Green Broke Woman (38 page)

An awkward pause supplanted the conversation.

Jake's air turned humble and gloomy as
repentant guilt filtered through his troubled eyes. “Keith, about what I said
to you about Miranda—I had no right. You were outnumbered, and the fuckers were
armed. What the hell were you supposed to do?”

Keith managed a weak partial smile, but his
heart remained heavy. “I fought with everything in me to save her, but it
wasn't enough.” He shook his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling to keep Jake
from seeing the tears glistening in them. “There's not a day that goes by that
I don't think about her or hate myself for letting them take her.”

“It's not your fault. If it hadn't been for
you, that Slade scum would have taken Kayla. I was out cold like a big, dumb
rock.” Jake rolled his eyes.
“A lot of good that would have
done her.”

“Jake, you got hit on the head. It's
understandable.”

“It's just a scratch. I shouldn't have let
that stop me.” He sighed. “I think it's good our girl has several men to
protect her, so the others can be there for her when the other men can't.”

Keith scratched his head. “I agree. I just
wish Miranda had gotten a chance to meet Jason and Armand. The little
firecracker needs two men who know how to protect her. She's too cocky, always
putting herself in stupid situations because she thinks she's strong enough to
take on any obstacle.”

Jake's head dropped, staring down at the
blanket over him. “Yeah, I always had a feeling that kind of pride would get
her into trouble one day. We'll find her. If she's part of this My Fairytale
crapshoot, then somebody obviously wanted her bad enough to pay good money for
her. My guess is whoever he is he still has her.”

“Probably.
I don't know which is worse, if she's dead
or still alive. I need her to be alive, but if she is that means all the
horrors keep plaguing her, and she never gets any peace.” Keith's eyes stung
with anguish. “It makes me sick to think of what might have happened to her.”

“I know.” Jake reached for his container of
Jell-O.
“Ah, hell.”

“God, if I could just remember where I saw
that man before.” Keith noticed his brother fiddling in vain with the lid of
the snack. “You need a hand with that?”

“No, I've got it. It's just 'cause they got
me hooked up to this monitoring shit. I'm not weak, man.”

“Sure you're not, Jake.”

Jake gave him a playful glare, tampering with
the lid some more before he finally speared a pen through it. A blob of green
Jell-O flopped up through the slit. Both men chuckled.

Jake shook his head. “Jesus, apparently it
takes a professor to open these damned things.”

Keith grinned before his mind drifted back to
Miranda. His heartbeat ceased momentarily before hammering hard in his chest.
“Professor.”

“What's that now?” Jake licked the spoon
clean after taking a mouthful of the
jiggly
green
stuff.

“What was the name of that professor who kept
harassing Miranda at college?”

Jake thought for a second. “Donahue wasn't
it?”

“Yeah, Donahue.
I met him once. I went down to the college
to tell him to quit nagging Miranda to go out with him. Shit, I think that's
him.” Keith ran a hand over his head, digging his nails into his scalp. “She
told me after I did that he tried to kiss and grope her. She got him fired.”

“You know how many men wanted our sister?”
Jake reminded him while sampling more of the wiggly Jell-O. “Just because
Donahue had a hankering for her doesn't mean he's the one who kidnapped her.
She disappeared from New Orleans, not Lexington.”

“So, he could have gone to Mardi Gras, too.
It might have been a random kidnapping, but that one man looked familiar. I
can't see his face when I'm sober. I haven't touched bourbon since that night
because the sight of the stuff rips my heart out now, but I need to be
intoxicated so my mind is free to remember that night without hindrance.”

“What difference does it make which liquor
you drink? If you're craving bourbon just say so.”

Keith shook his head. “No. I remembered
details about that night more clearly when I was drunk, but I couldn't recall
his face, only that it looked familiar. If I drink the same damned liquor I did
that night and get good and drunk, maybe I'll remember what he looked like.”

****

Kayla went to the vending machine, surprised
to see Keith leaving. “Where are you going?”

“To get drunk.”

“What?” She grabbed his arm. “Why?”

He tilted her chin and absorbed her in his
earnest gaze. “I just need a few drinks to help me remember the face of one of
the men who took Miranda. I think I have a lead, but I want to be sure.”

“Please drink at home and take someone with
you, so I know you're safe.”

Virgil walked up. “I'll go with him.”

She hugged them both. “Thank you. Please be
careful.”

“We will.”

She watched them leave before pondering the
assortment stacked in the vending machine. Did she want Fritos or a Twix?

“I never can decide what to get either,” a
grotesque female voice said from behind her.

Kayla turned, trying hard not to look
astonished by the ugly woman behind her. Either she'd lived a hard life and
hadn't been gifted with softer features, or it was a cross-dressing man. She
didn't want to let her mouth hang open and be rude, but her first reaction was
to blink and stare.

“Me neither,” Kayla said.

“What are you trying to decide between?” the
woman asked, clutching a manila envelope to her side.

Kayla glanced back at the appetizing
selection.
“Either Fritos or Twix.
What do you think?”

“Hmm, I think Twix. The caramel inside
matches your lovely eyes and the chocolate matches mine, both fusing together
to form one sinfully decadent treat.”

Kayla immediately turned and hit the combo
for the Fritos. No way was she eating a Twix after that creepy description. “I
think I'm craving something salty after all. Thanks, though.”

When she turned around the strange woman was
gone. Kayla's shoe kicked something, resulting in the sound of crinkling paper.
She frowned when she realized the woman had dropped her manila envelope. How
could she have not noticed the sound when the thing hit the floor? Why had she
hurried off so quickly?

