Abducted: A Jake Badger Mystery Thriller (3 page)

Chapter 4

Monday Afternoon

Dell
was living in El Monte, just over seventy-five miles from Oxnard. It would take
an hour and fifteen or twenty minutes, maybe more, to get there depending on
the freeway. I hadn't eaten yet, so I drove through a McDonalds and got a
couple of cheeseburgers and a Diet Coke to eat on the way. Once I was on the
101, I called Alex.

“I
don't think Cary had anything to do with it,” I said.

“How
is he?” Alex asked.

“He's
fine. His nose bled a little, but it's not broken.”

“You
old softy.”

“I'm
on my way to see Dell now,” I said. “You find anything else?”

“Most
of the work Monica did was less exciting than your work has been over the past
few years.
Low key
stuff. Not much that would generate
this kind of a thing. But you already know that.”

“And
yet she's been taken.”

“And
yet,” Alex said.

“So
where else do we look?” I asked.

“Maybe
go further back.”

“To
when she was an MP?” I asked.

“Otherwise
there's not much to look at.”

“You
think the army's going to cooperate with the FBI.”

“That's
the hard part,” Alex said. “They're going to want to protect the identity and
rights of their personnel.”

“Even
the ones who got arrested?”

“Especially
the ones who got arrested,” Alex said.

“Of
course,” I said. “So, you gonna start on that angle while I interview Dell?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,
I’ll call later.” I started to disconnect.

“Hey,”
Alex said.

“Yeah?”

“Don't
hurt him, okay?”

I
thought about Monica the whole way. I remembered the first time I’d met her.
She was doing a job for my father’s law firm in Santa Monica. She had just
retired from the army where she’d been an MP for eight years. She’d come to
L.A. and opened a detective agency. She had contacted the law offices in the
area and offered her services at half price. My father had offered me a job
that I’d turned down, so he contacted Monica and offered the job to her. It was
a divorce case that involved some investigation into the husband’s financial
affairs. Monica took the job. I happened to be visiting my father at his office
one day when Monica came in with her findings. My father introduced us. She was
stunning: five eleven, one-thirty, lustrous, shoulder-length red hair,
expressive green eyes you could get lost in, very large breasts—Ds at
least, and a small waist. Her teeth were straight; her nose was perfect. Wow.
She had a firm handshake that she held a moment longer than she needed to, a
strong voice, and a confident manner. I liked her. Not in a romantic way,
though. At the time, I was still in love with Elaine. But I liked Monica, and
not just because of her looks. She was smart and kind and capable. We became
good friends. That’s all, though, just friends, for almost three years. And
then I’d learned the truth about Elaine. That opened the door for Monica, a door
she’d been waiting to step through. And when I let her in, she came all the way
in. I loved her completely. And someone had taken her. Maybe it was Kyle Dell.
If he had, he’d be sorry.

Kyle
Dell lived in an old house in El Monte on a street of old houses. The
neighborhood probably dated back to the nineteen fifties. The small houses,
less than a thousand square feet, were built on small lots. Each came with a
one-car garage. Dell was living in a yellow one with white trim. Number
thirty-six-twenty-seven
. I parked on the street, went to the
door, and knocked. The tattooed guy who answered the door was six-four or five
and weighed close to three hundred pounds. His arms were massive; his head was
shaved. He wore Levi’s and a Levi’s vest, no shirt. From the look on his face
he was not happy about being disturbed. Either that or he was severely
constipated.

“Kyle
Dell?”

“Who
wants to know?” he asked, in a gravely voice.

I
handed him my card and explained.

“Talk
about what?” he asked.

“Can
I come in?”

“I
don’t think so.”

He
started to close the door. Before he could get it closed, I drove a viscous
punch into his large, protruding beer belly. The punch drove him back a couple
of steps and doubled him over. I was surprised he didn't go down. I followed
him in and closed the door behind me. He straightened up and looked at me in a
way that made it clear that this interview was going to go very differently
than the one I had earlier with Cary.

