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“What’s that say?”
“It’s an address.” He flipped the tag around so I could see it for myself.
“That’s where the twins are,” Elias noted with a hint of confusion, reaching for one of the folded papers.
I rubbed my chin, not seeing or understanding what Ricardo wanted me to.
I picked up the other piece of paper, which turned out to be an explicitly detailed letter, and read over it from front to back, twice.
“Look.” Elias nudged my arm, holding out an old birth certificate that had definitely seen better days.
As I skimmed the details listed on the official document, Ricardo’s angle slowly became clear as crystal.
“We need to take a little road trip,” I said, placing the documents back inside the box.
The DVD could wait.
The difference in societal levels was drastically obvious. I had to admit that it made sense for Ricardo to send his daughters somewhere like this, but he could have picked a location more than twelve hours away.
If anyone were to figure out where he’d stashed the twins, it wouldn’t take long to find them. Of course, that’s exactly what happened.
We passed a boarded up corner store, the Tahoe’s headlights illuminating mangy cats on the sidewalk. Less than a half a mile down the road, Sergio pulled over and cut the engine.
“That’s it,” he said, jerking his chin towards a shitty rundown bungalow across the street.
Elias let out a low whistle from the back seat. “So this is where Ricardo hid his princesas, eh?”
Glancing around, the bungalow actually seemed to be the nicest house on the block—which truly spoke volumes.
It wasn’t possible to see all the way inside, but there were at least two lights on.
My attention, however, was on the souped up Alfa Romeo parked behind a PT Cruiser. The car didn’t belong in this area, and stood out like a sore thumb.
Before I could say anything, a man came from behind the house and calmly walked to the car.
“What the fuck is Alex Norway doing here?” Sergio asked.
“Excellent question.”
We watched him get inside the car, his blonde head never once turning our way. Fucking amateur. It was imperative to always be aware of your surroundings. He cruised off, heading away from us, taking a right turn at the end of the road.
It took me less than a full sixty seconds to know what I was going to do. I knew something wasn’t right; we all did.
What I didn’t know was why I gave a damn. It was like a silent, compulsive lure, telling me I had to go inside that house.
Elias and Sergio got out of the truck right along with me, not asking a single question. The starless night sky covered us as we moved towards the bungalow. The Tahoe’s engine settled behind us, and a few of the cats could be heard from down by the old store.
Removing my Glock, I pushed open the rusted gate blocking entry onto the property. Leading the way to the rear of the house, I went straight to the back door. It opened right up with zero resistance.
Gesturing for Elias and Sergio to be quiet, we filed into a clean but severely outdated kitchen.
The house was small; only the whir from a box-fan and the steady hum of a fish-tank filter filled it with sound.
The living room was empty and dark, aside from a dim table lamp. A plaid sofa and recliner took up the majority of the space.
There was a distinct lemony smell lingering in the air.
Directly off the main room was a hall with three open doors, and one closed with light shining from beneath it.
