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Her bottom lip trembled. I knew it was a long shot bailing her out, trusting her when I knew her record, but what other option did I have?
“How is Frankie?” she asked.
I watched her thin frame against the white concrete walls; her shoulders hunkered down in defeat. The smart-aleck response she always held on her tongue was absent. “Tell me where he took you those times. The street corner? His house? Have you ever been to his house?”
She pressed her thin lips into a line.
"Mom,” I hissed, looking over my shoulder. “Look what this man did to you. Yes, you were bad off before, but Josie—Josie isn’t bad off—please, don’t let them get her hooked on drugs, and toss her down some prostitution ring. I’m begging you. I love her.”
Mom cradled her face into her palms. “You promise to bail me out?” she asked.
“Yes. You tell me and I’ll go bail you out.”
“He has a rundown house on Ash Street in Slaughter. It’s boarded up and looks like no one lives there. That was years ago, Maverick, who knows if he’s still using it or not? Or if your friend is there."
"It's all I have to go on," I mumbled to myself. “I’ll be right back.”
The officer met me halfway down the hallway. “I was coming to get you—,”
“I need a bails bondsman. Who is closest?”
“They’re all closed for the night son. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
I sighed, rubbing my palms down my face in aggravation. “Can I let her know?”
Mom shook when I walked back in to tell her I’d have to bail her out in the morning. Her eyes were sunken in and a look of hopelessness hung on her face. “Maverick,” she whispered. I stopped in the doorway. “I’m sorry for how I turned out.”
That felt like the first time she’d ever apologized. “I’ll be back to bail you out, I promise.”
Ash Street consisted mostly of rundown houses and vehicles. Half of the streetlights were dim or nonexistent, and the ones that worked only lit the houses with occupants. I cursed myself for not thinking about bringing a bat or something to protect myself.
I pulled to the side of the street, parked, and got out. The silence gave me the chills as I made my way down the sidewalk. I had no idea what to look for but I had to try for Josie. The thought of her being alone, hurt, or drugged put me in a red daze.
None of the abandoned houses had lights, so I scoured the trashcans by the houses for any evidence of life. The last house on the left had takeout and beer boxes in the trash, so I took my chance and walked around back to an overgrown backyard.
The chain-link fence rattled in the wind, a rundown shed sat in the far corner, and the roof caved inward. I couldn’t even think straight to attempt to make a plan. I had no plan. I planned to save Josie because all of this stemmed from me.
The sliding back door felt hot against my palm as I opened it. The stench of hardcore drugs wafted from the inside but silence greeted me. At first glance, the house seemed vacant, with no personal items or any resemblance of a home, but as I neared the living room, the glow of an old TV shadowed against the hallway.
A man sat with his back to me, legs kicked up onto a wooden table, a beer bottle in one hand, and his balding head visible from the lighting of the TV.What am I doing?I grabbed a skillet from the kitchen and walked behind the man. A basement door stood to the right with a deadbolt locking it tight.
“Where are they?” I asked.
The man jumped up from his chair, reaching for a shotgun perched against the TV set, but I knocked his hand down with the skillet making him hiss. “Where are they?” I asked.
Theno-plangame swirled in my mind.I couldn’t kill this man with a skillet. I couldn’t kill him at all.I had to make sure he didn't know that. I needed to be believable.
He clutched his hand to his chest as I grabbed the shotgun and cocked it. “You tell me where my girlfriend is and I’ll let you live—,”
“I don’t know your girlfriend. You’re on private property—,”
“Cut the shit!” I screamed, pointing the gun toward the basement. “Open the door now.”
He sighed, rubbing his palm over his blading head. Stains covered his white t-shirt and track marks marred his forearms. Slowly he walked over to the basement, unlocked it, and opened the door.
“Go down slowly,” I said shoving his back with the barrel of the gun.
He creaked down the stairs, pulling a swinging light on his way. Whispers and chains rattled as we descended the steps. He stopped in the middle of the floor and turned to face me. A five o'clock shadow dusted his face and when he spoke, I noticed his rotten teeth.