He
came at me open and flailing, like big guys usually do who depend on size and
strength, instead of fighting skills. He took a big looping swing. I ducked
under it, slipped to my left, and put a hard left into his kidney. The punch
pushed him into the door I had just closed. I stepped behind him. He turned and
came at me again. I kicked him in the groin. He doubled over, his hands moving
to cradle his injured manhood. I put a hard right into his jaw, which spun him
to his left and put him on the floor, out. It also sent a lightening bolt of
pain shooting through the right side of my chest. The wound from the bullet
that had nearly killed me was not entirely healed yet. I fought to control the
pain.

When
I turned, a naked girl was standing in the door to the bedroom. Her concerned eyes
went from me to the motionless hulk on the floor and back to me again.

“He's
fine,” I said, reassuringly. “He'll wake up in a while. Put something on and
come out here and sit down.”

I
waited. She did what she was told, putting on a red silk robe and sitting in a
chair opposite the sofa. I crossed the neat, clean room to the sofa and sat
down.

“What
do you want?” she asked. She looked to be twenty, twenty-two. Smallish.
Maybe five two, one ten.
Her body was firm. Her short hair
was brown, as were her eyes.

“Information,”
I said.

“You
a cop?” she asked.

“Private
investigator.”

“You
know who he is?”

“That's
why I'm here.”

She
nodded.

“You
want a beer?”

“No,
thank you.”

“Coffee?
It's already made.”

“No.
But thanks for offering.”

“Mind
if I have coffee?”

I
looked at Kyle. He was still sleeping peacefully. I stood and gestured toward
the kitchen. “Go ahead,” I said.

She
went into the kitchen. I followed her and stood where I could see Kyle and her
as she poured a cup of coffee and added some half and half. She went past me
back to the chair and sat down, pulling her legs up under her. I went back to
my spot on the sofa.

“What's
your name?” I asked.

“Nikki.
What's yours?”

“Jake.”

She
took a sip of coffee. “So what kind of information are you looking for, Jake?”

Her
calm demeanor grew out of the confident intelligence that lingered behind her lively
eyes.

Kyle
moaned. Nikki and I looked at him. He moved one arm.

“How
long have you been with Kyle?”

“Since
he got out.”

“Why?”

“True
love.” I couldn’t tell whether she was being serious or sarcastic.

“Know
anything about a woman named Monica Nolan?”

Nikki
shook her head and took another sip of coffee.

Kyle
groaned again and began to move. He was coming around.

“Who
is she?” Nikki asked

“A
private investigator
who
was abducted this morning.”

“And
you think Kyle had something to do with it?”

“He
may have,” I said.

“I
don't think so,” Nikki said. “But you'll have to ask him.”

Kyle
turned over and blinked his eyes at the ceiling a couple of times trying to
focus. He sat up and looked at me, confused. After a moment, he frowned and
said, “Who are you?”

“Jake
Badger.”

He
thought about that.

“No,”
he said. “Who are you?”

“I
just told you.”

He
shook his head. “No one's ever put me out cold like that. Who are you?”

“Where
were you four years ago?” I asked.

“Chino
Men's.”

“Ever
get TV privileges?”

“Sure.”

“Ever
watch cage fighting?”

“All
the time. Big fan.”

“Jake
Badger,” I said again.

He
looked at me blankly for a moment before the light dawned in his eyes.

“You're
that Jake Badger?”

I
nodded. I don't think he realize he was still sitting on the floor.

“This
is so cool,” he said. Looking at Nikki, he said, “I fought Jake Badger.”

Nikki sighed and said
,
“You lost.
Why is it
cool?”

“Because
I fought Jake Badger. And he kicked my ass.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Jake
Badger. Thanks, man. This is an honor.”

“Sure,”
I said. “My pleasure.”

He
smiled and nodded. And then asked, “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“When
you were in Chino Men's,” I said, “did your cousin James talk to you about a
woman named Monica Nolan?”

He
thought a moment and nodded. “Yeah. He said she shot Eddie. He wanted to get
even. Wanted me to do it. I told him no. Told him when I got out I was going to
make some changes.
Gonna
get a real job, man. Not
gonna
go back. I'm taking online classes. Gonna be a math
teacher.”

“A
math teacher?”

“I'm
good at math. I offered a class inside. Helped lots of guys.”

