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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781940758978 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Intrigue Publishing LLC |
| Publication date: | 12/01/2019 |
| Series: | Hannibal Jones Mystery |
| Pages: | 255 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.60(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Sunday
"Everyone deserves a safe place to stay."
Sophia remembered him saying that soon after he arrived, just before 9pm. He seemed like such a nice fellow, a gentle soul. He called himself a troubleshooter, so she thought he might be the man who could help her. And since she couldn't sleep, she thought she would just try to chat with him a bit.
As she eased the front door open he sprang from his chair out on the front porch. He was so handsome, thin and wiry, in his black suit, white shirt and tie. And he wore black driving gloves, even though it was still warm out. He reminded her of that Morgan fellow on the television show Criminal Minds. And now, without his sunglasses on she could see by the porch light that his eyes were blue, or maybe hazel. Unusual, she thought, a black man with hazel eyes.
"Mrs. Blanco! What are you doing up at this hour? It's after midnight."
"I just couldn't sleep, Mr. Jones," she replied, extending a steaming mug toward him like an offering. "And I remembered you work such a long shift. Not everyone volunteers for twenty-four hours at a time. If you're going to be out here all night I thought you might like a cup of coffee."
"That's very thoughtful, ma'am," he said, accepting the mug and inhaling its rich aroma. "And please, call me Hannibal."
"All right," Sophia said. It was a warm night for September, and she was comfortable in her long cotton bathrobe and mule slippers. "Would you mind if I sat with you for a while? The shelter is wonderful, But even after living here for six long months it still isn't home. Sometimes it can feel a little close."
"Happy to have the company," Hannibal said, pulling another wicker chair up beside his own. The wooden porch seemed like it didn't belong, as if it were stuck onto the front of this tall brick building just to try to make it look more like a home. He sat, sipped the coffee, and gave her a warm smile. "Thank you, this is great. So ... Puerto Rico, am I right? You have the slightest bit of an accent."
Sophia blushed. If only he was a few years older. "You have a good ear, Mr., er, Hannibal."
"My girlfriend is from there, and her father's accent is stronger. So it's easy to ..." He stopped and turned toward the street. A Ford Explorer rolled to a stop but the lights stayed on. Sophia's pulse quickened and she muttered a short prayer under her breath in Spanish.
"No no no," she said in a shaky voice. "That is not one of the escort vehicles they use. But no one is supposed to know where we are. No one is supposed to know what this place is."
"Stay calm," Hannibal said, tugging the edge of his gloves to tighten them on his hands. "I'll take care of it."
There were four men in the car but only one got out and started stalking toward the building. He was short but thick with a big barrel chest and the arms of a dock worker. His golf team shirt said "Chico" and anger clouded his face. When his heavy work boots hit the first porch step Hannibal rose and stepped in front of the door. He looked relaxed, neither smiling nor frowning.
"Can I help you?"
"Get out of my way," Chico growled, puffing up his barrel chest. "My wife's in there and I'm bringing her home. Can't believe she made me chase her all the way down to this God-forsaken place."
Hannibal smiled, but didn't move. "Trust me, God has not forsaken Hughesville. I don't know how you found this place but I don't think you understand what it is. The whole point of the Angel's Watch Shelter is to provide a place for women and children to get away from, you know, abusive assholes like you."
Chico balled his fists and squared his shoulders in the way that Sophia had seen so many times before. It was another way of saying get out of my way. "No, YOU don't understand. It took me damned near a month to find this place. And if you the fucking security, I'll go right the fuck through you."
Sophia was struck by the contrast, the menacing brute on one side, the picture of tranquility on the other. Hannibal held his hands low and open, but his tone was a little sharper this time when he spoke.
"Look, first of all, I'm not some rent-a-cop here to make a few extra bucks. I volunteer out here because these ladies deserve some peace. And the door's locked so you can't get in anyway. But after driving an hour to get down here from DC, I'm not about to let you disturb the residents by pounding on this door in the middle of the night."
"Think so, huh?" Chico turned and pointed to his car, waving his friends in. Sophia's breath caught in her throat when she saw Chico's outstretched hand curl into a fist. He was going to sucker punch Hannibal. She saw him spin, swinging his big right fist toward Hannibal's nose.
Hannibal easily side-stepped the punch and slammed his right into Chico's gut, doubling him over and backing him down the porch steps.
"There's a reason they protect the location and identities of the residents here," Hannibal said. "You must know we're going to protect their safety just as well. Last chance. Go home before somebody gets hurt."
"Bite me," Chico said.
A harvest moon watched Hannibal swing an uppercut that put Chico on his back. The three newcomers reached him, and helped him to his feet. Hannibal smiled and settled into a ready stance, fists raised the way Sophia had seen professional boxers do. The four men in the driveway, all wearing golf team shirts stood shoulder to shoulder and slowly stepped forward.
If the men brushed Hannibal aside this Chico could burst into the shelter, find his wife, and drag her out of there. Sophia knew she should run inside and raise the alarm but fear locked her in place.
