cookies laced with THC, as well as more traditional catering such as crab canapes, mini blintzes filled with gouda, petit falafel kebabs, tumblers of warm cashew-heavy Chex mix, cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, and crumpets. At the turntable, Stu faded out the carol, mixing into a jaunty Lizzo medley.

  Esther wore a new silvery bouclé sweater, a gift from Veda also decked in metallic wonder to match Mitchum’s coat. Jill graciously drove Mrs. Cantu to the Historical Society building.

  Zinnia was there with Angie. In a quiet corner of the party, Cherry poured her soul out, telling her old friend all the sticky, unsavory takedown details she previously withheld.

  “I was worried about your state of mind,” Zinnia said. She held her champagne flute up toward Cherry. “But I’m glad you bugged me so much, and that you listened to your gut.”

  Glasses clinked, and the old friends embraced.

  Dimanche Quinn appeared with folks from his cultural center, offering trays of mango pastries and mini beignets dusted with powdered sugar.

  Cherry was surprised Aviva knew Dimanche.

  “Of course, you are the authority on the who and where of Raptor Flats,” Cherry said to Aviva. “You know Dimanche also noticed something was wrong with the day care. He gave me some clues that kept me, obsessed.”

  “I’m glad I met Cherry,” Dimanche said to Aviva. “At first I hoped she’d stick around the bingo hall and flirt with me.”

  “I feel the same way,” Aviva said, winking at Cherry.

  “What a special day,” Ida Orozco said to no one in particular. She gravitated to a tiered tray of elaborate Alice in Wonderland-decorated petit fours. Propped among them was an EAT ME place card.

  Stu stepped away from the turntable to approach Ida. “Ma’am, the bottom levels of cakes are made without cannabis.”

  “Lovely.” From the bottom tier, Ida chose one with disembodied glowing eyes and teeth of the Cheshire Cat. She looked up, catching the eye of Cherry, lifting the pastry in tribute to her daughter, and took a bite.

  Mrs. Cantu appeared at Cherry’s side.

  “I’m glad you saw what you saw, mija. Something really wrong was done in the Lord’s name, and now it’s better.” From her handbag, Mrs. Cantu took out a small rectangular present. Gold trumpet-blowing angels dotted the red wrapping, topped off with scissor-curled green ribbon. She handed it to Cherry.

  “Open it later.”

  Before Cherry could react, Mrs. Cantu scurried to the food spread.

  “Mrs. C.!” she called after her. “Thank you!” Cherry slipped the package into a cargo pants pocket.

  The party lasted hours. Eventually seniors and juniors and Mitchum needed rest, willingly taking leave of the bubbly. Though the merriment quieted, a communal gratitude remained for the interim, thankfulness for closure, relief from the Shutter Street horrors, and returned normalcy in Raptor Flats.

  At home on Meadowlark Lane, Yarn and Ball peed in the backyard. Cherry shivered in the December chill. Back inside, she observed her tuckered mom melt into bed. Me next.

  After the church bust, Ida had indulged in holiday decorating. That included switching out several standard house lights with colorful holiday bulbs. On the way into her bedroom, Cherry turned off a few. Flipping on her nightstand lamp, she giggled to find a green glow illuminating one of Ida’s red-and-green Granny square doilies. Turning the comforter down, Cherry delved under her pillow for long johns. Removing her cargos, the present rustled in her pocket. She placed it on the nightstand and hurriedly yanked on her pajamas. Cherry tore open Mrs. Cantu’s gift, tossing the wrap into a small trash basket. She sat on her bed to examine the flat wood object. One side had a hinged balsa flap. Cherry turned the rectangle over.

  “Friends Don’t Let Friends Die Without Jesus,” Cherry said, reading Mrs. Cantu’s tidings on the miniature sign.

  Cherry laughed. Then she teared up, touched by her neighbor’s gesture. She thought of the recent chaotic months, and of Paula, Hiram, Ann and their day-care friends, even though they were saved. Or in safer havens, for the time being.

 

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