Chapter 25

The few workers at Haywood were stretched thin. The monitors were tended 24/7 and the remaining were shifting through ever changing information. Not knowing Stephanie's car was monitored, Frank called her, "Pumpkin how much longer?"

"Dad, I'm five minutes out." Exiting her car, her phone rang. Glancing at the name, it was Ranger.

"Babe, where are you?"

"I'm on the Rangeman garage."

"I have three separate searches for you. First, any property owned by Jackson Conroe. Also, I need his grandmother's address in Alabama. Those should be easy. The more difficult one will be all rural property owned by an attorney named Matthew."

"Is that a first or last name?"

"Unknown."

Stephanie had barely acknowledged the request when Ranger disconnected. Matthew? Nothing like a common first name. How many Matthew attorneys are there in the area?

Exiting onto the 5th floor, she was amazed at how empty it was. The monitors were covered, but the remaining three on deck were typing away at their computers. Didn't her father say things were a bit crazy? They must be crazy outside the building. No time to think about it, she went to her cubicle. In addition to her own, she commandeered two more to begin her searches, logging on with her password. The first search was for any property under Jackson Conroe. Next was to find his grandmother in Alabama. The third was to find all the attorneys in Mercer County and surrounding counties with the first name Matthew or last name Matthew or Matthews.

Manny walked over and pointing to the three machines running, "Are these for the leads we have on Tank's missing son."

"Ranger didn't say. Have they found Lula?"

"No."

Looking at the computers, Stephanie began a preliminary report. "So far, no property under the name Jackson Conroe. I have several J. Conroes in three townships in or near Mercer. One is local, on Calhoun in Trenton."

"Add Pennsylvania."

"Working on it." After a few minutes she signaled Manny. "Greater Trenton area, 6 counties, is finished. The only the J. Conroe is on Calhoun. Driver's license matches…Jackson Conroe. The other J. Conroes are up north in larger cities like Newark and Elizabeth. We'll let the machine chew on Pennsylvania while I look at the mother."

"No rural properties under that name?"

Up close to the New York state line. Nothing down here," she answered as she swung to another computer. "Well, there's a bunch of Conroes in Alabama. Geez, this was to be an easy search, thanks Ranger. Wait, there is a notice in Troy newspaper of a Maybelle Conroe's funeral today. Survivors are….oh you are young to love this, Jesse, Jeremiah, Joseph, Jenkins, and Jackson. The daughters also have J names. Looking, I find no property in Alabama for Jackson but several of his brothers own property."

"Do you have an address for Maybelle?"

"No. Maybe she lives, ah, lived with one of her children." Stephanie typed a bit more and watched the screen. "Yes, she lived with a June Conroe Green."

"There is no telling how long he'll remain in Alabama. Have you found any rural property for Jackson or J. Conroe in Pennsylvania?"

Swinging back to the first computer, she scanned, "So far only a a J. Conroe in western Pennsylvania, closer to Pittsburg. The program isn't finished."

Woody was never known to swear but his agitated tell sign was running his hand over the top of his head which he had done three times in the last few minutes.

"OK, the attorney. Matthew," he redirected her attention.

"Still running. I need coffee," she said as she pushed back her chair and headed towards the break room. Sitting back down but away from her machine, she sipped the coffee and watched the search. "So far, 57 attorneys in Mercer, Hunterdon, Middlesex, and Somerset. Most of them have at least two properties in their name. I'll also add northern counties in Pennsylvania. It's going to be a lot of names and properties."

"Don't limit it to northern counties. Continue down to Philadelphia. One of the stolen vehicles may have been found across the river."

"I have not heard about stolen vehicles."

"Word is LeRoy was looking for three vehicles; a van, sedan, and SUV. The van was found quickly. A sedan tentatively matching a tip was located about 5 miles south of the river. Forensics is still looking at it. The third is an SUV. There's word is either LeRoy or Jackson has rural property."

Stephanie snorted, "LeRoy? Lula's former pimp? Suddenly Steph knew who "they" were when Lula got up and ran off. "I can't see LeRoy going five blocks either side of Stark Street. He's not exactly Nature Boy. Still, I'll add him."

Adding more data, she continued sipping her coffee. It would be a long night. As she sipped her creamy brew, she thought of Lula. What was she doing? What did she know? The woman was often impulsive, hopefully, she was not getting into trouble.

-0-

The Rangeman toll on the Stark Street population had already filled St. Francis emergency, now Capitol was nearing capacity. Tank was getting more and more dangerous, it was time to pull everyone back. But first, they had to speak with the Iron Cross gang. The White Supremacy group was headquartered across the river in Pennsylvania. Six white Rangemen piled into two trucks and headed south. Ranger and the other non-whites remained two blocks from Iron Cross' headquarters but fully miked with Vince, Cal, Hal, Bink, Hank, and Zero.

