Reaper (5 page)

Finally Reaper said, “All right, we have three different cars and two men driving them, so far.”

“Three,” Scooby told him. “The guy in the red car was thirty or so. Curly black hair, real tan.”

“Hispanic?” Reaper asked him.

“Could be. I know he was wearing a lot of bling because it caught the light when he was talking to the guy he tried to grab. Damn, that kid couldn’t have been more that fourteen. What is the world coming to?”

Reaper repressed a smile. Scooby was, best guess, barely sixteen.

China raised her hand again. “I was talking to some of the other girls I run with. Two of them said they got real bad vibes from a dude in a Camaro. Big, fat slob. He wanted them to do him in a parking lot behind a building. I tried to get them to come talk to you but they weren’t having any of that. One of them said he has a bad comb-over.” She chuckled. “She said the brown hair on his pasty white skull made him look like the guy who was mayor of New York. Not that I know who that is, but…” She shrugged.

“I know who she means,” Reaper told her. “The mayor wasn’t fat, but the description of the hair could help. Is there anything else any of you can think of?”

The teens all shook their heads.

“Will any of this help you?” Zip asked.

Suddenly Scooby slapped his hand on the table. “License plate for the Ford. I didn’t get the whole thing but I think the first two digits were A4. Of course it could have been AA, but I’m real sure the first one was an A.”

“Great. So we have a start. Now on to the next bit of business. Since you guys have the best idea of what these men look like, as well as their cars, I want you to call me if you spot them again.”

“I don’t have a phone,” Pinky said.

Reaper opened the bag he’d set on the floor beside him, taking out eight throwaway phones then handed them out. “Now you do,” he told her. “All of you use these. They’re GPS modified so when you call, I’ll know right where you are.” He gave them his number, telling them to put it on speed dial. “And get the word out about these guys to everyone you know. They’re probably not the only predators running around, but my stopping them is a start.”

“You know they ain’t,” Zip said. “But yeah, if you take care of them, we’ll all feel a bit safer.”

“That’s the plan,” Reaper replied before dismissing them.

Now I have to keep my eyes open, and if one of them calls, hope I’m close enough to get to them before something bad goes down.

* * * *

“What information did you get from the kids?” Dallas asked the moment he got home around eight in the morning and joined Zack in the bedroom. “I’m not going to turn it in, because you were right. There’s no way I could explain how I got it. But I want to know who to watch out for.”

After running the comb through his hair one more time to tame it for work, Zack turned from the mirror to look at him, one eyebrow arched. “No good morning? No kiss?”

“Good morning.” Dallas stepped close enough to give him his kiss and muss his hair, earning a growl of frustration from his lover. “Now, what did you learn?” he asked, sitting on the bed to take off his shoes.

Zack laid it out in detail, ending by saying, “It’s not much, I know, but more than I had before.”

“
We
had,” Dallas emphasized.

“We had. I know I’ve seen that red Ford a few times soon after the bars have closed for the night. Well, if it’s the same one. Next time I see it, I’ll check the license plate. If Scooby’s right, it’s AA or A4 something.”

“Not enough for me to run, unfortunately.” Dallas unbuttoned his shirt and gave it to Zack when he held out his hand.

“Want me to drop those”—Zack pointed to the small pile of uniforms on the chair—“off at the cleaners?”

“I’d love you forever if you did.”

“That’s what it takes?” Zack asked, grinning.

“Well…that and good sex, companionship and decent meals and—”

Zack stopped him with a kiss. “I think we have all of that. But most of all, real love.”

“We do,” Dallas agreed, pulling him down for another kiss. “Now off with you or you’ll be late. Especially”—he grinned—“since you have a stop to make on the way in.”

Zack paused long enough to re-comb his hair before picking up the uniforms to take with him. On his way past Dallas, he bent to give him one final kiss then left.

* * * *

“Brian, can you be free in an hour?” Zack asked when he got his mentor on the phone just after four on Thursday afternoon.

Brian said he could be, asking if they were going to go look at the building. Zack told him they were and that he’d pick him up in front of the shelter.

