Stolen Lives : The Lives Trilogy Book 1 (24 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Once the duct tape came off Luke Clyborne’s mouth, he couldn’t talk fast enough.  The same could be said for the two remaining guards at the motel in Kansas City.  They had hoped that by cooperating with the FBI, their role in the prostitution of the boys at the motel might be minimized.  Together, they provided contacts, e-mail addresses, account numbers, and turned over money, photos, and DVDs.  The manager was so sleazy that he probably would have pointed a finger at his own mother had she been involved.  Fortunately, she wasn’t involved because she had been dead for two years after crawling into a bottle of gin seven years previous.

Albrecht, Coffey and Kaupert had given statements to the KC FBI, which were accepted verbatim.  Because it was a shooting, their weapons were taken and would be held until the review was completed.  Old and well-worn territory for these three vets.  Paramedics had taken Ronnie Desotel to the hospital despite his protests because he had wanted to be there with the rest of his team.

As the gurney carrying the black body bag containing Detective Paul Gates was pushed out of the motel room, Albrecht, Coffey and Kaupert stopped talking and turned and watched in silence.

“A wife and a young son,” Albrecht said softly.

No one responded.

*                                                        *                                                        *

Pat O’Connor and Paul Eiselmann sat next to each other on the floor in the third floor hallway drinking Coke.  Both of them had wanted something much stronger but had accepted the Coke gratefully from one of the cops sent by his boss to a convenient store.  The harder stuff would be waiting for them later. 

O’Connor had his eyes shut, but he was alert to every sound and foot fall.  FBI from the LA office scurried around collecting any evidence Charlie Chan might have missed, which meant they hadn’t and wouldn’t find anything.

Chan lugged a heavy, dark green, canvas duffle wherever he went, never leaving it outside of his reach.  Thick red evidence tape sealed the bag, and he wasn’t about to lose chain of custody until it was delivered to the federal attorney.

Gavin Reilly sat down next to Eiselmann.  O’Connor and Eiselmann knew he was pissed about not being part of the siege team inside the building, but they also knew that the building had to be covered on the outside as a precaution.  Deep down, Reilly did too.  Eiselmann reached out and slapped his leg playfully.

“You okay?”

Reilly grunted something Eiselmann didn’t understand, but he didn’t care.  He was exhausted as was everyone else, and more importantly, the kids were safe, and everyone was heading home, except one pervert who chose to blow his brains out.

Good riddance, Fuck Head!  No one will miss your sorry ass, and the world will be that much safer for kids!
he thought to himself.

As if reading his mind, O’Connor turned to his two teammates, smiled and said, “Not a bad night’s work, huh?  All the kids go home.  No bullets.  No blood.  Everyone safe.”

He took a sip of Coke, leaned his head back against the wall, shut his eyes and repeated, “Not a bad night’s work.”

*                                                        *                                                        *

Pete and Jamie had huddled briefly just outside the control room after letting the FBI team, led by Vince Cochrane, into the building.  Jamie decided he didn’t do ‘Feeb-speak’ very well, so with a pat on the back and a smirk, Jamie walked down the hallway to get out of the way and to help Skip Dahlke with Brett.

“Smart ass!” Pete called after him.

Jamie didn’t turn around or even break stride, but waved a hand as he kept on walking.

Agents ran around everywhere.  Four paramedics jogged through the door pushing a gurney and lugging bags of equipment.  Pete stood in the center of the hallway and pointed towards the other end.  He grabbed the fourth man by the arm as he was about to pass.

“You treat that kid as if he were the president.  He’s the real hero here.  He saved our asses, and if it weren’t for him, we’d be dead and those kids wouldn’t be going home.”  He paused and added, “Understand?”

“Yessir.”

One of the agents came up to Pete and said, “What’s with the guy with his dick fried and a nightstick sticking out of his ass?”

