Nowhere Fast (A Mercy Watts Short) (5 page)

“No, I didn’t want to tattle on Charley, but it’s been a long time.”

“Don’t worry. If I find her, I’m not obligated to tell her how. Good enough?”

“Yeah.”

I left Rachel standing in the middle of her front yard. She was still standing there when I turned off her block. I got on my cell phone and called Morty. He hates it when I add to a job, but I had no choice. I didn’t want to see Terry again and Morty has good connections. He said he’d get a list of Terry’s known acquaintances and get back to me. He didn’t have anything on the porn yet.

The next few days were a blur. I was filling in at a pediatrician’s office and we were knee deep in the flu season. It seemed like every kid in the state came in with a desperate need to puke. I swore I’d never work Peds again. I once worked a salmonella outbreak after a kid’s twelfth birthday party. That was three months ago and I guess that’s how long it takes me to forget how horrible sick children are. Give me oncology, ER, anything but Peds. I’d rather give myself ten shots than give a kid one.

Friday was my last day at the pediatrician’s office. After another day of puke and rectal temps, I went home to find a dozen messages from Uncle Morty on my machine.

Morty picked up on the first ring. “About time. Where have you been? I thought you were off today.”

“The vomit monsters called.”

“Errgh.”

“Tell me about it. What’ve you got?”

“I think we’re looking for a Jamie Crane. He’s a forty-eight-year-old white guy with a nice sheet including, wait for it now, distributing child pornography. I’ve got his last three known addresses.”

“How’d you do with the website?”

“Found her. She’s on lolitagirl.com.”

“Is it what I think it is?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How am I going to explain this to her mother?”

“Not your problem.”

“Easy for you to say. How’d do you know it’s Jamie Crane anyway?”

“My friend made the connection. Once we knew the website, it was cake.”

“Thanks, Mort. How about those addresses?”

“Nope.”

“Say what?”

“I’m not sending you out there on your own. Jamie Crane’s no sorority girl. He’ll kill you if you interfere in his business. Rodney and I will go with you.”

“Rodney? Are you kidding me?”

“The more the merrier. We’ll take two vehicles. Rod will be with you in yours.”

“And what do you need me for?”

“Entertainment.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ll pick you up at ten. Try to be on time. We’re not waiting while you curl your hair.”

“Piss off.”

As promised, Morty and Rod were at my door at ten. I’d slicked my hair back into a pony, a point that I’m sure was lost on Morty. The two of them tromped in looking like a couple of low-rent cat burglars. They wore faded-to-gray black sweat suits. Morty’s sweatshirt barely covered his belly and he had a heavy-duty tool belt tugging at his pants. I expected to see his underwear by the time the night was over. Shudder. Rodney was better. His sweats fit and he lacked the tool belt. He did have a black knit cap pulled over his bald head.

“I hope Mrs. Driscoll doesn’t see you. She’ll think you’re here to rob me. You aren’t, are you?”

“Hey! We’re dressed for the job. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m pretending I’m normal.”

Skanky the cat walked in from the bedroom. The instant he got a load of the
 
stealth duo he got a big tail and ridge up his back. He hopped sideways, hissed, and then streaked back into the bedroom.

“What’s his problem?” asked Rodney.

“He’s never seen freaks before,” I said.

“We’re trying to do you a favor here,” said Morty.

“Try a little less, will you. As it is I’m going to have to take you down the back stairs. How come you never dressed like this before?”

“That was surveillance. Tonight we’re apprehending.”

“She’s a little girl, not a psychotic felon.”

“Half dozen one the other.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

Actually, I did. My mother says, “Go get me the thing next to the thing with that thingy,” and I go get it. Morty may not be my real uncle, but he’s in the family.

We did go down the back stairs, but Morty wasn’t happy about it. He was damn proud of his tool belt. We checked the first address and it was vacant. The second was an apartment building with two patrol cars parked on the sidewalk in front. I left Morty and Rod in the car. They got enough stares just being in there. I asked around in the crowd about Jamie Crane. It cost me a twenty, but I found out he hadn’t been around in a while. The cops were there for a domestic disturbance.

The last address was in the Florissant suburbs. It didn’t sound like an ideal place for a child porn business, but we had nothing else. We got lost on the winding, confusing streets, and spent an hour finding the right house. It was a fifties ranch, white with green trim. The two BMW coupes parked in the driveway made it unusual. The other houses sported minivans and Chryslers.

The lights were on and every window visible had a heavy shade. I wrote down the license plate numbers.

“What now?” asked Rodney.

I had no idea. “I guess we wait.”

