Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2) (9 page)

T
he location Leon had given them was less than fifteen minutes away, but for Dre getting there seemed to take forever. He drove cautiously, careful not to exceed the speed limit or even roll through a stop sign. He really wanted to floor the gas pedal, but with Apache carrying a Glock, they couldn’t afford to get pulled over.

Dre was still a little antsy about having given Apache the go-ahead to shoot Leon. Despite the man’s admitted role in kidnapping Brianna, Dre hoped he got to a hospital before he bled to death. If he’d been thinking straight, he would’ve realized that they needed the dude with them to locate the house. His Jetta headed west on Gage and made a left on Normandie. When he got to 62
nd
Street, he wasn’t sure whether to go east or west.

Apache made the decision for him. “Hit a left,” he said, pointing. “I just got a feeling it’s this way.”

Dre steered the car to the left and slowed to a crawl as he examined each house. His eyes bounced from one side of the street to the other, searching for a yellow, gated house.

“It’s supposed to be in the middle of the block,” Dre said when they reached the end of street. “It must be in the other direction.”

“Maybe not,” Apache said. “We got our directions from a crack head. Go up one more block.”

Dre didn’t need to be reminded that he had placed all of his hopes on an addict who’d been interrupted in the middle of getting high.

The car crept along the next block. There was one yellow house with lots of flowers in front, but no gates.

“There’s no way we could’ve missed the kind of gates he described,” Dre said. “I’m going the other way.

At the end of the block, he made a U-turn and drove in the other direction.

Dre’s fingers tapped the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic to clear enough to allow him to cross the busy intersection at Normandie to make it to the other side of 62nd Street.

They eased along the first block. No yellow house. The next block either. Dre drove several more blocks, then zigzagged up and down the streets parallel to 62nd Street. With each turn, a bit of his hope faded.

“I think the dude punked us,” Dre said.

“If he did, I’m going back and shootin’ off the rest of his toes,” Apache said. “Let’s keep lookin’.”

They drove up and down the neighboring streets for another ten minutes or so before Dre pulled back onto Normandie and parked in front of a liquor store.

“What you doin’, man? Why we stoppin’. Let’s keep lookin’. I gotta feelin’ we’re in the vicinity.”

“I need to think,” Dre said. Something that would be hard to do with Apache running his mouth.

“Man, when we find little shorty we gon’ fuck them punks up!”

That wasn’t the way it was going to go down. Once he got Brianna back, he was going to be slow and methodical about his revenge. He didn’t need or want Apache’s help for that aspect of the job.

He started up the car.

“Where we goin’?”

“I’m taking you back home,” Dre said.

“You givin’ up?”

“Hell naw. I gotta make a run to Compton. A buddy of mine used to deal in this area. He might know the house we’re looking for. If he does, I’ll call you.”

T
he impressive mini-castles along Ocean Boulevard in Newport Beach were among Southern California’s most prized waterfront property. One peach-colored monstrosity seemed glaringly out of place when compared to the neighboring homes. A low, gold-plated fence with goddess statues every few feet boasted an unwelcomed gaudiness. A black Bentley sat parked in the driveway next to a burgundy Jaguar. An intentional show of wealth that begged to be noticed.

Inside, The Shepherd plodded barefoot up and down the length of his great room, creating deep imprints in the plush gold-speckled beige carpet. The room was the size of two large garages, with high ceilings, fat leather chairs and a wall of glass that looked out over the aqua-blue waters. It had the feel of a model home that had yet to be lived in.

The Shepherd bore a baby face and the earnestness of a young TV anchorman. In sweats and a polo shirt, he resembled a college freshman. He’d created the look first, then altered his personality to fit it.

His two lieutenants remained silent as he paced. They were familiar with the unusual way in which their boss expressed his discontent. It was best not to speak while he simmered.

Pausing mid-step, Shep rigidly sat down in one of the leather chairs, his back facing the two men.

“This guy has no idea who he’s messing with,” he said, mostly to himself.

Shep was always careful to enunciate each syllable of every word. He never cursed and rarely raised his voice. He believed that a true leader always kept his emotions in check. He clenched and unclenched his fists as if he was practicing finger exercises.