As Chico's foot hit the first step he noticed Sophia for the first time. Just as his eyes met hers, Hannibal's right foot thumped into Chico's chest, slamming him back into the man whose jacket said he was Dave. Then Hannibal leaped from the porch, smashing his right fist across Billy's jaw. A side stamp dislocated Jimmy's right knee. Dave swung past Chico and clipped Hannibal's cheek. Sophia gasped at the flesh-on-flesh sound of the blow.
Hannibal blocked the follow-up punch and snapped two crisp jabs into Dave's face, staggering him into the tree growing up out of the sidewalk. Chico tried to slip past Hannibal, still driving for the door.
"Not tonight," Hannibal said through clenched teeth. Sophia didn't think Chico ever even saw the three punches, left-left-right that put him on his back, barely conscious.
With no standing attackers, Hannibal stepped back up onto the porch. "That was fun, but now I'm running out of patience with you boys." Hannibal reached inside his suit coat, under his right arm, and pulled out a pistol. He pointed its muzzle down at Chico's face.
"There is nothing lower than a man who beats his woman, although anybody helping him is mighty close. I'd beat your asses some more, just for fun, but I don't feel like answering questions at a hospital. Now, all y'all, drag your sorry asses out of here. And if I ever hear you came back here, or if you tell anybody where this shelter is, I will hunt you down and end you."
CHAPTER 2For women and children facing domestic violence or homelessness, Angel's Watch Shelter in Charles County, Maryland, represents a safe haven and new beginnings. It's been that way in southern Maryland for many years. The 52-bed dormitory facility, outfitted with mobile home furniture and donated appliances, is neither luxurious nor expansive, but to its temporary residents like Sophia Blanco it is the difference between living out of a shopping cart and hanging onto a bit of dignity.
Hannibal Jones reminded himself of all that sitting in the visitor's lounge while Sophia Blanco fussed over him. She had prepared the ice pack he held against his cheek and the fresh coffee in front of him. The red plastic sofa and mismatched chairs told one story. The freshly painted cream-colored walls and scrupulously clean tile floor told another. The room smelled of baby powder and cheap perfume but in the silence of the wee hours it was a surprisingly comforting atmosphere.
"You volunteer to protect us," Sophia was saying. "I see you here at least one night every couple of weeks. And you are always polite to the girls, even the younger ones. You never try to get too close to them, even though I know how some of them look at you."
Hannibal smiled, then winced. "These girls are vulnerable. It wouldn't be right. Besides, I have a very fine lady already."
"So, what do you get out of doing this?"
"Volunteering is ..." Hannibal paused to gather his thoughts. "This is how I give back. Some people give money or donate supplies. I share my time and my skills because they're needed here more than a few more dollars. I let my lady take care of the material stuff."
Hannibal flashed back to the day he first found the Angel's Watch shelter. Cindy Santiago had heard about the place from a business law client who supported the place. She decided to clean out her closet and donate the still like-new items to the shelter. When she finished sorting she had a trunkful to give, but no car. She could have used Uber, of course, but how much better to fill the trunk of Hannibal's Volvo with her giveaway wardrobe. He called his 850 GLT Black Beauty. His car was his companion and part time office, not a pickup truck. But just as Hannibal steered the car with comfortable ease, Cindy steered Hannibal with little effort.
Then she'd made him stop at a drug store so she could fill his back seat with makeup, hair products and a collection of fragrances
"These women are down and out," Hannibal had said. "I'm sure there's stuff they need more than perfume and expensive shampoo."
Cindy just shook her head. "Shows what you know about women," she said. "I've been broke and I can tell you, this is the stuff that makes you feel whole, that makes you feel like you're worth something. The stuff you can't afford when you're buying diapers and nylons."
She was right, of course. They were welcomed with open arms and broad smiles when they arrived at the shelter. Cindy was everybody's best friend and it didn't take Hannibal long to realize this was where he needed to be helping out. They had a hard time finding guys who would serve as unpaid security, so he signed up.
Lost in that memory, Hannibal almost didn't notice that Sophia had slipped away. But he heard the shuffle of her mule slippers when she returned clutching a round cookie tin. She settled into her chair but kept the tin on her lap.
"You are a detective, right?" she asked after a short pause. "People hire you to find things?"
"Sometimes. Have you lost something, Mrs. Blanco?"
She nodded. "I've lost everything. All I have left, Mr. Hannibal, since my Robert's heart gave out and he passed away. My daughter, Concepcion. She is missing."
"Missing," he repeated, sipping his coffee and leaning back. "How old is your daughter?"
"She turned twenty-one last month." Sophia said. "I sent a birthday card. She had sent me a card for my birthday in June but when I sent her card ... well, she never answered it. And I haven't heard from her. This card was the last I heard of her."
