The Last Bodyguard Page 3

  By the time they were both on their second cup of strong coffee and he had looked at his watch, it was close to one in the morning.

  “Got something,” said Jenny as a color printer over in the corner whirred into action.

  She hopped off her stool and grabbed a couple of sheets and handed them to Lock with a flourish.

  “This,” she said, pointing at the first piece of paper. “This looks like it’s his car.”

  Lock took it from her. It was a Buick Grand National GNX with a fairly distinctive paint job. The image didn’t show the license plate, but it was a good start. There couldn’t be many cars in the greater Los Angeles area that looked like this one.

  “And this,” she added, handing him the second piece of paper. “This looks like it’s his house. Or somewhere he hangs out. See how the edge of the porch in the picture of his car matches the porch in this one.”

  In the second picture she’d printed, Andre was posing on the sidewalk with a couple of buddies. They were throwing signs with their hands that looked like they could have been gang signs. Having grown up black and poor in Long Beach, Lock’s partner Ty had more of an insight into street gangs. He would send the pictures onto him.

  “Jenny, is there any way you could get an address from that?”

  She grimaced. “There are limits even to my superpowers, but I can try. Then I really have to go home and get some rest though.”

  As she busied herself seeing if she could use Google Maps street view to match the image of the house, Lock paced to the window. One thing he was certain of was that Andre was the same Andre or Andrew that Kristin’s mom had mentioned.

  Find Andre and he was certain he would find Kristin.

  6

  Lock pulled slowly to the curb and killed the engine. On the opposite side of the street was a house that matched the one in the photograph. It was a little after three in the morning and there were no lights on at the front of the property.

  Lock couldn’t see the distinctive 1987 Buick Grand National GNX but there was a car parked in the house’s driveway that was covered with a tarpaulin.

  He got out and walked quickly over to the house. He eased the gate open, wincing at the creak of the hinges, and moved directly to the car. he lifted the cover at the front and caught a glimpse of the cherry red he’d been looking for, along with a tell-tale pop up headlight.

  He was in the right place.

  Not wanting to surrender the element of surprise just yet, he moved down the side of the house, measuring each step with care, keeping his footfalls as soft as he could.

  At the back of the house was an unkempt yard. A couple of mismatched lawn chairs were arranged around a homemade fire pit that was filled with snubbed out cigarettes and roaches.

  There were two windows at the back. Lock walked over to the nearest one, cupped his hands against the glass and peered into a kitchen. The sink was full of unwashed dishes and the counters were the same.

  He moved to the next window. The blinds were drawn, but something told him it was a bedroom. He checked the window. It was locked.

  That was probably for the best. No matter the motive, finding Kristin wouldn’t be helped by him being arrested for breaking and entering.

  In any case, he had an alternative plan. One that was just as good, although a touch riskier.

  Lock popped the collar of his jacket as high as it would, dug out a ball cap from the pocket and put it on. He walked none too softly to the back door, making sure to kick away an empty beer can on the way.

  He knocked, softly at first, then when, as he expected, no one responded, he knocked louder.

  “Hey, Joe, open up, dude,” he called out, slightly slurring his words as he went for ‘drug and drink addled idiot who’s stumbled into the wrong back yard’.

  A few more seconds passed. Finally came the sound of someone stirring inside. Then a voice. Young, male, half asleep.

  “There’s no Joe here. You have the wrong house.”

  “Where’d Joe go?” said Lock, staying in character and keeping his head angled down so that the cap obscured his face.

  “There’s no Joe here.”

  “Oh, sorry, bro. Listen, I really hurt my leg coming over that fence,” said Lock, pausing for dramatic effect. “And my old lady took my phone. Could I maybe make a call?”

  More movement from inside, accompanied by no small amount of cursing. There was the thud of something large and wooden, likely a baseball bat, being picked up inside the kitchen.

