“That was a lucky fucking shot,” Romeo grumbled as I sunk ball number four while he continued to miss every single fucking shot.
I laughed, moving around the table, my eyes scanning for another winning play. “You suck so hard at this.”
“Fuck you.”
“Good comeback, little brother.”
“Hey, Romeo,” Wrench called as he reached the bottom of the staircase, holding a single paper in his hand. Romeo stood up straight like a metal pole had been shoved right up his ass.
Optimus got off his barstool and joined Wrench as he walked over to us, curiosity on his face. The closer Wrench got, the easier it was for me to tell that the info he’d found wasn’t useful. I looked over to see my little brother's jaw clenched, the muscles twitching in agitation telling me that he knew too.
“What you got?” I asked when I realized Romeo wasn’t going to make an attempt to ask. He probably didn’t want to know, he was probably regretting even asking the club to help him.
Wrench took a deep breath. “Not a lot, to be completely honest, but I do have something I’m looking into.” He lifted up the piece of paper in his hand, and at the same time, took a deep breath. That alone told me everything I needed to know. We weren’t going to like the answer. He held it out, and Romeo slowly reached out to take it from his hand.
I moved closer to my brother, narrowing my eyes on what appeared to be a screenshot of a website. There were only a few words—details I think, describing something.
Then I realized, it wasn’t describing something.
It was describing someone.
And the small picture in the left-hand corner was of a young girl. She had red hair, freckles across her nose and cheeks making her look really young, and she appeared like she was scared to death.
“How old is this?” Romeo asked through gritted teeth. His hand was shaking, the sheet of paper rustling.
“I ain’t gonna lie. We’re talking old. I pulled it from an FBI database. After you said the sheriff had dabbled in selling young girls, I took a chance and wondered what he would do if he were desperate to hide someone,” Wrench explained before reaching over and pointing to a date that was stamped across the bottom of the page. “The FBI is constantly taking down these pages. A lot of them are established quickly. A time and date are usually set up for it to go live, and it’s only up for an hour before it’s taken down and a new one’s created the next day. They do what they can, which usually means just taking screen snaps of each of the girls and filing them away to match with missing persons that flood in.”
Romeo started to scrunch the paper in his hand so I grabbed it, pulling it away before he could ruin it. He didn’t fight me or argue. Just let me have it.
“That date was only a couple days after I put her on a bus to Seattle,” Romeo mentioned, slamming his pool cue down on the pool table and shaking his head. “He fuckingsoldher. His own flesh and blood. His own child.”
“Where’s her mom?” Op asked, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms. “She didn’t have a say in any of this?”
Romeo grunted. “She died when Liza was around thirteen or fourteen. A year or two before I showed up.”
“Died of what?” I enquired with a raised brow, something about it not feeling right.
Romeo looked up and met my eyes. “I was told natural causes, but I know what you’re thinking and trust me I wondered the same thing.”
“He offed her,” Wrench interrupted, saying what we all were thinking. Nobody said anything. No arguments, no protests or questions. We all knew it was true. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I don’t think you’re considering how many contacts you have.”
Romeo turned and raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“What he means is,” Optimus cut in, pushing off the wall and inserting himself into the conversation. “We have Wrench, and he’s fucking good at what he does. But this is where the trail ends. Nothing on here will tell us who bought her. But you… you know people. A lot of fucking people. People who would spend money on a girl like this. People who would know people who’d spend money on a girl like this.”
I saw what Optimus was getting at.
“Assholes like John Visser… they like being reminded of their own strokes of brilliance. In some strange fucking way, a part of them wants to get caught so they can explain how they got away with things and laugh like a fucking evil villain off some badDisneymovie because they think they’re smart.” Wrench’s explanation was confusing, but also made a lot of sense.
“What are you getting at?” Romeo demanded, folding his arms across his chest.
Wrench rolled his eyes and sighed. “You know every criminal in Las Vegas fucking personally. He’s gonna use the most obvious, so when you figure it out, it’s like it’s been under your nose the entire time.”
“He’s right, you know. You’re the one with the contacts. You’re the one who knows Visser better than anyone. You just need to think harder,” Optimus insisted.
“Who’s the first person he’d go to if he wanted to hide someone?” I asked, trying to prompt my brother to use that fucking brain of his.
“Better yet, who’s the first personyouwould go to if you wanted to find someone?” Optimus added, looking at Romeo who was gripping another chair in his hands, looking like he was going to lose his shit.