Discretion (13 page)

“You can’t be serious.” He laughs and restarts eating. “You’re saying that you shot a guy the papers reported was killed by police…that right?”

I nod. “Just don’t talk about it, because it would cause major problems. And Natalie doesn’t need to know either.”

He lurches back on the chair. “Wow. After all these years of keeping a secret? You’re telling me now?”

“Because I think Jackson is right. This morning I didn’t believe it, but now, all of a sudden, I do. The tattoos are consistent and it’s widespread—way beyond Natalie. For years, I hoped to find some peaceful resolution to Natalie’s kidnapping; to know at last why she was taken, how she came to disappear from the boat, and why she can’t remember a damn thing. You know it’s been eating at me for years.” I take a long drink. “Natalie was lucky, I know that. But the women in that file—no happy ending. The more I think about it—this just might lead to justice for them.”

“There’s never a good reason for a beautiful young girl to be kidnapped. Least not that I know of. And I’ve no doubt that God protected Natalie from harm.” Jamal eats; I sit there staring at my food. “So how did you come to kill O’Riley then?”

“Riley Dasher.”

“Yeah, him.”

“I was on Mike’s boat with Mike and Mayra.”

He stares at me a long moment. “You’re making this up.”

I shake my head.

He says, “So the three of you have been keeping a secret from me all these years.”

“I had to, my friend. Police were very specific about silence on the matter, which includes friends and family. My father doesn’t even know. You’re the first person I’ve told since it happened, yet, for the last fifteen years, I keep thinking about it.”

“Why?”

Do not tell him.

I have to.

“Technically, I shouldn’t talk about it. But, because I need to figure this out and I know I can trust you, I’m telling you.” I take a long drink from the Pepsi. “Fifteen years ago, we couldn’t explain how we knew where the kidnappers were, since we really didn’t. Fate, if you ask me. The kidnappers were fishing on a boat and they pulled guns on us, and we weren’t even close to them, so…it was the path of least resistance to let the police make up the story of how they brought the bad guys down. Makes them look good and kept us out of it. No witnesses around, so it worked.”

“I’m confused. You, Mike, and Mayra found Natalie?”

I nod.

“On your own? No police around?”

I nod again.

“Why go alone?”

“Mike wanted to search and I suggested we bring out the boat and look on the water. These guys were on a boat, fishing, and they pulled guns, so we had to defend ourselves. No idea Natalie was there.”

He makes a puzzled look and smirks a little. Our server appears to replace our drinks. “So the dudes who had Natalie for days as a hostage…just took a shot at you because…you were close by?”

“No idea.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got a couple cop friends who like to tell stories…man. That one has ’em beat. Doesn’t make sense, unless these kidnappers thought you were coming for them…say, how did you kill this guy then? The kidnapper?”

“Mike travels armed, ready to take out a major city.”

His eyes widen. “But you suck with a gun.”

“I know.”

“Horrible. I can’t remember you even hitting a paper target from twenty feet.”

“Very unmanly, I know. I figure my gun has blanks and the joke’s on me.”

He manages a grin. “Fine, I’m curious now. Send me this email and I’ll take a look at it. And I hope I don’t regret it.”

“What’s to fear?”

Jamal snickers. “No matter how boring the party is, the devil doesn’t need to be invited. He always crashes.”

I laugh a little and start eating my blue cheese and mushroom burger. “I don’t know why anyone believes that.”

A stern look forms on Jamal’s face. “The email you’ve described sounds like a perfect match for the devil’s work. The evidence is there. Prostitution, sex slaves, death. Throw in a fortune teller and you’ve got Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Just fucked-up people. That’s all. There doesn’t have to be an evil spirit…a devil with a pitchfork out there to make people crazy.”

Jamal shakes his head a little and picks at the salad he ordered in lieu of fries. He’s going to drop the topic and let me think what I want. Chips and guacamole are still left and he’d like to order a basket of chicken wings like it’s a dessert.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might be right?” he asks.

“Well, that’s just crazy talking there.” I laugh a little and Jamal plays along.