I
was having a hard time imagining a context where Kyle Dell could be hired to
teach math.

I
looked at Nikki. She nodded. “He's gifted. Been playing with the Riemann
hypothesis lately.”

Whatever
that was. I said, “That's good Kyle. That's good. Someone abducted Monica this
morning. Any idea
who
might have done that?”

Kyle
shook his head. “Once I told him no, Jimmy never talked to me about it again.”

“You
think he found someone else to do it?” I asked.

“Don't
know,” he said. “But if someone took
her ...
?” He
shrugged.
His bottom lip coming out a little.

I
watched him for a moment. He sat on the floor like a big kid waiting for me to
say something. I was pretty sure he hadn't taken Monica. I looked at Nikki. She
returned my gaze, rather coolly, I thought.

“Kyle,”
I said, “did you talk with Nikki about James and what he asked you to be
involved in?”

He
shook his head. “Didn't tell her
nothing.
Nikki's good
for me. Don't want her knowing nothing about Chino or that kind of life.”

I
shifted my eyes back to her.

“I'm
taking classes, too,” she said. “Cooking school. We're trying to make something
of ourselves.”

I
believed both of them. I stood up. “I'm sorry if I hurt you Kyle. Monica's very
special to me and I'm worried about her. I need to find her quickly.”

“Want
me to talk to James? See if he had anything to do with it?”

“You
would do that?” I asked.

“For
you? You bet. I can go see him tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will
he tell you the truth?”

“He
will if I threaten him with Thrasher.”

“Thrasher?”
I said.

“Thrasher
runs the cell block Jimmy's on. Thrasher's big and mean and he owes me a favor.
If I threaten Jimmy with Thrasher, he'll tell me the truth.”

The
business card I'd given to Kyle was on the floor next to him. I pointed to it. “You've
got my number. Call me?”

“You
bet.”

Chapter 5

Monday Afternoon and Evening … Tuesday Morning

It
was almost four when I left Kyle and Nikki. I called Alex as I was getting on
the freeway to head back to Studio City.

“How'd
it go with Dell?” he asked.

“A
rough beginning, a good ending. Turns out he's a fight fan.”

“He
know
anything about Monica?”

I
told him what Kyle had said and what he'd offered to do.

“You
think he'll get the truth out of James?”

“He
thinks he will. We'll see what he comes up with tomorrow. You have time to make
any calls about Monica's military files?”

“Yeah.
It's not going to be easy or fast if we go through channels.”

I
went by Mildred's and picked up Wilson. She asked how things were going, so I
spent five minutes updating her. Then I took Wilson to the park so he could
sniff and mark his territory and I could try to calm down and think. I was
angry and worried. No, not worried. Scared. I had just realized I loved Monica,
and now someone had taken her. I wanted her back. I needed her back. And I'd
get her back. I'd go through an army if I needed to. But I needed to calm down
and work rationally. Beating people up wasn't the most effective way to get
what I wanted… what I needed. Thinking my way through it was better than
fighting my way through it.

On
the way home, I stopped by the deli and got myself
a pastrami
on rye and a turkey on whole wheat. When we got home, I fed Wilson his normal
dry food and ate the pastrami. When Wilson finished his dog food, I gave him
half of the turkey sandwich. I ate the other half. I watched a few minutes of
the evening news and then put Kenny G on the stereo. I downloaded Monica's
contacts list and began calling everyone I thought she might contact. She
hadn't contacted any of them. Tomorrow I'd give her phone to Alex so the FBI
could go through it.

I
had just put Monica’s phone down when my phone rang. It was Monica’s mother.

“I
know you haven’t had much time yet,” she said, apologetically. “Only a few
hours, really. But, have you found her?”

“Not
yet,” I said. “Has anyone contacted you?”

“No.
I was just hoping you might have some good news.”

“Not
yet,” I said, again. “I’m sorry. We’re working on it though.” I explained about
going through Monica’s files and interviewing two people of interest. She
listened patiently.

“I
know you’re doing everything you can,” she said, “and I don’t mean to be a
bother.”

“Patty,
you’re not being a bother. You’re concerned about your daughter. I understand
that. If I were in your place, I’d be calling all the time.”

