Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2) Read online

  “Promise me you won’t do anything crazy.”

  Dre didn’t respond and Angela waited.

  “Exactly how do you define crazy?”

  Angela sighed.

  “If these sick-ass cats do have Bree, my response won’t be crazy,” Dre said. “It will be a perfectly sane reaction. Not your kind of sanity, but the sanity of the streets.”

  Chapter 17

  Day Two: 3:25 a.m.

  After his call with Angela, Dre left Compton and drove back to L.A. He pulled into the drive-thru of a 24-hour Starbucks off Figueroa near USC and ordered a venti caramel macchiato with three extra shots.

  “You have a very nice voice,” the female barista purred at him from the speaker system.

  Dre shook his head. He definitely wasn’t in the mood to be hit on.

  When he pulled around to the window, the clerk leaned out over the counter. “What’s your name, handsome?”

  Dre stared into the eyes of a cherub-faced teenager with a pierced tongue. Her heart-shaped lips were pale pink and she had on enough black eyeliner to patch a pothole. She looked almost as young as Brianna.

  “How old are you?” Dre barked at her.

  The girl jumped back, startled by his harshness. But it took her only a few seconds to regroup. “I’m seventeen,” she said, puffing out her chest. “And how old are you, Mr. Cutie Pie?”

  “Too old for you to be flirting with me.” He flung a ten-dollar bill across the counter and through the window. “Give me my dang coffee!”

  “Dang! Somebody sho’ got up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

  When the girl handed him his drink, Dre snatched it from her, spilling it all over the side of the car door. He sped off without waiting for his change.

  The clerk made him think of Brianna. He couldn’t bear to think of his niece being held hostage in some grungy motel being raped by some sicko. He briefly closed his eyes, wishing he could erase the horrible images from his head.

  As he drove, Dre debated whether it made sense to go this alone. Especially since he wasn’t strapped. If he was going to confront The Shepherd, he would need backup. He’d also need some backup with balls. Too bad his brother Anthony was such a wuss. He could always count on his buddy Mossy. But for this job, he needed somebody who wouldn’t be afraid to go down for the count if it came to that.

  He made an illegal U-turn and headed toward Manchester. After turning onto Vermont, and then 85th Street, he parked on a street crowded with rundown apartment buildings and matchbox-sized homes. At least a dozen dudes were loitering outside the building where his cousin lived. Dre nodded a silent greeting as he moved past them.

  He knocked hard on the apartment door. “Apache, it’s me, Dre.”

  A bronze-toned man with straight black hair pulled back into a long ponytail opened the door.

  “Hey, cuz. You know what time it is?” he said yawning. “I hope you got a good reason for disturbing my beauty sleep.”

  “Family business.” Dre stepped inside the dingy apartment. “Serious family business.”

  “What up? Somebody died?”

  That thought made Dre shiver inside. He refused to even consider that a possibility. “Naw.”

  Except for the 60-inch flat screen, Apache’s apartment looked like a jam-packed thrift store. Furniture, clothes and boxes were everywhere. Dre had to push aside three large garbage bags on the couch to find a place to sit. He ignored his surroundings and told Apache the whole story.

  “They can’t mess with blood. We gotta get little shorty back. How you wanna handle this, cuz?”

  “I need you to have my back.”

  “I’m down. Down all the way.”

  “You know anybody connected with Stoneside?” Dre asked.

  “I got peeps everywhere and anywhere. You know that. A dude I know from Stoneside lives over on Budlong.”

  “Can we roll over there now?”

  “Hell, yeah. Let me get my piece.”

  Dre inhaled. He was a convicted felon and wasn’t supposed to even be in the vicinity of a weapon. If they got pulled over, it would mean certain jail time. To hell with that. He’d take whatever risks he had to take to get Brianna back.

  Apache disappeared into the room and returned seconds later, Glock in hand. He slipped it into the small of his back and followed Dre out of the apartment.

  “Man, why you still driving this piece of crap?” Apache asked as they approached Dre’s Jetta.

  Dre chuckled to himself. His cousin was driving a Benz, but living in a six-hundred-square-foot rattrap. “Cars are a luxury item I don’t need.”

