Baghetti Jones: Juarez Jones

One Last Job

Jones drove his gray 2007 Ford Crown Victoria down the lonely streets. As per usual with cases, the air felt tense around him. Jones felt especially alert with this one. With such a vague, cryptic message, he had to be on his toes. Usually, people came to him; he didn't make house calls to pick up cases. Most of the yellow street lamps did their job illuminating his way down the dark streets, some of them flickered eerily, some of them were just dark. 

Eventually Jones made it to the address. It was quite a large house. The family must be quite well off. Jones' brain started to make assumptions. Most of his cases were usually spouses trying to catch each other cheating; usually one of them had a large amount of money. Jones wouldn't be colored surprised if this was no exception. He drove up to the gate and just as he was about to press to speak through the intercom, the gate opened. Clearly his client was awaiting him eagerly. Jones obliged, and drove up the long, cobblestone driveway. 

Jones parked his car, and approached the front doors. They were quite fancy, and had lots of intricate glass and woodwork. He rang the doorbell, and as he expected, it was quickly opened by a woman.

"Quick, come in." She whispered quickly, with a Spanish accent. Jones did as she said, taking off his hat as he entered in. In the better light he was able to get a better look at the woman. She was wearing a red dress, as if she was going out somewhere fancy. She was wearing maroon lipstick, had her makeup done, and had dark brunette hair that had been straightened. If Jones had to guess, he would say she was about 5' 6", and was average weight.

"Camila Juarez." She said, reaching out her hand to shake Jones. Jones gripped her delicate hand and shook it.

"Detective Jones. But you already knew that."

"Yes. I've heard good things about you. You do good work."

"A fan of my work, huh? Sounds like you've got a case for me then. Unless you've invited me over for coffee at 12 o' clock at night." Jones said. Camila nodded slightly. Then motioned for him to follow her.

"Do you drink, Detective?" She spoke, as they entered a fancy looking living room. It was dimly lit, only illuminated by the lights from the last room and the lit fireplace. 

"Not if I'm going to be on the job." He responded, carefully taking in his surroundings.

"Care for a smoke?" She asked him, holding up a large cigar. 

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

She handed him the cigar, and then lit it for him. Then she lit a cigarette for herself. They both sat down in two leather armchairs, facing diagonally to each other. Clearly a room for comfort.

"I'll get to the chase. My family has gone missing," She said, not looking at Jones "by going to you I fear my life is in danger, but I have no other choice." He noticed her hand holding the cigarette as she puffed it was shaking like a leaf.

"You usually go to the police before you go to a private investigator. What's the situation?" 

"The police have been of no help. I fear that they're in on the whole scandal."

Corrupt police? Interesting, for sure. Jones positive history with the police definitely made this a perplexing accusation. But he figured that there may be some truth to what Camila says. What Jones assumed to be another cheating spouse case had certainly turned into something much more sinister, and complex. Camila took a long drag from her cigarette, and Jones took out his tiny notepad to start taking notes.

"It all started with my son. I noticed that he had been hanging out with some very strange boys from school. By strange, I mean the type that get into very illegal activities."

"Yes, I know of the delinquent type."

"These boys are more than delinquents, they're straight criminals. My son was a straight A student. He worried about grades much more than spending time with his closest of friends. He's been diligently studying for his SATs and ACTs.

At first it was just hours he would spend with these boys at their hideout. Then he started missing school and cutting class because of them. Then I stopped seeing him. He won't answer his phone, and nobody knows where he is."

"And you're sure it's because of this new crowd he has been hanging around?"

"They are dangerous, detective," she spoke, staring into the fireplace as she smoked her cigarette, "my husband was fed up with this behavior, this was not how our son behaved. He marched right down to their hideout and demanded that they bring our son back."

"And what did they say?" Jones looked up from his notepad, ready to write down the incoming information. A single tear rolled down Camila's cheek as she continued to look into the fireplace.

"I don't know. My husband never came back after that. I continued to bother the police, ordering them to find my family! But time after time, they kept telling me there was nothing they could do. Eventually I got a phone call. I was hopeful for news that my family had turned up somewhere, but instead there was a man."

"What did he sound like?"

"A deep voice. A very deep voice, and he sounded like he was filled with violence... but at the same time he sounded concerned for my safety. He told me that if I wanted to keep my life, I had to stop poking around. The voice almost sounded... familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. I don't know what to make of that part. I couldn't sit idly by. Not if my family was still alive. I decided to do my own investigation around their hideout."

Jones looked up at her from his notepad, wide-eyed. 

"Stupid, I know. Later that day, I was sent a severed ear in the mail, and a letter stating that they told me to stay away from their business." Camila was definitely shaking more than she was before. They both tapped their ashes into an ash tray between them.

"I had no options left."

"So you came to me."

She didn't speak. Only the crackle of the fireplace and the slight roar of the fire filled the room with sound.

"Please find my family, Detective. The only thing I have to give you is this..." Camila said, now with multiple tears streaming down her face. She handed Jones a couple photographs of her husband and her son. There was another piece of paper that was an address and a simple map.

"That is where the hideout is. You should keep your distance."

Jones nodded.

"I'll do my best to bring your family home, Mrs. Juarez." Jones said, getting up and offering his hand to shake.

"Thank you so much. May God be with you. Please be careful." Camila shook his hand with both her hands, with a much stronger grip than she did the first time. Jones felt the desperation in her. 

Jones left the house. As he was getting into his car, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched from the hills around him. He shuddered, then he drove off into the night.