Hearing evil, p.12
Hearing Evil, page 12
He checked his pocket for his cell phone. Gone. Seeing no reason why Jimmy or his meathead friend would want him dead, Michael rested his head on the carpet and tried to remain calm.
About fifteen minutes later, the brakes squealed, and the car came to a stop. The engine shut down. Doors opened then slammed, and someone approached the rear of the car. The trunk lid popped open, sending bright light into his eyes.
CHAPTER 16
Thank God for busybodies. At least, Sam hoped that was all the bent old man was. She scratched her head. Why does this guy look so familiar?
The man, Mac Gilmore, had been walking his dog in the park across from the old bridge when he noticed three suspicious “fellers” sitting in a beat-up old Honda in the parking lot of the adjacent church. The car had been idling there when he entered the park, and it hadn’t left the lot for the entire time good old Mac was walking his dog, maybe half an hour. He hadn’t thought too much of it and was heading home to his apartment a few blocks over when a kid on a bike rode past him, going in the opposite direction.
“So as this kid passes the Honda,” Mac said, “the three of them fellers inside, well, they got out. One was this colored feller... I mean, a Negro... he wasn’t green or nothing.” Mac laughed.
“Can you hurry this along?” Sam asked. Mac had her undivided attention, but every second wasted with him was a second Michael might have been spending in danger. She’d stomach the witness’s racism and his halitosis for as long as necessary if it would lead her to her charge but not a second longer.
Mac stopped laughing. “Ahem, of course, Officer. Where was I?” He rubbed his chin. “Oh yeah. Well, the Negro was as big as an ox, bigger even. And boy, did he look like trouble, he did. That poor sweet boy on the bike, well, he was just a scrawny white boy, barely even a man yet. He goes under the bridge, and the Negro follows. Another scrawny white boy was with him.”
“The third person in the car? What did he look like?”
“Ah, that feller was shifty, I tell you. He was trying to hide his face with a hat pulled low, like right over his eyes, but I could see that it was scarred on one side. Burned like.”
“Did you see them leave? Which way did they go? Was the kid on the bike with them?” Sam fired one question right after the other, so revved up that she couldn’t wait for the answers. Michael was in danger. Her Michael. And she was pretty sure she’d kill anyone who laid a finger on him.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Mac shrugged. “You see, I decided I didn’t want to be stepping in no shit, so I went on back home. But the worry was just eating away at me. I got to thinking, what if the boy’s hurt? What if that gigantic Negro means him harm? I couldn’t sleep at night with that on my conscience. No sirree, Bob. So I did right by the boy and Jesus. I dropped off Plum Dog—that’s my gal—and headed back there. But by the time I showed up, those fellers, their car, and the boy were long gone. I seen no sign of a struggle, though, just this nice bike laying on its side, waiting to be stolen by less God-fearing folks than myself. Mm-hmm.”
“Thank you, Mr.... Gilmore was it?”
“Mm-hmm. That’s the name my pappy give me.” He nodded and smiled, showing a mouth so full of yellow, brown, and black teeth. He looked as if he were eating Indian corn. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am. I didn’t realize they let girls be detectives now. Ain’t it a wonderful world we live in?” He leaned in close, and his rank breath hung over Sam like a heavy fog. “I don’t suppose I get some kind of reward for returning this bike here,” he whispered.
Sam turned and pointed toward the entrance. “The sergeant at the front desk will take down your info.” She snarled when she realized where she knew him from. Mac’s picture was pinned to the bulletin board beside the door, the one that held photos of local registered sex offenders. Sam grabbed him by the front of his shirt. She wanted to claw his eyes out. “If I find out you touched so much as a hair on that boy, I’m going to rip your damn dick off and feed it to Plum Dog. Then after I torture you, I’m going to kill you.”
Mac jerked free, spun around, and took off. For a dirty, misshapen old man, he could run fast.
“Officers!” Sam shouted. “Detain that racist, sexist, pedophile piece of shit for questioning.”
