A Stranger at the Door (A Rachel Marin Thriller) Page 11

  But the walls had soon gone back up. Getting Eric Marin to crack a smile was like pushing a boulder up a hill coated with Vaseline.

  Serrano yawned, lowered the window a crack, and let the cool breeze in. He didn’t have time to stop for coffee and had no idea how long this night would last. Anything to keep him awake.

  As he approached Whippoorwill, Serrano texted:

  Where is he? Don’t want to get too close

  He stopped

  Where

  Serrano slowed the car down as the three dots blinked on his cell phone. When the words appeared, his pulse quickened.

  Voss Field

  The baseball stadium where the Ashby High teams played. Where his own son had once played. John Serrano had terrible memories of Voss Field. He hoped tonight would not add another.

  Serrano parked two blocks away from Voss Field and jogged in the shadows toward the stadium. The massive LED lights towering above the field were dark, abandoned sentries keeping watch. When he reached the field, he crept toward the chain-link fence separating the infield from the stands. The moonlight cast a faint glow on the field. Serrano was able to make out around twenty people standing near the pitcher’s mound. They were all young. High school age. All boys.

  This field held ghastly memories for John Serrano. It was here, almost ten years ago to the day, where he watched a baseball game on a gorgeous spring afternoon, unaware that it would mark the end of his life as he knew it. Within hours, his son would be in a coma from which he would never wake, and two years later the wedding ring he’d promised to wear until the day he died would be tossed in a box and shoved into a twenty-dollar-a-month storage unit alongside other assorted bric-a-brac. The faint white dent circling his ring finger was more painful than any wound he’d ever received on duty.

  Serrano felt dizzy. He was looking at a group of boys standing around a baseball field, and in every one of their young faces, he saw a resemblance to his dead son. He knelt down in the gravel and took slow, steadying breaths.

  Compartmentalize, he thought. They’re not Evan. They’re not Evan.

  He blinked away the image of his son and focused on what was in front of him.

  There were nineteen of them, all seemingly between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. High schoolers. Kids. He recognized several of them from the assembly at Ashby High. What the hell were they doing here in the middle of the night?

  Then Serrano saw him. Eric Marin, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast as he shifted his weight from side to side. Fidgeting. Nervous.

  “So is someone coming or something?” one of the boys asked. “My mom is at her boyfriend’s, but she doesn’t usually stay the whole night. If I’m not home by five, she’s gonna whip my ass.”

  “Be patient,” one of the other young men said. He was short and thin, and his voice did not waver. “He’ll be here.”

  Serrano turned the brightness on his cell phone all the way down, opened the Notes app, and began entering his observations.

  19 boys. No girls. Mostly caucasian. All appear to be between the ages of 14–18, but not 100% certain. Eric here. Waiting for someone?

  A text came in from Rachel.

  What’s he doing at Voss Field?

  Don’t know yet. Will keep you posted.

  Make sure he’s safe. Let me know what’s going on.

  I will when I know.

  Thank you John.

  One of the boys stepped into the middle of the group. He was big and red cheeked, around six one, two-hundred-plus pounds, with both muscle and fat competing for space beneath his sweatshirt. He appeared agitated. He pointed at the short, thin boy who’d told them to be patient.

  “Yo, Ronnie, I think this is all a bunch of bullshit. Tell us why we’re out here in the middle of the night, or we walk.”

  Ronnie did not appear fazed. “Take it easy, Darren. He’ll explain everything.”

  “How about you explain it now, Ronnie?”

  The big kid, Darren, approached Ronnie. He towered over him by a good six inches and outbulked him by a whole third grader. If the situation turned violent, Serrano would have to step in. It would ruin Rachel’s desire to keep Eric in the dark, but he couldn’t allow blood to be shed. Darren looked like he could squash Ronnie’s head like an edamame pod. Serrano had a canister of pepper spray in his pocket and hoped he would not have to use it.

  “I’m waiting,” Darren said. Ronnie began to shake.

