Trumped Up Charges - By Joanna Wayne Page 0,51
and the officer scared her so bad she claims she’s never even eaten a grape in the produce aisle since.”
“What about Sam?”
“He’s never been arrested.”
“Still, maybe you should get a lawyer.”
“I called one this morning,” Matilda said. “My friend Johnny gave me the name of one of his customers who’s a defense attorney. I’m waiting on him to call me back. But I thought I should ask you first. I was afraid lawyering up would make all of us look guiltier.”
“I think you’d be wise to hire an attorney.”
“Then I will. I never thought it would come to this, especially after I cooperated with the detective and basically told him how to find Quinton.”
“Are you saying that you know where Quinton is staying?”
“I don’t have an address, but I gave Detective Lane the names of the thugs Quinton hung out with when he lived in Dallas before. I even gave him the names of the sluts he’d dated—at least the ones I knew about. And I told him the names of some of the bars where Quinton used to hang out.”
“How did you know those?”
“He used to talk about them. He liked playing the part of the good-time guy until he’d run into trouble and need help from me. I was the enabler. I knew that even then, but it’s hard not to help your only brother when he’s in trouble and begging for your help.”
“Give me the same information about Quinton that you gave the detective, Matilda. Start by describing him in detail for me so that I’ll recognize him if I run into him on the street. Height, weight, tattoos. Leave nothing out.”
“He’ll be easy to spot. His arms and even his neck are covered in tattoos and there’s an old, jagged scar that runs from his hairline down his right cheek from where our drunk father took a knife to him when he was ten years old.”
So Quinton had learned his ways from his father. That explained a lot. But then some of the guys Adam had served with in the military had similar stories from their youth and had turned out to be model marines.
In the end, it was all about the choices they’d made.
“You don’t want to get involved with Quinton, Adam. He’s guard-dog mean and he’s got friends who are just as mean or meaner. Quinton used to brag that one of them shot and killed two unarmed men in cold blood and got away with it.”
“I fought the Taliban for years, Matilda. I’m used to mean. Just give me the information.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I consider myself warned.”
Finally, there might be something he could do to help rescue his daughters.
* * *
SAM HAD BEEN so nervous after talking to Lane that he’d rammed his fist through the wall. That fact played and replayed in Adam’s mind all the way into Dallas. That was why the school where Sam was taking summer classes was his first stop.
Adam watched as students left the building in clusters and took the walkway to the parking lot. Finally he spotted him, walking with two other young men about the same age and height as he was.
He was dressed as Matilda had said, but Sam was not the clean-cut, innocent-looking kid Matilda presented him as. He was at least a couple of inches over six feet tall, muscled, and he needed a shave and a decent haircut.
He parted from the other two guys in the parking lot and climbed behind the wheel of a Buick that had seen better days several years ago, the same car Matilda had said he’d be driving.
Adam pulled in behind him and followed him out of the lot. It was possible that Sam might lead him back to the Bastion home. But Adam had a strong hunch that Sam might lead him straight to his uncle Quinton.
Sam took the I-20 freeway and exited east of downtown. Adam kept on his tail but a few cars back until Sam pulled into a parking spot in front of a pawnshop in one of Dallas’s seedier areas. Adam parked a few spaces down from him, staying behind the wheel of his truck until Sam entered a small, neighborhood café.
Adam took a cold beer from the cooler in the bed of his truck. It was important to fit in when hanging out on the streets of a neighborhood like this one.
He found a spot in the shadows of a decaying building across the street from