Page 18 of Next Level
A week. My mind races with so many what-ifs.
What if she’s hurt?
What if he’s violated her?
Jared Thompson is our number one person of interest, but the car she got into isn’t registered to him. If he’s got a car, then it’s under someone else’s name. And without a license plate, we don’t know who the gray Pontiac belongs to. So, was there another person in the car? From all the video footage we’ve seen, we can’t confirm how many people were in there. What we know is, she got in the front seat with a male who looked like Jared.
We’ve canvassed the neighborhoods, downtown areas, and posted on numerous social media platforms. I even did some video talking about my girl and what evidence we have.
We’ve received more surveillance camera videos from people in the neighborhood. People really came through for us. One neighbor reported a suspicious car sitting outside his house. It sat there for a few hours each day. A man who looked like Jared was in a red Tahoe around the corner from Brooke’s, watching and waiting, but Sam was at my house for the weekend.
We had obtained the license plate number and the address for Bo Davis, the owner of the red Tahoe. There was only one problem: Mike got it first and gave it to the police. Fuck. I immediately jumped in my truck and took off. When I arrived at Bo’s residence in Vacaville, he was gone. So were the red Tahoe and the gray Pontiac. I figure the motherfuckers were worried I’d get to Bo first, so they tipped him off or so I assume. I went inside and just looked around the three-bedroom home and then left. Now he knows I’m coming for him, and that I know about Jared. We’ve had people watching the place, but Bo hasn’t come back. More digging uncovered that Bo’s got no affiliation with us either.
I lost my shit on Mike. I told him that when he or Brooke find anything, it goes through me first. We’ll see what we can find, and then we’ll give it to the police. The police haven’t gained any new tips or insights. They don’t seem to be worried. So, we’ve cut off communications with the cops, at least until we investigate it ourselves first.
So we’re back to square one.
I’m with my brothers from the Royal Bastards Sacramento Chapter. I came here after I came up empty-handed at Bo’s house. We still don’t have a lead on the Pontiac. However, it’s a rare kind of car, so hopefully, with all the media tips coming in, we’ll catch up to them soon.
Social media has been an enormous help. I created a couple of videos and posted them on all social media platforms because I wanted people to hear from me what we were doing and how they could help us. I didn’t give any names, just said we had a person of interest. I want the focus to remain on finding the car and looking for my daughter. That’s what’s most important right now.
I suppose that resonated with many people as my videos went viral. People shared my story on their social media, and thetips started coming in. I’ve had Zoom and the guys back at the clubhouse filtering through all of them to see what’s viable and what’s not. I told them to stay back since the cops were watching us too. Plus, I couldn’t wait around any longer. If I’m on their tail, hopefully, I will be able to catch up once we get another tip.
“Brother, you good?” Barracuda, our Sacramento Chapter president, says, sitting next to me.
I’m at Skinz nightclub, which the Royal Bastards own. I’m watching someone strip, but it’s not registering with me. I’m just shuffling all the facts through my head, like I’m flipping through the pages of a magazine, trying to figure it out.
“Yeah, ?Cuda, I’m good. I’m gonna head back to the hotel soon. Need to get up early and get back on the road tomorrow.”
“Whatever you need, brother. Just let us know,” Monk, their VP, says, sounding concerned.
“I appreciate that. Thanks for the hospitality.”
?Cuda put me up at the hotel near the clubhouse where I’ve stayed before when we’ve come up here to party.
I finish my beer and say goodbye to all the members hanging around. Letting them know I’ll check in with them tomorrow before I head out of town.
I need to check in with everyone back home and review all the new leads we have. What I’ve learned so far is that Jared Thompson has no family members and was adopted. He’s been in and out of juvie and has no affiliation to us. It looks like he’s been chatting online with Sam for a long time. He’s twenty years old—five years older than my girl.
Walking into my hotel room, my phone rings, and I see it’s Dawg.
“Turn on your TV! They have Sam’s missing case on the news!” Dawg shouts into the phone.
I rush to the TV and turn it on. Sure as shit, there is our flyer with my Sammie’s face. They give all the details, includingpictures of both the red Tahoe and the gray Pontiac. They say if anyone knows anything, they’re to call the Oakland PD. They are now investigating it as a missing person.
Finally, the motherfuckers are taking it seriously now.
Luckily, the flyer still shows my phone number. Hopefully, people will call me, not the police.
“This is good, brother. It’s getting more footage.” Dawg’s voice booms from my speakerphone sitting on the dresser where I laid it down. I totally forgot he was on the phone.
Reaching for my phone, I reply, “Yeah, this is good. We need to send flyers to our L.A. Chapter.”
“Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, just in case he decides to take her in a different direction.”
“You got it, brother. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know. Do you want me to shoot up there? I can fly up there with my bike and be there in no time?”
