No Such Thing as a Free Ride (31 page)

My phone began to play
I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy.
I’d downloaded the ring tone in honor of the Fourth of July, thinking it would be fun and patriotic. Janine says it just serves to emphasize my supreme geekiness, but Janine’s wrong. It’s cool!

I looked at the readout. It was Alphonso.

“We still on for tonight, Sweetcakes?” he asked.

“Definitely. Want me to pick you up?”

His laughter filled my ears.

“I take that as a ‘no.’ Okay, fine. You pick me up. I’ll see you around nine. And—Alphonso?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“You and Alphonso going somewhere?” Nick inquired as I threw my phone back in my bag.

“Yeah, we’re going to—” I stopped, mid-explanation. There was something in the studied casualness of his question that thrilled me beyond belief. And then it dawned on me. Nicholas Santiago was
jealous!

“Um, we thought we’d hang out. Well,” I said, milking the moment for all it was worth, “I’d better let you get some rest.” He did look like he was starting to fade. “I could come back tomorrow—y’know, if you’re bored or anything.”

“I’m getting released this afternoon, but you’re welcome to stop by the apartment.” There was a slight hesitation and then, “Look, darlin’, whatever you and Alphonso have going on—just be careful, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just be careful.”

If I thought I was going to get him to reveal anything about his real feelings for me I was delusional.

“I’m always careful,” I muttered, heading out the door.
Damnit.

I thought I heard him snort softly as the door swung closed.

*****

“John, I can’t talk now. I’m working.”

“Then why did you answer the phone if you can’t talk? I hate when you do that. I got all excited thinking you were available.”

I sighed. Alphonso, seated next to me, cut me a bored stare. We had been parked for half an hour on the side of the road, about 100 yards from the property at 608 Boonsboro Road.

It was one of those typical old farm houses you’d find in the area, with a stone wall out front that had fallen into disrepair. The house was set back and surrounded by trees, the nearest neighbor being about a quarter mile away.

It looked like it had been 20 years since any farming activity had taken place, and the forest was quickly reclaiming all the fields. There was a light on in the front room and a car sitting in the driveway. A dark green Saturn.

It looked familiar to me and I searched my memory bank for where I’d seen one just like it. Then it dawned on me. There had been a dark green Saturn sitting out in front of the Garners’ house the day Janine and I went there to talk to James.
Could it belong to the Garners?

“Okay, John,” I said, “the truth is
nobody
looks good in Crocs, and yes, that could absolutely be a factor in Garrett not calling you back.”

I didn’t even think Alphonso was listening, but he let out a short bark of a laugh.

“Who’s with you?” John asked.

“Oh, that’s—Holy cow! John, I’ll call you back!”

Alphonso sat up in his seat and focused his eyes on the house. The light had gone out and the front door opened. James and Eleanor Garner appeared in the doorway. James turned to lock up the house while Eleanor headed for the car and climbed in. James joined her a moment later and they drove off down the road and out of sight.

Alphonso retrieved his Glock from beneath his seat and opened the glove compartment, extracting a .38. He held it out to me and a sick wave of fear rippled through my stomach.

“I can’t, Alphonso. I know I’m being a wuss, but I’m just not ready.”

“No problem.” He stuck it back in the glove compartment and we climbed out of the car.

Alphonso silently signaled to me to follow him around to the back of the property. A couple of big trash containers were lined up against the house. I opened one and started sifting through the rubbish.

About halfway down the first can I found an empty plastic bottle with a picture of a baby on it.
Hunh! Those creeps don’t even recycle. Figures.
I tried to read the words on the back of the container but it was too dark to see.

“Yo, Jackson, can you make out what it says?” I whispered tossing him the bottle.

Alphonso dug in his pocket and took out a small LED flashlight. “Says Vitafuel Prenatal Nutrition.”

My heartbeat quickened. “This stuff is for pregnant women.” There were two more identical, empty containers down near the bottom of the can, along with four empty gallon cartons of milk.
Milk. The perfect food for someone in the “family way.”

“Alphonso, we’ve got to get into the house.”