Sam believed the pedophile’s story, but she wasn’t about to risk letting him go on the off chance she was wrong. She figured the “scrawny white boy” was Jimmy. It made sense that Jimmy would try to reach out to Michael, his only friend, but she didn’t know about the others. They didn’t have any reason to—
Sam gasped. Unless Jimmy told them what Michael can do and they plan on exploiting him somehow. “Shit!”
When she entered her office, Frank was waiting. She had completely forgotten the FBI agent.
“What, Sam?” He stood. “What is it?”
Sam placed her hands on her hips and looked him straight in the eye. “How badly do you want to catch this Suarez gang?”
“Violence? Terrorism? Mass murder? Badly enough, I’d say.”
“I might have a good way to find them, but it isn’t exactly legal—”
Frank raised a hand, cutting her off. “Will it poison the validity of our arrest? I can’t risk these guys getting off on a technicality. They’ll be ghosts by the time we make a proper case against them.”
It’ll be his word against mine, Sam thought. “I don’t think so.” The fucking hell with procedure. Michael’s life is at stake. She rifled through her desk until she found a stun gun, which she clipped to her belt. Returning a calculating eye on Frank, she took a chance that he might understand. “They have Michael.”
“Michael?” The wrinkles in Frank’s forehead relaxed with the emergence of understanding. “The boy in your care, the psychic boy alleged to have helped you with the Crotty and Masterson cases?”
“You really do do your homework. Just don’t believe everything you read. I’m his guardian... sort of.”
“But how?”
“Never mind that now. He’s really important to me, and I... I...” She covered her mouth with her hand then pulled herself together. Breaking down would do Michael no good.
“Say no more,” Frank said. “What do you need me to do?”
“Come with me. Help me save my... Michael. You can have all the credit for the arrests, and if there’s any backlash, I’ll make sure it all lands squarely on me.”
“I don’t care about that. Not anymore.”
Their eyes met, and she could see the sincerity in his. Had he tried to put his arms around her then, she might have let him.
“But don’t keep me in the dark,” he added. “What’s your plan for finding them?”
“When we get to the cells, I’ll need you to distract the officer stationed outside the general population. We’re holding two killers, one being Berkowitz, each in his own cell in what we call ‘solitary.’ Just two more cells where we put those who might be a threat to others.” She headed out the door. “Follow me.”
Without thinking, she took his hand and led him toward the holding cells. When his fingers tightened around hers, she let go, ashamed and afraid to let him see the embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “The cells are up ahead. That’s Officer—”
“Reynolds,” Frank finished. “Yeah, I remember the man. Took a bullet in the Jefferson matter. Lucky to be alive.” He blinked and took another look at Reynolds. “Wow, he really let himself go. How does the man pass the annual physical?”
Outside the door to the cells, Officer Peyton Reynolds sat reading a newspaper at a small desk barely wider than he was. Peyton’s rotund belly rested on top of it, the buttons of his shirt straining.
He looked up and smiled as they approached. “Here to talk to Rex, I assume? Or is it that pedo who was just thrown into the drunk tank? I know it ain’t Berkowitz. He’s already invoked his right to counsel. But that Rex! He sure does love to brag, doesn’t he? And always a new crime to chat about.”
“He sure does.” Sam forced a laugh. “How are you, Peyton?” she asked in a best-of-chums way that she knew probably needed work.
“Good,” he answered, the response sounding more like a question, as if he couldn’t be sure he was good until he heard what Sam really wanted.
“You remember Agent Spinney, don’t you?”
“I sure do.” Peyton smiled and began to rise, the attempt a slow and arduous one.
“No need to stand on my account,” Frank said, flashing a toothy grin that oozed charm.
Peyton settled back again. “Thanks,” he groaned. “My back hasn’t been the same since I took that bullet. Just light duty for me now.”
“I’ll just be a sec,” Sam said, opening the door.
As she stepped into the holding area, she could hear Frank laying on the flattery, thanking the officer for his sacrifice in a case long gone cold. Peyton was guffawing, eating up every word. She hoped Frank meant at least some of it. Peyton had sacrificed. That should never be forgotten.
