Into the Dark (25 page)

“I know you’re angry with me.” Emilie lowered her voice. “But thank you for doing this.”

“Not angry. Just worried.”

“I’ll be fine. You’ll be right beside me.”

“Yeah, but what about tomorrow and the next day?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out together, right?”

“Right,” he whispered.

An electric sensation hotter than the scorching sun passed between them and crackled in her ears. “Let’s go before I get you in serious trouble.”

They joined the others at the culvert. Mere feet above them on I-15, traffic zoomed by at a steady pace. Vehicle exhaust and the scent of rotting trash drifted over their heads.

Brown water pooled around her feet. Fat water bugs skated on the surface in search of food. Emilie’s mouth curled in disgust. She hadn’t thought about the bugs.

“Best not to look down,” Chris said. “Keep your light ahead of you.”

“It’s really dark in there,” Ronson warned. “Stay close.”

Emilie’s resolve faltered as they reached the tunnel entrance. She peered over Nathan’s shoulder at the triad of pipes branching off in different directions. Big enough for a tall man to walk through easily, their murky blackness was as foreboding as anything Emilie had ever experienced.

She pressed the button on her flashlight and shined it into the abyss. Four other lights joined hers, and the inner concrete walls of the tunnel became visible. Graffiti was scrawled over them. A bevy of cockroaches scuttled away from the intrusion.

Emilie followed Nathan and Chris across the threshold and tried not to give in to the claustrophobia that immediately wrapped itself around her. The tunnel was wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side with room to spare, but the sense of being closed in was amplified by the heavy silence. The group’s splashing feet echoed and then faded away into the never-ending darkness. How deep were the channels?

A smell resembling the rotten egg she’d once dropped on Evan’s porcelain kitchen floor hit her full force. Emilie’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Something else, ain’t it?” Chris’s voice broke the uneasy stillness. “I liken it to a men’s locker room filled with dirty socks and jocks after a five-mile run.”

“If you guys stink this bad, you need medical help. Christ.”

“At least my stomach’s not rumbling anymore,” Nathan said.

“Shit, I could eat,” Chris said.

“You can always eat. You’re like a human trash compactor.”

“Do you guys have any idea where to find Snake?” Avery’s voice came out muffled.

Chris turned around and shined his light on Avery. “Dude, that hanky over your face ain’t gonna stop the stink. Embrace it. Feel the burn.”

Emilie laughed as the knot in her stomach began to uncoil. The banter made it easier to forget why she was here.

Her right foot suddenly came down on something hard in the shallow stream of water. She stumbled into Nathan’s back before an arm caught her from behind.

“Watch it,” Avery said. “Last thing you want to do is fall face-first in this.”

“Sorry.” Emilie clutched the hem of Nathan’s thin T-shirt. “I tripped over something.”

She shined her light into the two-inch-deep water. A pair of soulless black eyes stared back at her. A child’s doll lay abandoned, its once-blond hair soaked with the filthy water.

Children lived down here?

Emilie couldn’t speak.

“Let’s keep moving.” Nathan’s strong hand closed around hers. Emilie clutched it gratefully.

“Angel’s camp was here.” Nathan cast his light on the crude map he’d made. “Snake’s abandoned camp was here.”

“If Snake’s old camp has someone else in it, he’s not going back,” Ronson said. “He’ll probably start a new one. Safe bet it would be somewhere in the vicinity though. He knows the area.”

The air grew thicker as they moved farther into the darkness. The sound of dripping water gradually faded away. They passed several camps, some spread out and others butting against one another. A few were empty, but most of the inhabitants were home. None had any news of Snake.

“Kinda feels like catacombs,” Chris said. “You know, like the ones underneath Paris filled with old bones?”

“Yeah, except the catacombs have more light, and no one’s living in them,” Nathan said.

“Obviously. No one wants to live with a dead body, no matter how old it is.”

“Not true. In the Philippines, the poor live in the cemeteries. They sleep right on top of the crypts. Eat there, too.”

“How the hell you know that?”

“National Geographic,” Nathan said.

“Nerd.”