“Nobody disrespects me.”

After receiving Clint’s call about Andre “Dre” Thomas’ visit to City Stars, other calls followed. Jonesy, the manager of one of his liquor stores, reported that Dre had walked into the place and announced that The Shepherd had snatched his niece, so Dre was out for The Shepherd’s blood in return. Several more calls reporting similar threats followed. Dre had gone all over town calling him out. And then Shep got word of the shooting of Clint’s crack head cousin, Leon.

That had sent Shep off into an internal orbit. He slowly swung the chair around, his narrowed eyes locking with Clint’s.

“What possessed you to bring someone into my operation without my approval, not to mention a crack head?”

“I...I was in a fix. He was the only person I could get at the last minute. He’s my cousin. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“Well, it
is
a problem. Your cousin doesn’t know how to keep his mouth closed. You should tell him it would be a good idea for him to disappear. If not, I will make him disappear.”

As Shep continued to gaze at him, Clint seemed to shrink in size. He would’ve looked away, but Shep demanded eye contact. After a full minute of silence, Shep turned his focus on the second man.

“It’s your job to thoroughly check out the girls, isn’t it?”

There was no anger his voice. He might as well have been asking for a drink of water.

The second man had trouble meeting his gaze.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” The Shepherd said evenly. “I spend a great deal of time planning my operation. You both know that. All of my girls are well-researched. Since I transferred everything online, we’ve never had a problem.”

Clint fired off a sideways glare at the man everybody called
Large
because that’s what he was. Clint’s harsh look commanded Large to step up to the plate.

“That girl was a referral just like all the others,” Large finally said, glancing at the floor, then quickly back at Shep. He had small ears and a head shaped like a bullet. “The information we got was that she didn’t have a daddy and was back and forth between her mother and grandmother. I didn’t check her out any further.”

Only girls who fit their profile were targeted by “Jaden.” It was preferable that they were from a group home, in foster care or, even better, runaways. But a troubled family life was a requisite. The likelihood of molestation for such girls was high, so sex wasn’t foreign to them. They were also easily conditioned because they had no self-esteem to speak of.

“It’s your job to research each girl’s background, is it not?”

Large shrugged. “Okay. I messed up. But the referrals are usually good to go. We never check them out too hard anymore.”

Shep laughed. It was never good when Shep laughed.

“So that’s all you have to say?
I messed up
. Your lack of attention to detail is unacceptable. You can leave now.”

Large trudged toward the front door and out of the house.

Clint finally spoke. “Man, this little bitch ain’t worth it. Got too much fight in her. She almost whipped Freda’s ass. If she’s related to this Dre dude, he ain’t gonna quit until he gets her back. Let’s turn her loose. We got six more girls coming down from Oakland in a couple of days and that dude in Birmingham wants to sell us some more girls.”

Shep started pacing again. He was a thinker and Clint was used to letting him do that in silence.

As his No. 2 man, Clint was the only one besides Large and Freda, who knew the full extent of his operation and how everything worked. Shep and Clint had banged together all through high school. Back then, Clint supervised their drug runners, while Shep organized the distribution channels as well as the finances. Shep had always been smart enough to stay out of sight, calling the shots. So he’d never seen the inside of a jail cell.

But slinging drugs posed more of a threat to his freedom than Shep wanted to bear for the long haul. They soon put crack and weed on the backburner and turned to the pimpin’ game. Three years ago, they brought their operation into the Internet Age.

Shep stared up at Clint.

“I’m not very happy about this guy going all over the city disrespecting me. If he wanted his niece back, he should have come to me like a man. What do you know about him?”

“I made a few calls. His name on the street was Businessman because he ran a tight operation. He dealt crack, mostly to low-level dealers who didn’t want to cut it themselves. Did a stint at Corcoran. He supposedly quit the game a few months ago and went legit. Brianna is his niece.”

Shep slowly wrung his hands. Not in a show of nervousness, but as if he were slathering them with lotion. “I’m going to teach Businessman a lesson.”