  Lock made his move, stepping off to the side of the back door that led into the kitchen. He knelt down, pretending to tie an errant lace.

  The door opened. Lock could see a pair of bare legs and fat end of a baseball bat. He figured as long as he could see the bat close to the ground; he was good. He raised his hand, fingers fanned out in a ‘I come in peace’ gesture.

  “Listen, bro, there’s no Joe here, and I ain’t letting you do shit apart from giving you three seconds to get the fuck out of my yard before I beat the shit out of you.”

  Andre wasn’t exactly a Good Samaritan, thought Lock. That would make whatever he had to do next a lot easier.

  Lock’s hand slid down to his ankle. He came back up with a .38 snub nosed revolver, pointed it at Andre’s chest, and took three steps back.

  Andre had started to raise the bat, ready to take a swing. He saw the gun, then Lock’s face, which was focused rather than confused, and decided that taking a swing might not be the next move.

  “Let’s go inside, Andre, before we wake your neighbors.”

  Andre didn’t appear to like that idea. He didn’t move.

  “Put the bat down,” said Lock. “If you think I won’t shoot you then you’re very much mistaken.”

  Still no movement.

  “Count of three,” said Lock, staring him down. “I don’t want to kill you, so I’ll probably try to wound you. But I can tell you from experience, that’s kind of an imprecise art, even at this range.”

  That and Lock’s unblinking stare seemed to do the trick. Without taking his eyes off the barrel of the small handgun, Andre crouched down and placed the bat on the lawn.

  “Let’s go talk inside,” said Lock.

  It was fairly obvious that Andre was pissed. Pissed at being woken up. Pissed at having a gun pointed at him in his own backyard. Pissed at not being able to take a free swing at someone.

  “What’s this about?” he asked, his teeth barely parting as he spat out the question.

  “I’m here for Kristin Miller.”

  That drew a smile from Andre that chilled something inside Lock.

  “She ain’t here. You can look,” said Andre, stepping off to one side.

  “Oh, I intend to,” said Lock, motioning for Andre to move back into the kitchen.

  7

  Kristin freshened up her make up like Soothe had shown her. Soothe was like an older sister, a mother and best friend all rolled up into one. She was older, maybe early twenties, and to Kristin’s eyes impossibly glamorous.

  Andre had introduced them. He’d told Kristin that Soothe was a singer. That he was going to produce her debut album. He’d said that, seeing as how Kristin was arguing so much with her mom about seeing him that she could go stay with Soothe.

  Kristin had snuck out that night, putting some bundled up clothes in her bed so that if her mom peeked in, it would look like she was sleeping. Andre had been waiting for her at the end of the block. He’d whisked her away to go meet Soothe.

  “How come I can’t stay with you?” she had asked him.

  “You know why,” he’d told her. “You’re too young. This is better. This way you can stay with Soothe, party and have fun and I can come over whenever and hang out.”

  It had turned out to be a lie. She hadn’t seen Andre since. But he was right about the fun. The first few days with Soothe were so much fun that Kristin had become lost in it. It had left her so breathless that she had barely missed him.

  Sooth
e’s place wasn’t all that nice, in fact it was kind of crummy. But there was no school and no bedtime and no one nagging her about every little thing like her Mom did.

  There were cigarettes and weed and pills and wine, even fancy cocktails with names that made Kristin giggle, like Soothe’s favorite drink, a Pornstar Martini. There was music and dancing too. Soothe loved music, she played music from the moment she got up until the moment she went to bed.

  They slept late, which suited Kristin better than getting up to catch the bus to school. They went to bed late too. Sometimes it was three or four in the morning before they crashed out, lying next to each other in Soothe’s huge bed. Just like sisters.

  Kristin had always resented being an only child. She had always wanted a big sister. Now she had one, and it was the best thing ever.

  On the first morning Kristin was in the kitchen when Soothe started asking her about Andre.

  “You’re sweet on him, right?” she asked Kristin.