The narrow tunnel opened up into a wider area. An elaborate camp had been set up along the right side of the channel. Dark vinyl shower curtains were strung on a wire for two makeshift walls. A double bed sat atop heavy wooden pallets balanced on several plastic crates. Two rusting hotel luggage carriers served as a wardrobe, and an old rocking chair was propped up on another wooden pallet. Plastic totes were stacked against the concrete wall. A crudely made wooden shelf housed books and personal items.

“Unbelievable,” Emilie murmured.

Dimly lit by four camping lights, the small area was no larger than three hundred square feet. A woman lay on the bed reading a copy of
Cosmopolitan
.

She dropped the magazine and grabbed a baseball bat off the nearby shelf. “What do you want?”

“We’re looking for someone.” Nathan held up his badge.

“I ain’t seen them.”

Avery moved closer. The woman jumped off the bed. Pale and thin, she looked like a long-time resident. Emilie’s shock turned to sympathy. How could anyone live this way?

“I didn’t invite you into my home,” she yelled. “Get out of here.”

“Sorry.” Nathan pulled Avery past the boundary set by the curtains. Avery jerked his arm away.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Nathan said. “We’re looking for someone who may be a witness to a violent crime.”

“I ain’t a narc.”

“We’re not asking you to be,” Ronson said. “We’re looking for Snake. He may know a man who attempted to kidnap a woman and is still stalking her. Snake’s not under suspicion. We just need to find out what he knows.”

“Right. I tell you where to find Snake, and you all haul him in. Then I’m the bad guy. Narcing don’t go over good down here.”

“Ma’am, I promise you we have no intention of arresting Snake. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s got information.”

“Can’t help you.”

“Please.” Emilie stepped forward. “I’m the woman they’re trying to help. My stalker is out there. Snake is the only one who can help us. If you know anything, please tell us.”

“You came into the drains to look for Snake?” The woman looked Emilie up and down.

“Yes. Do you know where he is?”

“Your friends gonna keep their promises? No arrests?” She lowered the bat.

“You have my word,” Ronson said.

“What you gonna give me for it?” The woman stuck out a dirty hand.

Nathan dug into his pocket. “Here’s twenty bucks. Now tell us about Snake.”

The woman shoved the twenty into the dingy bra peeking out from underneath her dark tank top. “Saw Snake a few days ago. He’s set up east, farther from the Strip. He likes his privacy.”

“How do we get there?” Avery asked.

“Just follow this tunnel straight east until it forks again. Go right a hundred feet or so. His place is the first one you’ll see.”

“Is he usually around during the day?” Nathan asked.

“He credit hustles at night. Sleeps during the day. Should be there. Don’t tell him you got information from me.”

“We won’t,” Nathan said. “Thank you.”

More camps followed. Some had double beds, and blankets hung to separate rooms. Others consisted of nothing more than a cot and a few crates.

Many of the inhabitants lounged outside their living areas on rickety lawn chairs and cinder blocks. Some eyed the group with contempt. Others smiled and waved as though they were sitting on their front porches in a run-of-the-mill suburban neighborhood.

“Ya’ll lost?” asked a skinny man with closely cropped hair, and a bottle of Natural Ice beer dangling from his hand.

“Nah, man,” Chris called back. “Thanks.”

Her breath grew shorter as the darkness and claustrophobia became thicker with every step.

“It’s all right.” Nathan’s hand closed around her elbow. She wanted to burrow into his arms. “Not too many people go this deep, and we’re armed.”

“It’s not that. I feel like I’m trapped in a box.”

“Think of it as a funhouse,” Chris said. “In a really messed-up carnival.”

They reached the fork. Nathan cautiously led the way right.

“I didn’t think it could get any darker in here,” Chris said. “But I was wrong. It’s pitch black.”

“And quiet,” Nathan answered. “Definitely private.”

“I’m taking my gun out.” Avery’s voice wavered. “I don’t like the way this place feels.”

“Keep it hidden,” Ronson said. “We don’t want to spook him.”

A few yards ahead, a tiny flame fought against the blackness. The small residence came into view. This camp only had a twin bed on pallets and a couple of battered totes on either end. A sleeping bag and pillow were neatly placed on the bed. A metal chair sat next to what looked like a single-drawer filing cabinet. The cabinet served as a table, and a camp light was nearly engulfed by the darkness.