She hurried through the holding area. None of the usual suspects paid her any attention except Gilmore, who sat with arms crossed and glared at her as if she’d shat on his rug. Usually, the area was good for a catcall or two, but the afternoon crowd was quiet. Maybe I’m losing it, she wondered, half in jest.
She moved into the back area, hugging the inner wall. Rex was taunting the prisoner in the cell next to his, the young man Sam would never call “Sleven Eleven.” That’s okay. Sound is okay. I just can’t be seen.
She slid along the wall, keeping out of view of the camera mounted in the corner. She knew where the blind spots were. Once she was under the camera, she pushed it up so that all it was recording was ceiling tile. The sound was never on unless there was a specific reason, and Peyton hadn’t had it playing.
When Rex spotted her, he let loose with a slew of insults, foul language, and threats. Sleven just sat there, brooding. A retractable wall of bars separated the two cells. In times of overflow, prisoners could be shifted from one cell to the other to allow police access to one or two prisoners at a time without having to worry about a mob.
As Sam passed Rex’s cell, he simulated masturbating while leering at her. She grimaced when she realized he wasn’t simulating anything.
“Better get used to that,” she jeered. She stopped and planted her feet outside Sleven’s cell. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to make this quick. You need to tell me where your friends are, right now.”
“What’s the matter, little piglet?” Sleven asked, rising from the metal bunk. Even in his bad situation, he adopted a cocky swagger. “You lost?”
Fast forward a couple of years, and we’ll see who’s swaggering. “You’re facing life in prison, and I hold the key to a commuted sentence. You’ve got one chance to do this the easy way. Tell me where your friends are, and I’ll tell the DA you cooperated.”
Sleven laughed. She grinned at him through clenched teeth, thinking how nice it would be to put her fist through his face.
Sleven stopped laughing and leaned toward her. “I have nothing to say to cunts like you.” He spat between the bars, but Sam was able to dodge the thicker parts of it.
That hateful word sent Sam over the edge. The spit was just icing on the cake. In a low, quiet rage, her body shaking with anger, she growled, “I thought you’d say that. Have it your way, asshole.” She took two steps to the left. “Hey, Rex. Do you want to have a little fun?”
“With you, Reilly?” Rex chuckled. “I’m just dying for the chance.”
“Sorry, but not today. Not with me, anyway.” She glared at Sleven. “But this asshole’s gang, didn’t they handcuff you to the railing at the courthouse?”
Rex squinted at her. For once, he was silent.
“Wait a minute,” Sam continued. “Didn’t they leave you cuffed to that railing in a building rigged to explode while they made their sweet getaway? They left you to die, Rex. Do you remember that?”
Rex snarled. She had cast her bait and was easily reeling in the big one. Rex glared at Sam, then at Sleven, then back at Sam, a feral sadism twinkling in his eyes.
Though separated from Rex by bars and well out of reach, Sleven backed away from the more dangerous caged animal. “Don’t listen to her, man. She’s the pig that put you in here.”
Rex stepped toward the bars separating the two cells. “You’re damn straight I remember!” he snapped. Then as if realizing he’d been played, he said lower, “He’ll get his, Reilly, just like you’ll get yours. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
But Sam could see the rage boiling over inside him. Rex wrapped his hands around the bars separating him from Sleven, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.
Sam turned to the panel on the wall behind her. The panel had three buttons, each labelled according to its function. She put her thumb over the green button. “All I have to do is push this, and those bars separating you two disappear.”
Sleven laughed, but it sounded tinny, lacking his earlier swagger. “You wouldn’t,” he said.
Sam sneered. “Last chance, asshole. Tell me what I want to know, or Rex here is going to fuck you like it’s prom night and beat you like it’s fight night. Then he’ll hurt you in ways you never thought possible. See, Rex here loves to cause pain. He gets off on it. Hell, the man is a certified expert on hurting people. And if I know Rex, and I believe I do, I can safely guarantee you that it won’t be quick.”
Rex cracked his knuckles. He was smiling and staring at Sleven with something akin to lust but mutated and all wrong. “I have a long memory and a longer dick, boy.” He sucked back an errant trail of drool. “No, it won’t be quick.”