  As Dre opened the driver’s side door, Apache stood back, as if even touching Dre’s car offended him.

  “I can’t let nobody see me in this punk-ass ride. Let me go get my Benz.”

  “C’mon, man. We got business to take care of. Besides, the way you drive, we’ll definitely get pulled over.”

  Apache grudgingly climbed in. “If we really wanna get the word to The Shepherd fast, we gotta go hard.”

  Dre didn’t respond. He knew that. That was the only reason Apache was sitting in the seat next to him.

  Twenty minutes later, Apache instructed him to park in front of a neatly kept house with a narrow driveway. Apache was already out of the car while Dre was still behind the wheel, surveying their surroundings. Even as a kid, his cousin had been fearless. That trait had only been bolstered after Apache survived being shot seven times in three separate incidents.

  “Hold up,” Dre called out. Apache had just stepped onto the porch. “I don’t wanna start no trouble unless we have to.”

  “I know that,” Apache said. “You carryin’?”

  “Naw. That’s why I got you.”

  Actually, even if it hadn’t been a violation of his probation, Dre didn’t trust himself with a gun. Not while he was on the edge of crazy.

  Apache banged on a rusty iron door. “Hey, Deke, it’s me, man. Apache. Open up.”

  They heard the fumbling of the doorknob, then the creaking of the door.

  A gap-toothed man in pajama bottoms and no shirt appeared in the doorway. “Yo, man, do you know what time it is?” He opened the door just a crack.

  Apache pushed his way inside and closed the door behind them. “You alone?” he asked.

  “Yeah, man.” Deke pointed at Dre. “Who’s that?”

  “My cuz. We need to find The Shepherd. You know where he lives?”

  Deke raised both palms in the air. “Hey, man, don’t nobody know where Shep lives. He keeps it like that.”

  “I hear y’all running women now,” Apache said.

  Deke’s eyes darted from left to right. “Man, I don’t know nothing about that.”

  Apache snatched the Glock from the small of his back and pressed it to Deke’s head. “I need to know where I can find The Shepherd.”

  Deke froze, his hands at chest level. “C’mon, man. I thought we was cool.”

  “We are cool. But this is about my blood. My little cousin got snatched by The Shepherd. Since he rolls with Stoneside, I figured you might know something about it.”

  “Naw, man, I don’t know a thing.”

  “You need to tell me something or I might have to pull this trigger.”

  “Okay, okay. But you gotta get that gun away from my head first. I can’t think straight like this.”

  “Try.” Apache pressed the gun deeper into Deke’s temple.

  Dre refused to breathe. He knew his cousin was more than capable of blowing the dude’s brains out.

  “Okay, okay.” Deke started to stutter. “All I know is The Shepherd’s been snatchin’ girls and turnin’ ’em out. A few days ago a crack head named Leon was bragging about getting paid fifty dollars for grabbing a girl in Inglewood.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “He usually gets high at a crack house near Hoover and Florence.”

  “Okay, we’re going over there now.”

  Apache began to push Deke
toward the front door.

  “I can’t go! Shep’ll kill me if he finds out I helped y’all.”

  Apache cocked the gun and wrapped his free hand around Deke’s neck.

  To Dre’s nervous ears, the cocking of the gun was almost as loud as a gunshot.

  “Either The Shepherd can kill you later or I can kill you now,” Apache said with a sinister smile. “So how you want it to go down?”

  Chapter 18

  Day Two: 3:30 a.m.

  As hard as she tried, Brianna couldn’t catch her breath. She was sitting on the mattress, her back against the wall, her palms pressed against her chest. She hadn’t had an asthma attack in over a year, but she was certain she was having one now.

  Kaylee crawled over to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I…can’t…breathe…Get help!”

  At first, Kaylee just sat there, frightened and immobile. Then she hopped up and started screaming and banging on the door.

  “Help, help! She can’t breathe! She can’t breathe! She’s gonna die!”

  Brianna’s chest hurt so bad. She’d never had an asthma attack like this before.

