Chapter Two
Thursday morning, two a.m.
Mutt and Brack cruised along Peachtree Street in the Porsche, top down, with Shelby asleep in the backseat. It was way past Brack’s bedtime, and traffic was light. Tara stayed behind to close up the bar. She could definitely handle herself.
“Cassie told me on the phone that her kid sister’s missing. What do you know about it?”
Mutt pulled out an electronic cigarette contraption Brack had heard called a vaporizer. “Regan been gone ’bout a month.”
“And now Cassie is in danger?”
He took two drags off the vaporizer. “I started asking around and found out Regan got in wit some bad people.”
“How bad?”
“Lemme put it to you this way,” he said. “All I did was ask a few peoples if they knew where she was at, and the next day these dudes on motorcycles threaten Cassie.”
“Threatened like how?”
“They caught her when she was leaving the restaurant late one night. Tol’ her I shouldn’t ask no more questions or someone might get hurt.”
He looked at Brack. “All I did was ask if anyone’d seen her sister.”
Brack slowed for a light. “Who’d you ask?”
“Everyone we know.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“This ain’t Charleston, Opie. You mighta gotten away with a lot there, but the playas here mean bidness.”
Brack said, “When did you start vaping?”
“Cassie seemed to think it was a good idea.”
“Well, you look good, Mutt. You look good.”
He lifted the collar of his new sport coat. “You like this?”
“I couldn’t wear something that nice on a regular basis, but it looks good on you.”
Mutt checked out Brack’s faded Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt and frayed shorts. “You in the big city now, Opie. We gotta get you something else to wear.”
“What we need to do is take care of the bikers and find Regan.”
After another puff on his fake smoke, Mutt said, “I found out where she is.”
It was Brack’s turn to look at his friend. “Where?”
“There’s a guy here, runs most of the illegal stuff in the city. Name’s Vito. She workin’ for him.”
The light turned green and Brack accelerated. “I guess we know where to go next.”
“We can’t go bustin’ up in his crib and expect him to just hand her over.”
“Maybe you can’t,” Brack said. “Where we headed, anyway?”
“Turn right at the next light.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“My house,” he said. “You and Shelby need a place to stay, don’cha?”
Eleven a.m., Thursday
After oversleeping, Brack and Shelby drove out to Midtown to see Cassie Thibedeaux at her new restaurant. They’d slept at Mutt’s house, a pretty decent rental a few blocks from his bar. Brack awoke and found Mutt already gone, which irritated him to no end. He must have walked back to get his car.
When Cassie had gotten him up with the phone call at two a.m. the Tuesday night before, Brack realized she’d taken up with Mutt. And that Mutt had so-called “retired” on his fire insurance proceeds and moved to Atlanta a year ago to be nearer to his daughter who lived with his ex. Cassie had run a great soul food restaurant in Charleston and opened a similar place in Atlanta. Mutt told Brack she’d convinced her New York City sister, Regan, to join her here. With Regan now missing, Cassie had good reason to be scared.
Brack assumed that Cassie had called him because he and Mutt were friends. That he and Mutt had already been through a lot together. And that he would do anything for his friend, even driving five hours to help him any way he could.
Mutt, for all his good qualities, didn’t help matters by neglecting to tell Cassie about his latest business venture—another old beer joint. Brack considered, not for the first time, that the couple’s separate residences allowed Mutt to do pretty much whatever he wanted.
Pulling into her restaurant’s parking lot, Brack noticed that she’d named her business after herself as she had in Charleston—a similarity she shared with Mutt. Cassie’s stood among a row of premium addresses along Peachtree Street in what was referred to by Atlantans as Midtown. Decorated to look as if it came directly from the lowcountry, its pastel blue shutters were hinged across the top of the windows and propped open at the bottom to provide shade and light at the same time. The window frames were trimmed in white. The only touch missing was a palmetto tree, yet Brack was sure he’d spot one somewhere.