“You’ve
very kind. Monica said you were.”

“We’ll
find her, Patty. We’ll find her.”

I
could hear her struggling with her emotions.

“One
time,” she said, “
when
Monica was seven, she ran away from
home. She wanted to play little league baseball. Her father said, no. Back
then, girls weren’t allowed to play. It hadn’t integrated yet. She didn’t
understand. She thought her father was just being mean, so she ran away. She
took a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut better, a kitchen knife, a change of
clothes and her teddy bear, stuffed it all in a pillow case and went into the
woods on the other side of the train tracks. She was gone about seven hours.”

The
thought of it made me smile.

“Worst
seven hours of my life,” Patty said. “Until now.”

I
understood how she felt. “If no one contacts you,” I said, “or if you don’t
hear from me before nine or ten tomorrow evening, call me. We’ll talk some
more.”

It
was only eight thirty. I wasn't tired. So I went to the gym and lifted weights.
I thought about Monica the whole time. I could see a lanky seven-year-old,
pillow case slung over her shoulder, stalking off into the woods, scowling at
the unfairness of not being allowed to play ball with the boys. I wondered if
she’d gone into the army as a way of demonstrating that she could compete in a
man’s world.

I
got home at ten and called it a day.

Wilson
and I went for our morning run and got to the office a little before eight.
Detective Branch had given me her card, which included her cell phone. I called
her.

“Detective
Branch.”

“Morning,
Kimberly. I hope I'm not calling too early.”

“Who
is this?”

“Jake
Badger.”

“Mr.
Badger. No, it's not too early.”

“Good.
And I hope you'll call me Jake.”

“Sure.
How can I help you, Jake?”

“I
was wondering if you had come up with anything on a possible Esposito
connection.”

“Still
looking into it,” she said. “Soon as I have something, I'll call.”

I
thanked her and clicked off. Then I called Jessie Garcia, a friend of mine. Jessie’s
a former Navy SEAL who works for the DEA. He's assigned to the San Diego
office, keeping an eye on the cartels and the drugs they bring across the border.

“Jake,”
Jessie said when he answered his cell. “I was just thinking about you. How's
your recovery coming along?”

“Fine
until yesterday morning,” I said.

“What
happened yesterday morning?”

“Monica
was taken.”

There
was silence for a moment, then, “Know who took her?”

“Not
yet.”

“Know
why?”

“Our
working hypothesis,” I said, “is revenge.”

“How
can I help?”

“We're
looking at Monica's case files to see if there’s someone who might be angry
enough to attempt something like this. But we're also wondering if someone in
Esposito's organization might be involved.”

“Might
be,” Jessie said. “Got to be a lot of people pissed off about what happened. Let
me ask the people who know more about Esposito's organization than I do and see
what they have to say.”

“That'd
be great. I appreciate it.”

“I'll
get back to you.”

I
took a break to put the coffee on so Mildred could feed her caffeine addiction
when she arrived. I also put a cup of tea for myself in the microwave. While it
was brewing, I checked my email.
Nothing there that needed my
immediate attention.

Before
my tea was ready, my cell phone rang. It was my father.

“
Jake
,” the voice synthesizer said. “
How are you this morn
ing?”

He
didn’t know what had happened. “Not all that great, Dad. Monica’s been
abducted.”

There
was silence for a moment and then typing. My father had had a stroke a year ago
that left him partially paralyzed on his left side and unable to speak. He
still had full use of his right hand. I had gotten him a voice synthesizer
computer program that would read aloud what he typed into his computer. He
would type with his right hand and then click a speak button. The computer
would then read what he’d typed. He could make a phone call using his cell
phone. He called me often. He’d type his opening comment, call me, set the
phone next to his computer, turn on the speaker, and after I answered, click
the speak button. The computer would read what he’d typed. Then he could carry
on a conversation by typing brief responses to whatever I said.

I
waited while he typed.

“
I am sorry to hear that, Son. Have the
kidnappers made contact yet?
”

“No.
And I don’t think they will.” I explained why and gave him a run down of what
had happened so far.

He
typed.

