At about the sixth cell, a man in his mid-fifties stepped into the hallway. He was short and frail with streaks of gray in his unwashed hair.

The man said in accented English, “My name is Hassan. I believe the girl is down there.” He pointed toward the end of the corridor.

I broke into a run and came to the last cell. It was darker this far down the hall, and when I looked in the cell no one was inside. My heart sank. Then I caught just a hint of movement in the shadows and heard a tiny voice.

“Mitchum? Is that you?”

I stared into the dark cell.

Bailey Mae sat up and a beam of weak light caught her brown hair.

Frantically, I pulled the top latch down, then jerked hard on the lower one and felt the door give. As soon as I had the cell open, Bailey Mae rose from a metal cot and fell into my arms as I stepped inside. I couldn’t stop the sob of relief that came out.

She was weak, but alive.

Natty finished releasing everyone from the cells. There were about fifteen, all men. I noticed they were all dark-skinned and probably Middle Eastern. They all turned and started to gather in the supply room. As I hustled down there with Bailey Mae still in my arms, I realized they were surrounding the bald man Natty had hit in the face. The man was conscious now and in a low crouch.

It was clear as they crowded around the hunched jailer that these men were not happy with how they’d been treated. One of them picked up the combat knife that was on the ground nearby.

Although I didn’t give a shit about this guy, something inside me made me speak up. “Hold on. We need to let the authorities deal with this jerk-off.”

The man who had told me where Bailey Mae was, Hassan, turned and said, “There is nothing they could do to this man that would give us vengeance.”

“Just the same, we’re gonna lock him in one of the cells until we figure out what’s going on.” I handed Bailey Mae to Natty so I could face the crowd. I hadn’t bothered to find my gun, and although I was the biggest guy there, I realized the numbers were not in my favor.

I said, “He’ll be secure in a cell until the police can come.”

A man in his forties with a scar on his left cheek and a beard that meandered down his neck stepped forward and spoke with a heavy accent. “I deal with him.” His smile gave away his intentions.

“No, I said we’ll let the authorities deal with him.”

But that did not sit well with the crowd.

Chapter 36

Chapter 36