Alphonso shined the flashlight on me. “You don’t look so good.”

I was so nervous I could barely speak. “Just get us in there.”

The back door was tripled latched but Alphonso Jackson is a pro. Within minutes we were standing inside the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly designer decorated. There was a table and some mismatched chairs, a standard issue refrigerator and an okra colored stove that would go perfect with shag carpeting. I looked around and found a pot soaking in the sink. The whole place stunk of oatmeal.

Alphonso led us through each room, carefully checking every nook and cranny, for what, I was afraid to even imagine. There was something strange about the house. It had all the right touches to give the appearance of an actual home, and yet, it lacked authenticity.

Alphonso felt it too. “This place is giving off some badass vibes. You can almost smell it.”

“That’s the oatmeal. But, yeah, I feel it too.”

Standing in the living room, I spied a heating vent in the floor. “If there’s a heating vent, there’s a furnace,” I said, “only we’ve cruised around the whole house and haven’t run across it… which means it must be in the basement… but there’re no steps leading to a cellar. That’s weird.”

“Let me go outside and see if I can spot a basement window or a door for a root cellar,” Alphonso said. “I’ll be right back.”

“There is something so wrong here,” I thought, looking around the living room. “I can feel it.”

My eyes gravitated to the hallway runner. It looked brand new, a sharp contrast to the rest of the threadbare rugs in the house.
That’s weird. Why would they let the place go to seed and then care about a stupid little rug?

I walked over and picked up the runner kneeling down to inspect the hardwood floor beneath it. There was a small notch in the wood. I stuck my finger in it and pulled. A square piece of flooring rose up revealing a stairway leading down to the basement.

“Alphonso was just walking back into the living room. “C’mere,” I yelled. “I found the entrance to the basement.”

“Take it easy there, Sweetcakes. Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide this. It might be booby trapped. Let me go first.”

“I appreciate the chivalry, but that’s not fair. Why would you put yourself in danger like that?”

“Because Santiago would kill me if I let anything happen to you. This way I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of survival.”

My stomach flipped very pleasantly. Sometimes I get these feelings at the most inappropriate moments!

When Alphonso got to the bottom of the stairs he called up to me. “You’re not going to believe this. Come on down.”

Following the beam from his flashlight, I took the stairs two at a time and found myself in a small, furnished apartment. There was a living room, complete with couch, end tables, lamps and a television set. I turned on a light and saw a door to the left that led to a tiny bathroom. There was a closed door on the right.

Alphonso glanced at me, Glock in hand and ready for action. He nodded toward the closed door and walked over to it with me right behind him. He opened the door and took an immediate step back, blocking my view. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, losing his characteristic cool. “Man, that’s
sick
.”

“What’s in there?” I squeaked.

Shaking his head he stepped aside allowing me full access. It took my brain a minute to fully process the scene before me; t
wo, pregnant, teenage girls sitting on twin beds, chained to a post like a pair of junkyard dogs. Oh my God.

The terrified look they gave us was almost too much to bear. One of the girls started to cry. She couldn’t have been more than 18, with large, dark, haggard eyes and a swollen belly. The other was younger and less visibly pregnant. She stared at us, her eyes full of mistrust.

“Alphonso,” I whispered, “put the gun down.”

I approached the beds slowly, swallowing bile and outrage. “We’re not going to hurt you,” I said calmly. “We’re here to help get you out of here, but we can’t do it alone, and we have to make sure the people that did this to you pay for what they’ve done. So that means I have to call the police. Do you understand?”

They just stared at me as if I were speaking Klingon. I dug in my bag, took out my phone and called Bobby.

“Call the Haycock Township police and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can,” he said. “If you have any trouble, tell them to call me.”

“Um, we sort’ve broke into the house. Think that’ll be a problem?”

“Not when the cops get a load of what you found there.”

“Oh, and, uh, hypothetically speaking, what would happen if they found one of us packing a concealed weapon without permission?”

“I didn’t hear you ask this question, but if I were Alphonso I’d get my ass out of there real quick.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

Fifteen minutes later I heard footsteps pounding above our heads.

