Page 23 of Cougar

“How the fuck are we supposed to figure this shit out? We’ve gotten nowhere. The one person that wanted to quote-UN-quote help didn’t give us shit. Not in the long run. We’ve got missing kids and most likely they’re all fucking dead.” Cowboy shouts as he slams his hands down on the table.

“The last one that we know of being taken is Mallory. I’ve searched for new ads, but I haven’t found anything. There are no reported missing kids. Everything I can gain access to in the station makes those asswipes look squeaky clean. There’s nothing to give us a lead. And no, before any of you mother fuckers ask, I’m not bringing Whitley into this.”

Cowboy throws up his hands, “I’ve only asked one time, and I learned my lesson then. I won’t be doing it again.”

“Look,” Knuckles starts, running his fingers through his hair, “I would ask him to help if we had anything to go on or any new kids missing. I am breaking so many laws to help, but bringing him into the fold; I can’t risk losing him. He’s risking it all by being there every day. Until we have something solid to go on, I can’t—I won’t—ask him. I’m sorry.”

Cowboy nods in agreement while we all give him some form of reassurance. We let him know we would be treating this the same way he is, if our Ol’ Ladies were in the same position as his Ol’ Man.

“Has there been anything about Mallory since you found her ad?” Bigfoot asks.

“No, nothing,” Knuckles says, defeated.

“Why do you ask?” Storm asks him.

“My thought was, if they have all these ads, there’s gotta be some type of follow-up, right? Wouldn’t they need to know if their product,” he shudders, “is no longer available?”

“By available, you mean….” Sever asks, trailing off.

“Dead. Found. Anything. There’s gotta be something. Right?” Bigfoot looks at us all, and I have to give him credit. It makes sense.

“If they’re using pet ads for when they take the kids, is it possible that there are found ads or something similar to indicate the kid will no longer be sold?” I ask the group. Bigfoot is right. There has to be something that will make them stop attempting to sell at some point, especially if the child dies.

“Fuck!” Butcher shouts, “This shouldn’t have to be what we discuss all the fucking time. I’m sick and fucking tired of having to find this ring of pedophiles. We need to focus on how they move and get them out. We know they make the parents OD. Once that step is complete, how do they get out without being detected?” He gets up and starts walking around the room. He grabs his beard, tugging like he would if he had hair on his head. The side of his fist connects with the wall, and his chest heaves. “The fact of the matter is, none of these kids are going to be found alive.”

“Butcher,” Prez tries to cut in but stops when Butcher raises his hand.

“No. Don’t. The hard truth is they most likely won’t be found alive. There’s nothing we can do that will change that. These people abuse these kids, and when they’re done with them, or the kid is too old, they get rid of them. They either off them or send them to the next sick fuck that doesn’t mind ‘em a little older. The most recent kids that were taken are the only ones we might find and who might be alive.”

His grim tone covers the room. The silence is deafening. He isn’t wrong. We all know that he isn’t. There is a small, small chance that we will find these kids and that they will be breathing. We’re dealing with people who have zero morals and only want to make their sickest desires come true. You can’t negotiate with the devil, especially not in this case.

“Mallory was the most recently taken, and even then, that was what? Almost a year ago?” Cowboy asks.

“She was taken while I was still a cop, so maybe even longer. The probability of finding her is practically nonexistent. Well, let me rephrase. The probability of finding her alive is practically nonexistent. I would be fucking shocked if we did.” Copper says. He’s using his cop voice—the one that doesn’t allow his emotions to come through. “We have to treat this as if all of them are dead.”

“You’re joking.” Turd cuts him off. He looks at me, “Tell me he’s fucking joking.”

“I can’t. None of us can. There is no reason to believe that they aren’t.”

“There’s hope! We have to fucking hope that they are.” Turd pleads.

“But we need to prepare for the worst,” Gears cuts in.

Looking around the room, everyone is adverting their eyes. I know they all want to hope. Hell, I do too, but I can’t allow myself to get attached to the idea any of them are. It’s been too long, and the people associated with The Company are the most disgusting beings on Earth. I just…. I can’t allow myself more hurt.

I shake my head, and he throws himself back against his chair.

“Okay. Okay. I think we need to do what Butcher suggested and look at how they’re moving them. We might not get far because the last one we know of is Mallory. However, Knuckles, I want you to go with Bigfoot’s suggestion and see if you can find anything about pets being sold, found, missing, or anything like that. We can hopefully find something that will be useful in taking these pieces of shit down.” Prez tells us.

“They might not be taking anyone, though. We have to prepare for that too.” Copper states.

“That’s true, but I don’t think it’s the case. I think they realized that we were getting close to them and changed their process. As much as we fucking hate it, this so-called business they run is too profitable. They’re still running kids.” Judge states matter-of-factly.

“Why couldn’t they be like Artem and deal drugs?” Zombie says, asking no one in particular.

“Because no one can be like me tupitsa.”

“How the fuck do you know when to walk in at the exact time we talk about your ass?” Judge laughs as he stands and hugs his friend.

---