Sleven faked a yawn. “Your bluff might work on idiots like this guy—”
“Oh,” Sam said. “You probably shouldn’t have said that.”
Sleven raised his voice. “Your bluff might work on morons like this stupid shit, but I’m not just some uneducated monkey.”
“Oh, I know you didn’t just call me a monkey,” Rex said. “Let me at him, Reilly, and when your time comes, I’ll make it quick.”
“You sure you won’t reconsider?” Sam asked Sleven.
“Fuck you, cunt.” He returned to his seat on the bench. “You won’t open shit. You do that, and you’ll be in here with us soon enough.”
That word again. Sam blew her top. “Last chance!” She set her jaw.
Sleven flipped her the finger.
“Suit yourself.” She pushed the button. A single buzz sounded, like the noise when the tweezers touched the sides in a game of Operation, and the wall separating the two prisoners began to retract.
Rex let go of the bars, his eyes widening like a child’s on Christmas morning. He snickered, low at first, but the sound soon grew into bellowing laughter. She could see from the front of his pants that Rex was aroused, and he hadn’t been boasting about his size.
“What the hell?” Sleven jumped off the bunk and backed up against the bars farthest away from Rex. “What are you doing? You can’t do this!”
“Who’s the cunt now, Berkowitz?” Sam smirked. “Looks like Rex is going to fuck you like one.”
“Stop!” he shrieked as he flattened his body against the wall.
“Where are they?” Sam shouted back.
“I-I-I don’t know!” Sleven was pushing his back so hard against the bars that he might have been trying to push his way through them. His face went the color of spoiled milk, his mouth curdling into a grotesque gape stricken with horror.
“Liar!” Sam made the proclamation so full of spite and contempt that she almost wanted Rex to have him. No, not almost. She would love to see the trash take out the trash, but as tempting as vigilantism was, she had to find Michael. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll make him stop.”
“Oh no,” Rex said, rubbing his hands together. “That boy’s mine, now.” Rex was apparently savoring the anticipation by waiting for the bars to pass in front of him instead of squeezing through the opening that was already there. A second later, and he didn’t even have to squeeze through. Yet he still waited with a patience she was surprised he possessed.
She had another second or two before—
“243 Walnut Street!” Sleven blurted.
“If you’re lying—”
“I’m not lying! Shut the gate!”
Sam had no time to close it and, in fact, couldn’t close it once the sequence was set in motion. She would have to wait for the partition to open fully before she could push the button and close it again.
Rex stepped forward, his huge erection comical, sinister, and painfully distracting all at the same time, something so wrong about it and about Rex in general. He was oblivious to Sam, his eyes never wavering from his prize.
Still, Sam felt no pity for “Sleven Eleven,” the nickname alone enough to draw her ire at that moment. Nevertheless, she drew the stun gun, aimed it through the bars, and pulled the trigger. Rex jerked as two prongs attached to long wires sent pulsing waves of electricity through his body. But he didn’t go down. Instead, he reached for the leads.
My god... Sam kept the juice flowing, praying Rex would fall before he could rip out the prongs. Rex’s hand closed around one wire. He fell to his knees then onto his side. His hand vibrated over the cable, his legs twitching like a dog running in its sleep.
“Get in the other cell,” Sam barked at Sleven.
Sleven stayed pressed against the far wall, trembling with fear. Urine began pooling around his right foot.
“Now!” Sam shouted. “He won’t be out forever.”
Sleven escaped whatever terror had hold of his mind and, giving Rex’s spastic body a wide berth, ran into the opposite cell. Sam retracted the prongs and hit the button on the wall. With that same buzzing sound, the partition began to move.
“I hope they kill you,” Sleven whispered. He was crying.
“You pissed yourself,” Sam said matter-of-factly.
Without a smidgen of guilt, she adjusted the camera and exited the room. She briefly considered how she might explain the cell swap that had occurred but decided she didn’t care. Sometimes, the ends justify the means. Her old partner had taught her that.