“
I know this is very difficult for you, Son.
But I also know you will find her. Stay calm. Work the case. You can do it
.”

My
father was not a very emotional man. When I was younger, I thought him
uncaring. But as I had matured, I realized that he cared deeply. He just cared
differently. He and I were closer now than we had been when I was a boy. At
least, I felt close to him. I understood what he was saying. And he was right.
I needed to be calm and rational.

“You’re
right, Dad. And with Alex and Frank helping, I’m sure we’ll find her.”

More
typing.

“
If you need to talk, Son, give me a call
.”

“Thanks,
Dad.”

My
tea was ready. I sat back and enjoyed a few sips and thought about how to
bypass army protocol in accessing Monica's case files from when she was an MP.
I decided to call Sargent Vincent Spearman. Vince and I worked together on a
couple of army-marine joint operations in Afghanistan. We were both snipers. We
got into a couple of tight spots. You tend to make friends quickly when you
have to depend on another person for survival. We had stayed in touch over the
years, so I knew that Vince was currently stationed at Fort Irwin, in the desert
near Barstow. I called him.

“Spearman,”
he said.

“Is
this the same Vinnie Spearman who once got lost in the Afghanistan hills and
had to have a marine lead him out?”

“Jake
Badger. Ha! The way I remember it, you were the one who got lost and I had to
lead you out of the hills.”

“Memory
problems already,” I said. “And you being such a young man. It's a shame.”

Vince
laughed. “How you doing, Jake?”

“Been
better,” I said. And I explained recent events and what I needed.

Vince
took a deep breath. “Getting into her old case files without official
authorization is not going to be easy,” he said. “However, I have a friend who
works in records.”

“How
good a friend is she?”

“Who
said my friend was a she?”

“Tell
me it's not a woman.”

“Okay,
it’s a woman. And she's a very good friend.”

“That's
the best kind,” I said. “Will she pull the files for you?”

“
Gonna
cost me,” Vince said. “Which means it's gonna cost
you. When you find Monica, we have to go out on a double date and you have to
pay.”

“Deal.”

“Email
is too easy to trace,” he said. “I'll have her print them and you can come get
them. I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

“Thanks,
Vince. I really appreciate this.”

“Anytime,
man. Anytime.”

I'd
arrived at Alex's office at nine forty-three and had given him Monica's phone.
He was catching me up.

“Only
prints in the apartment were Monica's and yours. They must have worn gloves.”

I
nodded. There wasn't anything for me to say, so I waited for him to go on.

“All
the tenants in the complex have been questioned. No one saw anything.
Same with everyone at her office complex.
No one saw or
heard anything.”

“It
didn't happen at her office,” I said. “Wasn't anything for them to see.
”

“How
about on your end?” Alex asked. “You got anything?”

“Not
yet,” I said. “Waiting for three phone calls. Anything else in Monica's files
we can follow up on?”

“Nothing
so far. But we're still looking.”

We
sat quietly for a while. No point in talking just to be talking.

Then
Alex asked, “Are we sure this is about Monica?”

Before
I could answer, my phone rang. It was Jessie.

“That
was fast,” I said.

“I
told him it was important.”

“Thanks.
So what were you able to come up with?”

“Esposito
has a son. A lawyer. Benito Esposito. Does some work for the
cartels.
Reports say he has a temper. They also say he's a vicious son of a bitch. Likes
to hurt people.”

I
thought about that for a moment. “And where can I find Benito Esposito?”

“Lives
in Malibu. Got himself a little fortress out there.”

He
gave me the address.

“You
need some help on this, Jake? Be glad to go with you.”

“Long
drive from San Diego just to go talk to the guy. I appreciate your offer, but I
got this one.”

“Okay.
If you need anything else, let me know.”

After
I disconnected, Alex said, “Benito Esposito?”

“The
son,” I said.

“Certainly
worth looking at then, isn't he?”

I
told him what Jessie had said about him.

He
looked at me for a moment and said, “I'm coming with you on this one.”

I
thought about saying no, but that little voice that you often ignore was
telling me not to be stupid. I decided to do something different this
time—I decided to listen.

“Sure,”
I said. “On the way back, you can buy us lunch.”