Pete stared at the guy, not having any idea what the guy was talking about.  He chose to say nothing because he didn’t have anything to say.  The agent motioned to Pete to follow him.

He stopped outside the room where they had found the man raping Tim.  Pete entered and saw the cop, Robert Manville, on the floor in obvious discomfort, if not agony, with the electrodes to a tazer clamped on his penis, which was now the color of a grilled hotdog and the handle of his nightstick sticking out of his ass.

Pete almost laughed, bit his tongue and said, “I have no fucking clue.”

Jamie came over to see what was happening, stuck his head in the door, and laughed.  “What, a copcycle?”

Pete did laugh and said, “No fucking clue.”

Vince Cochrane came over, took a look, shut the door behind them and with a smirk said, “I think we need to talk.”

The four of them huddled and decided that no one knew what had happened, though Pete had a pretty good idea as did Jamie, but neither of them had volunteered anything.

Instead, Cochrane grabbed a wipe from the box on the nightstand, wiped down the handle of the nightstick, none too gently, but didn’t remove it.  Then he went to the tazer gun and wiped that down, too.  After a minute or two, he radioed down and called up another set of paramedics to transport Manville to the hospital.

When they arrived he said to them, “Not sure what happened, and I pretty much don’t care.  He was found with one of the boys.  When he’s admitted to the hospital, I want him as far away from that boy as possible.  Do you understand?”

A burley, barrel-chested black man with a mustache asked, “A cop?”

“A pervert cop,” Jamie answered.

“Found him with one of those boys?” he asked.

“I had to shove my gun in his face and yank him off the boy by the hair.”

“The hair on his head, I hope,” the medic asked.

Pete, Jamie and Cochrane laughed.

The medic looked at the cop on the floor and said, “I guess he got what he deserved, huh?”

“That’s what we’re thinking, but we don’t know how it happened,” Cochrane said.

“Huh.  Interesting.”  The black man dropped his equipment on the floor next to the man and said, “Huh.”

Pete left the room and from a distance watched three medics and Skip Dahlke lift Brett onto the gurney, wrap him in a blanket and then secure him with straps.  An IV was started as was oxygen.  He looked so small, vulnerable.  His eyes were shut, and his expression was a grimace.

“Is that Brett?”

Pete turned around and saw Tim and Patrick standing next to him.

“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as it looks.”

The boys continued to watch in silence.

“He was hit in the shoulder, but I think he’ll be okay.”

At least Pete hoped he would be.  They moved forward to speak to their friend.  Pete took a gentle hold of Tim’s arm to prevent him, but Tim shook it off and limped to the side of the gurney, followed by Patrick.

The medics stepped back and watched while Tim smoothed Brett’s hair and wiped some tears off Brett’s cheeks.  He wasn’t conscious, but Tim bent down, whispered something and then kissed his forehead.  He backed away and the medics wheeled him down the hall.

Jamie ruffled Tim’s hair and asked both boys, “You guys okay?”

Neither of them answered but watched the medics and Brett in silence.  With Patrick helping Tim, both boys turned and went back to the room to be with the rest of the boys.

Jamie walked over to Skip and said, “You should go with him.”

Skip looked up and down the hallway at the agents scurrying around, knowing it had been combed over by him thoroughly and that whatever they’d find wouldn’t amount to anything.  He had his black duffle bag containing the evidence and videotape he had gathered earlier.

“He shouldn’t be by himself,” Skip said softly watching the gurney pause before going through the doorway, “but what about the sick boy . . . Johnny?  Mike and Tim are in bad shape too.  What about Fitz?”

“We’ll take care of the boys, and Fitz already left.  You go with Brett and stay with him, okay?”

Skip handed the duffle bag to Jamie and turned to leave, but Jamie called after him, “You did really well today.”

Skip stopped briefly, and he looked like he had wanted to say something, but he didn’t.  He dropped his chin to his chest, and he walked quickly to catch up with Brett.  Stephen stuck his head out of a doorway and motioned for Jamie to come to over.  Jamie did, and Stephen introduced a blond boy.

