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Five days after the news conference passed with no new information, Wilson was furious. The urgency to find his sister increased one hundred-fold. His rage grew and stretched inside of him.
“Yo Bruh, I was worried about you and thought I’d come by?” Samuel moved behind the heavy punching bag to hold it in place.
“Preciate you man.” Wilson leaned in and threw several hard punches to the bag.
“Man, let me holla at you for a minute.” He motioned for Wilson to follow him. They walked a few steps away from everyone. “Whatever happened to the car Natasha was in?” Samuel asked.
“We haven’t been able to locate it. But I plan to get out and search again today.”
“I was thinking...” Samuel hesitated before going on.
“Thinking what?”
“Remember when we were in college and after Catalina killed herself, her brother threatened to kill each of us.” Samuel looked around as if someone was listening.
“You don’t think...” Wilson shook his head. “Nah, man, that can’t be it.”
“Wilson, think about it? What else could it be?” Samuel’s eyes pleaded with Wilson to listen.
“Tell you what, if it is...” Wilson shook his head. “He’s a dead man.”
~~~
Madeline Orangebright, weighed three hundred and forty-four pounds and stood five feet three. She wore a magnetic yellow Mumu dress and instead of wearing her best wig, she chose to cover her head with a bright multicolored turban. She took her time applying makeup to her round face sealing the deal with bright red lipstick. Madeline built her psychic services business off giving hope to hopeless families.
Madeline lived in Greensboro but worked up and down the east coast when time permitted. Her specialty was talking to dead spirits or reading the palms and telling the future of poor resourceful people. Many people called her a psychic; however, because she knew not to play too much with God she never called herself one. In her eyes she was just a seer.
A few days ago, she turned on her television to the weekly news recap. Seeing the news conference, the idea of retiring and making her own life simpler could be a reality. To gather more information, she eased her cup of coffee down on the table and turned up the volume on the small black and white tv on the counter. She was drawn to the image held up by the brother. It was the same one in her dreams, well that’s what she would tell them. The fact that this brother just threw half a million dollars at the tv camera made the situation urgent. This was the day “the spirits” had been whispering about to her for as long as she could remember. She dug deeper into the stack of newspapers on the dusty counter with Natasha’s picture on the front of them. The more she knew the better she could act. She needed something that belonged to her. She had to get to them and get that money, then she could get off the spring and fall festival circuit and live the easy life.
Madeline sat there and meditated most of the morning. She started at Natasha’s picture and felt compelled to touch it. This time she felt and heard something, and it scared her.
Stopping to grab her pocketbook she ran out the front door and jumped into her car. She drove the fifteen miles to High Point and snatched down the first wanted poster of Natasha she could find.
It took her forever to find the house. She called the number on the flyer and asked to speak to Will, Willie or Wilson whatever his name was. Butterflies were kicking around in her stomach like they were at a Butterfly exhibit.
After what seemed like hours she was seated at Natasha’s mother’s kitchen table with a cup of coffee and one of Natasha’s tee-shirts in her hands. She sat back and closed her eyes trying to conjure up a boatload of tears for effect.
“She’s cold and very, very tired.”
At that moment a cold chill ran through her body. Madeline wasn’t going to have to make any more tears they were starting to form for real. Another intense chill seized her body. Madeline opened her eyes to the dark-eyed man from the tv. He was more handsome in person, the tv didn’t do him any justice. She wanted to reach out and yank on his beard.
“What?” A little spittle flew out of Wilson’s mouth. “Are you kidding?”
“Umm no.” She stiffened her spine in the chair.
She wrapped her chubby fingers around the coffee cup. “A Hispanic man has her.”
“Yea, I’ve heard that before.”
“But did you know you know him?” She watched Wilson’s dark eyes grow darker and he stumbled into his chair.
“For God’s sake what do you mean?” Mrs. Verna slapped her hand down on the table.
“He blames you for his sister’s death.” Cold chills ran down her body making her sweat. The tears came naturally now. Madeline was afraid.
More questions filled Wilson’s mind. “Wait ma.” He held up his hand to silence her. “If you are just here for the money you are going to hate you were born.”
The piercing whistle of the tea kettle calmed everyone down.
Madeline stood up, she knew she was in over her head, she just repeated what was in her spirit. She no longer wanted the money, she just wanted to get away from them. “There is another man circling the prey. He’s killed before. And it was someone close to Natasha. If you don’t find her before he does, you’ll lose her forever.”
~~~
Later, Wilson drove the block, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He looked into the darkness. The streets contained a life all its own. Neon green as well as orange flashing signs beckoned customers into stores that were still open. The block was lined with fast food joints. The Chinese restaurant and the $1.50 cleaners which was owned by the same people, a liquor store, drug store, and of course, a hole-in-the-wall convenience store, were all represented. Old, decrepit, empty buildings with broken windows and boarded up doors filled in spaces on the block as well.
Wilson paused at the red light perusing each person drawn to this block.
He was looking for someone in particular.
Isaac.
Isaac Hernandez was once the right-hand man of Juarez Durante, brother to Catalina Durante. Wilson cringed remembering how she’d killed herself over something Lillian and his sister Gina did. It infuriated him all over again.
