Cade runs his hands through his hair, worry visibly pouring off him. He starts pacing in front of the car, agitated and growing more and more so by the second. “God,” he whispers. “This is fucking pointless. It’s been three weeks. There’s no way she’s still alive, Jay. No fucking way.”
Jamie pushes away from the car and grabs hold of Cade by the shoulders; he looks him straight in the eye, so focused and determined. “She is not dead, okay? We’re not going to stop looking until we find her. It’s going to be fine. Your sister’s tougher than anyone gives her credit for. She’s going to survive this. We won’t leave a stone unturned until we figure out where she is and bring her home.”
Cade doesn’t look too reassured. Still, he nods and seems to calm a little. “Yeah. Man, I hope you’re right. I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about what might be happening to her, y’know?”
God, the poor bastard. That really doesn’t even bear thinking about. Twenty-four hours is a long time to be at the mercy of kidnappers. So three weeks? Three weeks would be a fucking eternity. It’s a shitty thought, but perhaps Laura might be better off if she is dead. I know Cade must have realized this. Jamie, too. I can see it in his eyes when he turns back to me. “Gotta come up with something and soon, cuz. Any ideas?”
“We have a private detective on side. He’s a disgusting piece of shit but he has a way of buying information other people can’t. We could go pay him a visit. Smarter than hanging around here. I can tell you now, Charlie Holsan isn’t going to help you. Even if he could, even if he has that kind of intel, he won’t. He does nothing for free. He would have to owe you a serious favor to even talk to you.”
“And we’ll find this P.I. of your up and fully functional at this time of day?”
“I can’t guarantee that. He sleeps at his office, though. That’s where he’ll be.”
Jamie stares me down while he thinks this through. “Alright. I’ll work on the serious favor part from Charlie Holson, part. We’re revisiting this idea if your private detective doesn’t work out. Fair?”
“Let’s just get out of here, okay?”
Jamie grunts. He slaps Cade on the shoulder and then the two of them are climbing back onto their motorcycles and revving their engines. Charlie’s never seen my car before. Most of the time Zeth drives here himself in his Camaro but on the odd occasion he’s wanted me to drive him, he’s had me park blocks away. Charlie will have run my plates by now, though. You can’t pull up outside his residence and loiter there for ten minutes without drawing attention to yourself. That means this car is a write off now. I’m going to have to get rid of it. It’ll get me to Eli’s office across the other side of town first, though.
I’m careful not to speed as I burn away from Charlie’s place. Takes us thirty minutes to pull up outside Eli Harris’ pokey office. The single room space he rents is upstairs above a very questionable Chinese takeaway, and the place always stinks like stale food. Today is no different. Eli nearly shits his pants when Jamie and Cade let themselves in without knocking. I follow them in and close the door, locking it behind me. Never know how heated things might get.
Eli—morbidly obese and generally sweat-stained—tries to get up from behind his desk, a mask of outrage on his face, but his stomach gets caught against the edge of his desk and he sits back down heavily in his chair, huffing. “Michael? Michael, you know the drill. You call before you come over here. I could have been with a client. Would you want a group of guys barging in here if you were having a private meeting with me?”
“The only people ever having private meetings in here with you, Eli, are the hookers you rent out by the hour. Calm yourself, now,” I tell him. “I’ve brought you paying customers. Show some gratitude.”
“I have plenty of people on my books,” Eli snaps. He gets grouchy when I imply that his business is less than a legit, respectable enterprise. In truth, it’s likely that he does have lots of clients. They’re all on the wrong side of the law, though, or they’re single mothers paying him a pittance to track down baby daddies who’ve skipped out on paying their child support. “You guys need to make an appointment, okay?”