by Nick Stevens
“Me? You’re the one caving in faces.”
“You’re a dangerous influence.” She dropped the towel onto the bar. Pink splotches stained the cloth. The damp spots on her pants were invisible in the dim light of the club.
Picking up the printed image of the woman standing next to Chloe, Sal studied it. “What’s our next move?”
“We split up. I need to get to work. While I’m doing that, do you want to pay a visit to Judge Stewart? We need to know if he recognizes the woman with Chloe.”
Sal pulled a phone from her purse. “I’ll text him for his address.”
Tracy pushed through the door from the back room with the bouncer in tow. The man glared at Mason, assuming he was the one that beat up his boss.
“Don’t look at me,” Mason said, pointing to Sal. “It was her. She has anger issues.”
The man laughed, then headed back to his post at the front door.
Tracy chewed her lower lip. “We got them propped up in back so they don’t choke on any blood, but you two need to out of here before they wake up.”
Sal picked up her jacket, turning to Tracy. “What about you? You can’t stay here after all that. Who knows what that guy will do to when he’s awake?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what to do. I need this job, but I can’t stay here now.”
“I know Clay’s looking for a new manager at Gridlock,” Mason said. “I’m headed there now. Want to start tonight?”
Chapter 12
Bethany yawned, then gulped from the white cup of coffee clutched in her hand. The long drive to rural Maryland irritated her, but Paul refused to talk business on cell phones. She didn’t even have a cell signal this far out. Everything on their little team happened in person, which meant making the absurd drive at least once a week.
“Ah, Bethany. Glad to see you’re here early.” Paul glided into the office. He stared at Bethany’s feet, propped up on his reclaimed metal desk. If she registered his annoyance, she’d didn’t bother moving.
“I saw your girls leaving in a big van on my way in. Where are they off to?”
“Some nonsense. Two senior sisters are taking them all to a drum circle somewhere in West Virginia. Those depressed little towns can often draw in recruits.”
Bethany marveled at the things Paul invented for the girls to do, just to fill the time before he sold them like cattle. He’d had them all spend a week painting rocks. She guessed anything could be enjoyable, or at least tolerable, when you’re flying high on opiates.
Paul pulled back his chair and dropped into it. “The Stewart girl is progressing. Another week, and the buyer will take her off my hands. Then you get paid.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” Bethany already spent the money Paul owed her, and then some. She owed debts to people that she couldn’t run from.
The door behind her squeaked open. Aaron lumbered into the office, staring down at Bethany’s legs, blocking his path to the remaining chair in the room.
Bethany batted her eyes up at him. “Something I can do for you, Aaron?”
Aaron grunted, then grabbed her crossed ankles from the desk, yanking them sideways. Her legs crashed into the doorway as she spun in the swivel chair. The coffee spilled over her knit white top.
“What the hell, Aaron,” Bethany screamed as she searched for something to blot at the dark brown stains. “You could’ve asked nicely.”
“You know to stay out of my way.”
Paul jumped to his feet. “Do we have to do this every single time? We’re here to make money, no to get into a pissing contest.”
Aaron took his seat. “Tell that to your princess, Paul.”
Bethany laughed from her chair, still dabbing with a pile of tissues. “Yeah, tell me, Paul. I bring in your inventory. Most of those girls? That’s me. What are you going to tell me?”
Paul raised his hands, motioning for quiet. “Listen, that’s what we need to talk about. We had some complications with the Fitzgerald girl.”
Aaron put a hand over his mouth, bracing for Bethany’s reaction to his failure.
She launched the wad of tissues at a wastebasket. “Oh, you mean the dead Fitzgerald girl?”
They both froze. Aaron spoke first. “How do you know about that?”
“My connection on the D.C. police called me on the drive over. He said they’ll announce it publicly once they notify the family.”
Aaron muttered “Shit,” under his breath.
Bethany smiled, enjoying Aaron’s discomfort. “What happened, anyway?”
“Long story,” Paul started. “She got too big of a dose of fentanyl. Aaron thinks it depressed her breathing and she basically suffocated.”
Tossing the empty coffee cup towards the wastebasket, it bounced off the rim and landed on the floor. She didn’t bother getting up to place it into the trash.
“Well, if what my detective friend says is true, they’re getting pressure to wrap up this case quickly. He said his boss might even call in the FBI since she was the daughter of somebody important.”
Aaron turned pink. “We can’t have the FBI involved. I got rid of the car, but there’s bound to be camera footage. From there, it’s easy to link me, and us, to her death.”
Paul fidgeted with a pen. “What can we do?”
