Chapter Thirty-Nine
Zahra
We steal, we cheat, and we piss off bad guys, but we don’t usually … kidnap people.
Even if we held someone against their will, we always wore masks and never brought them to where we lived.
We didn’t leave a trace of ourselves for the victim to recognize, and we most definitely did not kidnap guys in cream-colored dad khakis and a sky-blue polo shirt with a chef’s hat logo on the left side and a name tag that said “Saucy Chika.”
I blinked, staring at a dark-skinned, brown-eyed, scared man whose head moved frantically between us as he tried to shift further away.
His breathing became loud, and he was humming his words because his mouth was covered by a strip of wide silver tape; his legs and hands were tied in what looked like a complicated knot that made it difficult for him to move.
His eyes were wide in fear, and I couldn’t—couldn’t—think of a reason as to … why this stranger was tied up in our kitchen or how the fuck they were able to get him in here.
I nodded slowly and then turned to my people. “Let’s step outside for a bit.” I ushered them with my hands, a smile on my face.
When we were a reasonable distance from the kitchen, I turned sharply to the three people in front of me. “Who the fuck is that?”
“We have no idea,” Devil said.
“You have—” My hand covered my mouth as I looked around as if people would charge in any minute to get us for this.
When my eyes settled on Street again, I leaned in and whisper-yelled.
“You have no idea why a guy who looks like a nine-to-five counter boy at an upgraded version of McDonald’s is tied up in our fucking kitchen? ”
“Yeah,” Milk answered this time, eyeing me. “Devil just said that.”
I leaned back. “He didn’t—what is happening right now? Did you guys tie him up?”
Devil shook his head, crossing his arms to his chest, his biceps straining against the Henley he wore. “We found him like that at the pickup point under some bridge, very secluded. He was in some truck. Knocked out, and we brought him here.”
“This is bad. What the fuck does he have to do with the chihuahua?” I asked.
“I’m guessing that’s what we need to ask him,” Milk said.
“I personally just want to know why his name tag says ‘Saucy.’ What the fuck is that about?” Dog voiced.
Devil shot him an annoyed frown. “I’m more concerned about the people who dropped him off and reached out to us to pick him up.”
“Yeah, me too,” Milk joined in. “If Saucy Chika knows anything about Arturo’s chihuahua, why would the people who dropped him off want us to decipher it? Why us? And why Saucy Chika?”
“You just love saying ‘Saucy Chika.’” Dog smirked at Milk.
“What? It’s a sexy combination and flows well with my accent, and now I think everyone should have at least one sexy—”
“Guys, can we focus on the real matter here?” I cut in. “We gotta find out who he is and let him go before Marino finds out and this all goes to shit before it even starts—”
The front door opened, and Upper walked in, attention on his phone as he closed the door behind him. He looked up in a double take and slowed to a stop as he peered at us, his brows furrowed.
“What did you fuckers do now?” he asked as he reached us, pocketing his phone.
“Kidnapped someone,” I informed.
“We didn’t kidnap anyone,” Devil injected immediately. “He was already kidnapped before we … took him from the car where he was tied up and … brought him here.”
Silence befell us as we stared at each other.
“If we’re being logical, that’s still kidnapping,” Milk said.
“Worse than kidnapping,” Upper supported. “It’s double kidnapping; we’ve taken kidnapping to a level that borders on diabolical because we took a kidnapped person and kidnapped them, which means we are the kidnappers of the kidnapped.”
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense, Upper,” Dog said.
Milk shrugged. “It made sense to me.”
“Of course it would; you’re … you.” Dog frowned.
“I hope you didn’t mean that in an offensive way,” Milk said, turning slightly to face him.
“Please, by all means, take all the offense because that is what I was aiming for.”
I sighed. “Guys, back to Saucy Chika—”
“Who is Saucy Chika?” Upper asked, confusion in his tone.
“The guy we kidnapped,” Devil answered, and then silence fell again. He closed his eyes for a second before snapping them back open. “No, we didn’t kidnap—he was—you know what? It doesn’t fucking matter; let’s go untie him and get answers.”
We all seemed to agree with that as we returned to the kitchen. Saucy Chika’s eyes were wide, and his hums of protest became frantic as Devil tore off the tape not so gently from his mouth.
“Fuck!” Saucy Chika cursed, breathing harshly with his mouth as he looked frantically around at us. “Who’re you lot?” His thick roadman accent coated his words.
“Your worst nightmare,” Dog whispered, dragging it out dramatically.
“My what?” the confused man asked.
“Ignore him,” Devil said, undoing the knots on Saucy Chika’s legs. “He was diagnosed with idiotism a while back.”
The man frowned. “Is that actually a thing?”
