So did the Protector.
Time to intervene.
He stepped away from the whore and followed Henderson into the stairwell. He crept up behind him on the second-floor landing, grasped the back of his head, and slammed him face-first into the wall. The Protector had been waiting to hear that rewarding crunch of cartilage and teeth since the moment he’d seen that empty cage in his room.
“What the fuck?” Henderson spun around, blood dripping from his mouth and nose into the hand he had cupped under his chin. “What are you doing here?”
“You betrayed me.”
“That’s funny coming from you.” Henderson spat blood on the floor. He repeated the action, and a tooth landed in the thick pool of red. He wiped the blood from his face with the bottom of his shirt. “You were supposed to force that club to shut down, not kidnap its members. I trusted you with this because you’re a decorated firefighter. I knew they’d let you into the club, no questions asked.”
The Protector moved in closer. “Those boys needed me. They were being used, violated. They’re safe now that I’m looking after them. Well, five of them are. You stole the sixth one from me. Now I can’t get to him. He’s locked in that hospital with the police guarding him.”
Henderson smeared more red onto his shirttail and glared at the Protector. “You were supposed to be subtle. Had you not taken those men, Walter Simon would never have gotten involved. I had to take one of
your boys
to set up Simon just to get him out of the picture.”
“He was a good boy. Did what he was told. He should not have been hurt like that, with no regard for what he needed or how he needed it.” The Protector shoved Henderson when he tried to take a sideways step. “They are only punished when they disobey or when I decide it’s what they need. It was not your place.”
“I don’t have time for this. And neither do you.” Henderson spit again, adding more red to the growing splatter on the stairwell landing. “You get back to the Haven and figure out how to finish what you were hired for. The men my father have waiting to take over that building aren’t the sort of men who wait for long.”
“No, I won’t be doing anything for you anymore. I’m done with you.”
“Really? I think you’ll do whatever I tell you to. The things I know about you are enough to put you away for the rest of your life, or worse.”
“You won’t get that far. You won’t be the first cop I’ve dealt with, will you?”
“Is that supposed to scare me? You may have saved my life once, but I’m the one who’s protected you ever since. I’m the one who hid that cop’s body where no one would find it. I’ve been covering for you almost all my life.”
“I don’t need you to. I never did.” The Protector moved in even closer. “I’m finished with you.”
The cool cop facade faded as panic hit Henderson’s eyes. He recoiled. “My father’s got all the evidence against you. Anything happens to me, and he’ll turn you in.”
“That’s what the cop ten years ago said. That he had evidence hidden and if something happened to him, it would all be exposed. I didn’t care then, and I don’t care now. He killed my boys, then tried to blackmail me. He didn’t make it out of my home that day.” The Protector held his arms straight out from his sides. “And look…nothing happened to me.” He let a smile form despite his words. “I’ll be long gone before they find your body.”
He surged forward. The back of Henderson’s head smacked into the plastered wall. That sounded like redemption. Freedom. The Protector gripped the man’s neck in his hands.
That felt right. Like justice.
He wanted to take his time and beat Henderson the way his boy had been attacked, but he had to get to Kevin. He had to get all his boys out of the city.
One minute Henderson was red-faced and clutching at the Protector’s forearms. The next he lay on the ground, his body still, his lifeless eyes open.
For having killed only one other person in his life, the Protector was surprisingly good at it. Although maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d always been able to do what needed to be done.
Only nothing about the moment gave him satisfaction. He wasn’t a killer. He protected. Loved. Cherished.
He hefted Henderson’s body off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, then climbed the steps toward the room where Kevin Price waited for him.
* * * *
Walter sat on the edge of the bed. “How long?”
Kevin typed and hit Enter. “I have to rerun the search. It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”
“Good.” Walter reclined on his elbows. The ceiling had a lengthy brown stain that stretched the width of the room. Same color as the dried blood on the towel in his apartment. He closed his eyes, cutting off the disturbing vision above him. Kevin’s rhythmic tapping on the keyboard soothed him, canceled out the impatience surging through Walter.