He knows about the incident years ago in the church and how that affected me. Jamal has always been religious. A fanatic by some standards. He contemplated becoming a minister after high school, but never felt God leading him. He likes his job and is active in the church. He keeps trying to bring me along, just like the old days with his parents.

I ask about Joanna, his wife of four years, and Delana, their ten-month-old who has the sweetest smile and the cutest curls. We banter about sports and the latest tech gadgets. It’s like old times with Jamal—when we talked about what we wanted, instead of what we had to. There’s always been a need between Jamal and me to solve each other’s problems, and to listen when no one else would.

“Feel healthy getting the salad today?” I say.

He nods. “It’s like being on the treadmill compared to fries.”

“Can’t be. Fat people would just eat salads all the time and become skinny then.”

He makes a face. “Salads all the time would be so boring. But you can put just about anything on a salad, so it’s not always healthy.”

“Just keep telling yourself you got it figured out. I should start thinking about what I’ll say at the funeral…since you’ll be dead in a few years of heart failure.”

“Now, now. I’m not that bad. The doc says my cholesterol is much better and that the exercise I’m doing is helping. I just need to stick with it.”

“Should I go get you a pack of cigarettes?”

He laughs. “Stop. I’m agreeing to look at this email for you. It sounds like…chasing the wind.”

“Somebody has to figure out which way it’s blowing from.”

“Ha. Ha. Were you going to order a dessert?”

“Isn’t the server supposed to ask that?”

“In this case, no, because I’m asking.”

“Just order one, Jamal. Order two. I don’t care.”

He waves for the server to make her way over. She thinks he’s kidding and he takes a moment to persuade her that he really wants a slice of cherry cheesecake.

She leaves and Jamal eats the last of the chips. “Now, I’m a bit hazy on this gunfight that you and the Larisons got into…what gave you the idea to be on the lake after days of searching?”

He won’t accept the truth.

“We hadn’t a clue what to do. It was a hunch. A gut feeling.”

He pauses a moment, stroking his chin and contemplating. “So on a whim, you guys went out on the water, looking around, and you happened to run into the kidnappers and the boat holding Natalie hostage, got into a gunfight, killed one, tried to kill the other…wild. I’m going to have to…process all this.”

“The point is, the real kidnapper could still be out there. Sure, this could have been amateurs, but given the concoction of pills they gave her, I think they knew what they were doing. Or very lucky. Jackson thinks it’s a ring that’s after girls like Natalie. And from that file, they are hard at work today and they tend to kill the former employees instead of paying out retirement.”

A grin from Jamal. “Not much of a pension plan for sex trafficking.”

I attack the fries, which are now cold, but still good. “This is the last thing I need right now. But I’ve never been settled about what happened and this file is making it much worse…to think that it’s happening again and again. Without a happy ending.”

J
amal nods, somber, and says nothing more for a moment. Dessert arrives and Jamal and I eat and talk about Natalie and how we can’t believe she’s single.

“So…what are you going to do?” he asks me.

“Until now, I figured Natalie was held by a couple of amateur, pretend criminals, not some ring. Nothing organized, especially not of the magnitude Jackson is talking about. When things like this happen and you see it on TV, you figure that sort of thing is just pretend. I’m freaked out a bit and I’m sure I’ll be a different person when all this is over.”

“Now I’m afraid for you. That you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“I always thought it was a couple guys acting alone.” I shake my head. “It’s puzzling to me, why this is coming up now after fifteen years.”

“It’s living proof we’re not in control.” He shakes his head. “This must be driving you batty, not being in control.”

His comment garners a grin from me. Jamal pushes his clean plate aside. “What do you think the feds will do when they figure it out?”

“Jackson doesn’t know. My guess is…I don’t know. Would they charge me with a crime? No witnesses?”

I will protect you.

That’s reassuring. Comforting to know I can rest easy. Divine intervention helps me yet again.

Jamal raises his eyebrows. “Dangerous game there. You’d risk everything. I’d miss your Malibu place if you lost it. Seaton wouldn’t be favorable to an investigation, even if nothing came of it.”

I shrug. “Okay, I’m not in control. New concept for me.”

Jamal nods quickly. “Yeah, it is. Did you send me that email yet?”