Devil extended his hand to help pull him up. “It’s now a thing; he was patient zero.”
“Oh.” Saucy Chika eyed Dog warily like the idiotism thing was contagious. “Why you lot letting me out, though?” he asked no one in particular, rubbing his wrist while Devil gave him his space to collect himself.
I took a step forward. “Because we didn’t kidnap you.”
“Yeah, we just took you from your kidnappers. Which makes us worse than them,” Upper said.
Devil settled his gaze on Upper. “We got an anonymous email that a package they would send would answer questions about Arturo Garza’s chihuahua. We got to the location and found him.”
“Oh.” Upper frowned. “Anonymous email…” He looked at Dog. “Were you able to track it?”
“No luck; I was hoping you’d have some.”
Upper nodded. “On it.” He left the kitchen.
I studied the victim in front of me; his brows were drawn down in confusion, his eyes unfocused.
“What is it? Does the name Arturo Garza sound familiar to you?” I asked him.
His throat bobbed. “Bruv, I don’t…” He trailed off, swaying on his feet; I quickly rushed towards him, holding him steady while Devil took care of his other side.
“I think we should get him to a chair,” I said to Devil and then looked at Milk. “Can you arrange a quick sandwich and maybe some milk with sugar?”
“Sure.”
Devil and I led him to the living room, and Dog followed right behind us.
We settled Saucy Chika on a chair, and he rubbed his head as a groan left him.
I took a chair opposite him, and Dog settled on the arm of the chair while Devil stood at the side. Upper walked in with a laptop, settling on a chair as he worked on finding who sent that email.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Chika,” he answered as Milk came out with a sandwich and a glass of milk, which I was sure was mixed with something that would give him his energy back. “Thank you,” he said with a smile, which she returned before taking the space next to Upper.
“Why is there ‘Saucy’ right before ‘Chika,’ though,” Dog asked.
“Dog,” I groaned in a warning.
“What? Don’t pretend like you don’t want to know too.”
Chika drank half of the water in the glass before dropping it down and picking up the sandwich. “It’s company protocol,” he answered before taking a bite of the sandwich.
“Company protocol to … put in something sexy before your name?” Dog asked.
“Bruv, my boss is tapped,” Chika muttered with his mouth full. “My name’s calm compared to the madness they got here. Man’s got Busty Chloe, Sex God Mason, COCK-ey Christian, and the worst one, Glistening Pink Candy. It only gets worse from this point.”
“Why do you work there?” I couldn’t help but ask because that protocol was shit.
“Bruv, you try cuttin’ from a job that pays a thousand pounds every two days, just cause man’s gotta wear some dead name tag and serve wastemen in London. You think my uni fees and rent pay themselves?”
“A thousand pounds every two days—that’s amazing! What name do you think I’ll get?” Milk asked with an excited grin.
“Creamy Milk, definitely Creamy Milk,” I said with a wide smile, nodding with Milk.
“Come again. Did you say London?” Devil cut into our distracting exchange.
“Yeah—hold up, where is this?” He looked around.
“Italy … Milan.”
Chika almost choked on the sandwich he was eating. “Say what?”
“Yeah, you are far from home, Spider-Man,” Dog said.
“What day is it?” he asked with wide eyes.
“Uh … July eleventh? Tuesday, the year 2023?” Milk said.
“Holy shit,” Chika mused aloud. “Holy fucking shit?”
“Is he having a seizure?” Dog asked.
Chika dropped the half-eaten sandwich and picked up the glass of milk, gulping everything down loudly before he finished and set the glass on the center table.
“I’m sweatin’.” He untucked his polo. “Nah, I’m sweatin’ bad. I need air, fam.”
“The aircon’s working perfectly,” Milk answered.
“Bruv, I’m sweatin’ tears right now. I just lost my job, yeah?
And—fuck, I didn’t even do that big quiz for that class I’m failing.
Man was on my knees beggin’ for a retake, fam!
And I still missed it. Plus, I skipped that school competition where I was meant to chat about fire and water or some shit—
“That’s dumb,” Upper said.
“I know,” Chika said, blowing out a breath and, well—freaking out. “This is fucked up. The last time I was proper awake was the seventh. After I got attacked? It’s just dust, fam. Can’t remember shit.”
I sat up, longing to get to the point. “What happened? Tell us what you remember.”
He sighed. “Bruv, I was at work, normal ting. Stepped out to chuck the trash, yeah? Then I hear footsteps. Before man even turns ’round—boom—white handkerchief on my face. Next thing? I’m here.”
“They kept sedating him,” Devil said.
“Yeah, kept him somewhere clean too; that’s why he still looks fresh out of a shitty situation,” Dog said.
“Do you know Arturo Garza?” I asked.