The Last Bodyguard Page 11

  “They held fire,” said Lock, glancing over at Ty, who had done his best to make himself as small as possible. No mean feat for a man of his size.

  Almost as soon as the words had left Lock’s mouth, the car’s back window blew in, buckshot peppering the interior. The seats soaked up most of the shot. The sound of two more shots crackled in the air.

  Lock spun the wheel the opposite way, slowly fractionally as the car crunched back down over the sidewalk and onto the road. The impact sent a wave of pain all the way up his spine.

  Behind them the patrol cars were turning, ready to continue the pursuit. He accelerated, pulling away, putting increasing distance between them and the cops.

  They were almost within touching distance of the motel. They’d be there in less than sixty seconds.

  “He say where they went?” Lock asked Ty.

  “East,” said Ty, reading the text.

  Lock had been right. They were heading for the freeway.

  He kept the car moving, pushing it as hard as they could. In his mirror he counted three patrol cars. One had either dropped out or was taking a different route to cut him off. Not that it mattered.

  They kept moving, past the motel entrance. The old guy waved at them as they sped past, pointing down the street towards the freeway.

  Now they had a decision to make. Had Hanger decided to head west, back to Los Angeles, or had he gone east?

  Lock guessed west. Under pressure, people tended to opt for home territory and the familiar.

  A block ahead was another set of lights. They were at red. Lock slowed slightly, but kept moving, hoping that anyone moving through the intersection from the other side would be slowed by the lights and sirens behind him.

  Hunched over the wheel, he ducked into the turn lane so he could get round the waiting traffic. Blowing through the red, he narrowly avoided being T-boned by a pickup truck.

  Scooting up the on ramp, they made it to the freeway, headed west.

  “Black Beemer” said Lock.

  “Got you,” said Ty, both men scanning the road ahead.

  Pushing the car as hard as it would go, Lock laid on his horn to clear people out of the way. No sign of a BMW, black or otherwise.

  The sound of the pursuing patrol cars grew louder. Lock knew that they wouldn’t be able to do this all the way back to LA. Highway Patrol would have had a call by now and someone would be waiting further down the line.

  “Right there,” said Ty.

  “Where?”

  “There. Behind that semi.”

  There it was. A black BMW, driving at a steady clip up ahead of them. It was driving a little above the speed limit, enough to make good time but not so much to be overly conspícuos.

  They kept moving, edging closer with every hundred yards of blacktop that rolled out under their wheels. Spooked by the sound of the pursuit, the BMW picked up speed, momentarily pulling away.

  But Lock was almost on top of it. Cutting around it, he got in front and eased on the brakes, forcing it to slow.

  Checking his mirror, there was no sign of Hanger, or for that matter, Kristin Miller. Only a lone black female driver who raised a middle finger in his direction as she slowed down and eased the BMW over to the side of the freeway.

  35

  Gilman rubbed a hand across his chin.

  “I don’t get it,” he said to Hanger, who was next to him in the truck’s passenger seat.

  The girl was sitting in back, staring, with glazed eyes, out of the window as the miles of desert whipped past them on either side. Her wrists had stopped bleeding, and she had a dazed expression. Gilman had suggested they take her to an emergency room to get her stomach pumped. Instead, Hanger had forced her to drink a bunch of salt water until she vomited by the side of the road.

  “What don’t you get?” said Hanger.

  “Well, whoever these guys are, they’re prepared to cause a lot of trouble to get her back.”

  “What you saying?”

  Gilman wasn’t sure he wanted to come straight out with it. He and Hanger were tight since they’d been cellies, but Hanger could be, what was the best word? Touchy. Yeah, that was it, he could be touchy.

  You say the wrong thing to him, or look at him the wrong way, and he could go crazy. It wasn’t just that he could get violent, most people in jail could be violent. It was the level he went to and how fast he got there. It was like he really got off on hurting people.

  “I’m not saying anything,” said Gilman. “It’s your business. You handle it how you see fit. But if it was me, then I’d maybe, y’know, throw this one back.”

  Hanger stared at him and for a second Gilman worried that he might lose his temper. Not that it would come to much. After all, this was Gilman’s truck and Gilman was busy saving his ass. But contrary to appearances, Gilman wasn’t much for getting into it with people, not unless he had to.

  Hanger put his arm on the back of Gilman’s seat and turned around.

  “What you say?” he asked Kristin. “You want to go home?”

  She turned her head so slowly that the movement was almost robotic. She didn’t say anything.

  “See,” Hanger said to Gilman. “She doesn’t want to go home.”

  “Okay then,” said Gilman as they came up on a sign that told him they had ninety-four miles to go before they hit Las Vegas.

  “Here’s the problem,” said Hanger. “Once you’re in the pimping game, you can’t let hoes go. Not until you’re done with them. And definitely not because someone puts the squeeze on you. Do that and, well, you might as well stop being a pimp.”

  “I hear you,” said Gilman, starting to wish he’d never said anything.

  “Hey,” said Hanger with a flick of his eyes towards the back seat. “You want to get a taste of her when we get there? On me, of course.”

