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Authors: Chad Huskins
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just
visible through the window. He had already gotten to work stocking shelves
full of cookies. “Two girls get kidnapped and six or seven people just dash.
‘Fuck the girls,’ they said. ‘I’m getting outta here. Not my problem.’ But
he comes out with a Glock in hand, makes the call, and obviously has a lot of
passion about finding them.”
“Guy like that
shouldn’t be living in the Bluff.”
“If guys like
that didn’t live here,” Beatrice said wisely, “who would’ve called it in?”
David smirked.
“Good point.” Then a cloud came over him. “Fat lotta good it’ll do, though.
If the kidnappers belong to who I think they belong to, those girls
aren’t gonna pop up for another five or six years. They’ll be coked outta
their minds, giving blowjobs to johns in skuzzy crack houses and so fried that
they won’t be able to recall that it wasn’t their idea to become
prostitutes.” He added, “If they’re lucky, that is.”
Beatrice
nodded. “The Russians? The vory v zakone ?”
David rubbed his
eyes and pointed at her like, Bingo!
“If that’s the
case, the girls might not even be in this country by sunup.”
Before they
drove off, he glanced at the flickering sign of Dodson’s Store. He thought
about Mac’s last words. If they even fuckin’ show . Unfortunately, the
detectives never showing up was a real possibility, and something that never
got reported on shows like Dateline . Those were the breaks for those
who opted to eke out an existence in the Bluff. You can get your H fine and
dandy, but you became what David called an Outlander. You don’t really
exist out here . Everything from the plumbing to the policing worked
differently down here in the Bluff; no one liked to admit it, but there it was.
The timestamp on
Dodson’s security footage showed 10:58 PM as the time when the two vehicles
pulled up to abduct the two girls. If it was the vory v zakone that had
done it, then Officer David Emerson and his cohorts at the APD probably had
less than twenty-four hours to find them. Maybe a bit more if it was the
Juarez cartel boys or the guys from the Crips.
“Car one-Adam-four,
this is dispatch,” said a friendly woman’s voice over his radio.
David touched
the button. “This is one-Adam-four, go ahead, dispatch.”
“We’ve sent a
patrol car up to Beltway to give a knock on the door of the home where your
abducted girls live,” she said. Beatrice had been updating them while she
listened in on David’s interview with Mac. “They’ll notify the mother. All
cars in your area have been notified to be on the lookout for your abductees
and the vehicles—a red El Camino and a black Expedition.”
“Copy that,
dispatch. I’ve got another one for you. Caucasian male driving a Toyota
Tacoma. May be nothing, but then maybe something.” He gave the description
Mac had given him: 6’ 1” or a bit more, 175 lbs, short black hair, blue eyes, pale white, wearing a black hoodie with blue jeans and brown Converses. David had
no way of knowing if the white fellow had anything to do with what had gone
down here almost an hour ago, but he was willing to bet someone would spot a
white man driving that truck before they’d spot a pair of black girls in the
Bluff.
“We’ll get that
description out to cars in the area,” said the dispatch lady.
“Ten-four. We’ve
just finished taking the only statement of anybody willing to give one, and
we’re about to start canvassing the neighbors.” For what it’s worth , he
thought but didn’t dare say.
“Ten-four. Will
advise detectives.”
Will advise
detectives ,
he thought. Advise them of what?
There wasn’t
much to go on. The clock was ticking. But the AMBER Alert had been sent out,
and a cop’s gotta eat sometime. The detectives would handle most of it from
here. “Let’s cruise the area a bit, knock on some doors, see what’s up. If
nothing
visible through the window. He had already gotten to work stocking shelves
full of cookies. “Two girls get kidnapped and six or seven people just dash.
‘Fuck the girls,’ they said. ‘I’m getting outta here. Not my problem.’ But
he comes out with a Glock in hand, makes the call, and obviously has a lot of
passion about finding them.”
“Guy like that
shouldn’t be living in the Bluff.”
“If guys like
that didn’t live here,” Beatrice said wisely, “who would’ve called it in?”
David smirked.
“Good point.” Then a cloud came over him. “Fat lotta good it’ll do, though.
If the kidnappers belong to who I think they belong to, those girls
aren’t gonna pop up for another five or six years. They’ll be coked outta
their minds, giving blowjobs to johns in skuzzy crack houses and so fried that
they won’t be able to recall that it wasn’t their idea to become
prostitutes.” He added, “If they’re lucky, that is.”
Beatrice
nodded. “The Russians? The vory v zakone ?”
David rubbed his
eyes and pointed at her like, Bingo!
“If that’s the
case, the girls might not even be in this country by sunup.”
Before they
drove off, he glanced at the flickering sign of Dodson’s Store. He thought
about Mac’s last words. If they even fuckin’ show . Unfortunately, the
detectives never showing up was a real possibility, and something that never
got reported on shows like Dateline . Those were the breaks for those
who opted to eke out an existence in the Bluff. You can get your H fine and
dandy, but you became what David called an Outlander. You don’t really
exist out here . Everything from the plumbing to the policing worked
differently down here in the Bluff; no one liked to admit it, but there it was.
The timestamp on
Dodson’s security footage showed 10:58 PM as the time when the two vehicles
pulled up to abduct the two girls. If it was the vory v zakone that had
done it, then Officer David Emerson and his cohorts at the APD probably had
less than twenty-four hours to find them. Maybe a bit more if it was the
Juarez cartel boys or the guys from the Crips.
“Car one-Adam-four,
this is dispatch,” said a friendly woman’s voice over his radio.
David touched
the button. “This is one-Adam-four, go ahead, dispatch.”
“We’ve sent a
patrol car up to Beltway to give a knock on the door of the home where your
abducted girls live,” she said. Beatrice had been updating them while she
listened in on David’s interview with Mac. “They’ll notify the mother. All
cars in your area have been notified to be on the lookout for your abductees
and the vehicles—a red El Camino and a black Expedition.”
“Copy that,
dispatch. I’ve got another one for you. Caucasian male driving a Toyota
Tacoma. May be nothing, but then maybe something.” He gave the description
Mac had given him: 6’ 1” or a bit more, 175 lbs, short black hair, blue eyes, pale white, wearing a black hoodie with blue jeans and brown Converses. David had
no way of knowing if the white fellow had anything to do with what had gone
down here almost an hour ago, but he was willing to bet someone would spot a
white man driving that truck before they’d spot a pair of black girls in the
Bluff.
“We’ll get that
description out to cars in the area,” said the dispatch lady.
“Ten-four. We’ve
just finished taking the only statement of anybody willing to give one, and
we’re about to start canvassing the neighbors.” For what it’s worth , he
thought but didn’t dare say.
“Ten-four. Will
advise detectives.”
Will advise
detectives ,
he thought. Advise them of what?
There wasn’t
much to go on. The clock was ticking. But the AMBER Alert had been sent out,
and a cop’s gotta eat sometime. The detectives would handle most of it from
here. “Let’s cruise the area a bit, knock on some doors, see what’s up. If
nothing
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