Funny how even the small things Kevin said or did garnered such unexplainable reactions.
There was a soft press to the side of Walter’s neck, then another. “Wake up.” The familiar scent of Kevin hung in the air all around him.
He opened his eyes. Kevin was straddling him on the bed, nuzzling his neck.
Best alarm clock. Ever.
Walter glided his hands up Kevin’s thighs. “I fell asleep?”
“Just for a few minutes.” Kevin squirmed and then settled more of his weight on Walter.
“As much as I love when you’re all snuggly and trying to get me hard like this—”
Kevin sat up and smacked him on the arm. “I’m not trying to get you hard. We don’t have time for sex.” Excitement radiated off him. “I know where we can find Prescott.”
“Where?”
“Well, I’m not sure
exactly
where, but I know how to figure it out. You’ve got to see what I found.”
“You’ll need to get off me.”
“Oh, yeah.” Kevin slid off his lap, still sporting that eager grin. He sat at the desk, his laptop turned so Walter could see the screen from where he’d moved to the edge of the bed.
Kevin explained, the words tumbling out in a rush. “My paper had several stories about Henderson’s family business—H&H Holdings. Nothing related to the club, but the reason they showed up in the paper so much is that Henderson’s great-grandfather was a prominent Prohibition-era businessman who owned a bootlegging operation in the 1920s.”
“Right. There was a rumor about that when Henderson joined the force. But his great-grandfather was never officially charged with anything.”
Kevin nodded. “Which is surprising because he ran the entire thing from factories his family owned downtown.”
“Like the building the Haven’s in now?”
“Well, I couldn’t find the addresses. But that got me thinking. I did some checking into past ownership of the Haven. H&H Holdings never owned the place. Another local businessman did. He had a company that manufactured boots. Mostly rubber boots.”
“The Haven used to be a rubber factory?”
“Yeah. Perfect, right? But there’s more.” Kevin gestured emphatically with an open hand. “During Prohibition, the former owner of the Haven did business with H&H Holdings. I figured that was too big of a coincidence, so I kept looking into the man and his business. There was only one name listed as his descendant. A son who was a teenager during the early years of Prohibition.”
“He can’t still be alive.”
“No. He owned the Haven’s building until he died, though, but he and his wife didn’t have any kids to leave it to. I was about to see what happened to the Haven after that, but I stopped looking when I found this.” He pulled up a page with a video paused on an old man seated before the camera. “It’s an interview he gave years ago when a college kid made a documentary about Prohibition for school. The interview never aired anywhere, but the guy who shot it posted the video online a few years ago. Guess he’d come across the old footage and thought it might be interesting to someone.”
Apparently it was to Kevin. He continued talking even faster. “In the video the old guy talks about his dad’s factory. He doesn’t confirm it’s the Haven, but he does say this.” Kevin clicked Play.
The old man sat behind an empty table and took a long sip from the glass he held, his hand trembling as he lifted the drink. The interviewer was seated just off camera so only the back of his shoulder was visible in the corner of the shot.
The old man returned the glass to the table, his hand still shaking. “
I was a young man when I first saw the tunnels. I used to hang out at my dad’s factory a lot while he worked. Used to help him in the back rooms we called the warehouse. He told me never to go into the basement. That it was dangerous. I thought he meant unsafe as in I could get hurt. Well, I guess he did. When I overheard my dad talking to a man about shipments stored in the basement, I finally decided to go see this danger for myself.
“
I waited until my father wasn’t looking, slipped into the elevator, and rode it down to the basement. There was a guard standing by a hole three feet wide and maybe four feet tall, holding a gun across his chest like this
.” The old guy sat taller in his chair and held his hands up as if he had a long gun before him. “
I waited until he looked away, and I snuck in through the opening. It was a narrow tunnel leading down a sharp incline that opened up to a wider tunnel below. From there I found several passageways that led in all directions. I only followed one, walked for about five minutes, then turned back when the bare lightbulbs overhead ended and the tunnel turned black as night. There were all these turnoffs, and I must have taken one by accident because a half hour later, I was lost. It was a maze down there. My father must’ve assumed I’d gone snooping. There were armed men everywhere looking for me
.”
