Birds of a Feather. Don Easton
“She spent two nights sleeping in someone’s barn. I didn’t know her then, but I think she was stressed out over looking after her mom all the time and going to school. The two of them had a fight over what she wanted to wear to school. Lily told me she was really embarrassed about it and would never do it again.”
“Maybe she did run away again,” mused Jack.
“No way. This is different.” Marcie shook her head again, her mouth set in a grim line. “There’s something wrong. She should have been here tonight. Even if she is still angry with me, this grad was a big deal for her. She talked a lot about it.”
“What’s her mom doing about it?”
“She was upset when she called me and said she was going to report her missing. But I’m worried. The police will hear she ran away before … you know how that goes. I bet they don’t exactly bust their asses looking for her. I was hoping you could check out her boyfriend or something.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll look into it. Does she have her own car?”
“No. I was always giving her a ride until she met Earl.”
“Is there anything else?”
Marcie took a picture out of her purse and handed it to Jack. “This is her. I scanned it and printed it on my computer so I don’t need it back. Thought maybe you might need it if … if … like if there was an unidentified body in a morgue or —”
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” said Jack, looking at the picture of a pretty girl with long red hair. “Does she always wear that gold stud earring?”
“The earrings change, but she always wears a pendant. You can’t see it in the picture because of her blouse, but she never takes it off. It’s a little silver frog with ruby-red eyes to match her hair.” A small smile crossed Marcie’s face and she added, “Sometimes I would tease her and call her froggy …” Marcie looked at Jack and quickly added, “But not in front of anyone! It wasn’t being mean. I just —”
“It’s okay. Sounds to me like you’re still her friend … and friends sometimes have arguments,” said Jack reassuringly. “Bet she gets over it. In the meantime, I’ll check out Porter and see what he has to say.”
“I don’t even have his number. Neither does Lily’s mom.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find him. I bet she shows up, too. Maybe they eloped or something.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
“Give me a couple of days and I’ll get back to you, but if you hear from her, let me know right away.”
“I will.”
“Now … I want you to enjoy yourself,” said Jack with mock sternness. “Go out tonight and have fun. You’ve earned it.”
Greg Patton lay with his face mashed into the floor mat behind the driver’s seat of the Mexican police crew-cab truck. His gun, badge, and wallet had been taken from him before he was propelled into the vehicle. One policeman pinned him to the floor with a knee on his back. Patton felt the muzzle of a pistol digging into the base of his skull. He remained still and hoped the gun wasn’t cocked to prevent an accidental discharge as the truck sped through the streets.
When they arrived at their destination, Patton was dragged out of the truck and brought into a small police station. For a moment, being in a station gave him some hope. Better than being made to kneel before a shallow grave in the desert …
Even when six officers shoved and manhandled him into an empty cellblock in the rear of the station, he was still hopeful. Perhaps they plan to lock me up for a while. Put the fear of god into me before letting me go …
Patton was more concerned when he was forced to strip completely naked. Okay, guys, you’ve humiliated me. Yeah I’ve got a small dick. Everyone have a good laugh and then let me go …
What followed wasn’t laughter. It was the faces of determined, angry men as they handcuffed him spread-eagled to the bars of a cell. Next, a pail of water doused his naked body.
Patton looked at the face of a man who approached him with an electric cattle prod and closed his eyes. Briefly, he thought of Enrique Camarena and the horror he endured before he died.
“Special Agent Patton of the big American customs, how are you?” asked a voice with a heavy Spanish accent.
Patton opened his eyes and saw a man in a police captain’s uniform smiling at him.
“What do you want?” asked Patton.
The captain gave a curt nod and the man with the cattle prod stepped forward. For a moment, Patton felt like someone had used a sledge hammer to drive his nuts up into his stomach. His head jerked back, hitting the bars and his jaw snapped shut, biting his tongue, before emitting a bloody scream.
“What I want, Special American Agent Patton, is to kill you in the most painful way possible. But … before you die, there are some things we want to know. Things like what are the names of the people you work with? Their addresses … what cars they drive. The names of their wives and children. The names of your wife and children. What schools they attend.”
chapter three
John Adams sprung into action as soon as Patton’s phone went dead. His first call was to notify his office. Did they have any investigators in Juarez at the moment? It turned out that four FBI agents from the downtown office were in one car returning from interviewing a jail warden at a Mexican prison. They were still in Juarez and would cover off one of the main routes through the city in the hopes of spotting the kidnappers.
Adams ruefully thought about the four agents travelling together for safety reasons. He and Patton often took a chance on going it alone. Now it was coming back to bite them in the ass. His next move was to yell for his wife, Yolanda, who was outside watering plants on their deck.
Yolanda was born in Mexico, but her father was a chemical engineer and they immigrated to the United States when she was a teenager. There was a happy innocence about her face that Adams adored. She had a certain look and smile like she was waiting for him to crack his next joke. That look vanished when Adams said, “I need you to call your lover. Make it urgent.”
Adams was going to tell her they had grabbed Patton on the other side, but decided not to. The four of them were good friends and he was concerned the stress would show in her voice. He would tell her after.
It wasn’t the first time Yolanda had called this man. John had explained to her that the phone calls were likely being monitored. Any suspicion on the part of those listening would have a deadly impact on the man she was calling … and perhaps on her husband, as well.
Police Commander Jose Refugio Rubalcava sat behind the large wooden desk in his office. The desk was scarred up and had more than one bullet hole in it. At one time it had been varnished, but most of that had long since disappeared, leaving it to absorb a variety of stains.
Leaning against the wall behind him and within easy reach were an assortment of loaded shotguns, rifles, and automatic weapons. On the top of his desk were four pistols. Theoretically, the weapons were for him to sign out to his men. In reality, Rubalcava often wondered if he would be able to grab them in time to save himself from his men.
Rubalcava had ample cause to be worried. He was trying to be an honest cop. A very dangerous thing to be in Juarez, considering his six predecessors had all been murdered at the same desk he was sitting at. Rubalcava knew that many, if not all the murders, had been committed by policemen who still worked at his station.[1]
The choice given his predecessors was simple: plata o plomo — silver or lead. Six had bravely chosen not to accept the bribes. Their bravery had done nothing to thwart the ever-increasing control the drug cartels were spreading across Mexico and North America.
Rubalcava