Abducted: A Jake Badger Mystery Thriller (7 page)

Chapter 12

Wednesday Noon

The hot wind was still
blowing. The further inland you went, the hotter it got. It was just over a
hundred degrees on its way up to a hundred and five.

Fontana was one of the cities
off Interstate 10 that comprised what is sometimes called the Inland Empire:
communities at the foot of the San Bernardino mountains: San Bernardino,
Redlands, Colton, Loma Linda,
Realto
, Fontana, and a
few others. Some parts of
Realto
and Fontana were
better than others. I suspected the Marauders’ clubs, Tops and Bottoms, and
Pandora's
Box
, were in areas that were not considered the
better areas.

We had no way of knowing
where we'd find Albert Humphries. We decided to go by his home address. Maybe
we'd get lucky. If not, we'd go to each of the clubs. Frank had faxed a mug
shot of Albert, so we knew what he looked like. If we were lucky, someone would
point him out to us. If not, we’d work from the photo and hope he hadn’t
changed much from when the photo was taken.

Alex drove by his house. It
was normal looking enough.
The yard needing mowing; the trim
on the house needing painting.
The garage door was down. Alex turned
around at the end of the street and came back, parking in front. We all got out
and went up to the door. Alex knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. He
called out, identifying himself. No response. Alex knocked again.

While we were waiting, a
young woman came out of the house next door. She was short, overweight, wearing
flip-
flops,
stretchy pink shorts, a baggy blue tee
shirt, and had a baby on her hip. “Al ain't home,” she said. “Never home during
the day.”

“Any idea where we might find
him?” Alex asked.

“Most likely at Pandora's Box
or Tops and Bottoms.”

She seemed to think that we
would know what those names referred to. We did, but it struck me that she
would simply assume that we would.

“Okay, thanks,” Alex said.

We went back to our car. I
used my iPhone to look up the addresses of the clubs and told Alex where
Pandora's
Box
was.

“So, we're going to a strip
club,” Susan said.

“You go where the job takes
you,” Alex said.

“Hu-huh,” Susan said. “How
are you going to interview people with your eyes closed?”

I turned in the seat to look
at her. “Have you ever been to a strip club?”

“I certainly have not.”

“Well, then, this trip is
going to be quite a learning experience for you, isn't it? That is what you
wanted out of this ride along, right, to learn something? This is going to be
an eye-opener.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I
expect both of you to maintain strict professional detachment,” she said, “and
not enjoy yourselves at all.”

Alex said, “Who are you, the
Grinch who stole carnal pleasure?”

“Just as I always suspected,”
Susan said, “my brother, the pig.”

“Why don't you reserve
judgment until after we've left the club,” I said, “and then decide?”

Alex found Pandora's
Box
. It was lunchtime and the parking lot was nearly
full—motorcycles, new cars, old cars, expensive cars, cheap cars, pickups
and SUVs. Alex found a spot next to a Mercedes S class. As we got out of the
car, I noticed Susan shaking her head.

“What?” I asked.

“I can't believe this many
guys are spending their lunch hour doing this sort of thing.”

I smiled.

We could hear the music as we
approached the door. There was a ten-dollar cover charge. Alex paid for all
three of us. The club floor was dimly lit and we stood just inside the entrance
while our eyes adjusted. In the front of the club, there were two stages, one
on either side of the room. A naked girl writhed rhythmically and seductively
on each of the stages, sometimes swinging around the poll in the center of the
stage. Men sat around the edge of the stages putting dollar bills on the stage for
the girls to collect. Further away from the stages and throughout the middle of
the club, sat small round tables with one or two men at each table. Waitresses
wearing a G-string and high heels circulated among the tables taking drink and
food orders. Several were giving lap dances. Susan gaped at the scene in
stunned amazement.

A very well endowed waitress
came and asked us if she could show us to a table.

“The bar will be fine,” I
said.

She led us around the edge of
the club to the bar where there were a few open stools. I thanked her. She
smiled and moved off into the maze of tables. Alex and I scanned the club
patrons. As we did, our eyes inadvertently strayed to the girls on the stages.
I glanced at Susan. It was clear that she was not prepared for the
gynecological display on the stages or the ten sets of bare breasts circulating
among the tables.

An attractive female
bartender wearing the same uniform as the waitresses came down to us.

“What can I get you?”

“Got Coke Zero?”

“Just Diet Coke.”

“Three,” I said.

When she sat them on the bar.
I gave her enough for the drinks and a tip and said, “We need to talk to a guy,
Al Humphries. Is he here?”

Without hesitation, she shook
her head and said, “Not here today. He's over at Tops and Bottoms.”

“Thanks,” I said. I looked at
Alex. He nodded, took a sip of his Coke and smiled at me. We each took our
drink, turned toward the stages, and began watching the girls on the stages.
Susan looked from me to Alex and back to me. She shook her head, said, “I'll wait
in the car.” Alex and I laughed and followed her out.