"You lost?" The scar-faced leader asked Vince as they entered the bar. It was after midnight, but the place was packed.

While Hal and Bink remained by the door, Cal and Vince walked deeper into the bar's tense atmosphere. Strangers were never welcome. "Came for information."

The leader named Liam had been in Special Forces and sported burn scars from a roadside IED. He respected the Rangemen knowing many were military, but he had to maintain the aura of superiority. "We don't give information away for free."

"Patron, new bottle," Cal told the bartender, "And three glasses." Cal dropped three C notes on the bar in payment for the bottle. Opening the bottle he poured a glass first for Liam, then Vince and himself. After each had downed two shots, Liam began, "So what do you need?"

"White attorney, user, name Matthew."

Liam thought a moment, "Matthew as a first name or Matthews as a last name?"

"Unknown," Cal answered.

Liam chuckled as he picked up the bottle and poured three more shots. "This side or across the river?"

Cal put his empty glass down, "We don't know."

"You don't know shit, Rangeman. Normally I'd send you and your boys back across the river, but I'm feeling generous tonight. Well, generous to keep talking until this bottle is empty. So tell me, what did this upstanding member of the bar do to get on Rangeman radar?" Liam asked as he brought the glass up to his lips.

"One of our kids was kidnapped this morning. We believe whoever did it is using this attorney's property to hide."

Liam raised an eyebrow, "Rangeman kid? You into nursery business now?"

Cal shrugged. "Men fuck, babies happen. We protect family."

After yet another round, Liam nodded. "I can think of two first names who we've supplied. That's not to say there are more. One is from Philly, the other works in Trenton. Philly is Matthew Stevens. He is in his early 70s, a recreational user. He's more into the blue pills and roofies. The only hard drug I know about for him is Ecstasy. I am guessing he needs help to coerce bed partners. If I remember, he lives in some upscale condo complex in the inner-city. The one from your side of the river is Matthew Braddock, thirties, probably late thirties. Stupid mother fucker probably won't reach forty. He'll be either in jail, dead, or broke in in two years if he ain't already. We cut him off about a year ago. He had trouble with his bills. Last I heard he lived near Princeton."

"Why did he buy from you and not someone closer to home?"

"He probably was too slow in payment and they cut him off."

"You still supplying him?"

"As I said, he's slow to pay."

"You have any idea who might be supplying him now?"

"No clue."

Cal took the bottle and poured six more rounds. After downing those, Cal held the bottle looked at the remaining liquid, and set the bottle down, "Not enough for another round." Standing on steady feet, Cal said, "Appreciate it" and walked out followed by Vince. Hal and Bink left with them. Hank was the driver and once all were down the road, he pulled over. Vince and Cal got out and forced themselves to vomit, eliminating as much tequila as possible.

"Damn, that was good stuff," Vince moaned. "Hate to lose it that way."

"It was coming back one way or the other," Cal said wiping his mouth with his hand. "Too much, too fast."

Hal said in a low voice, "I need to take your weapons."

Without saying a word, both Cal and Vince unarmed themselves. They knew better to be carrying with alcohol in the body. In return for the weapons, Hal passed out water and Gatorade. While Cal still could speak without slurring too badly, he reported back to Rangeman. "Bomber, we have two names, Matthew Stevens, Philadelphia attorney. The second is Matthew Braddock. Mercer County. Do Braddock first. He is hinky."

By now it was past 0300. Ranger and the others had filtered back in and were helping Stephanie with the searches. Cal, Vince, and the others were only a few minutes behind.

Cal and Vince reported to Ranger, as they mainlined coffee and water. Suddenly Stephanie knocked on Ranger's door. "I've got a possible hit on Matthew Braddock. His father left him several properties. Most are houses here in Trenton and Princeton, but one is out of town. It's northwest of Pennington. It's been in the family for several generations, used to be a working farm but it lost its agricultural designation about thirty years ago. Property taxes on the Harbourton property are often delinquent but they do get paid just before the county condemns."

"How big," Ranger asked as he ran his hand over his head attempting to stave off exhaustion and worry.

"Three hundred sixty acres. Only one remaining building. It was built in 1893. Real estate developers want the land, but it has some conservancy hold on it as it backs up to other open space."

"Give me the coordinates," he said as he bent over his computer. Looking at the road leading to the property, it was rural and heavily shaded. Snow would have a hard time melting from the road. "Conference room one in 5," he ordered the hunting party including Tank. Then turning to Stephanie, he said, "Babe, you never disappoint. Care to join us in the conference room?"

Steph nodded, "Let me refill my coffee cup, first."

