“This isn’t a pair of fuckin’ handcuffs,” I respond.
I’m hoping he’ll shut the fuck up. It’s not a time to be distracted. I eye the lock then crouch down at ground level, pulling my glasses out of my cut and sliding them on. I jiggle the key around a bit, then hear the snick and feel a satisfying give as the lock disengages. We’re in.
Once inside, I pause, listening carefully. But there’s no sound, not even snores coming down from the floor above. I gesture to Kink, and he sets off in the direction of the rear of the house.
While he’s gone, I glance around. This certainly isn’t as opulent as the house we made the abortive visit to yesterday. The décor could do with a refresh, and the wooden flooring is scuffed. The kitchen, what I can see of it, is outdated. A crash pad? An escape? This doesn’t seem up to dear Devon’s tastes.
I’ve completed my immediate appraisal when Kink, Niran and Keeper appear. I point to Keeper, giving him the sign for stay the fuck here, while to the others I point upstairs.
I can tell it’s a bust as soon as we reach the top step. It doesn’t even seem lived in up here. We each take one of the three rooms. The one I enter hasn’t even a bed. I shake my head in disgust and exit the room again.
“Clear,” I say, half-heartedly.
“Clear,” Salem replies.
“Clear,” Kink says.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So if he doesn’t fuckin’ live or even stay here, and it’s not fuckin’ set up for a studio, what does he use it for?”
“Status report, Sergeant-at-arms.” Bolt’s voice comes into my ear.
I’d forgotten that while we couldn’t hear the other teams, those in the truck are listening in. “We got fuck all.”
“He’s been tracked there recently.” Swift comes on the line. “His phone was logged there yesterday. Have a good look around, Grumbler. There could be something we’re missing.”
“How are the other teams getting on?”
“Haven’t found him yet. The other house was a bust, the hotel too. No report back from the team at the studio yet.”
I think they can cross this one off the list, but then I suppose I best do as I’m told, even if it is by a woman. But hell, maybe it’s time I get used to that. No doubt my old lady will try and tell me a thing or two.
Returning downstairs, I see Keeper on his hands and knees. “What the fuck you doing?”
A bit sheepishly, Keeper looks up. “These scuff marks…” he points them out.
“Someone’s moved furniture?” Niran suggests, but he, too, sinks to his knees and starts looking. “Grumbler, Keep might have something here.” He indicates something. “They’re all heading the same way.”
Kink starts following the tracks, while the others stand up, both brushing dust off their hands.
“I can’t see… Wait.” Kink takes out his knife and uses the blade against something. As whatever it is eases up, my eyes widen.
If we hadn’t been searching, we’d have never found anything. But what Kink’s opening up is a trapdoor of some sort. A basement? That wasn’t on the plans. We hadn’t expected to find that, nor to find a door whose underside is six inches thick with insulation.
Neither did we expect to find what we did behind it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Grumbler
I blink once, then twice.
“What you got, Grumbler?” Swift’s impatient voice sounds in my ear.
I’m a big scary biker, and these are just kids. Replacing my gun in its holster, I climb the ladder that leads into the hole in the ground—something that must have been dug out for this purpose. Sinking to my haunches I hold out my hands.
“¿Hablas inglés?” It’s about all the Spanish I’ve got, so I hope to fuck someone does. There are half a dozen Hispanic children huddled in front of me—four girls, two boys, ranging in age from about five to fifteen if I’m any judge.
A boy, probably only just entering his teens, offers a hesitant, “Sí. I speak English a little. Is it safe to go now, mister?”
The question surprises me. “Safe?” I ask. “How did you get here?”
The boy looks at the others and speaks to the oldest girl rapidly in Spanish. She shakes her head.
“Are you bad men? Will you send us back?”
How do I answer? I’ll get them out of this hellhole that’s for certain, but I’ve no idea what will happen then. Right now, I’ve no intention and no means of getting them back to Mexico. I’ve made an educated guess that knowing the scam Devon’s running, that’s where they’ve come from. I move my head side to side. “No. What’s your name, kid?”
“Jorge.”
I raise my chin. “Well, Jorge. I need to know how you got here. Can you tell me?”
They seem cautious, but not particularly scared. That seems odd.
“A good man saved us and brought us here. Told us to stay until he told us it was safe to leave. There are bad men searching for us.”
It was the devil himself who’d taken them, that I truly believe. Carefully I slide out my phone and show them a picture of the photographer. “Is this the man?”
“Si.”
“Status report,” Bolt again demands.
Niran, who’s descended behind me, turns away and starts mumbling as though to himself. At least he’s taken the onus from me.
“You got family in the States? Have any of you?”
“Si.” The boy nods his head. “My sister,” he indicates the youngest child, “and I are going to our aunts. She lives in San Francisco.” He pronounces the name of the city carefully.
“How were you going to get there?”
“I call her,” Jorge says, full of confidence. “She’ll come get us.”
I can make that happen, I think. That’s two out of the way. “And the others?”
Another discussion in their native language, then the story comes out. All but the eldest crossed the border with their families but were