  The door opened and a woman wearing a nightgown stepped inside. She had a mean face and was probably her mother’s age. A colorful scarf was tied around her head and knotted in front. She wore no makeup, but had long glittery eyelashes that looked like butterfly wings.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  Kaylee pointed at Brianna. “She can’t breathe!”

  The woman walked over to Brianna and stared down into her face. Brianna’s hands were gripping her neck and her chest involuntarily heaved up and down in short, jerky bursts.

  “Oh my God!” The woman scurried out of the room. She returned seconds later with an inhaler and shoved it into Brianna’s mouth.

  Brianna sucked hard on the device and in a matter of seconds, was able to breathe normally again.

  “Clint don’ messed up again,” the woman spat. “We don’t have time for no sick ho’s. You lucky I had that inhaler. One of my babies got asthma too.”

  Brianna reached up and grabbed the woman by her forearm. “They kidnapped us! Please, please, help us get outta here!”

  The woman crouched down, stroked Brianna’s face and pulled her close. “Listen, baby, my name is Freda and I’m gonna help you. But you gotta calm down first.”

  Kaylee lay curled in the fetal position sucking her thumb while Brianna cried and hiccupped into Freda’s leg.

  Freda took Brianna by the chin and smoothed her hair.

  “You’re not going to like it here at first,” she said. “But I promise it’s going to grow on you. If you behave and do what you’re told, you’re going to get a lot of nice things. How would you like some new clothes? I’ll have one of the girls do your hair and nails. How about that?”

  “No!” Brianna pushed Freda hard and she tumbled backward onto her butt. “Take me home. Now!”

  “You’re not going anywhere!” Freda shouted, struggling to get to her feet.

  Brianna dashed for the open door, but Freda managed to grab her foot, causing her to fall to the floor, chin first.

  “Ow!” Brianna yelled.

  Freda dragged her back across the room and flung her onto the mattress.

  “You need to understand something!” Freda snatched Brianna by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. “You’re not going nowhere. We’re your family now. So get used to it.”

  “No!” Brianna balled up her fists and pounded Freda’s thighs, causing her to fall to her knees. Brianna then reached out and clawed Freda’s face. “I’m getting out of here!”

  “You little bitch! Clint, Clint!” Freda yelled, one hand trying to ward off Brianna, the other pressed against her injured jaw. “Get in here!”

  Freda reared back to slap her again, but Brianna scratched Freda’s face a second time and gripped a handful of her weave.

  The man who had claimed to be Jaden’s brother charged into the room. He untangled Brianna’s hand from Freda’s hair and hurled her across the room.

  “I can’t believe you let this little girl kick your butt,” Clint said, laughing. “Wait until I tell Shep.”

  “You ain’t tellin’ Shep nothin’.” Freda rubbed her cheek. “If that bitch messed up my face, I’m coming back in here and kickin’ her ass.”

  Brianna lay on the floor sobbing. “I wanna go home!”

  Freda leered down at her. “I already told you, this is your home. So get used to it.”

  Chapter 19

  Day Two: 3:45 a.m.

  Loretha left the track in Compton and rushed over to juvenile hall. She filled out an endless number of forms, then spent the next few hours sitting on a hard wooden bench in a wide hallway with walls bright enough to startle a blind man.

  She scolded herself for rushing down there. There was always a long wait. She should’ve spent a few more minutes with Peaches before abruptly running off. But the call of another young girl in need of her help always caused an excitement she could not quell.

  Loretha pulled out her smartphone and sent yet another text asking how much longer it would be before they brought the girl out. A reply text advised that it would be about ten minutes. As it turned out, it was closer to thirty.

  The sound of high heels click-clacking against the tiled floor made Loretha jump to attention. She glanced down the hallway and spotted her friend and social worker Sonya Moreno. Sonya’s right arm was draped around the shoulders of a pouty young Latina. The girl’s arms were defiantly folded across her chest.

  Loretha briefly hung her head, prayed for strength and got to her feet. This girl was even younger than Peaches. When Loretha was part of this world, it was rare to see a girl as young as sixteen or seventeen. Now, girls that age were considered old. There were more babies walking the track than anything else.