I forward Jackson’s message to him. He looks at his phone a moment, and then slides it back in his pocket. “Hope I don’t regret that.”

“You’ll be fine. What’s to worry?”

“I’m not worried about me, but know that the real battle is not of flesh and blood…it’s spiritual. The real war goes on, unseen by us, for the souls of men.”

“Here we go again.” I watch our server whisk by and she smiles sweetly. “Like between God and the devil?”

“Yeah. But with legions of angels and demons. Thousands of ’em.”

“Interesting idea.”

“You don’t believe in angels?”

You have me there. “Sure. I guess I have to.”

“You’re coming around, little by little.”

Change the topic.

“On a more important subject, you’ll be my best man, right?” I say to follow Christel’s instruction. I’m happy to change the topic anyway.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t insist.”

“As long as I don’t have to beg. Marisa seems to be in a rush the last few days to set a date, though.”

“The plot thickens.” A mischievous grin emerges. “When’s the baby due?”

“You’re funny.”

Our server drops the check on the table. I snag it before Jamal has the chance, and then laugh a little and slide it across the table. He glances at me and peers at the slip of paper nestled in the black leather folio.

“What is it with you?” Jamal says.

“No idea.”

The check shows our order comped, with “Thank you” printed in pink, bubbly letters and signed Jess with a heart and a phone number.

“Too bad you’re off the market,” Jamal offers.

I’d rather have Marisa. “Those days are over. I’m a changed man.”

“And I’m Mickey Mouse.”

I hold my hand up to him. “No, really. I am. I won’t talk to her on the way out. You’ll see.”

“Okay, let’s go. Put this theory to the test.”

Jamal and I exit the restaurant and stop beside my car in the parking lot and he pats me on the back for passing the opportunity with our server. “So how’s my favorite ride?” Jamal says, stroking the side of my car. “You’re going to work now, right? Not some hotel?”

I snicker back at my friend. “Hands off the car. She only likes me.”

Jamal laughs and gives me a man hug. My back hurts after. Jamal could play tackle in the NFL, at least in size. He walks to the other side of the parking lot and I hit the road, heading back to the office.

The building appears before my mind is ready to return to work. A slight food coma settles in, combined with the nausea of Jackson’s email getting under my skin—the images of those women, the faces staring back at the camera as if speaking to the living world. A cry for help. The lost eyes. Parted lips with blood smears, crusted hair, torn earrings. I need to help them. Someone should speak for them.

My desk chair is comfortable enough to take a nap. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the thermos and watch the flashing colors on my computer screen. I crack my knuckles and place trades, locking in profits. I finish the coffee, craving caffeine like a mosquito needs blood.

I check voicemail messages and try to concentrate. Thoughts take my mind back to the conversation with Jamal, the email from Jackson. What can I do, if anything? And is Natalie suddenly at risk because of this investigation?

My father retained Jackson’s services after the original case was closed, as the media was still on the trail—everyone expected Natalie to be dead and her recovery sent a surge through the local circuit. Jackson hung around for six months for the media attention and questions because nothing added up. Arocha was silent as the grave. Natalie was oblivious that three days went by. Evidence was nonexistent. “Eerie” was the word used by the media to describe the situation, yet that never felt quite right. Eerie was just too damn gentle.

You have a job to do.

Yes, yes. Focus. The sea of green and red is calling to me.

Christel, what else is there today?

Exxon Mobile will reach 93.67 tomorrow, the high for the year.

I place a block trade to sell Exxon Mobile, set the price to ninety-three per share. Luck and sound investing principles are acceptable reasons for taking profits and minimizing losses; a divine oracle is not. My reason for the sell is the negative outlook from the one analyst who got it right.

In my world, technical or fundamental analysis can be used to explain why a trade was made. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

I hit the intercom on my phone and ask Karla to bring me an enormous chocolate brownie and a Coke. She drops the line without a word and emerges less than two minutes later with my request.

I shove one-third of the nut-laden brownie into my face and stare at my screen, trying not to dwell on the email from Jackson. I try to remember the last time I ate junk food as a distraction because I can’t get the past out of my head.