The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [79]
The little girl rose to her feet. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she bolted out of the crate, and ran right past me to the room’s single bed, and scurried beneath it.
“For the love of Christ,” Burrell said.
Going to the bed, I knelt down, and stared at Tyra huddled in the darkness.
“Go away!” the little girl screamed.
I said her name, and told her I was going to take her home.
“Leave me alone!”
I knew what was happening. Tyra no longer trusted strangers, and was going to stay hidden until she encountered someone she knew. From out in the hallway came another round of gunshots. Whitley ran into the room.
“Every person in this hotel has a weapon,” Whitley said. “We need to move.”
“The kid’s hiding under the bed,” Burrell told him.
“So move the bed,” Whitley said.
Whitley ran back into the hall. Burrell and I tried to move the bed away from the wall, and found that it was bolted in place.
“What are we going to do?” Burrell asked.
“Call her parents,” I said.
“Are you serious?”
“They’re the only ones she’ll listen to.”
Burrell knelt down next to Pepe. “Tell me who the little girl’s parents are.”
Pepe’s eyes darted to the TV. Burrell picked up a notepad lying on the set, and read from it. “Her name is Tyra Lawson, and she lives on Magnolia Lane.”
“Let’s hope the number’s listed,” I said.
Burrell called information, and got the Lawsons’ phone number. She dialed the number, and handed me her cell phone.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Is this the mother of Tyra Lawson?” I asked.
The woman made a fearful sound. “Yes.”
“My name is Jack Carpenter, and I’m with the police. Your daughter is hiding under a bed in a crack house. I’m going to slide the phone to her. I want you to tell her to come with me. Do you understand?”
“Is my baby all right?” the woman asked.
“So far. Ready?”
“Yes—yes!”
I stuck my head beneath the bed. “Tyra. Your mother wants to talk to you. I’m going to slide you a phone. Okay?”
Tyra didn’t answer me. I slid the phone beneath the bed, and heard the little girl pick it up.
“Mommy?”
I heard her mother’s anguished answer.
“Tyra? Oh darling, I miss you!”
“Mommy, I’m scared!”
“You listen, and you listen good. I want you to crawl out from underneath that bed, and do whatever this man tells you to do. Do you understand?”
“But people are shooting at me!”
The mother’s voice started to crack. “That man is going to save you. I want you to go to him. Please, honey.”
“But they’re scaring me!”
“Go with him. Please, Tyra, darling. For me.”
There was a short silence. On the other side of the room, Pepe let out a dying gasp, and slumped over. Tyra crawled out from beneath the bed, and climbed into my arms. I kissed the top of her dirty little head while running out the door.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
In the hall, I found a black man swimming in a pool of blood with a machine pistol clutched in his hand. He had been shot in the chest, and appeared to be dead. I made Tyra shut her eyes, and hopscotched around him.
Hurrying down the hallway with Buster, I glanced into several open doorways. Each had bloodied bodies lying inside, their hands clutched around high-powered, automatic weapons. Burrell was behind me, and I heard her gasp.
Whitley met us in the landing. He had secured the floor, and was waiting to escort us down. By my count, he’d killed six people, and hadn’t broken a sweat. I wondered if he had ice cubes in his veins.
“Let’s go,” Whitley said.
I followed him downstairs and out of the hotel. Broward Boulevard was quiet, and I crossed the street and walked into an open 7-11. Tyra would be taken to a hospital, and given all sorts of physical and psychological examinations, but right now she was going to get a treat. Treats were good when rescuing kids. It was an easy way to tell them that things were returning to normal.
“Hey, Tyra. Your mother made me promise to buy you ice cream,” I said, searching through a refrigerated bin. “What flavor do you like?”
Tyra pulled her head off my shoulder. “Vanilla.”
“That’s my favorite flavor, too.