The assembly of fourteen men plus Steph looked at the large screen projecting the satellite photo. "This is where we think Cowboy may be. It is an old farmstead that has been in the family's name since the late 1800s. From the trees, I'd say the fields haven't been worked in decades. This gives us plenty of cover and level ground until we get to the north side where a stream runs east-west." Putting up a picture of a white man, "This is the owner, Matthew Braddock. We've discovered Mr. Braddock is a user, we don't know what. He is a bit lax on paying his bills and might be in debt to Conroe and/or LeRoy. He maintains a legal office in Trenton, lives in Princeton. We don't need to talk to him right now. Our priority is to check out the farmhouse" Putting up two more pictures, Ranger continued, "Jackie Powers, Stark Street working girl, a friend of Lula's. The man in LeRoy Jackson. LeRoy is Jackie's and formerly Lula's pimp. We are uncertain if and how Lula may be involved in this. Ram and Bones are on patrol in Ewing. I've ordered them to recon the Pennington property. We will follow once we load up for search and rescue. Cal, Vince, go sleep it off. Good job. Babe, stand by, we may need to get more information. Right now this is an excellent possibility, but may not be the only one."

-0-

Lula hated driving at night especially in unfamiliar areas. But the road to Pennington was paved and the snow had been plowed off and salted. Driving through the woods made her nervous. Being born and raised in Trenton, she was a city girl. Buildings were familiar territory.

It had been nearly five years since she was at this old farmhouse. It was one of her last jobs as a 'ho for LeRoy. Matthew Braddock was hosting a party and LeRoy insisted she attend. At least a dozen men were waiting for their entertainment. Fortunately several had already overindulged in their drugs and weren't worth shit, even for a blow job. A few hand strokes and they were off.

Several of the strung-out men were upset there was no television to watch Benito Ramirez's fight in Las Vegas. Lula shivered at the name. Ramirez was the sadistic bastard that brutalized her so savagely leaving her unable to bear children and anal lesions the doctors were watching carefully for possible cancer development. He was also responsible for her turning her life around, walking away from Stark, but she wasn't totally successful in her separation. Her friendship with Jackie kept pulling her back. While she wasn't actively hooking, her personal life was spiraling down again. Her parole officer suggested anger management therapy to keep her from going off on people. White Girl was constantly warning her about using her weapon. Too bad White Girl was smoozing with the big beautiful Rangemen the day Tank was shot. Had she been close by, she might have prevented the whole travesty.

Now it was time to write the wrong. She knew something she said convinced Jackie and LeRoy to take Tank's son. She was going to get the boy back to his father.

The café on the corner was still standing. Lula turned off and put her car's headlights on high. This road was smaller and the twists and turns were numerous. The last thing she needed was to drive off and get stuck in the snow. Since there was no traffic at this hour, she could drive down the middle of the road, avoiding the edges. She clearly remembered the way to the house was continual rights at intersections with other roads. She spied the correct rural street sign, Poor Farm Road. When she first saw the farmhouse, it was in disrepair. The road name was appropriate. Without porch lights, mailbox numbers, or any other identifying feature, Lula had no idea how she would find her intended destination. She might have to wait until daylight. After several drives up and down Poor Farm Road, she noted only one had a plowed-out area leading to a side road. This had better be it.

The old Firebird handled the patches of snow and ice well. Lula had put snow tires on the previous season and put them back on in November. There was minimal wear on them. Yep, there was the farmhouse. What she could see, time had further the building destiny with the ground. The once white siding was peeling paint. Matthew Braddock was not into home upkeep. Shasta, a Stark Street whore had hinted that Braddock had forfeited the home to one of the gangs or even LeRoy. She wasn't sure. Parking in the small plowed-out area next to an SUV, Lula turned off the engine and sat for a while, observing. One window emitted a small glow, the rest were dark.

Ram drove and Bones watched the GPS. "Turn left 300 feet," Bone uttered without emotion. It was hard enough seeing without the aid of streetlights, having someone watching the GPS helped. "In six point three miles, bear right onto….Old Farm Road." No other talking was necessary. Each man was reviewing what would need to be done shortly. Bones lowered his window several inches. It wasn't that he was too hot, he needed it to hear. Going was slow. The big vehicle moved a quietly as it could through the twists and turns of the rural. Ram was surprised it was a well-maintained dirt two-lane road that had seen both a plow. Not many tire tracks could be seen, but the snow was fairly compact, perhaps when the plow went over.

"There," Bones said simply indicating where they would need to bear to the right. As they turned onto the road Bones saw the green road sign with the proper name. "On target. Property entrance 6.7 miles on right."

The men scanned for wildlife that might dart in front of their vehicle. This was deer territory. Suddenly both men heard distant pops. "Possible gunfire."

"Call it in," Ram said.