Sophia's speech became breathless as she spoke, her throat tightening. Hannibal didn't know if she was getting closer to tears but he could see the wrinkles deepening on her face and her lower lip started to quiver. She looked as if worry was pressing down on her and trying to drag her under like a coastal riptide. She popped the top off the tin and Hannibal saw it was not filled with cookies but instead it held layers of paper and a sewing kit. A young woman's photo lay on the top. Sophia lifted it, kissed it, and laid it on the table.
The picture held Hannibal's gaze. It was a younger version of Sophia, thinner, with hair streaked a variety of shades from blonde to auburn. He resisted picking it up. That would be like someone bringing a puppy to your door. If they get you to hold it, you know you're going to keep it. Instead he asked to see the card. Sophia smiled as she held it up for his inspection.
"She was always so considerate. And I was so proud when she got that job."
"She was working?" Hannibal asked. He slid the card out of its plain white envelope. The card bore a generic picture of painted flowers. Inside in a feminine script it said, "Happy birthday, Mama. I love you. Connie."
"Oh, yes! She was accepted to be a life guard down in Virginia Beach. She looked so sweet in that little red swimsuit I got her. When she wrote in July she said she loved it down there."
"I'm sure she does," Hannibal said. "Of course, it's pretty quiet down there off season." Which might have explained why the postcard was postmarked from Washington DC. "She signed the card Connie. Is that what she goes by?"
"I gave my girl a beautiful Spanish name," Sophia said. "Her father was not Spanish but he loved it too. But since Middle School she has wanted to be called Connie."
"And did you say your birthday was in June?"
"Yes," Sophia was looking down, intent on removing things from her tin. Or avoiding Hannibal's eyes. "It has been two months and four days since I heard from my baby. I worry, Mr. Hannibal. She is so young and so all alone."
"Yes ma'am. She is also a grown woman, and she has the right to go wherever ..." Hannibal let his voice peter out because it was clear Sophia was not listening. She was very carefully laying bills out on the table. They had been pressed flat in the tin and while they were clearly old, well-used bills, they looked almost as if they had been ironed. There were six 20-dollar bills, stacked in such a way that it was easy to see their number. A separate stack held four 10-dollar bills and seven 5-dollar bills. When they were in place Sophia sat quietly staring at them for just a moment, as if saying goodbye. When she looked up her face seemed to expose her broken heart.
"Mr. Hannibal, will you find her for me? I don't mean for you to bring her home, or make her do anything. I just want to know she's safe and well. It is a dangerous world out there and I could not really prepare her for ..."
Hannibal held his palm toward her. "Ma'am, you don't have to ..."
"You work by the hour, yes?" Sophia asked. "That's the way it always works in the detective novels. How much time can you give me for this? It is all I have right now, but I can get more."
He could have been thinking about the actual value of his time. Sophia's entire fortune would barely cover a couple hours at his usual rate. Or, he could have been thinking about this nice woman whose world had crashed and his likely ability to pull it together for her in a couple of days by tracking down her daughter and telling her to call home. Or he might have focused on his ego, how it would make him a hero in the eyes of this woman and her friends if he did her this favor. But actually, his only thought in the moment was: what would Cindy Santiago say if he told this poor woman "no"?
"This may not even be an investigation, right?" Hannibal asked, offering a smile. "Maybe she's just too caught up in her own life to call her mama. That happens with young people sometimes. Do you have her last address?"
"Of course!" Sophia rummaged through her tin, triumphantly pulled out a slip of paper and placed it on top of her bills. "If you could just get her to call the shelter ..." Her smile was a nice act, but he could see the worry in her eyes.
He laid his hand gently on top of the bills and looked into her deep brown eyes. "Ma'am, why don't you hold onto this for now? I'll see what I can find out in the next couple of days. I can't promise anything, of course, but if I do get her to call you, we can discuss my fee then, okay?"
CHAPTER 3Monday
Virginia Beach in August is a bustling metropolis, a city so steeply tilted toward the Atlantic Ocean that it causes waves of barely-dressed sun worshippers to roll down its streets, across the blazing sand and into the rumbling surf. Hotels, restaurants and gift shops, three-blocks deep, are packed with loud, laughing vacationers who appear to wake up partying and continue until the next sunrise.
Driving into the city in mid-September, Hannibal could almost hear the whistled theme from "A Fistful of Dollars" and he half expected to see a tumbleweed roll across the street in front of him. Without the crowds it was too easy to see how the salt breeze wore the paint off walls and corroded fences and lamp posts.
After a bit more than four hours on the road Hannibal was happy to find himself on a series of one-way streets with almost no traffic to deal with. Finally he came to a set of two-story buildings, long rows of apartments called Shea Plaza. He parked in front of the rental office, stepped out of the black Volvo and looked around, absorbing the environment. The buildings wore brick on the first level, beige aluminum siding on the top. Grass was mown, hedges neatly trimmed. Children played on the simple jungle gym that stood in for an actual playground.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Wrong Kind"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Austin S. Camacho.
Excerpted by permission of Intrigue Publishing, LLC.
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