  “He’s cute,” conceded Kristin, trying to be cool about it.

  “Yeah, he’s real pretty,” said Soothe, turning to look at her with this big grin plastered all over her face. “You and him do it?”

  Kristin blushed.

  “Come on, girl,” Soothe prompted. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. He’s fine.”

  Soothe pushed aside some dirty glasses and hopped up onto the counter. “Come on, girl, spill, give me all the nasty details.”

  Kristin told her everything. How it had all happened so fast. How the first time had hurt, and how it hadn’t hurt so much after that. She hadn’t enjoyed it exactly, but it had been okay and because it seemed to make Andre happy, it made her happy.

  She had felt older too. Like she was a woman. That part she hadn’t shared with Soothe. Soothe had been a woman for so long that she would have felt silly telling her that part.

  When she finished, Soothe had hopped down off the counter and given her a hug. She smelled of French perfume, or what Kristin imagined French perfume smelled off.

  When Soothe finally broke away, she looked serious.

  “I’m glad your first time was with Andre,” she told Kristin. “That’s going to make this a whole lot easier for you, girl.”

  “Make what easier?”

  Soothe’s face hardened. It was like a mask had dropped down. She swept a hand over the kitchen, long nails slashing the air.

  “Girl, all this costs money. I can’t have you freeloading. You’re going to have to earn your keep. This ain’t your mama’s house no more.”

  Kristin had started to ask her what she meant, but the hard mask had dropped, and happy big sister Soothe had come back into the room.

  Soothe put her finger to Kristin’s lips.

  “Don’t worry about it now. I’ll hold your hand. Show you how the game works.”

  Then she kissed her on the cheek. “You’re in the life now.”

  Kristin hadn’t known what Soothe meant by the life. She’d guessed from the way she’d said it that it wasn’t regular life. That it was something more.

  She’d assumed by the way the sweep of Soothe’s long fingers had taken in the apartment that it meant living like this. No rules. No job. Partying all the time. Going to bed late and getting up in the afternoon. Rolling down to Mickey D’s to eat and ordering whatever you wanted to order.

  Over the next day, Soothe had started to explain that it was more than just that. Soothe had a Daddy, a boyfriend who paid for everything. But it was a boyfriend she shared with other girls that she called wives-in-law.

  “Kind of like Mormons,” was how Soothe explained it. “Only they don’t party, and we party hard.”

  In return for everything being paid for, Soothe had to work. And so would Kristin. If she wanted to stay.

  Or, said Soothe, she could go home.

  Only Kristin knew that she couldn’t go home. Not now she had seen all this. And not after all the arguments she’d had with her mom about sneaking out to see Andre, and how when she had gone to school how the other girls talked about her because she had a boyfriend who was a man.

  Kristin could feel her world start to constrict. Something told her that none of this was good. Not Andre. Not Soothe. Not the life. But, she told herself, she was in too deep.

  It was like she had stepped from one world into another, like in a movie, or a fairytale. It was like this movie she had seen with her mom about these kids who had found a magical wardrobe that took you into a magical land called Narnia.

  Soothe was the queen and Kristin guessed that all the alcohol and weed and music and excitement were like the magical Turkish Delight that the queen in the movie used to cast her spell over one of the children.

  Only now she had tasted it, she craved more, and the queen wasn’t so bad after all. Not scary like she had been in the movie. Not yet anyway.

  8

  A solitary floor lamp slashed a triangle of light across Andre’s bloodied face. Slumped on an armchair in the living room, his hands tied behind his back, a strip of towel muffling his screams, he had spent the past half hour in varying degrees of pain.

  His nose was broken. One eye had started to swell shut. A gash, deep enough that it would require stitches, ran from the edge of his left temple, down past his eye, finishing an inch short of his chin.

  Before he took his leave, Ryan Lock had decided that he should decommission the pretty boy good looks Andre had deployed to ensnare Kristin and who knew how many others.