Kayla gaped when she picked up the envelope
and saw her own name written on it but nothing else. She looked around but couldn't
find the stranger anywhere. She hurried back to where Travis sat in the waiting
room just as Master Hugh came back from the bathroom.

“What you got there, girl?” Travis asked.

“I'm not sure.” She opened the envelope and
her heart stuttered in terror when she saw the dark blue satin panties with her
initials on the tag.
“Oh my God.”

Travis stood suddenly, looking worried and
jealous. “What is that?”

Master Hugh snatched the undies from her,
turning the sleek fabric over in his hands and then smelling it, whether to
investigate or simply be a pervert with her panties, she wasn't sure. “Who left
it?”

“When Beck had me, there was this masked man,
the guy I later found out was a cop,” she started in a shaky tone.

“That Bruce Callaghan fella?”
Travis asked.

She swallowed, trembling with fear.
“Yeah.
Sometimes he used to take things of mine for
souvenirs.
Garters, panties, that kind of thing.”

Travis looked like he wanted to kill the man.

“This manly looking woman was talking to me
by the vending machine, and she just left suddenly. I didn't see which way she
or he went, but the person left this envelope behind. Do you think it was Bruce
in disguise or a friend of his delivering it for him?” Kayla asked.

Master studied the underwear, deep in
thought. “Is there anything else in the envelope?”

She peeked back in and found a note that read
Черный
дракон
.

“What language is that? I can't even read
it.”

Master took the note from her before his face
went white. His fist clenched, crinkling the paper. “It's Russian ... for Black
Dragon.”

****

Virgil stood near the dining room table,
watching Keith take shots of bourbon. “Remember anything yet?”

Keith closed his eyes, clearly buzzed. “Give
me a sec. Beads. Miranda had a gold necklace, a purple one, and some green
beads. She had a fun Mardi Gras hat on her head that made her look like a
spunky court jester.”

Virgil smirked. “That's great you remember
what your sister was wearing that night. Now how about thinking back on
something useful?”

“I'm working through it. Now shove off.”
Keith's eyes closed again. “Don't go anywhere. I was just being rude.”

Virgil grinned. “I know you were. Now think,
partner.”

He snapped his fingers, causing Keith's lips
to thin in an annoyed line that disappeared when Virgil ceased the pesky action.

“It's dark. We're walking down a corridor
outside.”

“You mean an alley?”

“Too nice to be an alley.
It's too dark to see the street name.
Miranda's tipsy. I'm annoyed with myself and her for getting buzzed off two
shots of bourbon.” Keith's face twisted in pain as he buried his head in his
hands with his elbows on the table. “Christ, I don't want to remember.”

Virgil put a hand on his back and patted him
roughly. “Pull yourself together. If you can remember the skuzzball's face who
nabbed her, then the pain is worth it.”

Keith lifted his face from his palms, making
a teepee with his hands against his chin and nose. His blue eyes looked glassy
and bloodshot, either from liquor or anguish. “Try going through it.”

“Sorry. What else do you remember?”

Keith's eyes closed, and his hands lowered to
the table, clutching his shot glass. “A man approaches us, stocky but not fat,
features hard to discern in the darkness. I've never seen him before. He
comments on Miranda's tits. He says he saw her flash them for beads during the
parade. I tell him to fuck off. He doesn't fuck off.”

Virgil's chest clenched, realizing how
difficult this must be for Keith to relive mentally. He also wondered if
Gretchen's situation had been similar when she was taken. Had anyone been with
her at the time? Was she all alone and helpless? Beck had probably used her the
way he had Kayla, but had Gretchen escaped or been given to someone else?

“Two men come up from behind. I fight with
them. One of them has a knife. I feel it slash my ribcage while I'm fighting
them, but adrenaline dulls the pain.” Keith stared off into space before his
eyes dropped to the bourbon in his shot glass. “It doesn't occur to me that I
might die, only that she might. The first man grabs her when she tries to beat him
up. He pulls out a gun. Looks like a
Walther
PPK
from what I can tell.”

“Does the gun go off at any
point?” Virgil asked.

“I don't think so.”

Keith sucked in a hard breath of
air, pouring himself another shot and downing it like there was no tomorrow. His
eyes glistened, this time with sorrow, Virgil was certain.

“She screams for help, begging me
not to let them take her.” Keith's tone cracked, and his voice trailed off. He
sniffled, ducts welling with moisture before he continued, pouring
himself
more bourbon. “Stocky
lech
takes her. I fight with the other two
shits
. One I
don't recognize, just an average-looking guy. You know, the typical medium build
white male in his thirties last seen wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, jeans,
and tennis shoes kind of thing.”

“He didn't stand out?”

Keith shook his head, forehead
wrinkling with pain.

“What about the other guy?”

Keith’s face darkened with
ungodly hostility. “He wore khaki pants. It was hard to see his face because he
wore a hooded sweatshirt, but at one point the hood fell off and I caught a
glimpse of him.”

“What did he look like?”

“Familiar.” Keith took another
drink, letting out a breathy exhale. “He has a thick scar that runs along his
thumb to the fleshy area that extends to his pointer finger. Not sure how you
get that kind of scar. Miranda told me something the day she got Donahue
fired.”

“Focus, partner, don't go chasing
rabbits. You'll end up putting the professor's face in place of the real
culprit to give yourself a sense of closure.”

“
I'ma
talk ... and you can't s-stop me.” Keith slurred his words and hiccupped.
“Damn, I'm losing focus. Why the fuck can't
I
r-remember
very well ... when I'm sober?”