  “I told you, he’ll be he—”

  Darren grabbed Ronnie’s wrist and twisted it. The thin kid cried out in pain. Serrano grabbed the pepper spray from his key chain and stood up.

  Just then, a voice called out.

  “That’s enough.”

  Darren and Ronnie turned. A man of about forty approached the group, having seemingly materialized from nowhere. Another young man walked alongside him. Serrano recognized him immediately. He was bigger than Darren and walked with a controlled swagger. His eyes alone looked like they could win most fights. Benjamin Ruddock. The other boys did not appear to recognize the older man. Ruddock walked around the circle, shaking hands, clapping kids on the back like he was running for mayor. The older man just stood there watching, like an owner proud of his prize racehorse.

  Ruddock’s companion had silvery hair despite his relatively young age. He was clean shaven, a severe part in his hair, about five foot eleven, maybe 190 pounds. His face was emotionless as he watched the group. Then he stepped into the middle of the circle, and the kids went silent.

  Serrano took out his cell phone. He snapped numerous pictures of the silver-haired man, Benjamin Ruddock, and each of the kids in the group. Ruddock continued around the circle, shaking each boy’s hand, clapping them on the back. “Glad you’re here. You won’t regret it.”

  Ruddock stopped in front of Eric Marin. Eric looked nervously at Ruddock, as though unsure of what to expect. Ruddock raised his right hand and closed it into a fist. Eric instinctively took a step back. Ruddock laughed and held his fist out. Slowly, Eric raised his. Ruddock gave him a fist bump and clapped Eric hard on the back. Serrano saw Eric smile, like he’d been let in on a joke. A chill ran down Serrano’s spine.

  Serrano texted Rachel:

  Benjamin Ruddock here

  What’s going on?

  Don’t know yet.

  John talk to me.

  I will. Patience.

  The stranger approached Darren and Ronnie, the larger boy’s hand wrapped around the smaller one’s wrist like it was a drinking straw.

  “Let go of him,” the man said to Darren. Darren eyed the man. The man leaned in toward Darren and whispered something that Serrano couldn’t hear. Darren’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Then he let go of Ronnie’s wrist but pushed the smaller boy to the ground. The silver-haired man sighed and shook his head.

  “Was that necessary?”

  “You need to tell us what the hell is going on here,” Darren said, “and you need to do it now. We came ’cause your boy Ruddock told us to. Now you need to tell us all why we’re out here in the middle of the damn night.”

  “That’s a fair request,” the man said. “But one thing I do not tolerate is bullying. Bullying is the sign of a weak mind, and violence is a tool of the simpleminded. In business and in life, you do not get a second chance to make a first impression.”

  “What does that even mean?” Darren said. The man sighed again, looked at Ruddock, and shook his head sadly. Ruddock nodded and shrugged as if to say, We gave him a chance.

  The man walked slowly and deliberately around the circle. He stopped in front of Eric, looking him up and down as though sizing the boy up. The man nodded and said something to Eric that sounded like, “I’m glad you came.”

  Then the man walked into the middle of the circle and spoke to the entire assembled group.

  “You’re each here because you have been identified as extraordinary young men with tremendous potential. But so far, your potential has remained untapped. Either due to cir
cumstances beyond your control, parental or societal interference, or plain old bad luck. Gentleman, you have been held back.”

  He let the words sink in. Serrano noticed several of the boys nodding in agreement.

  “You have been held back by your parents. Your friends. Your teachers. A culture that has written off young men. Society wants to leave you behind. How do you feel about that?”

  The boys murmured.

  The man continued. “How many of you have been told you’re not good enough? Not smart enough? How many of you have been pushed to the outside, forced to watch as other kids get ahead while you get nothing? You’ve all been told what to do your whole lives, by selfish people who want to control you because they themselves are afraid of your potential.”

  Serrano felt a chill as he saw Eric nodding along as well.

  “Young, strong, intelligent men like you are being left in the dust. I can give you the tools to ensure you are never left behind again.”

  The boys were silent. Serrano had a sick feeling in his gut.

