laugh. And I like that laugh. Like how much that Dennis has taken such a vested interest in helping me get justice. It’s nice to know someone besides Beck cares.
“So what will happen now?” I ask.
Dennis takes a gulp of his drink, smacks his lips, and tells me, “The bookie is likely sending JT some type of message right now. Probably a phone call to make arrangements for payment. He’ll give JT a deadline, and I have it straight from the horse’s mouth he’s only giving him twenty-four hours.”
“Is that normal?” Beck asks.
Dennis shrugs. “I think in this case, and with him doubling down that type of money, it was made clear to JT when he placed the bet that they expected immediate payment if he lost.”
“And what if he doesn’t pay?” I sit forward on the couch a bit, eager to hear this next part.
“I expect they’ll impress upon him the urgency of paying,” Dennis says ominously, and I’m sort of surprised he doesn’t rub his hands together with glee while giving an evil mwah-ha-ha-ha-haaa laugh.
Hell, I want to laugh like that at the prospect of JT getting beaten up for failure to pay his debts. It’s almost as good a fantasy as when I imagine him in prison getting his ass raped by some beefy dude who will make him his bitch.
As if he can read my thoughts, Dennis says, “It will hurt, Sela. Trust me.”
“Think they’ll videotape it for me?” I ask with a grin.
Dennis and Beck both laugh, and I realize that all the tension we were all feeling just five minutes ago has left the room. We’re now almost delirious with excitement over how the plan will progress next.
“I just hope the ass whupping is enough to impress upon him the dire situation he’s put himself in. He’s got to be desperate when he comes to me,” Beck says.
“He will be,” I say confidently, my hand going to the back of Beck’s neck, which I squeeze slightly for reassurance. I’m feeling good about this now. Really good.
“Listen . . . I went ahead and pulled the investigative file of your rape from Santa Clara,” Dennis says to me in an abrupt change of subject. My eyes slide from Beck to his. “They did a pretty good job from what I could tell. Scoured cab companies; interviewed people at the mall who may have seen you and the other boys who gave you the ride. But as you know, they didn’t get any solid leads.”
I nod, because this isn’t news to me. While my parents kept me shielded from actually dealing with the lead criminal investigator, they did keep me updated. Ultimately, the failure to find who did it caused me to tailspin and landed me in the hospital again. It was my second admission because of JT.
“I also wanted to see if there was anything in there that maybe they missed,” Dennis adds.
“I assume there wasn’t,” Beck surmises. Because otherwise he would have told us the minute he arrived tonight.
“Nothing I could see they failed to do,” Dennis says. “But I did see something that was interesting. I couldn’t find any paperwork where the DNA lab that ran the semen sample submitted the results to NDIS.”
“NDIS?” I ask in confusion.
“The National DNA Index System,” Dennis tells me. “It’s part of the FBI Combined DNA Index System database that all law-enforcement agencies in the nation submit the DNA results to. It should have been done in your case.”
“But it wouldn’t have helped anything,” Beck points out. “JT’s never been arrested, so he wouldn’t be in the system.”
“True,” Dennis agrees. “But I still reached out to the lab to see about getting a copy of the paperwork. That way we’ll have a complete copy of the file. Just making sure all the t’s are crossed and i’s dotted so when you report JT, you know exactly what the police know.”
“Thank you,” I say softly while looking at Dennis. “I’m just so grateful for what you’ve done for me. I don’t even know how to show you how much it means.”
Dennis’ face flushes red and he ducks his head to take another sip of his drink. He mumbles, “Well . . . you’re a sweet girl. I want that fucker to pay.”
Beck shoots me a smile and I can see he’s equally as touched that Dennis seems to go above and beyond for us. And because he seems loose and relaxed, and even like . . . a