“This is Ian.”

Jamie smiled and nodded at him.

“Um . . . can you find us . . . all of us . . . clothes?  We don’t want to leave like this,” Ian said indicating his nakedness.

Jamie had actually gotten used to it by now, watching Brett run around all morning.

“Oh, yeah . . . you bet.” 

He looked around for Pete, but he was talking to Cochrane.  He grabbed an agent who had happened to walk past them.

“I have thirteen kids who need clothes.  Shorts, shirts, maybe flip-flops.  Can you rustle something up?”

The agent glanced into the room and saw the boys huddled together, staring back at him.

“Yeah . . . probably.”  He checked his watch and said, “Problem is, it’s too early for anything to be open.”

Two more teams of paramedics came through the door, pushing three gurneys.

A short, skinny, bald medic with a mustache walked up to the agent and Jamie and said, “A guy . . . Skip something, said three gurneys were needed to transport three kids . . .  um, Mike, Tim and Johnny.”

Jamie had an idea.

“How many hospital gowns can you get your hands on?”

The short guy looked into the room and said, “How many you need?”

“Thirteen, with slippers.  These kids aren’t leaving the building without something on.”

The small guy nodded, keyed his lapel mike and said, “Two-eleven to base.  I need thirteen hospital gowns and slippers now, like yesterday.  Do you copy?”

There was pause on the line, and the medic was about to repeat his request, perhaps a bit more forcefully judging by his expression when a voice on the other end said, “Copy.  A cruiser will transport now.  Expect delivery in ten, fifteen minutes.  Copy?”

“Two-eleven . . . thanks!”

The two bad guys were stuffed into body bags rather rudely and were dropped onto gurneys roughly and taken down the hallway.  The cop with the nightstick still stuck in his ass was placed on his side onto a gurney and rolled down the hallway. The boys saw him and began to clap and cheer.  Jamie and the agent turned to them and smiled.  Butch and the red-haired guy were led away in handcuffs, and the boys cheered even louder.  Pete and Agent Cochrane walked down the hallway and joined Jamie, the other agent and the teams of medics.

Pete stuck his head into the room and said, “What’s all the noise about?  Maybe it’s time to get out of this place?”

The boys cheered and clapped and hugged one another.  Jamie placed two fingers into his mouth and whistled, and the other agents stopped what they were doing and began to clap, whistle and cheer along with them.

The medics went in and found Johnny, Mike and Tim and prepared them for transport.  Blood pressure, temps and heart rates were taken.  Johnny was given oxygen and an IV of something.  Tim told the medics to take care of Mike and Johnny first.  The medic assured him that they would all be taken care of.

He climbed off his gurney and limped over to Johnny, bent down and whispered something to him, and then went over to Mike and did the same.  Mike reached out and took hold of Tim’s arm.

“It’s okay, Mike.  You’re going to ride with Johnny.  You won’t be alone.”

Mike held Tim’s arm, and Tim patted his hand, and then kissed his forehead just as he did to Brett.  “You’ll be okay, Mike.  You’re going home.”

Mike let go, but continued to look at Tim, who smiled and waved as he was pushed down the hallway.

Pete helped him get back onto the gurney and helped him lie down and asked, “You okay, Kid?”

“I’m worried about Brett,” Tim said.

Pete and Jamie looked at one another, then at Tim.

“He’s going to be okay,” Pete said.

Tears leaked from Tim’s eyes.

“Do you want someone to ride with you?”

He didn’t answer.  He stared at the ceiling, then shut his eyes and cried.  Just as he was out of the room and in the hallway, he motioned to Pete, who moved quickly to his side.  Pete took hold of the gurney to keep it from moving.

“Patrick is really close to Brett.  If he rides with me, he’ll get to him quicker.  That okay?”