Murder Is Invisible

1. A Long Walk Home

A Long Walk Home

It wasn’t late—according to Allison—but it had been dark for hours. She thought about calling her father to pick her up, but decided to walk home—it was only four blocks, and her father would probably be pissed off as it was because she was already past her scheduled curfew. If she asked him to come get her, he’d definitely be pissed.

Her father was a nice man, and he loved her, but he sure needed to learn about kids—at least how kids were nowadays. He was still parenting as if it were the ’80s or even earlier, when all you had to do was tell a child “no”, explanation not necessary.

She pulled out her cell and called Jen, her lifelong friend. “What’s up, girl?”

“Nothin’. Just chillin’ wit’ some tunes.”

“Girl, you don’t even know which tunes to chill with, let alone have them on your phone. I need to set you up with some real sounds.”

“s**t. I got all the sounds I need. Where are you? Home?”

“Nah. On my way, though. I was over at Nate’s. Just now headin’ up the long walk home. I’m gonna have to probably sign out here, ’cause sure as s**t, my pops is gonna be steamin’, and you know how he gets when he’s steamin’. No iPhone. No iPad. No nothin’. Besides, my battery is almost gone. It won’t last long.”

Franklin Street

Jen laughed. “As far as your dad, I know that. He’s been that way all his life. Ain’t no changin’ him now. You’ll be lucky if he lets you go to the bathroom.”

The sound of Allison’s laughter rolled down Fourth Street. “I doubt he’d go that far, but you never know. Anyway, see ya tomorrow.”

“Later.”

As Allison turned the corner, heading north on Franklin Street, headlights shone on her from behind. She thought about how tired she was as she turned to see the car; it had been a long day and track practice had been grueling.

The car looked to be a new Escalade, dark blue. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the glare from the lights of the car, but then the window lowered as the car slowed. A deep voice rang out from the driver’s side.

“You need a ride?”

He sounded nice enough, at least not creepy, still Allison wasn’t accepting a ride from anybody at night. She knew that much, even if her father hadn’t drilled it in her head. “I’m all right,” Allison said, and kept walking. An uneasy feeling ran through her bones and coursed her veins. It made goosebumps on her arms.

“Smart girl,” he said. “That’s what I tell my sister. Don’t accept a ride from anyone. It’s a dumb s**t who does.”

Him saying that about his sister made Allison feel better. She slowed and turned to look at the car. Then she slowed her pace even more, and the car matched her. “How old is she?” Allison asked.

“Who? My sister? Fifteen going on dumbteen.” The guy laughed, then said, “Probably about your age. But obviously not as sharp. Got robbed about two months ago. Happened three or four blocks from here, over by St. Anthony’s, just north of Tilton Park. Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt, but now, I won’t let her walk home. No sense in taking chances. She calls me to come get her no matter what time it is.”

Allison thought about what he said, and stopped. “I live on Franklin, just north of Monroe Street. I’ll take that ride if you’re still offering, and if it’s not too much trouble.”

“I should teach you a lesson and say ‘no’,” the guy said. “…but I won’t.” He brought the car to a halt, then opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he said. “and don’t mind the mess.” He brushed the seat off as he said it. “Damn dog hair everywhere.”

Allison laughed. “I know what you mean. We’ve got a boxer who sheds like crazy. Her hair gets on everything.” They both laughed again, then Allison got in the front seat. She extended her hand. “I’m Allison Parker,” she said.

“Josh,” he said, shaking her hand. With his free hand, he zapped her with a Taser. She convulsed a bit, then fell back against the seat. She smelled something like ether as he placed a moist cloth over her mouth. A few moments later, she went unconscious without uttering a word.

Josh, or whatever his name was, smiled. One more in the bag.

Josh drove north on Franklin Street, until he hit Pennsylvania Avenue, then turned left. He took a right on Bancroft Parkway and soon disappeared.

He met up with his contact near Naamans Road.

“Busy night,” the guy standing next to the truck said.

“Long night. I need some rest.”

“Is she the last of ’em?”

“This is it. Unless my counting has gotten bad, she makes seven. That’s what we agreed on.”

The guy reached into his cab and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to the man called Josh.

Josh slid his finger along the seal and opened it. Inside was ten thousand dollars.

“Everything good?” the guy asked.

