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Just because Wilson was a cop didn’t mean he didn’t have friends on the other side of the law. His sister was missing, and her roommate was found murdered. Wilson went to the small wall safe hidden behind a family portrait in his hallway. A hiss of air steamed out as he moved the heavy latch to open the safe. Wilson reached in and grabbed a small thirteen-inch laptop that he thought he’d never have to touch again. His breathing quickened, and his heart banged against his chest echoing in his eardrums.
This was his only chance. The only Hispanic man he had a history with was Juarez.
Wilson wasn’t crazy. I’ve got to be smart about this. He needed to find Isaac Hernandez or his old friend Lillian Carmichael.
He slid open the lid to this laptop and pressed the power button on waiting for the familiar green symbol to flash.
He needed help from a few of those friends who chose to walk on the other side of the law.
He sat down at the desk that once belonged to his father.
Wilson used an encrypted password to sign onto the computer which gave him access to experts who had information on anything he could ever need. A few keystrokes and he could have a new passport identification, credit cards and guns or money delivered to his doorstep.
Wilson needed help finding Juarez and he was willing to go to any length to get it, even if it meant breaking the law. Juarez’s family had deep connections throughout the country. His father was seen on television every Sunday morning, and constantly called the “People’s Preacher.” He connected with an old friend who made a living hacking into computers. Wilson felt strongly that a key to his sister’s disappearance could be found on her computer.
When a small chat box appeared, he began typing.
After the chat, Wilson had learned enough to figure out his sister’s password. He also sent off two secure emails describing what was happening with his sister and describing the information he needed.
His doorbell chimed.
Wilson closed the files and pressed the power button on the computer before heading to the front door.
No sooner than Wilson placed his hand on the doorknob, the bell chimed again. He snatched it open without checking to see the identity of his visitor. There were only a few people bold enough to come to his door at a time like this.
Samuel Iason hugged him.
“How you doing? How’s your head?”
“I’m straight.” Wilson stepped aside so Samuel could enter the house.
They walked through the living room, down the long wide hall, and into the kitchen.
“Any new developments?” Samuel said.
Wilson moved his hand down his face smoothing over his mustache and beard thinking cautiously before responding, “None that I know of. Man, what is going on? It’s like she disappeared off the face of the planet.”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. Wilson handed one to Samuel before taking a seat on a bar stool and motioning for Samuel to take a seat as well.
“You’ve got to give the police a chance to do their job.”
“Do their job?” Wilson almost laughed. “Do their job huh?”
“Wilson, you’re a cop. You know these cases aren’t solved overnight, and they certainly aren’t solved at the hands of a drunk man.”
Wilson stared at his friend. He knew Samuel was telling the truth. “I know.”
“As much as I admire your skills and tactics Bro, you’re not going to find her like this.”
“Like what?”
Samuel downed the rest of the water in the bottle. “By drinking like a fish. Your drinking leads to poor decision-making. It always has.”
“When I got the call about Natasha, my heart almost stopped beating.” Wilson put his hand on his chest. “Seriously, it skipped several beats. It brought back memories of when Camryn died.” Tears filled his eyes.
“Wilson, Camryn is in heaven right along with her grandfather. I remember how devastating her death was to you and Shayla.” He dropped his head. “But this is not that. Natasha is not dead.”
“Sam, we’ve looked everywhere.”
“And we will keep looking. But we can’t do it if you’re drunk. Man, I think you should take into consideration the option of calling your sponsor.”
“What?” Wilson interrupted.
“You need to talk to somebody, for real. You’ve got to stop drinking.” Samuel whispered a prayer for God to soften Wilson’s heart. “What if the only reason we didn’t find Natasha in time is because you beat a suspect half to death or because you destroyed evidence because you were drunk?”
Returning Samuel’s glare, Wilson took a moment to consider what his longtime friend was saying to him. He tried to clear his mind; his addiction told him he needed to protect himself by any means necessary. But his heart told him he needed to surrender.
Samuel rubbed his brow, “Man give Pastor Travis a call, he’s the only one I know who can reach you.”
“Speaking of help,” Samuel added “Do you really think Juarez would have taken Natasha?”
Wilson felt icy chills make tracks down his spine. “Last time I saw him he seemed pretty crazy.” He furrowed his brow, stood up and grabbed another bottle of water out of the refrigerator, hoping to run some of the alcohol out of his system. “Catalina died a long time ago?”
“Camryn did, too.”
“Man, c’mon... that’s different.” His stomach drew up into a tiny ball. “Camryn was in Shayla’s car when she died.” Wilson’s voice cracked. “She was doing what a normal four-year-old would be doing.”
“Ain’t no shame in what Catalina was doing either. Look, Wilson, I’m not comparing the two tragedies. I’m just saying both of ya’ll got’em. What if the only way to find Natasha and bring her home is dependent upon you making peace with your past? I want you to think about that.” Samuel picked up his water bottle and headed for the front door. “I gotta go, but I’ll holla at you later, man.”