The old man inched forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. He glared at the interviewer as he leaned in closer and said, “
I was in those tunnels for five hours before they found me
.” He dropped his gaze to the empty glass on the table before him. Finally he shook his head and said, “
Never been so scared in all my life. After I got out, my dad explained about the tunnels. He said they ran all over under the city, from one end to the other. The bootleggers were using them to transport and store booze right under the cops’ noses. There was one location where all the tunnels converged. One main point of access. Under my dad’s factory. He said the men who’d paid him to allow them to dig under his building were dangerous. He made me promise I’d keep quiet
.”
The off-screen interviewer asked, “
What became of the tunnels
?”
“
After the end of Prohibition, the chief of police brought some men to my father’s factory. They boarded up all the tunnels and filled in front of the boards with dirt and brick. See, they didn’t want anyone knowing about those secret tunnels. Years later, a couple were located at other buildings around the city, but they appeared to be short tunnels that led to nowhere or out to a street exit as a means of escaping the building above. When my father passed away in the late forties, I inherited the old factory. I couldn’t remember where the hole to the tunnels was located, so I searched the basement. Never found that entrance again. It was like someone had erased the opening.
“
Until you came to see me today, I’ve kept my mouth shut about all this. Knowing that kind of thing is dangerous business
.” He gave the interviewer a long look, then stared directly at the camera. “
If you find those tunnels, don’t go inside. They won’t let you back out. You’ll be trapped there until someone comes to help you find your way
.” With the old man’s gaze locked on the camera, the recording faded to black.
Trapped? Walter kept staring at the blank window on the computer screen. That’s exactly how he’d felt the last five years. Had someone come to help him find his way? He glanced at Kevin.
An eager stare was directed back at him. “You were right,” Kevin said. “I’m guessing Henderson somehow found out about the tunnels. Maybe there was an old family rumor from their dealings with the owner of the Haven, and Henderson put it all together that the entrance was in the club. Then he talked his dad into acquiring the building.”
Walter nodded. Whoever opened the tunnels would be able to move a lot of illegal shit around the city. Drugs, guns, you name it. So long as it remained a secret from the cops, criminals would be lining up to access the club.
Kevin must’ve been following the same train of thought. He said, “Only, Vargas wouldn’t sell. So Henderson hired his old friend Prescott to harass Vargas and to orchestrate the thefts and drugs.” He paused. “But taking the men…”
“That wasn’t part of the plan. That was Prescott’s private deal.”
“And the tunnels are how he’s getting them out without being seen. We have to go find the entrance. Those tunnels could lead us to him. To Dylan and the others.” Kevin jumped up and shoved the lid on his laptop closed. He headed for the door.
Walter blocked his path. “I looked all over that basement. There’s no entrance to any tunnels. Vargas doesn’t even know about them after owning the building for years.”
“We’ll just have to tear the basement apart. You heard that guy on the video. They bricked up the opening. Prescott must’ve figured out a way to open it up and still keep it hidden.”
“And you heard the guy talk about getting lost too. We get into the tunnels, then what? How do we know we’ll go the right way?”
Kevin threw his arms up in the air. “We have to try.”
“I know. Let’s think for a minute.” Walter started moving, his usual need to pace as he thought kicking in. Then he froze. “The elevator.”
“What?”
“The old guy mentioned taking the elevator to the basement.” He shook his head. “The Haven’s elevator doesn’t access the basement. Vargas had the place completely redone. I’m guessing that elevator shaft still goes to the basement, just not the actual elevator anymore.”
“That has to be it.” Kevin sounded both frustrated and excited. “Prescott took them out the top of the elevator car and down the shaft to get them into the tunnels.”
“Let’s go.” Walter went to his bag. The gun case was poking out the top. He lifted the case and faced Kevin. “But we’re doing this my way.”