Clint threw up his hands. He was the only one in The Shepherd’s operation who ever dared to disagree with him.

“C’mon, Shep! If this dude goes to the police—”

“Mr. Businessman is not going to the police. If he was going to do that, it would’ve already happened. He’s a convict and convicts do not like the police. And if he does eventually decide to do so, when they run his record, they aren’t going to do very much to help him. They might even think his drug dealing is the reason his niece is missing. And he knows that.”

“Man, the girl has asthma and had a real bad attack early this morning. She could get sick and die or something. We don’t need no girl dying on us.”

Shep’s eyebrows fused and his nostrils flared. But in seconds, he regained control of his emotions. “Why am I just hearing about this?”

Clint scratched his jaw. “She’s fine now. But—”

“And she’s going to continue to be fine because
you’re
going to make sure she is.”

Clint swallowed hard. “So exactly what you wanna do?”

“You said this guy
used
to deal. Sounds like he was smart enough to get out of the game at the right time. That means he’s probably got some cash stacked away. A lot of cash, I suspect.”

Shep smiled as he plotted. “We’re going to expedite things with his niece. I want to send her on a date as soon as possible. But first, I want
you
to break her in. And I want it on video.”

Clint felt his stomach churn. He didn’t mind breaking in the older ones, seventeen or eighteen. But he had a problem doing the youngsters. That was for perverts. In his mind, pimpin’ a child and screwin’ one were two very different things.

“And after Ms. Brianna has had a little taste of being in the life, we’ll hand her back. Then I want you to publicize
that
on the street.”

“I really think you need to rethink this,” Clint pleaded. “This is just one girl, Shep. Why risk all we got over her?”

“I don’t plan to risk a thing. Right now, it’s more important for me to restore my reputation on the street. Are you forgetting that I was the one who created this entire operation? How much money have I made you?”

Clint shrugged. Yeah, he was clockin’ at least five grand a week, sometimes more. But that wasn’t the point.

“It ain’t about the money right now, man. It’s about protecting the operation.”

“Well, at least we agree on that. If I don’t send a strong message in response to this affront, I’ll have other fools out there thinking they can disrespect me too. “

Clint clenched his teeth. This was a bad move. A real bad move.

“And if Mr. Businessman wants what’s left of his niece when we’re done with her,” Shep said with a smile, “he’s going to have to pay to get her back.”

L
oretha had trouble keeping her eyes open. She was used to going 24/7, but at the moment, her body was screaming for sleep. She ended up having to wait another couple of hours before Carmen was officially released into her care.

She glanced over at the girl, who was asleep in the passenger seat, snoring softly. Whenever Loretha got her hands on a new girl, she was always hopeful that this one would be a child she could save. Not for a week or a few days, but for life.

Finally reaching Harmony House, she steered the car through electronic gates and down a long driveway. She pressed the garage door opener attached to the sun visor and waited as the garage door rattled open. Before driving inside, Loretha made sure the electronic gates had closed, then checked the rearview mirror and both side mirrors. She was always careful about making sure she hadn’t been followed by some pimp.

This was Harmony House’s second home in three years, and the best location so far. The two-story house in the Lafayette Square area of Los Angeles was a little known enclave of historic homes with a rich history of black wealth.

In the beginning, her neighbors had fought her efforts to disrupt their community with a “bunch of prostitutes,” as one protester called them. But Loretha hit the pavement, and appealed to anyone willing to open their door to hear her pitch. The resistance soon faded and some neighbors had even volunteered to work as tutors and regularly donated food and clothes. A few others joined the board and helped them raise money to supplement the state grants Harmony House received.

The only downside to the location was that Loretha could only house fourteen girls at a time. The need was so much greater.

Loretha was surprised that the loud rumbling of the garage door hadn’t wakened Carmen. She waited until they were safely inside the garage, then opened her driver’s side door, which activated the car’s overhead lights.

“We’re here,” Loretha said, gently touching the girl’s shoulder.

Carmen shot upward, flailing her arms and yelling, “Get the hell away from me!”