As we got in the car, Susan
said, “That was a disgusting display.”

“What was disgusting,” I
said, “was how much they charged for a Coke.”

“That's what you thought was
disgusting,” she said, “the price of the Cokes?”

“Yeah.”

Exasperated, she shook her
head.

“Are you under the
impression,” I asked her, “that men find female nudity to be a disgusting
thing?”

“Do you approve of that sort
of thing?”

“Do you disapprove of it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Those women are being
exploited. Put on display for the depraved pleasure of those men.”

“Those women,” Alex said,
joining in, “are making more money than you will make as a forensic
psychologist working for the FBI. No one is making them do what they're doing.
I'm not sure the charge of exploitation is valid.”

“I can't believe you two
think that sort of thing is okay.”

“I don't recall either one of
us saying it was okay,” I said. “We're just responding to your allegation that
the women are being exploited.”

“Well, I think it's
disgusting,” Susan said.

“You want to wait for us in
the car when we get to Tops and Bottoms?” Alex asked.

She frowned. “No. I'm here to
observe.”

“That’s all we were doing
when we were in there,” I said. “Observing.”

Alex chuckled.

“Ha, ha,” Susan
said, sarcastically.

Chapter 13

Wednesday Afternoon

I gave Alex directions to
Tops and Bottoms. The parking lot was full. Alex paid the ten-dollar cover
charge for each of us and we went in. The layout of this club was different.
Here, a long stage ran down the middle of the club with seating at the stage
running the length of the stage on either side. Four girls danced, each displaying
her wares to the side of the stage generating the most tips. Further away from
the stage were small tables with two or three chairs at each table. Some of the
men at the tables were eating burgers and fries as they watched the dancers.
Throughout the club, waitresses were providing lap dances for those willing to
pay extra for a more up close and personal performance.

As before, a waitress in a
G-string offered to take us to a table. She was tall with an athletic build
that had been impressively augmented. Her short hair was blond but the roots
were darker. She had lively, intelligent eyes.

“Something back in one of the
corners,” I said.

She led us to a table with
three chairs and we sat. Alex sat next to me. Susan sat on the end. I ordered
three Diet Cokes.

Susan leaned in
and
 
asked
,
“Do
 
they
 
all
 
shave
 
their … um?”

“Yes,” Alex said.

“Why?”

 
“So there is an unobstructed view,” he
said.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t
you?” she said, obviously annoyed with her brother.

When the waitress returned
with the Cokes, I paid and tipped her and asked about Al Humphries.

“I serve drinks to cops,” she
said, “I don't talk to cops.”

“Do I look like a cop?” I
asked.

“Maybe not you,” she said.
Then nodding toward Susan and Alex, she said, “But these two certainly do.”

Susan said, “I'm not a cop.”

“No? What then? A grad
student writing a thesis on the exploitation of women in the sex industry?”

“As a matter of fact,” Susan said,
“I'm working on my Ph.D. in forensic psychology
and ...”

I held my hand out toward
Susan and said to the waitress, “Look, I’m not a cop and neither is she. We
just need to talk to Al Humphries. Okay. There doesn't have to be a problem
here. We just have some questions.”

She thought about it a
moment. “I'll pass on your request. Whether or not he talks to you
is
up to him.”

“Thank you.”

In a few minutes, three big
guys approached our table. I recognized Humphries from his mug shot photo.

The three of them pulled up
chairs and sat down opposite us. Al was directly opposite me, with a friend on
either side of him. Humphries was a rough-looking guy.
A big
head on a big body.
Looked like he outweighed me by forty pounds. Long hair.
Tattoos. But
clean shaven
. He smelled of
Aramis
cologne. Same stuff I wear. He wore Levis and a
Levis vest over a black tee shirt. His buddies were also big. Dressed
similarly.

“Who are you?” Al said.

I handed him my card. “Jake
Badger,” I said.

He looked me, studied my card
a moment and looked back at me.

“You look familiar. We meet
somewhere?”

I shook my head.

“Your name is familiar, too.”

One of his buddies said, “There
was a cage fighter a few years back named Jake Badger.”

“That's right,” Humphries
said. “You that Jake Badger?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Who are these two?

“Just friends.”

“Friends,” he said.

“Friends,” I said.

Humphries regarded me a
moment and said, “You were good. You had what, forty fights?”

“Forty-two.”

“Won all of them.”

I nodded.

“Why'd you quit?”

“Gomez.”

“That the guy you messed up?”

I nodded.

“Rough sport. You won.”

“I lost my temper,” I said. “I
didn't just win the fight. I hurt him. He was in a coma for six weeks.”

He studied me. “Lost your
temper, huh? You got a bad temper?”