Almost exactly an hour later, Zack got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Brian. He took Brian’s crutches when he handed them over, stowing them in the back seat.

Tyler, the street where the building was located, held a mixture of older, dilapidated apartment buildings and rooming houses, as well as two bars, a small family-owned grocery store, a thrift shop and a liquor store. Teens and older people were walking down the street, sitting on stoops, or lolling against the walls of the various establishments.

“Not exactly Shangri La,” Brian commented once they were parked and standing on the sidewalk. “Be sure to lock the car.”

“Of course.” Zack had shed his suit coat and tie then rolled up his sleeves so, while he didn’t exactly fit into the neighborhood, he didn’t stand out either. Brian, as was his wont, wore an older pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

After taking out the keys his client had given him, Zack opened the front door of the derelict building that, he hoped, would meet with Brian’s approval as a new home for the shelter.

The place had been a print shop in its last life. The front room was large with a counter cutting it in half. What was left of the counter now stood—or lay—in pieces in the front of the room. Wallpaper hung in tatters on one wall, obviously the victim of water damage. Two doors at the back of the room opened onto equally large rooms that ran the depth of the rest of the building. They were now empty except for a few heavy, broken tables. Stairs along the back wall of the front room led to the second floor with another set behind a locked door, going down to a basement.

“Do you think you can make it up?” Zack asked bluntly. He took in the fact the stair railing was almost non-existent and two of the steps were only partially there.

“For damned sure going to try,” Brian replied, carefully setting his crutches on the bottom stair.

Cautiously, testing each step first, he worked his way to the second floor with Zack right behind him to catch him if something went wrong. When he got to the top, Brian let out a deep breath.

“That was
not
fun.” He chuckled dryly. “And I have to go back down them, sooner or later.”

“I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you down,” Zack said with a grin as he opened the first door off the hallway where they now stood. “Seems like someone partied hard up here.”

Beer cans and beer and whiskey bottles lay strewn around the room, along with fast-food wrappers and, Zack noted, some syringes. The room behind it was equally as messy, while a third one at the back of the building held a few rotting blankets and sleeping bags. Across from them, along the hallway that traversed the building from front to back, were five more smaller rooms that had also, from the look of them, been sleeping areas for homeless kids—or adults.

“Used to be someone’s squat, I’d say,” Brian commented. “Wonder why they moved out?”

Zack pointed to some faded gang tags on the walls. “Competition.”

“It’s been a while, though, since anyone’s been up here, if the dust and dirt are any indication.”

“Yes. My client hired a security company to keep an eye on the place once he realized what was going on,” Zack told him

“Too bad he didn’t hire a cleaning company too,” Brian muttered. “How the hell did he plan on selling it the way it is?”

“That, according to him, is why he’s willing to let you have it so cheap. He figures it’s less expensive than his doing anything to the building.”

“How pragmatic of him.” Brian pounded his fist on one wall. “Sturdy.”

“Yep. Physically the building is all right. Well, if you don’t count the stairs. There was an elevator but the city red-tagged it, he said.”

“Where?”

They went into the hallway again, and Zack pointed to the end where there was an open shaft with a gate across the front.

“I’ll have to do something about that, for sure,” Brian commented.

“So you’re considering it?”

“Probably.” Brian sighed when they got back to where they’d started, looking at the stairs going up to the third floor. They were in no better condition than the ones leading down. “Not sure I’m ready to tackle those.”

“Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

Zack found the third floor was in much the same condition as the second, although there was less detritus and more dirt and dust. He noted a trap door leading up to the roof with a new padlock on the hasp to keep it locked. As with the lower floor, there was a hallway with several small rooms off each side of it and one larger one by the stairs.

“I wonder,” Zack said when he rejoined Brian and described the third floor, “if this was a hotel way back when? Or maybe a rooming house, since there’s only a couple of bathrooms on each floor.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Brian replied as he began easing his way down to the ground floor. Once they were back in the front room, Brian leaned against a part of the counter that was still standing. “It definitely has potential, but it’s going to cost a small fortune to fix up.”

Zack nodded. “It won’t be cheap, but it’s not like you’re starting from scratch. You have all the furniture from where you are now, and the kitchen appliances. And you have a built-in work crew once the city deems the building up to code.”

