10
I followed behind Hunter as he rushed off on his bike towards the club. He had every intention of sobering up as many of his bikers as he could in order to launch a spontaneous strike against the cartel.
A feeling of dread overcame me.
Hunter seemed fit to ride and my mind was spinning at the prospect of what he was asking me to do… Even if the two of us were fit for whatever was coming, there was no telling what debauchery his club had gotten up to after we left.
Compounding my dread was my ringing phone. After the third missed call, I finally dug it out and almost panicked.
It was Lieutenant Crabbe.
What on Earth is he doing calling at this hour?
My worst fears were realized as I reluctantly, fearfully answered the fourth call.
“Well, if it isn’t my wayward fucking detective,” the Lieutenant’s voice crackled out over my speakerphone. “When I told you to get a lay of the land, I didn’t exactly think that I had to say Stay in motherfucking Tucson.”
“I think I might be onto something,” I answered as carefully as I could. “After our last conversation, I wanted to be certain before I–”
“You think you’re onto something,” he snuffed down the line. “Alright, Detective, let me give you the benefit of the fucking doubt. What do you possibly think you have FOUR FUCKING HOURS away from the city I specifically sent your ungrateful ass?”
“Cartel,” I answered quickly. “There are some other disappearances down here, and I have reason to believe that it’s the same people behind both.”
“You know, the funny thing about GPS trackers is that I know you left Tucson an hour after you rang,” the Lieutenant snarled over the radio waves. “I knew the moment you drove outside of a fifty mile radius of that city…”
What, seriously? What the fuck?
“So, tell me,” Lieutenant Crabbe continued, “Who the fuck exactly did you find to interview to give you this lead of yours?”
I was backed into a corner with no other way out… and I had only one card to play.
“There was a secondary investigation, done by people in the area with vested interest in these girls,” I answered. “A biker club by the name of the Devil’s Dragons.”
“ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?!” He screamed down the line. “Are you telling me that I have to hold your goddamn hand through the fucking case files?”
“But Lieutenant, I–”
“You listen to me right now. I don’t know how much goddamn clearer it had to be for you to discredit the bullshit spewed by some biker fucks that went vigilante… Our people in Tucson vetted their shit. And that’s what it was! Shit! Grade A, primo horseshit purveyed by the local thugs to put the police on a wild fucking goose chase! They wanted less heat around so they could swap drugs, you stupid, miserable fuck!”
“I think there’s more to it,” I calmly replied. “I’ve met with these people. These aren’t your typical thugs. They’re trying to do something meaningful. They want to give a voice to all these abducted girls–”
A sharp intake of air over the line silenced my words, and I felt my chest seize up.
“This is over that photograph, isn’t it?”
The wind was sapped out of my sails.
“That’s what I fucking thought. I saw how you looked at that guy. You know him, don’t you? How the hell did you get mixed up with a fucking biker gang?”
I was starting to get angry, but I reminded myself of every last grueling step – and every late night patrolling the streets – that had gotten me even this far.
“He’s onto something,” I reiterated. “We think we can find the cheerleaders, or at least get justice for them. If it’s the same people who are behind these other disappearances, then the girls are being sold into sex slavery overseas…”
“Other disappearances?”
“Yessir. There have been over a dozen kidnappings in the greater El Paso area in the last two weeks. If we find the cartel taking these girls, I think they can lead us to the cheerleaders.”
It was a long shot… but I needed his backup on this one. Maybe he could pull resources I couldn’t access, and get us some backup…
“I can smell the stink on that bullshit from over here, Detective,” he glowered down the phone. “If that was really the case, then it would be all over the fucking news and on every damn officer’s desk from LA to goddamned Houston. Forget three cheerleaders – it would be pandemonium! But do you know what I see on my fucking desk right now? ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING!”
“They’re… undocumented, sir.”