The Lost Lamb

Victoria clutched at her handbag. She didn't like this part of town. She didn't want to be here, but she was compelled. The clack-clack of her heels on the concrete pavement was far too loud. Stupid choice of footwear, the pin-point heels made it a real challenge to walk on the cracked sidewalk. The drunks, the layabouts, the thugs...they were surely watching this scared rabbit entering their territory. She imagined them staring at her legs, along the curves, up to her skirt that now felt far too short.

Rounding a corner, she at last saw the housing project she had been looking for. Victoria actually felt rather disappointed. The paint on the walls was cracked. Grass and various shrubs sprouted up in a chaotic mess. There was even the rusted skeleton of a car. But the place was missing the sense of abject squalor she had been bracing herself for. Swallowing hard, Victoria resolutely approached a gaggle of four young men who were sharing a stub of a cigarette. Despite the summer heat, they all sported jeans and jackets.

"Excuse me." Her voice quavered a bit at first, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for someone."

The apparent leader of the group, a tall and toned man, not older than 25, sucked on the cigarette before answering with a billow smoke, "Yeah, and it looks like I just found someone."

Victoria quickly gave a weak smile before glancing down. She pulled out a photograph from her handbag, "I'm looking for my son, Timothy." One of the men took the photo and looked at the picture quizzically as Victoria continued, "One of his less...reputable friends told me that he had coming here this morning." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "He missed school and I am rather worried."

The photo was passed around. The leader hadn't taken his eyes off of Victoria yet: Blonde, a little light on the makeup, late thirties. "What the fuck is a white boy doing around here?" By the way he spat out the words, it didn't really sound much like a question. He finally took the picture and glanced at it.

"He...ah...he likes to think of himself as a rapper. You know, Tupac and..."

"Yeah. I know Tupac." His friends snickered, "The thing is: the fuck should I tell you anything? You're nothing to me. He's nothing to me. Shit, for all I know you're some kind of a narc."

"Excuse me sir, but Timothy really is a good boy he's just-"

"You hear that shit?" The more rotund friend said, "She just called you 'sir', Dee."

"Sir? Ha! Now that's something I could get used to." Dee sneered. Something flickered across his face for a moment. "Maybe I know something about little Timmy. And maybe you a narc."

"I'm not sure what you mean. Look, what do I need to do to show you I'm not a 'narc'?"

Dee rubbed his chin. His jacket parted a little as he did so, revealing the grip of a pistol. Victoria felt her pulse jump. "You got a name?" Dee barked.

"V-Victoria."

"Vicky huh?"

"No, Vic-"

"You know the old warehouse on seventh and Main? About two blocks from here."

"Ah, yes, I've driven past it a few times."

"I'm sure you have," The rotund friend piped up, "In your shiny SUV."

Dee growled at his friend, "I'm talking here, Stunt." He gave Victoria another appraising leer, "You wanna know what I know about little Timmy? Be at the warehouse. Today, 3pm. We gonna search you for a wire, so might wanna wear a lot less. And Jesus woman, put some fucking makeup on. If I'm gonna be looking at you I wanna be wanting to look at you. Get me?"

"Ah, yes, I think-"

"And you fuck us around? Well, you don't wanna know what we do with people like that." He jammed a thumb in his jacket pocket, fingers lightly touching the pistol grip. "Maybe Timmy won't ever find his way home. "

Later that afternoon, Victoria's heels clacked down the alley way to the side entrance to the warehouse. She had reapplied the makeup as Dee had told her to do. Her eye shadow was a thick jet black, and a thicker foundation hid more of her fine lines. What she was doing was stupid and dangerous, but she didn't really have a choice.

She pushed the rickety wooden door open. She had been expecting a dusty warehouse expanse. Instead it was a small carpeted office. The furnishing looks like they had limped on since the '70s. Dee had taken off his jacket. A white vest hugged his tight ebony muscle. Stunt, the rotund friend, was just finishing call on his cell. Victoria meekly entered the room, head a little bowed. The door slammed shut. She gave a small jump and saw the hulk of a man standing behind her. His teeth flashed in a bright grimace against his face.

"Don't worry about big-T. He's real friendly with the ladies, ain't ya, big-T?" Big-T gave a grunt, and kept glowering down at Victoria. "Come stand here and let me take a look at ya." Victoria stood before Dee, his arms folded and leaning against a table. "So you trying to find your boy. Little Timmy. Maybe I got what we need. The question is Vicky, do you got we want?"

"I have some money..." Victoria said.

"Shit bitch, we got paper." Stunt snickered, "The question is, what have you got what we want?" Dee pulled his pistol out and slammed down on the table. Victoria jumped a little at the noise.

"On your knees." Dee growled. Victoria hesitated. Dee's glare intensified. He didn't say anything more, but she felt the pressure of his presence bear down on her. Her knees bent on their own. In a fleeting moment of clarity, she realized it was strange for the physically smallest of the group to be their leader. It wasn't the bulk, or the muscle, it was the presence that permeated this man. Maybe it was the same thing that drew her to speak with him earlier. She was on her knees.

"Big-T, Stunt, search the bitch." He wagged a finger at her like she was an errant poodle, "We gonna see if you got the five-oh listening in." The other two men grabbed at her clothes, roughly pulling off at her. They felt like bears. She squealed as she fell over as Big-T yanked off her wrap skirt. Victoria managed to gather herself up to her knees. She was left kneeling in her back underwear; her bra was so thin it was practically see-through. Dee smiled a shark's smile, and they closed in on her.

By dusk Victoria had finally found her way home. They hadn't told her anything useful, she didn't really think they would. She shut the door behind her, and collapsed against it, breathing out hard, still smelling them on her breath. Her legs were jelly. Tomorrow it would hurt to walk. For now she just sighed and hung her head.

"Hi ma!" Timothy's voice called from his bedroom, "Did you get my medicine? I'm still feeling really sick." A small smile crept over Victoria's face. She knew she had forgotten to get something while she was out.