Loretha had anticipated this reaction. In the early days, she hadn’t been prepared for the girls’ feral reaction when they were aroused from sleep. She gave Carmen the few seconds she needed to realize that she was not about to be raped. Again.

“You’re safe,” Loretha said softly.

Carmen shielded her eyes with her hand. “Turn off them damn lights.”

The first thing Loretha would need to do was correct the girl’s foul mouth. Harmony House had rules. But that could wait for now.

Carmen looked around. “That social worker said this was a nice place. Don’t look all that nice to me.”

Loretha climbed out of the car. “This is just the garage.”

They maneuvered around boxes of supplies, clothing and canned goods. There was barely enough room for the small car. Loretha stuck the key in the door leading into the house. Before she could turn the knob, it opened.

Anamaria, one of two full-time house managers, greeted them.

“Can’t believe you’re still up,” Loretha said with a thankful smile. She stepped into a wide hallway.

“Carmen, this is Anamaria. She helps me run this place.”

Loretha could tell that Carmen was surprised to be greeted by another Latina.

“Welcome to Harmony House.” Anamaria’s Spanish accent had a melodic lilt to it.

“Yeah, whatever,” Carmen muttered. “Ain’t like I had a choice.”

Loretha and Carmen both smiled at the familiar insolence.

It would be their job to change that attitude and free the little girl inside this pretend-woman.

“I have the Hope room all ready for her,” Anamaria said to Loretha.

It had been Anamaria’s suggestion to name the rooms. Two years earlier, Anamaria had been a Harmony House resident. She was now one of Loretha’s success stories.

Carmen gave a fake laugh. “The Hope room? Y’all are definitely buggin’.”

As they stepped out of the hallway and into the foyer, Carmen stopped and took in the room. The walls and floors were nearly all solid mahogany with high ceilings and decorative window panes. The room exuded a regalness.

“Dang, this
is
nice!”

“Thank you very much,” Loretha said. “Your room’s upstairs.”

As they ascended a spiral staircase, Carmen ran her hand along the polished wood banister.

They walked past closed doors, all labeled with words of inspiration. Trust, Peace, Safety, Love, Tranquility.
Anamaria opened the door of the Hope room, then stepped aside so Carmen could enter first.

Carmen pressed both palms to her cheeks. “O-M-G!”

The room had two twin beds with fluffy Hello Kitty comforters. The walls were bright pink with splashes of yellow and blue flowers. A pink teddy bear sat atop a pillow on the bed closest to the window and there were posters of Justin Bieber, Usher and Princess Tiana. A small rectangular desk rested against one wall.

“O-M-G!” Carmen said again. “How’d you know pink was my favorite color?”

She darted across the room and bounced up and down on the bed. She grabbed the teddy bear and hugged it to her chest. “Is this mine?”

“Absolutely.” Anamaria opened the closet and handed Carmen a knapsack.

“This is yours too,” she said, handing it to her. “It has toiletries, pajamas and other clothes. The shower is two doors down on the right.

Carmen grabbed the bag and looked inside. She pulled out a long-sleeved nightshirt with Brittany Spears’ face on it. “I usually sleep naked, but I really like this. How’d you know my size?”

Anamaria grinned. “I just took a guess.”

Actually, the majority of the girls wore a small because they were so undernourished.

“Okay, this is way too square for me,” Carmen said examining a knee-length floral skirt. She stuffed it back into the bag, then gazed around the room.

“Oooooooh.” She shot over to the desk, sat down and grabbed a paint set.

“I used to love to paint. That’s the only thing I do good in. My third grade teacher, Ms. Harris, said I have imnate talent.”

Loretha smiled at the mispronunciation, warmed by Carmen’s youthful excitement.

“Can I have this too?”

“Of course,” Anamaria said. “There’s some paper in the drawer.”

They watched as Carmen grabbed a sheet of paper and tore open the paint set. She dipped the paintbrush into a blue, then yellow pallet.

“What are you drawing?” Loretha asked, marveling at how fast Carmen had brought life to the blank page.

Carmen looked up at them with big, happy eyes. “I’m making a picture of me and Big Daddy. I’ma give it to him when he comes to pick me up.”