Spilling Guts

Part 12 - Phone Calls and House Calls

Louis kept reaching for his wallet in his back pocket, making sure it was there and not in the sticky hand of Reese or Beni.

Great, now he was paranoid. Add that to the list. Along with frustrated, pissed, and...

The empty office he had "borrowed" had light gray walls, a desk, a side table, and a phone. Very minimal. Very...

Lonely.

I should probably add that to the list as well. 'Course I already know what the answer is going to be. Don't be alone.

It had been a long day. A bad day. He wanted to go to the gym and then crash. But no. He had work to do. Work that he assigned to himself and he'd be damned if he didn't get it done even if he hated it.

He pushed aside the carton of leftovers, fried potato crumbs skittering in the corners. Not a bad lunch, but he would need something with more protein and less grease later. At the moment he focused on the files from the Grovic case and took notes. By hand. Shit, that hurt.

Louis stretched out his left arm and rubbed at his palm. It hadn't hurt like that when Rachel had looked it over earlier. Then again he hadn't been gripping a pencil like he wanted to choke the lead out of it. He had the option of using his own tablet, he had it with him, but written notes he remembered better.

He tried using a lighter grip on the pencil as he listed names, dates, numbers, and contact info...

Screw it. He was using the tablet. Typing one handed or using vocal typing was better than this.

He wasn't in the mood to research the Devil's Neckbrace and its victims for Will's benefit. But he was definitely in the mood to be spiteful. That's right, he was going to look into Will's sleeplessness out of spite. Kill them with kindness kind of a thing.

Or he was really that desperate to not touch another patent for a cheese grater that looked like a torture device.

Whatever his excuse, he called his first number. Jasmine Watts, the social worker that had taken on the displaced teens that had survived enslavement under the Devil's Neckbrace and its owner. They had been the one's with no support system and no family to turn to. From what Louis could remember of the interviews, some of the teens would have rather remained on the streets then go home.

Watts had been a powerhouse of connections, attitude, and way too much heart for far too little pay. Ms. Watts found them new lives and homes after all they had been through. If he needed more information on the victims, she would be the best place to start.

The line rung twice and then played the automated system for the Wichita branch of Kansas Social Services. When prompted he put in the extension number. He dug deep to think polite thoughts. It wouldn't do to snap at the women he needed help from.

The number rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Geeze, if she didn't want calls all she had to do was put the phone to voicemail. Or maybe the number had changed or she didn't work there anymore. Hell, the kids could have been assigned to different case workers by now. Why was he digging up-

"This is the desk of Misses Watts. May I ask who is stubborn enough to stay on the line?" And there was that New Orleans drawl he remembered.

Remember to be polite and to the point.

"This is Agent Louis Patriarch, I worked with Agents Teegan and Shiloh on a case a few years ago. If you have time I have some follow up questions about a few of your clients." Louis took a breath. Aw hell, he had to. "And may I ask who was stubborn enough to turn you from a Miss to a Misses?"