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Chapter 10 (Ricardo)
“That's her car,” Momma says and my stomach sinks.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Momma insists. “I know for a fact she attends class here every weeknight.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and mutter a curse. Not only is it after hours, I've already wasted the better part of the last hour searching every single crevice of the campus for her.
“Is there anywhere else she would be?” I glance at the car again. “Any one she hangs out with that would give her a ride somewhere?”
Momma rubs her forehead and looks down at the ground, appearing uncomfortable, and that only makes me even angrier. “Momma!” I shout, on my last thread.
“She—um,” Momma starts. “She keeps to herself mostly, no friends or nothing like that—but uh—she has a job.”
Guess that would explain why she didn't use any of the money in my account after all.
I look at my men and gesture to the large SUVs. “Let's go.”
I can hear Momma struggling to keep up behind me. “She only works there on the weekends though.”
I shift the car into drive and peel out of the campus parking lot. “Address?”
“You know, sugar...maybe it's best that I call the establishment first and see if she's there.” She swallows hard and pulls out her cell phone. “No point in wasting any more time.”
I slam my hand on the steering wheel, I've had about enough. “You have about 5 seconds to tell me where her job is or I'm going to assume you know a hell of a lot more about her current whereabouts than you're letting on.”
I glare at her, no longer attempting to keep my emotions or frustration at bay. “I love you, Momma. I love you a whole lot...but so help me fucking god...if you don't start talking—”
“Show 'n Tail,” Momma whispers while doing the sign of the cross. “She works at the Show 'n Tail.”
I plug the name into the gps and my blood turns to lava when the rest of the name comes up. “A gentlemen's club!” I roar, slamming my foot down on the gas.
Any and all relief I once felt about Lou-Lou staying with Momma dissolves. “How could you let her work as a stripper?”
Momma whips her head around and jabs my arm with her finger. “First of all, she's only a waitress there. She doesn't strip, she promised me she never would. And secondly, don't you dare take that tone with me or use the lord's name in vain against me, Ricardo. For crying out loud she's 2—” She pauses and her brows draw together. “How old is she?”
“She's 24. Her birthday's July—motherfucker.”
“What?” Momma screams as I pull into the parking lot of the Show 'n Tail.
“It's her birthday...that prick chose today of all days on purpose.”
My chest tightens and my head pounds with adrenaline.
There's no doubt in my mind that he's striking tonight...if he hasn't already that is.
Momma follows behind me as I march into the club, my eyes sca
I never thought I'd find myself in the position of hoping and praying to find her here of all places.
Some man—one that I can only assume to be the owner by the way he's gri
I push his hand away. “Where's Lou-Lou?”
When he looks confused, I huff and look at Momma. “What's her alias?”
Momma shrugs and her lower lip trembles. “She refused to tell me...she didn't want you to know.”
“Of-fucking-course.”
“Well, sir,” the owner interrupts. “We might not have any Lou-Lou's round' here...but we have plenty of Trixie's, Daisy's, and Candy's for your personal enjoyment.”
I sigh and reach inside my suit jacket.
Then I take out my gun and put it up to his head “The next bullet has your name on it...so I suggest you listen up and listen good...got it?”
He nods, not appearing all that phased by a gun being pointed at him. But then again, it is the South.
“Look, man, I don't want any trouble.”
“Good, because I don't want to cause any...I'm just looking for a waitress who works here on the weekends. She's a tiny brunette with big brown eyes and an even bigger mouth...ring a bell?”
“Sexy spitfire?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That's what we call her 'round here. She has a strange name that most of us can't even pronounce, so we all just refer to her as sexy spitfire.” He whistles and slaps my shoulder. “I reckon you're the jealous boyfriend. Ooey, you did a good job. What a real beauty that one—”
I dig the gun into his temple. “Yeah, I know...now where is she?”
He scrunches his face. “Well hell if I know. She called in sick for her shift tonight.” He twirls his beard around and thinks for a moment. “Can't even be mad at her...dang girl worked until 7am every night this week alone.”
Momma mutters something under her breath and gasps. “She doesn't have a cell phone, Ricardo.”
Shit.
“Did she sound nervous? Did it sound like she was being forced to make the call?”
He blinks and shrugs. “Not really.” He thinks for another moment and my trigger finger starts itching. “On second thought...she did say something about it being her birthday and someone taking her out for a last minute celebration.”
“Who?”
“A friend...she didn't say a name.”
He shuffles his feet and avoids my eyes...and that's when I know he's lying.
I tilt my gun up to the ceiling and pull the trigger.
“Ouch, dagnabbit!” he shouts at the top of his lungs and the rest of the club goes quiet. “Look, man, I'm not trying to involve myself in your relationship problems.”
“Relationship problems?”
He rubs his beard again. “Let's just say the friend she's out celebrating with has a name...Atticus.”
He waves his hands around wildly. “But that's all I know. She called in sick and said her friend Atticus was taking her out for a last minute birthday celebration. Well that and...” his voice drifts off.
“What?”
“She definitely didn't sound like she was being forced to make the call. Quite the opposite actually, she sounded real happy.”
I pull my gun away, stuffing down the ache in my heart with those words.
“Did you know she was seeing someone?” I ask Momma as we walk out of the club and head for the car.
“She's not,” she says. “She would have told me.”
“Right,” I scoff. “Just like she told you her alias.”
And why she refused to have a cell phone...or why she works at that shithole, using her looks to make a living instead of using my money like she was supposed to.
Because she didn't want me to find her.
Because she hates me.
Because I didn't put her first like I should have.
Because I'm the reason our baby's dead.
I slam my the steering wheel so hard I feel my knuckles crack under the leather.
“We're go
When I don't respond, she adds, “I know it sounds silly but I think we should go back to my house. Whenever I watch those television shows and there's a missing person...they always suggest someone wait at the house in case they end up coming back home.”
She dabs at the tears in her eyes. “Now she might not have let me in on certain things...but she knows...she knows my house is her home.”