eighteen

As he walked away from the Cornerstone, the sun heading low in the western sky, Mallen’s mind could not wrap itself around the fact that Dreamo was dead. That his ex-dealer had taken a bullet for him. Dreamo was now the second man that had died because of him. In his mind, he wrote Dreamo’s name under Blackmore’s.

Lucas …

He needed to stop that man. That man was dead as soon as he met him.

Made it back to his truck. Got inside and started up the engine. Couldn’t put it into drive though. He didn’t know his next destination. What was the best next step? He was up against it, and knew it. And in those situations, there was really only one person he could rely on to help, to at least be a sounding board. He pulled out his phone and dialed Oberon.

“Mallen,” came the familiar detective’s voice. “What’s happened now?”

He smiled at that. “At least you put me into your contacts list.”

“Only a matter of form, trust me.” Then he heard Oberon put his hand over the phone. Said something to someone. Then after a pause, said something again. “Now,” Oberon said when he got back on the line, “what’s going on?”

“Sorry for bothering you, Obie, but it’s like this … .” He outlined everything that had just happened. About Blackmore. About Shannon and Lucas. About the files he’d found on Randy’s flash drive, and under what conditions he’d found them.

Oberon swore under his breath. “Mark, goddamn it, you’re withholding evidence you illegally obtained.”

“I know, man,” he replied quickly, “but I have the feeling something is going on with Gwen, too. I had to take the chance.”

“I want to see those files, Mark. And right now.”

He felt for the flash drive. Clutched it firmly. “Okay. I’ll be wherever you need me to be, and fast-like.”

–––––

And Mallen was. Fifteen minutes of pressing every traffic law on the books, and Mallen arrived outside of Oberon’s house, not far from Sutro Tower. He’d been there only one time before, during a case that had worn everyone down. He and Oberon were up all night and into the dawn, talking it over, looking for angles, figuring how the case had fallen out, and then figuring on how to get the evidence. The all-nighter had worked. The guilty were found and sent to jail.

Just like how it was supposed to work.

He parked nearby and leapt out of the truck. Walked quickly up the street to Oberon’s house. Just in time to see the door to the house open and Oberon step out, along with another man. This man was Oberon’s age, dressed more like someone at an office would dress on “Casual Friday.” Both men seemed surprised to see him there as he walked up the steps to the door. The man glanced at Oberon, then over at Mallen. Oberon only shrugged. Leaned in and kissed the man on the cheek, squeezing his shoulder.

“I’ll call, okay?”

“Okay.” The man walked down the stairs and as he passed, said with a slight smile, “Hi, Mallen.”

After a moment, Oberon said, “Let me see those files.” Mallen nodded and went up and into Oberon’s house. Handed the flash drive over to Oberon, who glanced at him for a moment, then went to his computer and attached the drive. “Any ideas yet?” the detective asked.

“It involves Hendrix. And I think Wong, too, like I said. Also that guy Yates that was found shot out at the ocean. There was evidence that he’d been there to meet someone. He had this drive in his car.”

“And Saunders?”

“She got me access to the scene, but she’s also slept with Wong and how far back that little fuckfest goes I have no goddamn idea. Those two sharing the same bed bothers me all to fuck and back.” Paused for a moment, then continued, “To her credit, though, she got me access.”

“Yes, to her credit.” Oberon went through the files, sighing many times. He seemed to get it straight away. Then, quietly, he said, “His name is Dylan.”

It took Mallen a moment to understand. Shrugged. “Legendary musician. Legendary poet. Good name.”

Oberon nodded. Looked again at the computer screen. “You were right. It’s a baby- or child-selling ring of some sort. And not babies from China or Africa. Babies right here. White. Black. Hispanic.” His eyes scanned the screen as fast as he could change the page. “It seems that it is indeed low-income, poverty-types they’re targeting.”

“Right,” Mallen replied. “People who might not call the police. Maybe they’d feel no one would help them. Or they didn’t want to draw attention to their lives.”

“Yes, that would seem a possibility. I’m sure you’re correct, though. What else do you have on this?”

“Hendrix. Wong was seen at Hendrix’s car, right before he may have been killed. I’m sure Yate’s knew Hendrix, and I think they both knew some guy named Karachi.”

“Karachi?” Oberon mused. “That’s a man who I would very much like to see inside a box.”

“Really? What do you have on him?”

“Not much,” the detective mused, “but enough to know he’s the type that would do anything for a good dollar. Not some low-level street five-dollar thing, but up in the hundreds. Bad guy. Deals sometimes, too. If he has to. Been in and out of jail. Been connected to a few molestation cases, but they never took, no matter how much we wanted them to.”

“Why’s that?”

“No one would testify.”

And that also seemed to dovetail nicely to the direction this case was moving. A bunch of street guys, herders, really … looking for lambs to turn over to the adoptive parents. That didn’t make sense though. You don’t hire molesters to bring you a child all clean and healthy. Somewhere, somebody had got it all wrong. Wrong … Then Dreamo came to mind. “You hear about Dreamo?”

“No. Why?”

“He took a bullet tonight. A bullet meant for me.”

Oberon blinked. “I did not hear what you just told me, am I correct? Dreamo, dead?”

Mallen nodded. Said, “You know a guy who goes by the last name of Lucas?”

A moment, then, “No.”

“How about the pawnbroker over on Polk, Blackmore.”

“Sure. Sells stolen goods. Clean other than that. We were thinking of developing him into an ear for us. Why?”

“He’s dead. In a very bad way.” Mallen then told Oberon about his dealings with Blackmore, and his run in with Scheider.

At the end, Oberon just shook his head. He flashed a brief smile. “You’re in it again, aren’t you? I know the feeling by now. You’re into something deep. How does Saunders fit into this?”

Mallen shrugged, “I don’t know. I still don’t know why she wants my help. That bullshit about needing an ear on the street is that: bullshit. I’m sure of it. I can’t figure her angle. Not yet. But I will. What makes me nervous about her is her involvement with Wong.”

Oberon couldn’t help himself. He glanced at Mallen’s hand. “They were pretty hot and heavy, if for a short time.”

“Honestly, Obie … I’m not sure what to do. I just wanted to help find a kidnapped little girl. It’s gotten way big, way fast.”

The detective leaned back in his seat. Stared at the folders on the screen. A lot of folders, and each one representing a child. “Reminds me of where we’ve just come from, Mark.”

“I know, man. I know. People are just a commodity for so many rich bastards. These kids? People wait years to adopt a child from out of the country for fuck’s sake. Adopt one from inside here, in America? It’s a nightmare. Everyone knows it. Sure there are the happy endings, but those are for the few. Then some wealthy fucker comes along and just buys his way to the front of the line? Or even sets up a network to help other wealthy pricks get what they want without waiting? And we’re talking children, Obie. Little children.” He glanced at the computer screen. “I’ve got to stop them.”