It was in the ceiling, but she could reach it by climbing onto the washer.
Krista Morales, who was smart and resourceful, began to work out a plan.
15
Five seconds after they took her, Jack pushed to the door and tried the knob, but it was locked. He twisted as hard as he could, pushed, jerked back and forth, but it was no good. These weren’t ordinary interior doorknobs and locks. The knobs had been changed so the doors could be locked from the outside, and the locks were deadbolts. Jack punched the door in frustration and edged through the crowd, trying to burn off his fear, but had no place to move. He finally made his way to a spot against the plywood, and leaned with his back to the wall, studying the other prisoners.
The little room felt like a steam bath. A laser of cold air blew from an AC vent in the ceiling, but was immediately swallowed by the heat of so many bodies crowded into the tiny space. Their smell was making him sick, and he wondered how many days they had been traveling.
Thirteen people were wedged into the room. Jack and Krista made fifteen. Nine were Asians who appeared to be in their twenties or thirties, though three were much older. There were two singleton Latins and the Guatemalan couple. All of them looked hungry, tired, and poor. Their shabby, sweat-stained clothes were either too thin or too coarse, and their eyes were frightened. A few hugged meager cloth bags, but these had been looted when they were taken.
The Asians had clumped in the opposite corner, most skinny young women and men who sat on their heels with vacant expressions, but one sat to the side by himself. He was young, too, but didn’t look like the others. He was muscular and fit, with nice clothes and glistening hair that was short on the sides and straight up on top. His eyes were hard and angry, and his face rippled as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He must have felt Jack’s stare because he suddenly looked dead into Jack’s eyes, and Jack glanced away.
Jack said, “Does anyone here speak English? Any English speakers?”
The Guatemalan man answered.
“I say a leetle some.”
A slim Asian girl raised a delicate hand.
“I understand some. My speaking not so well.”
“Where are you from?”
“Korea. Are we close to Olympic Boulevard? We go to Olympic Boulevard.”
Her accent was so bad Jack did not understand her at first, then realized she was saying “Olympic Boulevard.” So many Koreans had settled between Olympic and Wilshire in the midtown area, the neighborhood was now known as Koreatown. Jack and Krista had been twice, once for galbi and once to a karaoke bar. Neither of them had sung, but it had been fun to watch.
They were interrupted when the door opened, and two guards entered. The first guard was a short, muscular African-American. He cast his eyes around the room, then pointed at the tough-looking Korean kid.
“You. Yeah, you, c’mon, get up.”
He spoke perfect English, but Jack couldn’t tell if the Korean kid understood English or not. The guard motioned him to get up, so he slowly stood. The guard motioned him closer, so he went closer. He didn’t shuffle forward with downcast eyes like the others. He held himself erect and met the guard’s eyes. The guard took his arm, and they left.
Two minutes later, the door opened again, and Jack felt a rush of relief when he saw Krista. Her eyes told him to play it cool, so he showed no emotion as she came toward him.
The guard who had taken her stepped in, looked at Jack, and motioned him over.
“Jack Berman?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
As Jack passed through the crowd, Krista blocked his path for one second with her back to the guard, just long enough to whisper.
“Remember what I told you.”
Then she moved aside and sat with the Guatemalans as Jack followed the guard, trying hard to remember what Krista had told him.
The man led him to the big room off the entry of the house near the kitchen. Once upon a time this had been a living room, but now it was a box with the doors and windows covered by heavy sheets of plywood. Jack caught a strong smell of pizza that left him feeling hungry.
The man pointed at a spot on the floor near the entry, and told Jack to sit. The tough Korean kid was with two guards in the far corner, and another guard was speaking with a Latin woman in the opposite corner. The Korean glanced at Jack, then glared at his guard.
“My name is Samuel Rojas. You can call me Sam.”
Jack nodded, but said nothing. Rojas had a spiral notebook and a pen.
“There was a silver Mustang. Was this your car?”
“Yeah. Where is it?”
“You’re a U.S. citizen?”
“Yeah. What did you do with my car?”
“How do you know Krista?”
“I don’t. I know her mom. She and my mom are friends. What the fuck is going on here? Who are you?”
“What’s your mother’s name and phone number? We’d like to call her.”
“Good luck. She’s in China.”
Rojas looked doubtful.
“She lives in China?”
“A tour. She went with our church group. Why are you asking this stuff?”
“Your father?”
“He died last year. Why are we in this boarded-up house?”
While they spoke, a tall man with a ponytail and a shorter man with bad teeth emerged from the hall and stopped in the entry. They spoke softly in Spanish, but the tall man didn’t look Latin.
“You have brothers or sisters?”
“I’m it.”
“When will your mother be back?”
“A couple of weeks. Two.”
Rojas studied Jack, and Jack wondered what he was thinking. Then Rojas glanced in his notebook, turned a page, and looked up.
“The Mustang is a nice vehicle. How did you pay for it?”
“My mom bought it for me. Why does this matter? Why are we talking about this?”
“You had no driver’s license. Don’t you have a driver’s license?”
“I left it in the car.”
Rojas shook his head.
“There was nothing in the car.”
“Dude, I left it in the car with my wallet. My wallet, my credit card, my money. What happened to that stuff?”
Rojas told Jack to stay where he was, and joined the tall man and the man with bad teeth. Jack did not understand what they were saying, but the tall man frowned at Jack, and seemed to do most of the talking. Rojas did most of the nodding, as if he was receiving instructions.
Jack was watching them when the tough Korean shouted, his words exploding like rapid-fire gunshots. The Korean was on his feet when Jack turned. Two guards hit him with their shoulders down, driving him into the corner. A third guard joined in, jabbing a shock prod into the Korean’s ribs that crackled so loud when the current discharged, Jack heard it across the room. A second shock prod appeared, and the third guard swung a club. The Korean went down, but the club kept falling and the shock prods popped and snapped as the Korean pulled himself into a ball. The kicks and punches and electric snapping went on forever, until Jack lurched to his feet.
“Stop it! He’s down!”
Jack took a step, but something hit him hard from behind, and staggered him forward. An arm wrapped his throat and lifted him off his feet.
“You want some?”
He crashed belly down on the floor. The man with the bad teeth was on top of him, raspy voice in Jack’s ear.
“You want it like him? I got some, you want it.”
In that moment, Jack saw the Korean. They were both belly down on the carpet. The Korean was looking at him. The three men on his back were tying his hands behind his back.
The man with bad teeth punched Jack in the side, the back, and the back of his head, and Jack clenched his eyes. He was jerked to his feet, spun around, and the man slapped him. Jack tried to cover his face, but the man slapped him again, then pushed down his hands.
“You want me to tie your hands? I tie your hands, you’ll shit in your pants. You want that?”