Page 40 of Fight for You
If you want something done,do it yourself. That age-old adage still reigned true.
As a law enforcement officer, I was no stranger to popping Rolaids. Forty years on the force—the first twenty with little movement on the Long Beach police force—I’d tried everything from the OG Rolaids to power gummies. And now I sucked down another bottle of the liquid cherry-flavored antiacid, worried that they’d found me out.
The sound of a 504A—vehicle stripping—in the background grated my ears. Had to make this quick. I white-knuckled the back of the skinhead’s leather chair. The confidential informant’s fingers zoomed over the keys of his laptop.
I glanced around the office of the chop shop licensed only for tune-ups and oil changes. Pinups and big muscle car posters graced the walls, and to my rear, a door led to the garage where more of this idiot’s White Power affiliates were at work.
Crap. How low had the great Deputy Chief Nolan McGregorstooped? But the twenty-something CI had skills. In addition, the guy’s background clashed with the fact that Jamie rescued a Black woman, thus making him intrinsically motivated to help. Also, money was another deciding factor. And my badge.
I drummed my hand over the side of the chair. “You found the girl and shared her information with Aleksandr Chelomey?”
The CI rubbed a hand over his Nazi-tatted bald head. “That Russian even sent me a finder’s fee.”
Oh yeah? The skinhead was dumber than a bucket of rocks—when not staring at a computer screen. I glared at him.Why’d I give you all of that money to find her?It was no matter. This was all on me. I’d told myself to keep track of her when she was, what? Five, six years old? I’d rescued Jamie MacKenzie and left all the others. Her cry, though. I figured she was special.
Those tears that still echoed in my ears made me subdue a tremble. Whatever Jamie’s owner had given him had left the boy unconscious in his cell. I’d swooped him into my arms. Hugged my paycheck tightly and shoved the girl to the ground when she tried to grab my arm.
Sorry, kid. You’re not important,I’d said, voice hardened to her tears and the others’ cries. But I knew she was something important to Jamie when the kid roused on the way home and mentioned Jordyn. That day came rushing back to me.
“What are you talking about,Jamie? They drugged you.” I had stalled my personal vehicle beneath the freeway overpass. I’d already shoved a bag of McDonald’s and a bottle of water into Jamie’s arms during the long drive. Had already told the little boy to eat up, after hearing his stomach growl.
Now this?
“Nonsense. There was no little girl named Jordyn. No other little girls or boys.” Turning to look out the side window, I rubbeda hand over the nape of my neck. My voice softened. “Look, your family’s enemies took you.”
Three bodies snugged tight in the trunk of my Lincoln Continental—they weren’t dead, though. Not yet. I’d offer them to Brody and Nan MacKenzie for reckoning. But I couldn’t tell the boy’s parents that the three thugs, who wanted to rain on their organized crime parade, had sold their son already. Sold Jamie to someone who wasn’t some small beans, petty operational criminals like them. Someone untouchable.
So the moment I had caught up with The Three Stooges, I’d gotten the truth from them, put them in the trunk, and went and bought back Jamie.
The price?
My first Rolex. I’d done the job myself. Pawned the watch. Later, I’d chalked it up as a burglary while I was on vacation with my insurance company.
Really, I was working a case as usual. The unofficial case of Jamie MacKenzie going missing, with no cops involved except for me. The lone wolf who once lived a stone’s throw away from Big Brody back in the Scottish Highlands. See? That was the trouble with having old friends. They expected certain things from you.
And I expected certain things from the wealthy, kid-loving purchaser The Three Stooges had sold Jamie to. Such as another alliance.
I looked over at the passenger seat. Jamie hadn’t eaten a bite of food. I grabbed a chicken nugget from the bag. “Son”—my hand ran over the boy’s fresh preppy haircut—“at least eat your nuggets.”
“But JorJor, I mean, Jordyn?” Hollow, dark-circled eyes looked up at me. The kid was a shadow of himself.
A car passed by.
I’d nearly jumped out of my skin. Here I was, sitting in mypersonal vehicle with a kid who clearly had gone through hell and three dopes in the trunk.
I cradled the boy’s face in my hand. “You’re mistaken, Jamie. Mitsy, Tarren, and Atkins took you,” I said, the names of Clan MacKenzie’s enemies. Or rather, three meth heads who just signed their own death certificates by abducting a kingpin prince. “There was no Jordyn. You remember Tarren?” That guy proved tougher to defeat than the others. I rubbed a hand over my sore knuckles. Idiots like Tarren didn’t respect the badge.
At the scent of urine, I had his answer.Oh,yeah. Jamie remembered Tarren. Whenever the child misbehaved, I’d use fear to get him back in line. I’d also monitor the wealthy politician who owned Jordyn. And his parents? They’d see me as his savior in, oh, twenty minutes or so. The second I approached their house. Didn’t hurt that we all grew up in the Scottish Highlands together, either.
So, I’d scrambled Jamie’s mind when necessary and followed the girl’s movements, making sure she never intersected with Jamie MacKenzie.
Antsy,thinking about my past mistakes, I gripped the chair and turned the Nazi around. “Did Chelomey go after the girl yet? He paid you well, so that tells us he was eager.”
“Very eager, sir.” The CI swiveled his chair back around. “I’m looking on the dark web now. Give me another second, Mr. McGregor.”
“Deputy ChiefMcGregor to you.”
An eye roll, and then the young man glanced at his laptop. “Okay. I snuck into the backdoor of a chat between this Aleksandr dude and a private security firm he hired.”