Not knowing if it was okay for Shelby to come inside, they walked around the perimeter. Because Brack owned two establishments in Charleston—a run-down bar called Pirate’s Cove on the Isle of Palms, and a new place his manager, Paige, was in the process of opening on Kiawah Island—he knew enough about drainage, convenient parking, and entryways and exits to realize that Cassie’s new place appeared well-planned.
Once the pair made the full loop and faced the entrance again, a squat figure wearing a bright green flowing dress barreled out the door.
“Hey, handsome!” She threw her short meaty arms around Brack before he could stop her.
He tried not to squirm. “Good to see you too, Cassie.”
A few inches over five feet, with thick features all around, this woman was strong enough to force the air out of his lungs.
Shelby, Brack’s sometimes best friend, gave a jealous bark.
Cassie released Brack and knelt to give the four-legged lady-killer a more gentle welcome. “How you doin’, baby?”
Shelby promptly rolled onto his back and let her scratch his belly.
Brack said, “Thanks for calling me.”
“You mean it?” She looked up at him. “I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.”
“Of course it was. I’m sorry you were threatened.”
Looking back to Shelby’s tummy rub, she said, “Me too.”
“Would you be able to recognize them?”
“No. It was dark and they was wearing masks.”
Brack didn’t buy it, but let her slide. “If you want to talk about something else, we can.”
Still kneeling next to Shelby, she said, “No. You come all this way to he’p. And I appreciate it. I had no one else to turn to.” Her voice broke.
“What about the police?”
“I filled out all the papers,” she said. “B-but they said not to get my hopes up.” Tears streamed down her worry-lined face.
Shelby got to his feet, and did his best to lick them away.
Brack said, “I’ll do what I can to get Regan back.”
She gave Shelby a kiss and stood, brushing sidewalk dust from her dress. After a deep breath and exhale, she said, “I know you will.”
Her light skin color accentuated her round face and big brown eyes.
“Why didn’t Mutt call me himself?”
Cassie didn’t reply, letting him figure it out.
Then he understood. “Pride.”
“He got a lot of that.”
Me too, Brack thought.
Hungry from skipping breakfast, Brack looked past her to the restaurant. “You got anything left over from yesterday to eat?”
“Sure do, hon.”
Inside, the restaurant was all light pine flooring and pastel blue walls trimmed in white, with framed photos of live oaks and African-American women clothed in the white cotton wraps associated with Gullah.
No one else was around.
“Cassie, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I suggest you not be here by yourself until this is over.”
“Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me in daylight,” she said, batting a hand in the air. “And I make sure someone walk me to my car at night since them men scared me.”
He felt her reasoning about safety in daylight was about as good as his own, usually. In this case, dangerously wrong.
She donned a large apron, and while she fried drumsticks, smashed potatoes, and heated up collards for him, she deboned a plateful of chicken for Shelby.
With all of them in the kitchen—a health-code violation that came with a hefty fine if found—Brack swallowed a mouthful of delicious cornbread, hoped the inspector wouldn’t show up, and asked about her sister.
She said, “I love her, but she is one wild child. Always has been.”
“Is that why you think she’s in trouble?”
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know. I thought when she come here it would all be good. She’d work in the restaurant wit me and Mutt. We’d be family.”
“Instead, she hit the town, didn’t she?”
After a moment, Cassie said, “Yes.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“About a month ago. I went over to her apartment.”
“I’d like to take a look there,” Brack said. “Any chance you have a key?”
Cassie did have a key. She’d been to Regan’s every other day but said she didn’t do more than just see if her sister was there. As far as Cassie knew, Mutt hadn’t been over there at all, which seemed odd to Brack.
As Shelby and Brack walked out of Cassie’s place, Mutt rang his cell phone.
“Where you at?”
“Leaving Cassie’s. Where are you?”
“Back home now.”
“I’ve got the key to Regan’s apartment.”
“Well, come get me.”
“Sounds like Shaft is ready to roll,” Brack said, kidding Mutt about his obsession with Richard Roundtree.