“Depends,” I said.

“On what?”

“On whether or not people
piss me off.” In my peripheral vision I could see Susan watching the exchange.
She appeared to be fascinated.

Humphries laughed and looked
at his two buddies. “It depends on whether or not people piss him off.” He
laughed again. “That's funny.”

He noticed I wasn't laughing.
He looked me in the eye and said, “So, Mr. Badger, what do you want to talk
about?”

“Monica Nolan.”

Albert's
face
hardened
.

“That bitch killed my son,”
he said, menacingly.

My eyes bore into his and I knew
he could see the anger there. I sensed a slight adjustment in Alex's position.
He was getting ready, just in case. He put his right hand inside his coat. The
big guy sitting opposite him saw, stiffened and watched him closely. And while
I couldn’t see Susan, I knew she would be getting scared. The contrast between
her and Monica was stark. Monica would have been ready to throw down with these
guys. Monica's a warrior. Fight, or pull her weapon and shoot, she'd have been
ready to go either way. But Susan wasn't. She was vulnerable. I had to be
careful or she could get hurt. But I also needed Humphries to understand what
was going on here.

I leaned across the table
toward him. “Monica Nolan,” I said, in a tone that matched the look in my eyes,
“is not a bitch. And if you slander her again, I'm going to crush you windpipe
and watch you die on the floor. And there won't be anything your friends can do
to stop me. Do you understand that, Albert?”

Albert's rate of respiration
increased. His pupils began to constrict.

“You realize where you are?”
he asked. His voice sound strained.

“Doesn't matter,” I said. “First
one to die is you.
Then your two friends here.
Then
five or six more before they even have a chance of getting one of us. That how
you want it to go down?”

His eyes continued to hold
mine. He couldn't back down. I knew that. But he could take a different tack.
Fortunately, he decided to give it a try.

“Monica Nolan killed my son,”
he said, with as hard an edge as he could manage.

“Your son was drunk,” I said.
“He resisted arrest. He took a swing at Captain Nolan. She slipped his punch
and countered. Her punch landed and he went down. When he did, his head hit the
floor, hard. He died of traumatic brain injury. He died because he resisted
arrest. Captain Nolan didn't kill him.”

“I've heard that fairy tale
before,” Albert said.

“Court of military justice
says that's what happened.”

“It's a lie. A cover up.”

“Monday was the fifth
anniversary of your son's death.”

“So?”

“Might be a good time to even
the score.”

His eyes changed. Now there
were questions.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Where were you Monday
morning between five and eight a.m.?”

“Home. Asleep.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Who's your girlfriend?”

He looked over his shoulder
and then
back
to me. “Amber. The blond on the stage.”

I kept my eyes locked onto
his.

“What's happened, Badger?” Al
asked again. “Why are you here?”

“Ms. Nolan was abducted
Monday morning.”

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

“I think it's possible.”

“Well, I didn't.”

“Convince me.”

“You're just a private
detective. I don't have to convince you of anything.”

“Convince me, then,” Alex
said.

“Who are you?”

“FBI.”

Humphries leaned back a
little, put his hands flat on the small table between us, took in a deep breath
through his nose, and said, “I've been inside. I didn't like it. I’m not going
back. I loved my son. I miss him. But nothing I do at this point is going to
bring him back. I did everything I could legally do to hold the army and
Captain Nolan accountable. Didn't do any good. Going after her and ending up
back in prison or dead would not be productive.”

“Nice speech,” I said.

He didn't say anything.

“You're a Marauder,” Alex
said. “You got a whole brotherhood who would avenge your son’s death for you.”

He was still for a moment. Then
he began to nod his head slowly. “Could have gone down that way,” he said. “But
it didn't.”

“He shifted his eyes from
Alex back to me. “I didn't have anything to do with Ms. Nolan’s disappearance.”

His breathing had slowed. He
was calm. His eyes held mine.

After a moment, he shook his
head and said, almost softly, “I didn't do it.”

The music was ending. The
girls on stage picked up the tips that had been put on the stage. They would be
off the stage in a moment.

“Call Amber over,” I said.

Albert glanced to the guy on
his left and jerked his head toward the stage. His large friend got up and
left. We sat quietly until his friend returned with Amber.

Amber had put her red
G-string back on. She looked to be in her early twenties. Her body was firm
from working out. She walked up and stood beside Albert. “Tell these gentlemen
where I was Monday morning between five and eight a.m.”

“He was home, in bed, with
me.”

There wasn't anything else to
be done at the moment, so I said, “Okay, Albert. That's all for now. Thank you
for your cooperation.”

Alex and I stood. I looked at
Susan. She was visibly shaken and having to make a concerted effort to stand.
She finally got to her feet. Her hands trembled. Alex took her arm to steady
her and led her out of the club. I followed.