“Looks good,” Josh said. “See you later.”

“I hope not,” the man said, and climbed into the cab.

Allison woke to the sound of rubber racing down the highway. She was in a crate of some sort. The crate had slits, and it was inside a large box or container.

She felt the roughness of the ride and thought that perhaps the crate was inside the back of a truck, a large eighteen-wheeler.

A small light was shining from the corner, perhaps a battery-controlled one.

As she looked around, she noticed there were others in the same situation—three other girls, each in separate crates. One of them was white and one looked to be Asian. The other was black, like her. Further checking showed three more girls, though they were still unconscious or asleep. What the hell was going on?

“How long have you been here?” she asked the girl closest to her.

“Three days,” she said. “They grabbed me down by Market Street when I was goin’ home.” The girl pointed to the corner of the cage, where a bright orange bucket sat, the kind you get at Home Depot or Lowes. “They don’t even let us use the bathroom,” she said. “Empty that bucket every couple of days, and that’s about it. Treat us like we’re animals.”

“The Printz,” another chimed in. “They got me on the Printz.” She was crying. “I was almost home.”

“Franklin,” Allison said. “I was almost home, too. Then some dude in an Escalade snatched me. Shot me with a goddamn Taser then drugged me with something.”

“Same story here,” the white girl said. “I was over on Baynard Boulevard when he got me. Big blue Escalade. Said his sister was robbed a few months ago. Put me at ease.”

“Same here,” the girl from the Printz said.

“Me too,” came the comment from Market Street. “I’d do anything to get the hell out of here. What do you think they’re doing? Where are they taking us and why?”

“We’ve gotta figure out what to do,” one of the girls said. “If he snatched us off the street like that, and he got all of us, you know what he’s got planned, and it ain’t good. Nothin’ I want any part of.”

“What are you talking about?” the girl from Baynard Boulevard asked. “What has he got planned?”

“He’s gonna goddamn sell us,” Market Street said. “Sell us for s*x. Ain’t you never seen no movies, girl?”

“Forget what they have planned,” Allison said, “Monroe is my cousin. He ain’t gonna sit around and let this happen.”

“It doesn’t much matter who your cousin is—even if he’s Barack Obama. If he doesn’t know where we are, he can’t do anything,” the white girl said.

“We must be on an interstate,” one of them said. “We haven’t stopped in a while.”

“Yeah, but which interstate? How long has it been? If we were on I-95 going south, we’d have hit the Maryland toll booths. Same with 295 going over the bridge. So we’re either on 95 north, or he branched off onto I-76. My bet is 76.”

“Does it really make a s**t of a difference where we’re heading?” the girl from Market Street asked. “There’s nothing we can do about it. That is, unless one of you has a phone that works.”

Allison quickly felt her pockets for her phone.“They took my phone,” Allison said. “From what I can tell, they took everything electronic, even my headset.”

“Mine too,” the girl from the Printz said. “And it was a brand new pair of Beats.”

“Then I think we can agree that we’re officially screwed. Without phones, we can’t do shit.” That statement came from the Baynard Boulevard girl.

They agreed, and after about another thirty minutes of talking, the truck came to a stop and the back door opened. A middle-aged man with a full head of matted brown hair entered. It looked as if he’d been sweating.

He grinned ear to ear. “How would you girls like to be in the movies?” he asked, then he emptied the buckets and put them back where they’d been.

How would you like to be in the movies? The statement brought shivers to Allison as she imagined the repercussions. “Monroe’s gonna kick your ass,” she said. “In case you didn’t know, he’s my cousin.”

The guy grinned again. “Now I know,” he said, and reached to pull down on the straps hanging from the door. “And just so that you know, I don’t know Monroe, and I don’t care.”

“You can’t do this s**t,” the Asian girl said. Panic filled her voice.

“We can do whatever we want,” the man said. “We own you now.”

As the door slammed shut, the girl from Market Street said, “This s**t ain’t right.”

“Right or not, it’s happening, and we’ve got to figure out what to do about it,” Allison said.

“Already figured that out,” the Printz said. “Unless one of you is hiding a gun, we’re screwed.”

“This can’t be happening,” Allison said.

“Wake up, girl. It is happening, and it’s happening despite you being Monroe’s cousin.”