Trumped Up Charges - By Joanna Wayne Page 0,53
did with shrubbery and flower beds.
A drug deal was going down on the next corner with no regard of him, a passing truck or three boys who looked to be about eight or nine who were riding by on their bikes. A shotgun house in the middle of the block had its windows boarded up. Another had a half-rotted porch with a front door that hung askew.
According to Matilda, Quinton had rented an efficiency apartment in a house two blocks farther down Pickford Street before he’d faked his death. He’d spent even more time in Mitzi’s, a neighborhood bar that was so rough that even the cops avoided it—or so Quinton used to boast to Matilda.
According to Sam, Quinton still hung out at Mitzi’s and he figured Adam would find him there if he cased the joint for awhile. Adam would—if it came to that.
Adam motioned to the boys as they rode by on their bikes. Only one turned around and came back to see what he wanted. Adam pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his front jeans pocket.
“What I got to do for that?” the boy asked.
“Answer a couple of questions.”
“That’s all I have to do to get the twenty?”
“That’s it, as long as I’m convinced you’re telling the truth.”
“What you want to know?”
Adam described Quinton, especially the unique patterns of his massive tattoos. “Have you seen him?”
“Once. I think he’s new around here.”
“When was that?”
“Two days ago. We were riding by on our bikes and he was standing on the porch of the big gray house. We slowed down to get a better look at the tattoos. He flexed his muscles and it made the eagles look like they were flying.”
“What big gray house?”
“The one in the next block. On the other side of the street. Got bullet holes in the front window. A bunch of ’em. There was a drive-by a few weeks ago. Nobody got killed, though.”
Adam handed the boy a twenty and reached into his pocket for another one.
The boy looked at him suspiciously. “What else you want to know?”
“Have you ever seen the man with the flying eagle tattoos with twin girls? They have red hair. They’re young, not three years old yet.”
“Nope. I’ve never seen any kids at all around that gray house.”
That didn’t prove the girls weren’t there. Adam wouldn’t have expected Quinton to parade them around the neighborhood, not when news of the abduction had gone virile.
He handed the boy the second twenty and started walking.
The big, gray house came into view as soon as he reached the corner. He stopped to assess his chances of sneaking in.
He heard footsteps but before he could turn around, something crashed into him from behind, knocking him to the pavement. His head hit the concrete and the world went blurry for a second. By the time he could see straight, feet were coming at him from every direction.
He tried to stand but the kicks were too many and too vicious. There were three guys, all big and muscular and all three enjoying themselves.
He tried to fight back, but they kicked him in his stomach, his chest, his head and even his thighs. He doubled over in pain as blood dribbled from the side of his mouth.
Before his injuries, he might have been able to hold his own with two of the men. But three guys this size against one would have been formidable odds even when he’d been in top form.
“That’s enough,” one of the men ordered. “Quinton said not to kill him, just to make him wish he were dead.”
So Quinton was behind this. He should have known.
Finally, the kicks and the curses stopped altogether. He tried to get up but he writhed in pain and threw up on the sidewalk.
He closed his eyes and lay there, struggling for the strength to stand. The pain was excruciating, but nothing like what he’d endured in Afghanistan. Then he’d begged to die. Now he just wanted to get up and get moving again.
His daughters might be a few yards away, imprisoned by a madman.
“Did you find what you came for?”
Adam saw the shadow and looked up to see who was talking.
At least he no longer had to look for Quinton. Quinton had found him.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s a tough neighborhood,” Quinton said. “It’s not really safe to walk around here by yourself unless you’re in the members’ club.”
“Go to hell.” Adam spit out another mouthful of blood.
“First Detective Lane, now you. I seem to be growing more popular