End of the Innocence

Chapter 64

“Your fiancée is missing, on her wedding day, and you wanna talk to the police chief?” The woman’s voice drawled through the phone, skepticism lacing every word.

“Yes. This is Brad De Luca, he will want to take my call.”

“I don’t care who you are—if you and the chief are such close buds, then call his cell. This is a line reserved for emergencies, not your girlfriend who decided not to walk down the aisle.”

“I did call his cell, and left a message.”

She snorted. “Then I guess he don’t want to take your call.”

“Goddammit, this is not a case of a runaway bride. This is foul play. Page. The. Chief.”

“Missing. Persons. Require. Twenty-four hours. Unless you got a bloody scene you wanna point us to, you need to call back after twenty-four hours have passed. I’ll leave a note for the chief with your number. If he wants to call you back before then, he can.”

He gritted his teeth, releasing a string of expletives when she ended the call. He turned, seeing his father before him, Stevie by his side. So the man had shown up.

“Is there a problem, Brad?”

“Come with me,” he said tightly, striding past the pair.

They moved, a staggered group of three, his father taking his time and depending heavily on his cane, his back erect and head up as he walked carefully behind Brad. They moved into a rectory office, Brad closing the door behind his father and waiting until he took a seat to speak.

“I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care if we kill half the city and bribe every street thug in a ten-mile radius, but you find her NOW. Put a hundred thousand dollar bounty on her alive head.”

His father chuckled, his hand caressing the head of his cane. “Suddenly you are a fan of our work? You have mocked us for years, yet now need our help?” He tilted his head shrewdly, his eyes meeting Brad’s. “I told you the girl wouldn’t last, that she didn’t care. And now? What if I say no to your demand?

“You won’t.”

The air grew hot as the two men regarded each other, one calm and composed, the other a bundle of electric heat. “Don’t test me, son.”

“Don’t test me. You have no idea of what I would do for her.”

♥♥♥

I pushed and pulled on the doors handle in disbelief, panic flooding like hot liquid through me. Locked. I fumbled, my hands finding an upper deadbolt and I flipped it, trying the door again and almost crying with relief when it moved, pulling open, the announcement chime reminding me that I needed to get the fuck outta Dodge.

Daylight. I was instantly relieved and afraid, the sun exposing me in the worst way possible. My bare feet flew down a broken sidewalk, my eyes looking everywhere, alighting on an industrial street, warehouses and closed businesses lining its streets. Saturday. It was, unless I had slept through days, Saturday. Someplace had to be open. What place could I trust?

I was open, exposed, the lone individual on the street, and I searched for a side street, a place to hide. I was suddenly afraid to stop a stranger, should I encounter one, my paranoia not knowing whom to trust. Escape. I needed to put distance between my prison and myself. Any moment the door could burst open behind me. Any moment I could be back in that room. From somewhere to my left, I heard an engine roar, the chirp of tires as a sharp corner was turned at too fast of a speed. I ran up the steps of a closed tire store and hid behind a large UPS drop box. The car slowed, a white truck driving past without stopping, my ears telling me what my eyes could not—they had not seen me, or they didn’t care about a barefoot girl tucked in an filthy doorway.

I waited until the engine sound faded, then stood, stepping back onto the sidewalk and running as fast as I could, the beat of my feet not catching up with the pounding of my heart.

♦♦♦

The criminal underbelly came to life in a citywide search for Julia Campbell. Her photo was circulated, her plate number scribbled down on the back of receipts and stuffed into dirty pockets, mingling with stale cigarettes and loose change. The price on her head was high, especially for a non-felony action. Find a beautiful brunette and deliver her to De Luca. Piece of cake for the lucky man who stumbled upon her. The fact that she was a future Magiano had no effect. Money was money, and a hundred grand was a universal motivator.

The man came to on a dirty floor, his shoulders shaken roughly, a familiar face in his line of sight. “Wake the fuck up!” He blinked, the urgency in the man’s voice letting him know that something was wrong. But what? Something had happened. Something... fuck. He pushed the man off, reaching out—pushing off the floor, trying to stand, trying to stop the spin of the room—but failed. He fell to his knees, held his head, and tried to think.

“Where is she?” the man’s hoarse voice broke through his fog.

“I don’t know,” he gritted out. “Find her.”

The man above him straightened, moving quickly to the doorway and out of sight. The man blinked, his senses returning, the fog lifting. He rose slowly and walked forward, gained stability on his legs as he moved out of the room and into the hall. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he took the time to re-zip his pants, buckle his belt, his mind working through what this would mean, the consequences that would occur if she was not found. He glanced in doorways as he walked, unsure of where to go, upstairs or downstairs, every dark room a place where she could be hiding. Then the call was answered and he stopped, his mind and feet coming to a resolute silence. “We have a problem.”

He explained the situation, and then waited, making a decision and jogging up the stairwell steps.

The man on the other end spoke. “I’m sending a team. Stay in the building, make sure it is locked, and search every inch of it. Pull the security tapes and find out what happened. Get your head on straight and fucking tell me something other than that she’s gone. Call me when you know more.”

The call was ended, a dead silence meeting his ears. He stood in the hallway, perspiring despite the cool air. He shouldn’t have touched her. Should have sat in that room, gun in hand, and watched. He took a few slow steps, moving toward the electrical room, where the security tapes should grant some explanation of recent events. How long he was out, where she had gone. He should be more aware, but his feet felt heavy, sluggish, like lead was in his shoes. The girl could be anywhere. He could be killed next, his steps never making the complete path to the electrical room. He wondered distractedly if this was what the steps of the damned felt like. Because he was certainly the one the blame would come to rest on. And in this organization, as the case with others, blame always came with consequences.