The Second Girl(9)

I quietly set my backpack on the floor and position myself so I’ll be behind the door as he opens it. But he doesn’t; he just pushes at it, and it barely opens. I hear more shuffling. I get the feeling he won’t come in, and might just call for that backup. I gotta assume they can get another ride from 16th and Park if they have to. I don’t even think about it. I pull out my wallet to reveal my retired detective’s badge, ’cause I’m not worried if he can read. I hold it in my left hand and tuck the stun gun against my thigh with my right.

“?Cabrón!” I hear again outside.

I step to the other side of the door, can barely make him out, but I can see enough of him to see that he’s about to tap in some numbers on his cell. I swing the door open, holding my badge in the air.

“?Policía!” I command, but not loud enough for the whole neighborhood to come to alert.

He’s right next to the door, about a foot from me. The cell phone he’s holding drops to the ground, and I know he’s about to bolt, so I flip the switch and stun the shit outta his belly.

“?Aiyee!” he cries, and slumps forward into my arms.

I manage to catch him while still holding my wallet and the stun gun. He’s thin and no more than a buck fifty, so I easily drag him in and let him drop to the floor under the window to the left of the door. I kick his feet away so I can shut the door.

He’s moaning, and I’m pretty sure he shat himself.





Seven



I zip-tie his hands behind his back, duct-tape his mouth, and prop him against a wall in a sitting position. The front window beside the door is to his right, giving me a good vantage point. I remember the cell phone he dropped. I reach out the door from a leaning position and pick it up. It looks like a cheap pay-as-you-go phone. I look at the screen. He only had time to find the contact he was about to call—Angelo. I’m assuming this is Shiny. I close the door and drop the phone into my backpack.

I lean down next to the boy. The stench coming from his lower body is bad. I’ve smelled it before, but not enough times to get used to it. He moans, eyes glazed but open. The stun wasn’t enough to knock him out. He’s small, though, so it whacked out his system pretty good. I lightly slap the right side of his cheek several times with the tips of my fingers. His eyes widen when he comprehends the situation.

He struggles and puffs unintelligible words that are muffled by the duct tape. I stand up and pull my suit jacket open so he can see my sidearm. Then I pull out my wallet and show him my badge. I lean back down beside him, press my index finger against my lips as a warning to be quiet, and slowly peel the duct tape halfway off so he can speak. He’s scared, breathing fast. I pat him on the right shoulder a couple of times.

“Cálmate,” with my best accent.

He nods.

“You speak English?” I ask.

Shakes his head no.

I show him the stun gun again and flick it on so he gets a little zap, crackle, and spark show.

“No! No!”

“Do you speak English?”

“Sí, a little.”

“You make this easy by just telling me where you keep the stash.”

“I no understand what you mean.”

I shove the stun gun to his crotch, but don’t zap him. He still belts out a yelp in anticipation of it. I push harder.

“One more time—uno más,” I begin. “?Dónde está the drugs?”

“Please, I know nothing here. Nothing, Officer,” he pleads.

“Yes you do, and I warned you, just uno más. One more chance.”

I seal his mouth with the duct tape. He struggles, but I push him tight against the wall with my left hand, let go, flip the switch, then give him a good one right on the hip bone. It’s enough to convulse his body and send a violent push of breath that almost rips the duct tape off his mouth; watery mucus shoots out of his nostrils, nearly hitting me. I hold the stun gun in front of him so he can see it. His body goes limp, but he’s far from out. His eyes stream tears now.

I pull the duct tape halfway again.

“The drugs,” is all I have to say.

He motions his head up, like he’s telling me upstairs, and, nearly breathless, he says, “Arriba. Arriba.”

I nod like he did okay and give him a few seconds to recover.

“You show me.”

“Por favor. Please, I go to jail now.”

I show him the zap and spark again.

“No. You show me where exactly. Exactamente.”

His eyes close briefly, then he simply nods. I stand up, grab him under the arm, and lift him to a standing position. His legs are weak, so I have to hold him steady.

I wrap the duct tape along his mouth again.

“You show me. No lies or I f*ck you up bad, comprende?”

He nods.

His cell phone rings from inside my backpack.

I lean him against the wall, wobbly legs and all, and grab the strap to pull it out.

The screen on the cover reveals the caller as “Angelo.”

I shoulder my backpack, put the stun gun in the outer pocket of my suit jacket. I grab the kid from under the arm with my left hand before he can slide all the way down to a sitting position. I remove my gun from its holster and place the barrel against his forehead.

“I’m not f*cking around.”