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“What’s his name?” asked Whiskey.
“Imron. Imron Anchali. He was born and raised in Thailand but moved to the U.S. when he was nineteen. He’s a solid guy.”
“Do you still have a contact number?” asked Whiskey.
“Yeah. Let me call him,” said Callan. He found him in his contacts and hit the number.
This number is no longer operating. Please try again.
He dialed the number again, getting the same recording. Code tried looking up a new number but found nothing except the number that Callan had for him.
“This is fucking weird,” said Callan. “I know this guy. He had a master’s degree in psychology. Best fucking artist with frightened clients. He had a way of calming them down and getting them to sit still.”
“Why did he leave you?” asked Nine.
“He didn’t. I came out here, and he decided to work for another shop because of the drive, but I know he’s not there any longer because they closed down.” Whiskey looked at the others, then at Nine.
“I think we need to find this guy.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
At dinner that evening, the guys were still talking about tattoos and missing kids. It was Erin and Alexandra who tapped the glasses and shook their heads.
“Hey, guys. We love you, and we love that you’re doing something fulfilling. But if we could hold the shop talk until after dinner, that would be great,” said Alexandra.
“Sorry, babe,” said Gaspar, kissing his wife. “This one is just weird. We’ve got no reports of trafficking, no reports of any bodies or murders, yet all these kids are disappearing after getting strange tattoos.”
“You don’t think it’s another gaming situation, do you?” asked Lauren. The men held in their smirks, knowing that the women would want to be heard in spite of their protests about shop talk at dinner.
“It doesn’t appear to be that. The kids are all the same age except one. They were all given this tattoo, and then they disappeared.”
“That does seem strange,” frowned Robin, looking at her husband.
“We need to find this tattoo artist,” said Whiskey. “Callan knows him and can’t believe he would be involved in anything like this, but at least one person has identified him.”
“Are there more boys than girls?” asked Grace. The men all looked up at her, cocking their heads. “I mean, typically, we see men with more tattoos than women. It doesn’t mean that they don’t get them. I’m just saying it’s usually boys.”
“It’s a good thought, babe,” said Ghost, “but we’ve actually got a mix right now of girls and boys. But you bring up a good thought. I mean, if I were a trafficker, there are much easier ways of identifying these kids and taking them than relying on them to get a tattoo.
“If I really wanted them, I could snatch a kid right off the street or from in front of their school. Hell, we hear it all the time of kids missing from malls or amusement parks. Tattooing seems going one step too far. Plus, if they’re taking boys as often as girls, it has to be someone big doing it. I mean, if anyone attempted to take one of our kids, they’re nearly as big as a grown man.”
“Do these kids participate in the same activities?” asked Faith. “Are they athletes, scholars, book enthusiasts, gamers?”
“Another great question,” said Ian. “Maybe you all could help a bit with this. You seem to be coming up with better ideas than we have.”
“Well, there’s not a lot going on right now, so maybe we could lend a hand,” said Erin. “Has anyone looked into whether or not this is happening in other cities?”
“No,” chuckled Nine. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. I can tell you one thing they all have in common so far is that they come from good, solid homes. Some may be a bit untraditional, but these kids are loved, provided for, and cared about. There were no signs of abuse or neglect for the three homes we visited.”
“Then the kids are doing this willingly,” said Alexandra. “It’s a little rebellious, but they’re growing up, and they want to show that to their parents. No one is forcing them to get the tattoos, and once they do, they’re either unsure of what it means or know that it’s a horrible mistake. That’s when they come to Callan.”
“We know that makes sense,” said Antoine, “but the question is why. And where are these kids? I mean, if they’re not being shipped out, harmed, or sold locally, what the hell is happening to them?”
“That’s why you’re Gray Wolf,” smirked Ella. The women chuckled, the guys all shaking their heads. “Listen, we know that this is frustrating for you, but this might be one of those cases where you can’t go in with guns and knives.”
Trak frowned at her with a strange expression. When would you not use guns or knives? That was just foolish.
“Babe, I think she means that this might require a softer hand,” said Lauren, kissing her husband’s cheek.
