All Things Pretty, Part Two (Pretty #3.5)(2)
Author: M. Leighton

Before I can even stop, Tommi’s out of the truck, her long legs stretching to eat up the sidewalk.  I slam it into park and cut the engine, running after her. I’d like to have gone in first, but I don’t think Tonin would endanger her.  Or else he wouldn’t have let her leave. He’s obviously trying to make a point.

When I get inside, Tommi’s flitting from room to room, calling Travis’s name as she opens every door, even the closets, and looks under all the beds.  She’s white as a ghost when she returns to the living room.

“He’s not here.  He’s really not here.”  I guess she was holding on to the hope that Tonin was using a scare tactic, or that maybe they hadn’t really nabbed him.  But somebody did.  Drake.  Whoever that is.

“Do you know where Trip lives?” I ask.

“Within a house or two, yeah.  I know the street for sure.”

“Then let’s go.”

We drive three blocks and she tells me to slow down, her eyes combing each house we pass for signs of something familiar.  “There!” she says, pointing to a shitty Pontiac sitting in the driveway of the tiniest brick house I’ve ever seen.  “Travis said something once about Trip’s beat-up blue Pontiac.  Surely there’s not more than one on this street.”

I pull up along the curb.  “Stay here,” I instruct.

“Hell no!” she spits, jumping out before I can reason with her.  I want to shake her and kiss her at the same time. I love seeing her in anger.  She’s absolutely magnificent.

I follow her to the door where she bangs three times.  She waits about thirty seconds and pummels it with three more strikes.  When there’s still no answer in another thirty seconds, she raises her hand to do it again.  This time, I catch her, cupping her fist in my palm.

“That might not be the best way to go about this. Come on.” I lace my fingers through hers and tug her with me around back.  Jutting out into the patchy turf of the back yard is a cracked cement patio with four plastic chairs on it and a bong sitting on what appears to be a rusted grill lid.  I step up onto the deck and peek through the sliding glass door, which is covered only by a half-hung curtain.  There’s a kid sitting in a recliner, smoking a joint and watching an old Beavis and Butthead rerun.

When Tommi would lunge forward, I hold her behind me, putting my finger to my lips so she’ll know I want her to be quiet.  I reach out and give the slider handle a sharp yank. It opens easily.

Reflexes slowed by hash, the kid I’m assuming is Trip just stares me with his mouth hanging open for a good ten seconds before he even makes a move to run.  By that time, I’m close enough to reach out, grab him by the scruff of his shirt and haul his ass back into the chair where I can trap him with my arms on either side of his greasy head.

“Where’s Travis?” I ask without preamble.

“Who’s–”

“Don’t play games with me, you little piss ant,” I snap, slapping his cheek hard enough to turn his head.

“I’m not–”

I smack again, cutting off his words before he can toss out another lie.  “You Trip?”

He says nothing.

“That’s what I thought. Now you listen to me, Trip.  I work for Lance Tonin.  Behind me is his girlfriend.  If he were to find out somewhere along the way that you withheld information that would’ve led us to her brother, well, I’d hate to see what a guy like that could do to your balls.  But that would be after,” I say, grabbing a red lighter from the table beside him, “after I get through with you.”  I flick the lighter, waving my hand quickly over the open fire before holding the thin flame down at his crotch.

The kid slaps at it, shrinking away, a terrified look on his stoner face.  “What the fu–”

“Seems like you might be finally understanding how important this is.  Now, I’m only gonna ask you one more time, kid.  Where. Is. Travis?”

He squeals when I twitch my thumb and reignite the flame.  “Chaps! Chaps!  Chaps came to get him!”

Chaps?  Why does that name sound–

Shit! The teacher!

“Chaps is his teacher, correct?”

Trip nods.

“What’s his first name?”

“D-Drake, I think. I just call him Chaps.  My brother always did.”

Thoughts, theories, worries cascade down into my mind like a waterfall.  “Did your brother have Mr. Chaps for any of his classes in school?”

Trip nods again.

“And did you?”

Nod.

I glance at Tommi. If possible, her face is even paler than before.  I’m guessing that her other, older brother had him for a class as well.  And we know that Travis does.

Special needs, I think with a sneer.  That’s what Tommi called him–Travis’s “special needs” teacher.  I wonder if “special needs” is specific to those with mental health conditions or if it encompasses any kid with a behavioral problem.  Do troublemakers and little criminals qualify for the attention of a “special needs” teacher?  Because that might be how these drugs are getting moved.  And how minors are getting involved.

My stomach sinks.

I had Chaps put under surveillance.  If he caught wind of a tail, got suspicious in any way and somehow thought Travis ratted him out…I could be responsible for whatever happens to Tommi’s younger brother.

Holy God!  Tommi would never forgive me.  And I’d never forgive myself.

I need to get information to the station.  And to get information from them.  It would help if Tommi would trust me and I could be honest with her and put her in police custody.  Protective custody, until all this gets sorted out.

If only…she trusted me.

I turn back to Trip.  “Where does Chaps do business?  Is he the one who distributes for Tonin?  Through his kids at school?”

Trip says nothing, just watches me. I’m sure he realizes that he could be getting himself in deeper shit by giving away such details on the inner workings of Tonin’s enterprise.

“Tell me!” I growl through gritted teeth.  Still, he says nothing.  “Don’t make me hurt you kid. I don’t want to, but don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy it a little if I did.”

A lie.  Hopefully a convincing one.