  “This is Carmen Lopez,” Sonya said when they reached Loretha. The weariness in Sonya’s voice matched the anguish in her eyes.

  “I told you to call me C-Lo,” the girl spat.

  Carmen had large, dark eyes, curly black hair and a sullen attitude that said she’d rather be someplace else. Her spindly arms and legs gave her the appearance of a stick figure.

  Sonya ignored the girl’s rudeness. “And Carmen, this is Loretha. She has a place much nicer than the group home you went to last time. You’re going to stay there until your hearing.”

  “I told you I don’t wanna go to no group home!” Carmen shouted in a voice that sounded like Dora the Explorer. “Just keep me locked up. Big Daddy’ll come get me.”

  Loretha placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Harmony House isn’t anything like the group homes you’ve been to. I promise you’ll like it. You’ll make lots of friends there.”

  Carmen shrugged Loretha’s hand off her shoulder. “I don’t need no friends. I have six wives-in-law and that’s all the friends I need. I don’t see why y’all don’t leave us alone. We ain’t hurtin’ nobody,” she whined. “If you take me away, Big Daddy won’t know where to find me.”

  The tears glistening in her eyes belied her bravado.

  Loretha had once been as mouthy and rebellious as this child. She too had been glad to have a Big Daddy and other girls she called wives-in-laws, her first real family. Loretha could picture Carmen’s wives-in-laws. A bunch of beaten-down little girls who were content to live in a crowded, rundown house, all vying for the respect and approval of a man whose only concern was the number of tricks they could turn in a twenty-four-hour period.

  “Aren’t you tired of being abused by strange men?” Loretha asked.

  “I don’t have sex with nobody but Big Daddy,” she said, her face full of pride. “He don’t make me turn tricks no more because I’m his favorite. I only do blow jobs and I make good money.”

  Loretha pressed a hand against the wall to steady herself. Her work drained her emotionally far more than it did physically.

  “Do you get to keep any of the money?” she
asked Carmen gently.

  Carmen rolled her eyes and puffed out her chest. “That don’t matter. Big Daddy gives me everything I need. He took me shopping to get this outfit last week.”

  Her outfit was a red Spandex skirt and a short top that exposed her not-so-flat stomach. Both were no bigger than a hand towel.

  Loretha pointed to a dark spot to the right of her navel. “Is that a bruise? Did somebody hurt you?”

  Glancing down at her waist, Carmen blocked it from view with one of her frail arms. “No. A trick did that. Big Daddy is nice to me. He’s only slapped me a couple of times because I talked back to him. So I deserved it.”

  Loretha and Sonya exhaled at the same time.

  “Have a seat while we talk,” Sonya said, directing Carmen to the bench where Loretha had been sitting.

  Carmen slumped down on the bench, her legs spread wide enough to reveal that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Sonya motioned Loretha several feet away, out of Carmen’s hearing range.

  “Vice officers caught her in a car giving a blow job to a guy behind a liquor store on Market Street,” Sonya explained. “When the undercover cop moved in to arrest her, her pimp tried to take her away. They arrested him and the john too. She wouldn’t ID the pimp and claimed she’d never seen the john before. Those two bailed out hours ago.”

  “How old is she?” Loretha asked.

  Sonya folded her arms. “Fourteen. But she claims she’s eighteen. This is her third arrest. Been in and out of six different foster homes over the last few years. Her mother kicked her out of the house after finding her in bed with her boyfriend. She was ten.”

  Loretha’s cheeks expanded with air and she slowly let it out.

  “She met her pimp walking home from school,” Sonya continued. “He was obviously out scouting for girls he could groom. He took his time luring her in. The first time, he bought her some food and paid to get her nails done. Over the next three or four months, he started giving her money and taking her out on dates.” She used her fingers to make imaginary quotation marks. “The movies, amusement parks, nice restaurants. Bought her a cell phone and clothes. Whatever she asked for, which wasn’t much. Next thing you know, she’s bragging to her middle school friends—on the rare occasion that she went to school—about her rich, older boyfriend.