  Gilman didn’t want to look at Hanger. The idea creeped him out, and he didn’t want Hanger to see that in his eyes. When she’d been brought in by Hanger’s bottom girl, he’d asked how old she was. She’d said nineteen. But Gilman knew that was a lie. She was a kid. A kid with makeup on.

  “That’s a generous offer,” he told Hanger. “But I can’t leave the studio.”

  Hanger produced a pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out for each of them. He lit them both and passed one to Gilman. He lowered the window and blew smoke out into the fresh Nevada air.

  “You might be right,” said Hanger. “I won’t give her up. But maybe I could move her on.”

  36

  Lock hesitated at the door leading out of the main Bakersfield police headquarters. Next to him, Ty nervously rubbed his wrists, both men glad to be back at liberty, but apprehensive as to what, or rather who, awaited them outside.

  “You know, maybe if we ask nicely, they’d put you in that cell,” said Ty.

  “That would mean you’d have to go out there on your own,” said Lock.

  “Good point,” said Ty, opening the door. “You can be my human shield.”

  “Thanks,” said Lock as they walked out into the fresh air.

  Carmen waited for them at the bottom of the steps. She had her arms folded across her chest.

  “Glad I’m not you,” whispered Ty as they walked down to her.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Carmen. “I have plenty of anger to go round.”

  “I swear, women have better hearing than bats.”

  “I heard that too,” said Carmen, turning and walking toward her car, which was parked at the curb.

  The two men fell in behind her like errant schoolboys. Lock’s car was in storage. Carmen would have to drop them at the pound so they could collect it before they headed back to Los Angeles.

  Carmen turned back to them as she reached her car. Her mouth shaped to speak, but she stopped.

  “I’m sorry you had to come all the way our here,” said Lock.

  “Yeah, me too,” said Ty.

  “Events kind of conspired to take over,” said Lock.

  Tha
t drew a cool “Uh-uh” from Carmen, followed by a brusque, “Get in the car.”

  Once Lock had settled into the front passenger seat and Ty was spread out in the back, Carmen looked at them.

  “So how d'you persuade them to let us go?” Lock asked.

  He had been expecting to spend at least one night in jail and have to post bail before he saw the outside again. He’d made Carmen his one phone call so you wouldn’t worry about where he was, fully expecting that she’d be happy to let him cool his heels. Instead, it seemed that she’d gone to work to secure their release.

  “I called in some pretty big favors with an old law school classmate who works with the State Attorney’s office. And I suggested to the cops here that perhaps they might want to avoid the publicity they’d get from arresting people trying to rescue a fourteen-year-old girl from a sex trafficker while said sex trafficker was getting away.”

  Lock nodded, as angles went that was a pretty good one.

  “Of course, I didn’t word it quite that bluntly,” continued Carmen. “It’s the old saying about when you have the law on your side, argue the law, and when you have the facts on your side, argue the facts. I didn’t have either, so I went for the ‘there is such a thing as bad publicity approach’.”

  She pulled out into traffic.

  “They will be asking you to sign some paperwork, and they’ve also requested that once you’ve collected your car, you never set foot within the city limits again.” She paused, looking at Lock and Ty in turn. “Think you can manage that?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Oh, and the black woman that you chased down, they released her too.”

  “They didn’t question her?” asked Lock, his mind snapping back to the reason they were here in the first place, Kristin Miller.

  “They did, but what were they going to hold her on?” said Carmen.

  Lock could think of half a dozen things.

  “That they could prove,” said Carmen.

  “What about the car?” asked Ty from the back seat.

  “What about it?” said Carmen. “It’s registered and insured, and she had a clean driving license. Look, I know what you’re both saying, but I think they didn’t keep hold of her for the same reason they let you go.”

  “Which was?”

  “Trafficking cases are messy,” said Carmen. “My old classmate told me as much when I spoke with her. They take a huge amount of resources and they’re tough to prosecute, never mind get a conviction on.”

  “That’s messed up,” said Ty.

  “Welcome to the justice system,” said Carmen. “You catch some guy with a kilo of blow, that’s one thing. You catch a trafficked teenager and half the time they won’t give the cops their real name, never mind enough evidence to go to court. And when they do, the trafficker’s attorney use every trick in the book to delay it coming to trial. Victims lose heart, they move away, they’re intimidated. It’s a nightmare.”

  The rest of the short ride to the police vehicle compound passed in silence. Finally, much to Lock’s relief, they pulled up outside the front gate.

  “Thanks again,” said Lock, getting out.

  “Not so fast,” said Carmen. “Once you get your car, Ty can drive it back to LA for you. I don’t think you’re in any fit state to be driving. Not with all the pain pills you’re taking.”

  “Guess you’re driving,” said Lock.

  “No problem,” said Ty, levering his long legs out of the back seat.

  “You’re driving home with me,” said Carmen, her tone suggesting it was more a statement of fact than a request.

  “Cool,” said Ty.

  Lock pointed to the compound. “I’m gonna go sign for the car.”

  “Sure,” said Carmen. “I’ll be here.”

  Ty waited until they were clear of Carmen’s car before he spoke.