  Given that there was almost zero chance that Andre would see the inside of a prison cell, Lock had decided to dispense a little jail justice of his own. In the California prison system, on the high security yards, someone involved in a crime against children would be ‘marked up’ by other prisoners. It was a way of signaling to others in the system that they were all bad.

  Even criminals didn’t like those who messed with children. Lock agreed, and to his mind, a fourteen-year-old like Kristin was exactly that, still a child.

  Lock stood in front of him and counted through the cash he’d scooped from Andre’s wallet. He folded it up and pocketed it.

  “Hey, that’s my roll,” Andre protested.

  “I have expenses,” said Lock. “You weren’t cheap to track down. Now, where do I find your buddy, Hanger?”

  Over the course of the past half hour Andre had already coughed up most of the details Lock required, and quite a few that Lock didn’t but chimed with what Angie had told him about how trafficking worked. As bedtime debriefs went, it was one Lock would gladly have missed.

  Andre’s role was that of recruiter for a pimp with the street name Hanger. Andre claimed he didn’t know Hanger’s real name and that part Lock believed.

  In the normal course of his day as a part time DJ, drug dealer and all round piece of shit, Andre stayed on the lookout for vulnerable young women. When he found one that he thought he could peel off from the herd, he sweet-talked them, showering them with compliments, affection, and small gifts. Nothing too expensive, this after all was a business for Andre and he needed to keep his costs down.

  Overpowered by Andre’s love bombing, whatever guard they had up was lowered and Andre went to work persuading them to meet his friend, Hanger.

  If he felt like he needed extra leverage, he would get them to send him compromising photographs or videos. Or if they were of legal age, he would make a video with them. Then he would threaten to send the pictures or video clip to their family or friends if they didn’t do what he wanted.

  At first, he claimed not to know what happened to them after the introduction. With some additional persuasion from Lock, he confessed that he knew exactly what the next stage of the process was. It involved violence, both sexual and physical as well as some psychological mind tricks worthy of a cult such as sleep deprivation, drugs and one of Hanger’s other girls playing the good cop to Hanger’s nightmare cop.

  They were broken. First physically and then mentally. Because they had been pre-screened and se
lected by Andre and were already vulnerable to low self-esteem, the process did not take that long. A day or two, maybe a week or two. Never longer than that. Then they were put to work.

  If Lock felt any guilt about what he was doing to Andre, it immediately dissipated as he got to that part of the conversation. The only reason Andre was still breathing was that Lock needed more information.

  And he wanted Hanger to know that he was coming and that when Lock found him, if he hadn’t already returned Kristin Miller to her family alive, if not well, that it was going to get very ugly indeed.

  If Hanger’s tactic with the girls he pimped out was shock and awe, Lock planned to return the favor. With interest.

  “You really think Hanger is going to cough up a fine young swan like that?”

  “I don’t think, I know. Because it won’t be worth his while to keep her.”

  “I don’t know who you are, but pimps don’t give up girls. The last bitch that someone tried to take back ended up face down in the LA river.”

  Lock took his time responding. Drawing his main weapon, his SIG P226. He pressed the hot end into the center of Andre’s forehead.

  “That happens and I’m coming back for you. Ever been out to the desert, Andre? Sound really travels. Only there’s no one to hear it. I’ll keep you out there for a couple of days before we’re done.”

  Lock reached into his pocket and pulled out Andre’s cell phone. He scrolled down the recent call list and found the contact he was looking for.

  “Now, you talk to him and tell him you need to meet up. Don’t say why, just set the meet. Try to tip him off and we’re taking a ride together.”

  Lock hit the call icon, put the call on speaker so he could hear both sides of the conversation, and held the phone up to Andre’s ear.

  It went to voicemail. No personalized greeting, just the robotic default message asking the caller to leave a message after the tone.

  Lock pulled the phone away and killed the call.