“Down here,” I yelled.

Light flooded the stairwell and five armed officers appeared, guns drawn. A female cop stayed with the girls and tried to soothe them while her partner worked on sawing off the chains. Two more cops inspected the basement apartment and the last one took my statement.

“The people you’re looking for are James and Eleanor Garner. They own this property and they’re the ones who kidnapped the girls,” I said, giving him the Garners’ address in Philly.

As I finished giving my statement, Bobby showed up and all the tension I’d been holding in came out in one big whoosh of tears. He put his arms around me and let me cry into his shirt.

“You did good, Sweetheart,” he said, hugging me to him. “I think you may have just solved the Olivia Bowen homicide as well. We figured it had to be someone who knew her, but we couldn’t come up with a motive. Bowen was probably on to them so they had to get rid of her.”

As we walked outside, local news crews stormed the property. My first instinct should have been to call Eric to give WINN an “exclusive” on this “Breaking News,” but it wasn’t. I just wanted to right a wrong and go home. And then I had an epiphany.
I suck at my job.
Might be time for a career change.

Bobby offered to give me a ride home. On the way, he got a call that the Garners had been picked up just as they’d pulled into their garage. They were in custody and on their way to the station.

“Bran, do you mind if we go directly there? I’ll have Osbourne run you home.” Jimmy Osbourne is a rookie cop Bobby’s taken under his wing.

“Fine by me. The sooner you get there the sooner you get those sick-o’s off the street permanently.”

I was sitting in DiCarlo’s office when I saw them being escorted into the interrogation room by two police officers. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs. Eleanor had giant mascara stains running down her cheeks. She had obviously been crying. James looked like he was on the verge of crapping his pants. A ripple of satisfaction flowed through me.

Bobby told me to stay in his office, and I would have, except that I was very thirsty and had to get a drink of water at the water fountain that, coincidentally, was located
right next to the interrogation room.

Garner shuddered in recognition. “This must make your day,” he spat at me.

“Umm, not yet.” I balled up my fist and socked him in the gut as hard as I could. “But I’m getting there,” I said as I watched him throw up all over his shoes.

I stuck out my hands for the cop to cuff me. “It was worth it,” I told him.

He looked from me to Garner to his partner and back to Garner again. “Must be the flu. It’s going around.”

*****

“Paulie, I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“Th-then why didn’t you call me back? Here I am, closin’ up the bar and I look up at the tv and see Breaking News, and the next thing I know, my sister is p-p-parading cross the screen in the middle of a crime scene—what the hell, Bran?”

I glanced over at the clock in my living room. 7:15 a.m. I’d been asleep for three hours. Great.

I wasn’t in the mood to be alone last night, so I’d waited for Bobby while he went through his paces with the Garners, and then he drove me home.

“I’m gonna come in for a while, if that’s okay,” he’d told me.

“You don’t need to stay with me, Bobby. I’m really alright.”

“Yeah? Well maybe I’m not.”

Rocky greeted DiCarlo with her customary devotion, rubbing against his legs as if he were a giant can of tuna. I went to the back door to let the dog out. When I came back in, Bobby was sitting on the couch, his blue jean clad legs stretched out, feet up on the coffee table. Rocky was tucked in behind him on the couch pillow, purring softly.

Bobby shifted over to make room for me and I cuddled in next to him, laying my head in his lap.

“You’re something else, y’know that?” he said, stroking my hair.

“So I’ve been told,” I sighed.

“Love you, Bran.”

“Love you too.”

I fell asleep right after that and woke up when Paul called. DiCarlo was gone. He’d taken off my All Stars and stuck a couch pillow under my head. On the coffee table he’d left a note, written on the back of an old Safeway receipt. “Sweet Dreams.” Mercifully, I hadn’t dreamed at all.

“Paul, I’m really sorry. I must not have heard my phone ring.” I took my phone out of my bag and checked for messages. There were six. Four from Paul and two from Nick.

“Paulie, I’ll come by later to see you, okay? Don’t be mad—and don’t tell Mom.”