  Darren broke the silence. “Listen, you whack job. I want to know why you dragged us out of bed in the middle of the night to stand around like assholes to listen to you preach like some second-rate used-car salesman. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  The man’s expression didn’t change. He approached Darren. The boy had a significant size advantage over the older man and stood his ground.

  “Darren Reznick,” the man said. “Benjamin told me you had an attitude. He told me you were too volatile, too unreliable, and that we shouldn’t have invited you to join us. I disagreed. I told him that your kind of energy, if focused, could make you a valuable asset.”

  “‘Valuable asset.’ What does that mean? I’m gonna twist you into a pretzel if you don’t speak English,” Darren said. “Why. Are. We. Here?”

  “Clearly you have proven Mr. Ruddock right,” the man said. “Maybe you should not have been invited. All right, everyone. Since Mr. Reznick is so impatient, let me tell you exactly why I’m here and why you’re here. My name is Bennett Brice, and I am a simple businessman. That’s all I am. Nothing fancy. But I make more money in a month than your parents have made in their lifetimes.”

  Again, he let his words sink in.

  “But I also consider myself a philanthropist,” Brice said. “I like to give back to my community. But not by giving my money to organizations that would squander it. I give opportunities. But I don’t like to work with trust fund babies. I don’t give opportunities to people who have had good fortune handed to them. I expect you to work for me. Work with me. And if you join me and live up to your potential, you can earn a future brighter than you could ever imagine, bigger than your parents could ever provide you, and far more than your so-called friends would ever expect from you.”

  Brice continued.

  “Imagine asking the girl of your dreams to the prom with a glittering diamond necklace that you paid for with your own money. Or maybe the bank is about to foreclose on your parents’ home. Imagine paying off their mortgage yourself—or even moving out and buying your own place. Want to go to college? Imagine showing up for your first day of orientation in a brand-new Alfa Romeo 4C Spider, paid for in full. Or maybe you want to run a business. Like me. Imagine having the seed money to start your own firm, to hire people from your own brotherhood. Your fratres.”

  “What do you mean by opportunities?” one of the boys asked.

  Serrano recognized the voice. It came from Eric Marin. Brice turned to Eric and smiled.

  “Eric Marin. I’ve had my eye on you. I’m very, very glad you’re here.”

  Serrano saw Eric puff up his chest slightly, flattered.

  “Mr. Ruddock,” Brice said, “would you show my friend Eric here what might come of the opportunities I’m referring to?”

  Ruddock nodded and walked over to Eric. He lifted his right arm and held it out for Eric to inspect. Even from a distance, Serrano could see the sparkle of metal on Ruddock’s wrist. He zoomed in with his phone and took a picture. It was blurry, but there was no doubt Ruddock was wearing a watch that probably cost more than Serrano’s monthly take-home. Ruddock walked around the circle, showing off the gaudy accessory. The boys gawked.

  “Is it real?” one said.

  “Real as my daddy’s drinking problem,” Ruddock responded. The boys laughed. They were laughing together. The whole spectacle gave Serrano an uneasy feeling.

  “But it’s not all just about the so-called bling,” Brice said. “When I met Mr. Ruddock, he was directionless. Untalented boys get ahead due to advantages they have at birth. Money. Connections. Mr. Ruddock had no such advantages. I helped him gain that edge. And now Mr. Ruddock is the man every girl wants and every boy envies.”

  There was a murmur among the boys. They were being swayed by the man’s shiny promises and Ruddock’s shinier watch. Serrano could smell a con a mile away, but these were impressionable kids. Still, nothing illegal had taken place. All he could do was watch.

  “If you’d like to cease being spectators in your own lives, you will start tomorrow as trainees. Just like how medical students will accompany doctors on their rounds to learn the profession. That is what you will be doing after your classes end tomorrow.”

  “I’m always home by four,” one said.

  “You are young men,” Brice said. “You are not babies. If an afternoon curfew is the obstacle that proves insurmountable, then you will have a slim chance at success in any sort of business or in life.”