“Cocked and locked.”
Arriving back at Mutt’s place, Brack guided Shelby into the one-story rental house. His dog wasn’t keen on being left alone, but experience told Brack that walking into someone else’s apartment without permission was hit or miss. He didn’t want Shelby in danger.
Ten minutes later, with Mutt riding shotgun, Brack plugged Regan’s address into the Porsche’s GPS.
As they followed the electronic female voice commands through the city, Brack asked, “So where were you this morning?”
“Had to go to Taliah’s school,” he said. “By the way, we gotta pick her up at three, so get a move on.”
“Yessir,” Brack said.
Taliah, Mutt’s exceptionally bright thirteen-year-old daughter, was the reason he’d moved back to Atlanta. Expected to graduate early from high school the following summer, she was already taking college-level courses. In other words, much smarter than Mutt and Brack put together.
They pulled into a low-income apartment complex. The expensive new German convertible would win them no friends here, but it was too late to turn back now. Brack parked in front of the building with the number Cassie had given. As they exited the car, he wondered if there was anyone watching the apartment. Deciding there probably was, he gave a touch of the door handle, and the car horn beeped to let him and everyone else know the alarm now stood guard.
White placards with fading black numbers hung on the weathered brown siding of the units. In a small courtyard, four truants around ten years old stopped playing touch football and stared at the salt and pepper pair as they passed.
Apartment number 212 was up two flights of stairs narrow enough to have Brack question how anyone ever got furniture up or down. Mutt gave Regan’s door two hard raps.
They waited a few seconds, but the only sound came from the football players below.
Brack produced the key from Cassie and unlocked the door. They entered and found themselves in very cramped quarters. The entry door split the small living room from an even smaller dining area. Worn gray carpeting. White walls. Popcorn ceiling. A hall ahead of them presumably led to Regan’s bedroom.
Cassie’s sister had made a modest home for herself, furnished with a decent couch, smallish TV, and a smartphone docking station and sound system. First impression: neat but dusty.
Brack asked, “Is the rent up to date?”
“Not sure,” Mutt said. “I’ll check in the back.”
Not feeling the need to personally go through the woman’s underwear drawers, Brack said, “Have at it. I’ll check around out here.”
Brack didn’t have to look far. A bong sat on the carpet beside the couch. Under the coffee table a box that originally contained tennis shoes held a small pipe, but no drugs.
From down the hall, Mutt said, “Hey, Opie? Check this out.”
Brack placed the box back where he found it and went to the bedroom.
In contrast to the modest living area, Regan had splurged on the bedroom décor. Pink curtains curled around the tall bedposts of a queen-sized four-poster. Mutt stood by the closet. When he pushed the door open wide, Brack saw leather straps with shiny metal buckles glinting in the closet lighting. They hung from hooks on the back of the door together with coiled whips and pairs of handcuffs.
He said, “What you think about this, Opie?”
Brack stood out of arm’s reach of the bondage of Regan’s life. Many thoughts traveled through his mind. No matter what Brack and Mutt looked into since they’d met a few years before, it always ended up involving sex or money. Or both. This situation wouldn’t be any different.
“Well,” Brack said, “it’s not my thing.”
“Me neither,” Mutt said. “I knew the girl had problems, but I never thought she was into this stuff. It ain’t new, either. It’s got some miles on it.”
He lifted a strap to show how worn the leather was.
Brack spotted a photo on a white dresser. Two women, one Cassie and the other a very attractive, bronze-skinned model wearing a white flower in her hair smiled at him. Regan was a thinner, prettier, younger version of Cassie with the same inquisitive eyes.
Closer to forty than thirty, Brack realized he’d already seen a lot in his life. Maybe more than most thanks to the Marine Corps and a couple of dead bodies. But probably not as much as Regan had seen in her twenty-five years. He and Mutt left the apartment with nothing but an understanding that this road they decided to follow her down would get darker.