Troy rubbed his chin, “I don’t know. He may show up any time.”
Hondo opened the passenger door and grabbed Troy by his arm, “Let’s go, amigo.” Troy came out so he could save his extremity.
The building looked like some others I’d seen that had been constructed in the forties: a long, shotgun affair with asbestos shingles on the outside walls. Spanish music played inside, some catchy song with a good beat. Derek opened the door and ducked to go inside, and the rest of us followed into the dim interior.
Someone said to Derek, “Well, hello there, you tall drink of water.” My eyes
adjusted to the darkness after coming in from bright sun and I saw the person talking.
Standing eye to eye with six-foot-eight Derek was an African American platinum blonde. The short hair on the side of TJ’s head glowed a rich burgundy, and a platinum, three-inch high Mohawk on top of TJ’s head tapered down the back of the head to join a three-foot long braid of silver hair reaching to the belt line. A black silk shirt opened three buttons down the front revealed cleavage that would make Dolly Parton envious. Tight Levi jeans showed a large bulge in the crotch, and pink flats finished the ensemble.
Troy stepped forward and said, “Hi, TJ.”
TJ gave him a big, pumping handshake, “Troy, how you doing, and what brings you out here in the middle of the week?”
“I, uh, we wanted to talk to you if possible. Is the owner around?”
TJ said, “Miguel’s in Sinaloa, doing what he does. So baby, I’m in charge.”
I looked over the patrons. At least twenty people were there; men and women, and all appeared to be Hispanic. Some were shorter, darker, with eyes as black as oil, while others had lighter complexions, and the eyes ran mostly brown, with a couple of women having eyes the color of jade. They watched us and talked quietly among themselves. A couple of the men closest to us didn’t look too friendly. I used the vision from the corner of my eyes to pick out things on them, like a neck tattoo on one that showed C del N. The other had a pistol in his belt, too, under his baggy shirt.
I heard TJ say, “Come into the office.” I followed the group into the small, air conditioner-equipped office. The window unit was old and had a faint mold smell, but put out frigid air. It had leaked on the wall below the unit at one time, leaving a brown stain shaped like the bottom third of Texas. TJ said, “The three men you want usually go from here to Barstow, then make a slow loop from town to town for two weeks before they wind up here again.”
I said, “You know where they might be tomorrow?”
TJ said, “You’re Baca?” I nodded. TJ said, “You might try Mojave first, and if they aren’t there, then Bakersfield.”
“Do they take the women with them?”
“Yes, they caravan in several vehicles.”
“Where’s the crib in Mojave?”
TJ gave me a half grin, “That, I do not know.”
“Is there someone who might?”
“Someone in Mojave. Your guess is a good as mine.”
I took out my phone and showed TJ images of Bodhi and Amber. “Are these women with them?”
TJ looked at the images a long moment. “I can’t be sure…”
“Anything you can remember would be a huge help. We’re worried about their safety.”
TJ said, “It was late, and I heard some yelling outside after we closed. I looked through the window and saw the three men roughing up two girls. It might have been these two. I can’t swear to it because it was dark that night, more than usual because of the clouds. But it could have been them, especially this one,” TJ touched Amber’s image, “That one fought hard, and they made her pay for it.”
I felt the blood pulsing in my temples, “What did they do with her, with them?”
“Knocked that one out, and kicked her a bit, then put them both in one of those small vans you see around. Then they drove off.”
I said, “Did you call the police?”
TJ gave me a look, “We only call if there’s a dead body. People settle things themselves here.”
“Was this recent?”
“Yesterday.”