“Target demographic”?
Sounds like Chad’s buzzwords.
And probably Skipper’s…
“Cheese is about ten percent heroin,” Byrth went on. “Get them hooked on that, then when their body craves more, move them up to the real thing. And once they’ve had a good taste of the lovely effects of withdrawal, they’re up to a hundred- or two-hundred-a-day habit.”
“Jesus! That’s insidious. Snorting smack makes it easiser to get hooked. I’ve always thought that most people stayed away from heroin because of its difficulty. Especially the needle part.”
Although that needle phobia didn’t stop my lovely Penny Detweiler from doing herself in with that shit.
“Yeah, Matt, it is insidious. El Gato and his ilk started out supplying inner-city convenience stores. Ones close to middle schools and high schools. Next thing we knew, the nonprofit and state-funded rehab clinics and the halfway houses were maxed out. They were overrun with young Hispanic kids who had nowhere else to go. Their families, often single moms, were already on some type of government program-things like Emergency Assistance to Needy Families with Children, Section Eight Housing, et cetera. And it got worse because these rehab clinics and halfway houses are geared for teenagers, college kids, adults. Not for middle-schoolers. So that became a problem-first keeping the age groups separated, and then protecting the youngest from being preyed on.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but in what way?”
“Free smack. It wasn’t unusual at all for the girls to be bribed. They either were lured away from the overfilled facilities, or they ran away. And after they turned that first trick, they found they’d do anything for their next high. And some boys were no better.”
“Jesus! Middle-schoolers? What is that, twelve, thirteen years old?”
“Yeah. And sadly, it really wasn’t considered a ‘problem’ until cheese became chic in the suburbs, until kids there started getting strung out-and dying. And suddenly it was a problem. The difference was that the families in suburbia could by and large afford to send their kids off to a decent rehab. And having your golden straight-A teenager in drug rehab simply became a soccer mom’s dirty little secret.”
“What drove the kids to do that?”
“The usual. Peer pressure. The desire to fit a clique. That cute little blonde with the ponytail? The one trying to keep the weight off to make the cheer-leader or gymnastics squad? The cheese works like cocaine to suppress the appetite-plus the added benefit of a great high.”
Payne shook his head. He drove along in silence.
Is that what happened, ultimately, with Becca?
Did Skipper do that to her? “So,” Payne finally said as he exited off the expressway, “getting back to the runner you collared at A and M.”
“The punk had tried to throw away his cell phone during the chase; actually did toss it, but we recovered it. It was a pay-as-you-go one, paid for with cash. But the call list on the phone’s internal memory had a steady string of calls to the area codes here. And I’m betting that the phone records we subpoenaed from the cellular service provider will have more of them.”
“What about the cache of texts?”
Byrth nodded. “The text messages could have been a mini gold mine. But because this punk wasn’t very far up the ladder, there wasn’t much detail. When our computer forensic people worked on the memory chip, they uncovered a few new names and numbers and data that had been ‘deleted.’ So we’re working on connecting those dots.”
Payne made the turn off Race onto Eighth, then just down the block made a left into the asphalt parking lot behind the Philadelphia Police Department headquarters.
“Ah,” Byrth said. “So this is the famous Roundhouse.”
Payne pulled into a slot marked HOMICIDE. He shut off the car and turned to Byrth. “So does that cover all of this El Gato’s MO?”
Byrth shook his head. “Oh, hell no. Wait till you hear the good stuff. Starting with the sexual assault bordering on torture.”
VII
[ONE] 826 Sears Street, Philadelphia Wednesday, September 9, 3:51 P.M.
Paco Esteban could hear the sounds of the crowd even before he unlocked and opened the front door of his home.
Inside, he was not surprised to find that the voices belonged to eight members of his extended family, all women and all of whom had been in the laundromat that morning. Most filled the parlor in the back, sitting on the couch and in the stackable plastic chairs. Almost all were fingering a rosary. There was a Bible in one’s lap.
All but one, who was sobbing into her hands, glanced at Esteban as he entered. They nodded, then went back to their noisy conversations.
Paco Esteban walked into the kitchen, where he found Se?ora Salma Esteban. He smiled warmly at his wife as she approached him. He saw that her face was still puffy from crying. It was all the more evident as she’d pulled her dark hair back and pinned it into a bun. She wore the same dingy beige sleeveless cotton dress that she’d had on earlier.
“What did you find out?” she asked in Spanish. “Did you find out who this evil man really is?”
Paco Esteban went to his wife. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed affectionately. Then he kissed her softly on the cheek.
“How is Rosario?” he said.
She nodded. “Bueno. She is sleeping upstairs. What did you learn?”
He kissed her cheek again.
“My love, I went and met with Se?or Nesbitt, the man who is the business partner of Se?or Skipper.”
“And?” she said anxiously.
“And he said it will be all right. That I am not to do anything until he says.”
“What!” Se?ora Salma Esteban almost screeched. She grabbed her husband’s sleeve and pulled him to the doorway leading to the parlor.
She then said in rapid-fire Spanish: “Look at this! Our family! And their families! Everyone is terrified for their lives!”
Paco Esteban saw some of the women look his way. And their eyes did indeed look terrified.
He moved back into the kitchen, almost tugging along his wife with him. “My love, there is only so much that I can do…”
“Paco! We cannot live this way! We cannot be so fearful that we do not know what will happen to us the next minute.”
“My love, it is not that I disagree with you. I would like answers, too. And peace. But Se?or Nesbitt said that he would call me.” He pulled out the cell phone that Skipper Olde had given him. “He said for me not to do anything until he called.”
“Where is Se?or Skipper?” Salma Esteban said. “Why can he not help?”
Paco Esteban shook his head. “He is in hospital, Se?or Nesbitt said. He is unable to speak with me for now.”
“Madre de Dios!” Salma Esteban exclaimed, looking at the ceiling.
She looked back at her husband and said, “And now we have your sister’s daughter coming here!”
The look of shock was apparent on Paco Esteban’s face.
“You have forgotten this!” Salma Esteban said.
He did not know what to say.
“Maybe: My love, it has been a bad day”?
Meekly, he nodded. “S?. I am sorry. But it will be okay.”
She began pacing the kitchen. She walked with her arms crossed, her hands nervously rubbing her upper arms.
Paco Esteban tried to stop her and wrap his arms around her. This time she would not allow him to do so. Her tears had started again.
“Paco! You must do something. You have always been able to do something when we’ve had difficulty. We cannot sit and wait like this. Please? You must go and do something… anything!”
Yes, I have always thought that I could do something.
But this is something very bad. Very evil.
What could I possibly do?
He heard wailing coming from the other room.