“Where is he?” Chris cast his flashlight beam across the dark tunnel. “Light’s on. Surely he’s close.”

“I am,” a gruff voice came from the abyss. “What the hell are cops doing this far into the tunnels?”

“How’d you know we were cops?” Chris asked.

“You’re wearing an LVPD shirt, stupid.”

“You can see that?”

“I’m not blind.”

“But it’s so dark.”

“Person’s eyes adjust. What do you want?”

She bit her lip to keep from begging the voice for help.

“We’re looking for Snake,” Nathan said.

“What for?”

“He’s not in trouble. We’re searching for a suspected kidnapper. Snake may have information.”

“He don’t.”

“We don’t believe Snake’s involved,” Nathan said. “He witnessed a conversation in January between Rod Burrell and a strange man. They talked about a tunnel hidden under WestOne Bank. The stranger used the tunnel in the attempted kidnapping of a woman. He’s still stalking her.”

Emilie searched the black drain for any sign of the man. His voice echoed off the walls. All she could see were the meager beams from their flashlights and the infinite darkness surrounding them.

“What’s Snake got to do with it?”

“He’s spent time with the kidnapper,” Ronson said. “He might be able to tell us more about him.”

A shuffling sound came from the left. Emilie squinted as a pair of scuffed boots stepped into view.

“Like what?”

“Anything,” Nathan said. “The tunnel under WestOne connected to the drains. The suspect planned to kidnap the woman and keep her down here. He’s been stalking her for a long time, and he’s getting closer. The police know very little about him. We need Snake’s help to save this woman’s life.”

“The woman next to you? The one that’s not a cop?”

“My name’s Emilie Davis.” Her voice fell flat in the concrete chamber.

A man crept into the dim light. He was short and thin, but his muscled arms were visible in the cut-off shirt he wore. His shoulder-length hair was held back by a bandana. His face was tanner than many of the tunnel people. The lettering on his gray T-shirt was almost all chipped off.

Emilie found herself staring into a weathered face with a gentle smile and curious gray eyes.

“A lady like you has guts to come in here. Guess the least I could do is answer your questions.” He walked to the camp and sat down in the metal chair. “I’m Snake. What do you want to know about the southern gentleman?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“How did you know he was southern? Burrell didn’t know about his accent.” Emilie dropped Nathan’s hand and stepped forward. He had to admire her courage.

“He slipped every now and then, and he’d ease back into that drawl, ‘specially if he got excited about something. I never mentioned it.” Snake grabbed a five-gallon bucket and turned it upside down. He motioned for Emilie to sit.

“When did you first meet him?” She settled onto the bucket. Nathan stood behind her, his hands on her tense shoulders.

“Couple of weeks after Christmas.”

“What was he doing?” Emilie asked.

“Wandering the tunnel over by the Tropicana. Looked lost.”

“Did you think he was homeless, too?”

“Shit,” Chris whispered. Nathan waited for Snake to be offended and shut off all communication.

Snake smiled and reclined in the dilapidated chair. “I’m not homeless, honey. Got a roof over my head and a decent place to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Emilie said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“’Sall right. And nah, I didn’t think he was a downtown resident, if you know what I mean. He looked the part, but I wasn’t feelin’ it.”

“What do you mean?” Avery asked.

“When new people move in down here, they’ve got shit with them, extra clothes and stuff. And they got this way ’bout ’em, like you,” he pointed to Emilie. “This place scares ’em at first.”

“And the southern gentleman wasn’t scared?” Emilie asked.

“Nah. Looked more like he was shopping or at some fucked up museum—pardon the language. And he didn’t have jack on him. Just the clothes on his back and fancy shoes. I thought maybe he was another reporter, but those guys never tried to pass themselves off as one of us.”

“Did he give you his name?” Avery asked.

“Jim.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothin’. He said he was new down here and needed someone to show him the ropes. I thought he was full of shit, ‘specially when his accent popped up, but I was curious.”

“You spent a lot of time together, then?” Ronson asked.

“Some.” Snake shrugged. “He disappeared a lot, was mostly around nights, and even then, only for a few hours. He wasn’t sleeping here.”

“Did you ever see him leave the tunnels?” Nathan asked. If Snake had seen the Taker coming and going police might be able to get some idea as to what side of the city he lived on.