“True enough. Knowing the kids who are regulars, a lot of them will be willing to help out.”

“Yep. Let me check out the basement.”

The basement was, much to Zack’s surprise, relatively clean. Probably, he figured, because it had been locked off and there were no windows. At the moment, all it held was the building’s heating system and a padlocked box on one wall for, according to the sign on the front, the electrical breakers.

Going back to where Brian waited, Zack told him what he’d found before saying, “Let’s get you back to the shelter. I’ll call my client in the morning to tell him you’re interested and give him your number. Then I’ll start the ball rolling on the gala to raise the money you’ll need.”

“Thank you! Thank you for…everything you’re doing.”

“Hey, no thanks needed. Without you, I wouldn’t be in a position to do anything other than be a member of the work crew once they get started.”

“No, Zack,” Brian said as he started toward the front door. “You’d have gotten off the streets, even without my help. I just gave you a push in the right direction.”

“More like a hard shove,” Zack retorted with a grin. “Still…”

“Enough!” Brian stopped when they got outside, looking up and down the now darkening street. “Yeah, not the best area in the city, but one that needs the shelter.”

Two teens, who were walking toward them, stopped momentarily then hurried forward. “Mr. Foster,” one boy said, “What are you doing around here? It’s not…well…safe, you know.”

“Yeah, Pike, I know,” Brian replied with a smile. “But if things go the way I’m hoping, it will be safer. At least inside there.” He nodded toward the building. When Pike asked why, Brian told him what might happen.

“Woot,” Micky, the other boy, said, pumping his fist in the air. “If you need grunt work…”

“I’ll let you know,” Brian told him with a smile. “Trust me on that one.”

“Mr. Foster,” Pick said seriously. “We all trust you. Honest. You’re good people.” Then, looking embarrassed that he’d been so open, Zack supposed, Pike walked away quickly with Micky right behind him.

“That right there,” Brian said as he got into the car, “is what makes all this worth it.”

Chapter Five

Reaper moved swiftly but silently down the dark alley. It had been a long night and he was both frustrated and tired. Frustrated because he hadn’t seen any of the cars or the men who might be involved in the attempted abductions of the street kids he considered his charges. Tired because he’d gotten home much later than he usually did, thanks to showing Brian the building that they both hoped would become the new Off-the-Street shelter. Normally, he would get home, eat then sleep for six hours before beginning his rounds of the streets. Tonight, he’d gotten four hours and was feeling it.

The reason he was being so quiet at the moment had to do with the muffled sobs he’d heard seconds earlier when passing the alley. He knew it could be a kid having a nightmare as they slept in a doorway or under a loading dock. But it also could mean the kid was in trouble.

“Hold still, faggot,” a male said.

His words were followed by a muffled titter from what Reaper presumed was a second person.

Reaper rounded a tall dumpster to find two men, one in his late teens, the other a few years older. The older, bulkier one had a blond-haired kid shoved face first against the dirty brick wall of the alley. The victim was struggling, but to no avail, as the guy holding him there pulled down the ‘kid’s’ ragged jeans.

“You know you want this,” the guy said. “All you faggots do.”

“Please…” the boy whimpered.

“See, told you he did,” the assailant said to his companion.

“Having a party, punks?” Reaper asked menacingly.

The assailant glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Yeah, and you ain’t invited.”

“I beg to differ.” Reaper stepped in, wrapping his arm around the guy’s throat in a choke hold to pull him away from his victim.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the teen who had been watching plunged a knife into Reaper’s shoulder, shouting, “Let him go, you fucker. He’s only doing what the fag wanted him to.”

Ignoring the searing pain, Reaper tightened his hold on the punk’s throat. “Back off, you snot-nosed brat, or you friend here will end up… Well, dead.” Reaper turned sharply as he said that, avoiding getting stabbed a second time. Instead, the blade the teen was using jabbed into the larger guy’s side. With his free hand, Reaper managed to grab the teen’s wrist before he could pull out of reach. Reaper twisted hard, and the teen let out a cry of pain, dropping the knife.