  The boy nodded. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Good,” Brice said. “You will each be paired off with one of my employees, to learn. Mr. Ruddock will assign you one of my trusted men. Members of your fratres. Now, if you decline this opportunity, no hard feelings. I’m sure you’ll be very happy changing wiper fluid for the next sixty years. But if you want to become men, all you have to do is choose your destiny.”

  “How about you just tell us how we go about getting one of your boy’s Rolexes,” Darren Reznick demanded. “Enough of this cloak-and-dagger crap.”

  “Mr. Reznick,” Brice said, his voice growing irritated. “Part of the reason I’m good at what I do is because I know that information is more valuable than money. All will be relayed to you at the appropriate time, and not a moment sooner.”

  “I’ve decided this is the appropriate time,” Reznick said. “Otherwise I tell everyone in school about this little circle jerk, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Brice nodded at Benjamin Ruddock.

  Moving so fast Serrano could barely believe it, Ruddock lunged at Darren Reznick’s legs, taking him down to the ground. Reznick was strong and struggled, but Ruddock knew how to fight. Within seconds, Ruddock had Reznick’s face in the dirt, his arm pinned behind his back. With every breath Reznick took, dirt blew out from his face in a brownish spray.

  “Get the hell off me!” Reznick shouted. Serrano could see the rest of the boys watching the scuffle, their eyes wide, unsure whether to step in. Eric took a step forward but stopped. Ruddock had a wide smile on his face, knowing that no matter how much Reznick struggled, he had the boy at his mercy. Serrano could feel his heart pounding. This was getting out of hand.

  “When someone offers you a life-changing opportunity,” Ruddock said, twisting Reznick’s arm until the boy cried out in pain, “you say yes.”

  Brice simply stood there, his face blank. He did not seem to be taking any enjoyment from the scuffle, but he made no move to stop it.

  “Stop, please!” Reznick yelped.

  “I will,” Ruddock said. “But I invited you here, and this is how you repay me? You need to show a little gratitude, son.”

  Ruddock twisted Reznick’s arm farther back, and the boy screamed. Serrano stood up and walked toward the infield.

  “Ashby PD!” he shouted. “Benjamin Ruddock, get off that boy right now.”

  The badge in Serrano’s outstretched left hand reflected the moonlight, shining silver in the dark
.

  Half the boys skittered into the night as soon as they saw Serrano. The other half, including Eric Marin, stood rooted in place.

  Benjamin Ruddock turned his head to face Serrano but kept the pressure on Darren Reznick’s arm. Dirt caked the boy’s face and hair.

  “I said get off him, Ruddock,” Serrano said. “Detective John Serrano. APD.”

  “You gonna shoot me, cop?” Ruddock said as the detective approached.

  “You have until the count of three,” Serrano said, standing over Ruddock. “One . . .”

  “Twothree,” Ruddock said, quickly, with a smile.

  “I wasn’t bluffing,” Serrano said. Before Ruddock knew what was happening, Serrano shot a stream of pepper spray into the boy’s face. Ruddock rolled off Reznick, coughing and clawing at his face. Reznick leaped up, holding his tender arm.

  “I had that under control,” Reznick said.

  “Sure you did,” Serrano said. He looked down at Ruddock, panting in the dirt.

  “Don’t rub your eyes. You’ll just make it worse,” Serrano said.

  “You’re way out of line, Officer,” Brice said, his voice even.

  “It’s Detective,” Serrano said.

  “There’s no crime here, Detective. All these men are here of their own volition.”

  “I don’t see men. I see kids. You’re the only one I’d call a man. And there’s a name for the kind of man who hangs around young boys in the middle of the night.”

  “Call me all the names you want, Detective, if it makes you feel good. But there is still no crime. And given that you’re a detective, you’re not here responding to a 911 call. Which means . . . what—you just happened to be in the area?”

  Serrano ignored the question.

  “Assault is a crime,” Serrano said.

  “There was no assault,” the man replied. “These were just boys having a tussle. There are no broken bones. No torn ligaments. Nothing happened that an ice pack can’t cure. For that, you shot pepper spray point blank into the face of a high schooler. I’m sure your lieutenant will love to hear about this.”