Morty called me on the cell two hours later. I jerked my head up and wiped off the line of drool rolling down my steering column. Rodney was asleep with his feet in my lap and mumbling something about trolls.
 

“You were asleep,” said Morty.

“Uh no, no. I was uh…”

“Jeez. Haven’t you heard of caffeine?”

“Rodney’s asleep. He slept through the phone ringing.”

“Rodney’s practically a narcoleptic. Sometimes he goes to sleep in the middle of a game.”

Heaven forbid. “What do you want?”

“I say we pack it in. It’s quarter to four. Nothings going to happen tonight. We got here too late.”

“Fine with me.”

“I’ll follow you home.”

“Don’t bother. I’m not in need of a babysitter.”

“You and Rod want to be alone?”

“Follow me.”

An hour later, Rodney moved his sleepy self to Morty’s car and I went to bed. I did set the alarm for noon, but I never heard it go off. I didn’t hear the phone ringing either. When I did wake up, I found six irate messages from Mort on my machine. It seemed Jamie Crane had been shot to death at four-thirty in the morning at his Florissant address. An hour later I was at Morty’s apartment.
 

Morty in his PJ’s was something I never expected to see, but there he was. They were a striped flannel affair that didn’t fit any better than his black sweats.

“I cannot believe we missed a murder by forty-five minutes. Christ!”

“How’d you hear about it?”

“Rodney heard it on the scanner.”

“Why does Rodney have a scanner?”

“He likes to keep current.”

“Don’t serial killers do that?”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

I raised an eyebrow. I could see Rod as a serial killer. No problem. “Fine. Any suspects?”

“Terry Obermark for heaven’s sake. Can you believe that shit! We gotta get her tonight.”

“Charley?”

“Yes, Charley. Are you in there?” He tapped me on the side of the head and handed me a cappuccino. Morty makes a mean mocha.

“Tonight sounds good to me.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight. Bring the pepper spray. Do you have a gun?”

“I’m not licensed to carry.”

“Shit, that’s right. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

“Don’t you have a game tonight?”

“Look. Charley belonged to Jamie. He’s dead and she’s going to become someone else’s property. And I doubt it will be in St. Louis. Screw the game.”

I hadn’t been worried until he’d said that. Dungeon masters do not say “Screw the game.” I’ve known Morty since I was twelve and he only missed one Saturday night in all those years. My appendix burst and he waited at the hospital with Mom and Dad while I was in surgery. Plus, he hadn’t mentioned what this was going to cost me.

I left Morty tugging at his pajama top and went grocery shopping. When I got home, Pete was snoring in the bedroom with Skanky curled up on his chest like a furry brick. I took a shower and fought the urge to go stealth myself. Instead, I put on my favorite worn-out jeans with a turtleneck and ski jacket. With cowboy boots for style, I was ready.

Morty knocked on my door at eight and he wasn’t alone. His cronies were all in stealth mode and three out of four had tool belts. Aaron didn’t have one. He couldn’t keep his pants up normally.

“What’s the deal?” I said, pointing at the extras.

“Since there’s no game, we decided to ride along,” said Steve tugging at his pants.

“Are you kidding me with this?”

“Problem?” said Mort.

Define problem. “Er… The more the merrier.”

“Good. Let’s hit it. What’s that noise?”

“Pete’s sleeping.”

“Doesn’t he want to go?” asked Aaron.

Oh, yeah. He’s dying to hang out with three, maybe four social misfits with chili breath and chronic weirdness. It didn’t help that every time they saw him, they watched him like he was a separate species.

“He’s tired,” I said.

We went downstairs and split up. Mort got Rodney and Steve. I got Aaron. Fantastic. It took forty-five minutes to get to Jamie Crane’s former residence and Aaron never stopped talking. He covered his mother, chili, his back, his mother again, Morty as a dungeon master and hot dogs, for some reason. I had to pinch my thighs to stay awake. The next time I had insomnia, I knew who to call.

Jamie’s house was busy, despite his murder the night before. The crime scene tape was down and half a dozen people were coming and going. I used my binoculars and I saw two young girls coming out the side door. Neither were Charley. Then a Mercedes dropped off a couple more girls. At ten-thirty, somebody turned on a stereo and the house started rocking.

Dozens of men and young girls milled around the house and yard, getting friendly. I was surprised nobody had called the cops yet. The quiet family types in the neighborhood probably didn’t appreciate Jamie’s wake, but maybe they knew who they were dealing with and decided to turn a blind eye. I didn’t see Charley. If we had to spend the entire night, I wasn’t sure Aaron would survive it. He’d moved on to the topic of toenail fungus and kept threatening to take off his shoes, so I could get a better look.