Wilson and Isaac had their share of run-ins. Wilson had warned him to stay off the block, period.
Wilson drove his truck around the block, cut off his lights and eased to the corner. He made a right turn, and then pulled over to the curb, parking on the backside of the apartment building. He got out, fingers gripped to his pistol and walked up the walkway. He looked around and saw his target standing in front of the building with a cigar hanging from his lips.
Wilson stepped to Isaac and punched him in the stomach, right below the diaphragm, causing air to become trapped in his lungs.
The powerful blow caused him to become wide-eyed. While sputtering and coughing, Isaac stumbled backward, writhing in pain.
“Where is he?” Wilson hissed. He didn’t wait for him to regain his thought process fully. With the skill and authority of Mike Tyson, he unleashed a series of power-packed punches to Isaac’s nose, face, and eyes, dropping him to his knees.
“Where is Juarez?”
“Come on, Will. Man, please,” Isaac lisped through split, swollen bleeding lips.
Wilson once again released a series of blows which sent the man reeling to the ground.
“I have the right to be silent.”
“I told you, if I even thought you knew anything about my sister, I was going to break your arm. Didn’t I tell you, I better not catch you on the block?”
“Yep,” Isaac grunted.
Wilson grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him closer. He pinned his arm back almost between his shoulder blades.
Isaac screamed in in agony.
Wilson lifted his booted foot, stepped on Isaacs’s calf and pulled up on his arm, creating a bone shattering cracking noise.
“Oh God! Please, Will... please, man!” he cried.
Wilson grunted as he shoved Isaac forward into the cold, hard pavement. He bent down and whispered in his ear. “Where is my sister?” He increased the pressure on Isaac’s arm. “I promise you, I’ll pull it right out of the socket. Where is Juarez? You in these streets day and night, you know something.”
“Aight, man, aight. There were these dudes a few weeks ago, riding the block, trying to pick up chicks, saying they had jobs for them overseas.”
“Who were they?”
“Will, man, I don’t know. Take me to the hospital. You broke my arm.”
“What kind of car were they driving?”
“A sedan or something with tinted windows. Ask your girl, Lillian. I turned them on to her.” Winded he coughed and sputtered, “Man, I don’t know anything else.”
Wilson glared down at him “Boy, you must be crazy. That live-by-the-street code is going to get you killed when it comes to Natasha. Now get up before I hurt you for real.”
“Nah, I’m good. I couldn’t get up if I wanted to.”
“Why’d you turn them on to Lillian?” Wilson wanted to know.
“Man, you know why. Lillian is the plug. Besides, when he mentioned working overseas, you know these chicks ‘round here wasn’t going for it.”
“You didn’t feel the need to say something about this while you were at headquarters?”
Isaac shook his head. “Man, no. Look... talk to Tiffany. She said she met a girl they tried to snatch, but somebody saw them or something like that. Man, I don’t know.” He groaned loudly. “My arm is broke. I need to go to the hospital.”
Wilson walked back to his vehicle using the same way he came. He got in his truck, checked his mirrors then pulled off.
He turned down the block, driving and looking to see who else might be hanging out that he could get information from. He could feel the anger and frustration coursing through his veins. He knew every minute Natasha was gone decreased the chances of them finding her alive.
About an hour or so later while sitting in a bar, Wilson heard someone call him by name.
It was Samuel. He walked over asking, “Man, what are you doing?”
“Getting drunk... what does it look like?” Wilson answered.
“Why?” Samuel sat down on the stool beside him. “You can’t help Natasha in this condition.”
“Hey, give me another.” Wilson’s voice wavered.
“Man, you know I can’t do that. You’ve already had too many,” the bartender replied.
Wilson tilted on the bar stool.
Samuel shook his head in disappointment. “Let’s go, Bro. Let me give you a ride home.”
Wilson slammed the empty shot glass down on the bar. “Hey, did you forget my sister owns the place.”
The bartender turned his back to him and kept drying glasses.
“C’mon, let’s go.” Samuel reached under his elbow to help him off the stool.
Wilson shoved him away.
“Man, we have been friend’s way too long for this bull. We miss her, too.”
“Dude, go ‘head on now,” Wilson muttered, leaning about 10 degrees south. “Man, I’ve lost everything. My dad’s gone. My daughter is gone. My sister’s missing. I promised him that I’d always watch over them.” He hiccupped.
“Ahhh man, dang,” Samuel gulped as he got a face full of the stench of alcohol. “When are you going to get your life together?” He stood in front of Wilson and pointed at him. “This is such a waste? You’ve been hiding from reality for the last eighteen years. You keep getting drunk like this and you’ll never find Natasha.”
Wilson stood still. “I can’t find her, Man. I’m a failure.” He staggered forward. “I failed to do the one thing my old man asked me to do.”
“No Wilson, the only thing you failed to do is to focus on the solution rather than the problem,” Samuel said. “When you can’t change what you are looking at—change the way you look at it. He opened the door leading to his car. “Man take that S off your chest and first save yourself.”
Samuel helped Wilson onto the passenger seat of the car and slammed the door. He looked down at his lost friend and began to intercede for him.