Page 13 of StoryTeller's Tale

CHAPTERFOUR

STORYTELLER

Legend settles down, working on something or another while I stare at the monitor that shows the rest stop in New Mexico. I’ve gone back in time from the image of me looking, I must admit, fairly furtive, as I pick up the book, checking to see whether anyone’s around.

In reality, I did so in case I could spot someone who’s bag it may have fallen out of, but without that context, a different connotation could certainly be put on my actions. Viewing it again, I look guilty as fuck. I snort, momentarily catching Legend’s attention, but at the shake of my head, he gets back to his own work again.

I start working back through the footage. I thought it would only be minutes because who’d leave a book lying there for long? But it seems most people aren’t readers, and they pass it without giving it as much as a glance. A couple seem to actually notice it, though don’t slow their pace, let alone stop. I suppose most are too focused on what they’re doing to allow themselves to be distracted by a book.

In my case, it was only the word Nomad in the title that had made me stop. If that hadn’t caught my eye, maybe I wouldn’t have picked it up. It could have lain there until an industrious cleaner swept it into a garbage sack, and Sheri would have been lost forever.

I realise I’ve been staring without really watching, and the next frame shows the book isn’t there. Guiltily, I look at Legend, but he’s too engrossed and hasn’t noticed my lapse. I let the footage advance frame by frame, sitting forward, eager to get sight of the woman. On the screen, a crowd walks past, and when they’ve moved on, the book has suddenly appeared.

Damn it.I go back over the same footage again. There’s a group who don’t seem to be related, and my view is blocked of the actual event. Worse, they are all men except for one elderly woman who’s limping along with a cane. None of them could be Sheri.

“Ledge?” When I get his attention, I voice my problem. “I need to follow some fuckers, see where they go.”

He stands, comes around, and flips something on my screen. “Anyone in particular?”

I shake my head. “It could be any one of this lot. Except the old bitch. I doubt that it’s her.”

He’s quicker than me, obviously used to assessing visual information. A couple peel off to go to the heads, and two more into the restaurant. One, though, he’s more interesting, as once we have a clear view of him, he’s loosely carrying a rucksack. When I see it’s unbuckled with flaps hanging open, my interest is caught.A book could easily have slipped out of that.

We both watch as he glances around, as though making sure he’s not being watched, before approaching a garbage container and pushing the rucksack inside. Then, he straightens, and confidently walks off.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Follow him,” I demand.

Legend freezes the screen, but the face of the fucker is unclear. So, he does what I suggest and switches from camera to camera as we follow his progress out into the parking lot, Legend taking the occasional screenshot.

The sun’s light makes the film a little hazy, but I suck in air sharply as I see our target walking out toward a group of bikes. As he approaches, a man steps forward and hands a cut to him.

“Fuck this shit!” Legend suddenly roars. “He’s a fuckin’ Dominator.”

“Can you see the chapter?”

Legend’s already zooming in. “Ari-fuckin’-zona.” But I don’t need him to tell me, enlarged, I can see it myself.

We continue to watch, me feeling helpless as the half dozen bikes surround a white van which pulls out of the parking lot. I’d bet good money that the Sheri I’m after is held captive inside, and they’ve just rid themselves of anything that would lead someone to her.

“Jesus Christ!” Legend exclaims, pushing himself to a standing position. “Fuck.” His eyes find mine. “Doesn’t look good for your Sheri.”

She’s not mine. She has nothing to do with me. Our only connection is that I’ve got something of hers, something that was important to her. The only thing we have in common is her taste in books.

She’s nothing to me. I owe her nothing. In fact, I feel less of a thief now I know she hadn’t meant to come back and reclaim that book. Nor had she left it as a clue for someone to follow her.

If someone else had found it, they could have thrown it away, or disregarded the inscription inside. Not many people would have a Legend who could track the owner down and find out she was in trouble.

Why hadn’t I let sleeping dogs lie and not looked the gift horse in the mouth? I could have gone on with my life, completely oblivious, have finished the book or not, and never again thought about the woman I’ve never met.

But having involved Legend and found out what I have, I can’t leave it alone now. Knowing our arch enemies are involved, and particularly what we know they’re involved in.

The Wretched Soulz aren’t angels, far from it, and most of our lives are spent on the wrong side of the line. But what our chapter, at least, never gets involved in is treating human beings as commodities to be traded. On that front, the Dominators haven’t just crossed the line, they’ve moved so far away, it would be impossible for them to see where it had ever been drawn. They trade in flesh, trafficking people over the border, and bringing migrants in with a promise of a good life, only for them to end up kept as slaves—the women for sex, the men to work until they drop.

If Sheri’s fallen into their clutches, and on current evidence I’ve no doubt she has, she’ll be headed to Mexico and from there onto a life she could only have dreamed up in the worst nightmare she could ever have.

Two days. Two days and she’s been in their clutches.

Legend must be thinking along the same lines. “There’s probably only a very short window in which to save her.”

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