  “Long ride back to LA,” he said.

  Lock shrugged. “She’s pissed. I don’t blame her. I was supposed to be resting up at home, not getting arrested out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Hey, you were doing a good thing. She knows that.”

  As Lock signed the paperwork for the return of his car and handed the keys to Ty, he caught sight of someone watching them from the street. It was the same young black woman they’d chased down in the BMW. Presumably, thought Lock, she was also here to collect her car.

  Unsurprisingly there was no sign of Hanger, and even less surprisingly, no sign of Kristin.

  She had seen them. He was sure of it. That was why she was hanging back.

  Lock was confident that Ty had noticed her too.

  “You see who I see?” said Lock.

  “Roger that,” said Ty.

  “You think we should go speak with her?” said Lock.

  The last thing they needed was more drama. Not here and not now. He doubted the local cops’ patience would extend any further than it already had.

  “I mean, we could,” said Ty. “But you really think she’s going to have a come to the Lord moment?”

  “Nope,” said Lock.

  “I have a better idea,” said Ty.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah,” said Ty. “But I’m not sure Carmen is going to like it.”

  37

  Kristin was curled up in the back seat. Her wrists hurt like hell, and she felt like she might throw up. The cotton wool clouds in her head had started to lift. She wished they’d return and block all of this out. Now she was deep in Narnia and she could barely remember the wardrobe she’d stepped through, never mind how to find her way back to it.

  Up front, Hanger told the guy from the tattoo parlor to slow down. There was a sign in the middle of the road that said Welcome to Las Vegas.

  “You see that?” said Hanger, turning round in his seat to look at her.

  She knew better than to ignore him. Straightening up, she pressed her nose to the window so that he could see that she was looking. She had seen the sign before. Maybe on TV or in a movie.

  “Now,” he continued. “On one side, that’s where the private jets get parked.”

  She looked. He was right. Directly across from the sign was a chain-link fence and beyond it rows of sleek private jets like you saw people posing next to on Instagram.

  “Over there,” he said, jabbing a finger at what looked like a big concrete wall. “That’s a big storm drain that homeless people live in. Underground.”

  He waved the car forward, still turned to face Kristin.

  “Now, you have to make up your mind which one you want. Do what I say and one day maybe you can be getting on one of those jets. Carpet hoes can make good money in a place like this. In fact, it’s like carpet ho heaven.”

  She tried to look like she was following this, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. It was like being in math class when the teacher skipped way ahead, and you were just totally lost.

  “Now, you don’t do what I tell you, you disobey me, then you can end up in one of those tunnels, turning tricks for a dollar a throw. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Kristin solemnly shook her head.

  “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he said, apparently satisfied.

  They drove for another five or ten minutes, the neon falling behind them, until they turned down a street and then down a ramp and into an underground parking lot. The two men got out. They spoke outside for a few minutes.

  Hanger walked round and opened Kristin’s door. She almost fell out, her legs wobbly.

  “Don’t worry,” he smiled. “You’re not going to be doing too much standing up.”

  As he said it, she studied his face, fantasizing about having a gun and killing him with it. Pushing the barrel into his mouth and pulling the trigger.

  Not that she had ever so much as held a gun, never mind fired one.

  A thought flared up from nowhere that somehow, he would know what she was thinking. The idea terrifie
d her so much that she could feel herself start to tremble.

  Before she knew it, they were alone, and she was following him to an elevator. He hit a button and the elevator doors closed. It was just the two of them.

  The elevator moved up. It stopped. The doors opened.

  She followed him out, down a carpeted corridor. They stopped outside an apartment door. Hanger fished out a key from his front pocket and opened it. Grabbing her wrist and squeezing hard, he half guided, and half shoved her inside.

  So far, he’d been calm. But now as she found herself standing in the middle of a living room with a couch and some chairs, a coffee table, and a couple of withered, brown-leaved plants, his expression changed.

  His lips peeled back over his teeth as he walked behind her. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he leaned in so she could feel his breath on her ear, and he started to whisper.

  “Here’s the deal,” he began. “You belong to me until I say otherwise. If you die, that’s because I decided you were going to die.”

  He spun her round, so she was facing him, although her eyes barely came up to his chest.

  “You try to check out like that again, okay, you might get lucky, that might work. But know this.”

  He took out his phone, tapping the screen, his brow furrowed with concentration. Finally, he turned it around so she could see it. It was a picture of her mom. It had been taken recently. She was taking the garbage out in front of their house, still in her dressing gown. She looked older than Kristin had ever seen her and knowing why that was, Kristin felt a wave of guilt and shame for having been so stupid.

  “You kill yourself, and she dies.”

  He pocketed the phone, reached down and grabbed her hair so hard that her neck snapped back. She stared up at him.

  “I decide when you die. You understand?”

  She was crying, but she managed to choke out the words she knew he wanted to hear.

  “I understand.”

  He let go. The anger evaporated, and he was back to being almost regular.

  “Now, you can’t see them, but I got cameras all over this place. You leave. I’ll know. You try to speak to anyone else or shout out the window, I’ll know about that too. Soothe will be here in a day or so.”