Aaron pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to his videos. “Let’s send them this.” The three huddled around tiny screen. They watched a man in an alley attack two other men. The grainy face of Laurel Fitzgerald, pinned against a metal box, showed in the video's background.
“Your cop friend must be interested in this, right?”
“I’ll see. Send me the clip.”
As Aaron fumbled with his phone, Bethany talked to Paul.
“Paul, you could’ve avoided these problems with me. I’ve never lost a girl, especially a high value one like Fitzgerald.”
Aaron’s knuckles turned white on the armrests. “Spare me you’re kidnapping expertise, Bethany. You weren’t around and we needed the girl. I improvised.”
“You improvised and screwed up. You’re good for breaking things.” She turned to Paul. “He doesn’t have the finesse for this, and you know it. Why turn him loose on something you didn’t want broken?” Bethany’s phone chimed. Aaron’s video finished transferring onto her phone.
Paul took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled. Aaron and Bethany continued their bickering.
“Take it outside. Go kill each other for all I care, but do it after you talk to your police contact.”
Bethany stood, looking down her nose at Aaron. “With pleasure.”
Aaron stormed out of the office. Bethany followed a few paces behind him.
Bethany continued mocking him, now out of Paul’s earshot. “What’s wrong, Aaron? Angry that you came up short again?”
He stopped, pausing mid-stride, weighing his options. He decided.
“Now what? You going to say something? Try to use big words this time.”
Spinning to his left, he caught Bethany by the throat in his right hand. Lifting her off the ground, her feet dangled inches above the floor.
His speed shocked her. Bethany knew Aaron as the dog she could kick, but she’d underestimated his simmering rage. She turned up the heat, and he boiled over.
Aaron’s dead gaze stared up at her as he closed his hand around her throat. She struggled against his grip, clawing at his wrist with her nails. He knocked away her feeble kicks. Aaron registered the weak attempt with an exhaled snort.
“That the best you got, Bethany? I strangled women and children with more fight than you.”
Bethany saw stars and her vision darkened. The realization that Aaron intended to kill her jolted her back to consciousness. Paul needed her, but even he couldn’t call off his dog.
Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a small folding knife. She snapped it open in her left hand and slashed the tiny blade against his arm. Light flashed against the shiny metal
as she stabbed downward, embedding the knife in Aaron’s flesh.
His grip failed against the attack. Bethany crashed to the floor, gasping for air.
Staring at the knife, he wrapped a meaty hand around it, pulling it out with a grunt. Blood ran down his arm from both wounds she’d inflicted. Tossing the knife to the floor, he tore the sleeve from his shirt, wrapping it around his injured forearm.
Bethany struggled to her feet, coughing. Spotting the blood-covered knife against the wood floor, she dove for it and rolled back to her feet. Snatching it in her hand, her eyes darted around the room, searching for exits.
Aaron stood between her and the only door.
“What’s it going to be, Aaron? We still have work to do. Do you want to get paid, or do you want me to kill you in this room?”
His stoic shell breaking, he chuckled under his breath. “It’s always about the money for you, isn’t it?” He stared at the knife. “Keep your money. We will finish this later. Count on it.”
Bethany noticed how he said it. Money. Like a curse.
He turned, walking from the room. A trickle of blood trailing him out the door.
Chloe woke to find Diana standing over her, a clean dress draped over her arm. Her sore body was naked, covered only by a sheet.
Diana tossed the fresh dress onto the bed. “You can use the shower in Father Paul’s bathroom to get cleaned up.” Her voice was sharp and her gaze cold as she looked down at Chloe.
Chloe sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the side. She ignored the sheet as it fell away. Modesty didn’t matter here.
She looked at Diana with hollow eyes. “What happened?”
Diana returned a derisive snort, rolling her eyes. “You don’t remember Father Paul ordering me to bring you here? To complete your baptism?”
The mention of his name brought memories rushing back. Days trapped in the sweltering shack. The face at the lake. It was all Paul.
Chloe shook her head. “I don’t remember much. Just flashes. I was here, then I was sick. He. He gave me something.”
“That’s the medicine.” Diana talked down to her as she would a child. “Everybody gets it when they come here at first. Then we only get it every couple days, or when there’s a ceremony.”
“A ceremony for what?”
Diana grabbed Chloe’s hand, dragging her to her feet. She shoved the dress into Chloe’s arms. “Go take a shower. I have to change the sheets and tidy the place up before Father Paul gets back.”
“Where is he?”
“He left for a few hours. He said he won’t be back until well after midnight.” Diana pointed to a door leading off the bedroom. “Shower. Go.”
Twenty-five minutes later, after she’d taken a scalding shower and used the water in the tank, Chloe emerged rejuvenated. Wet hair clinging to her head and neck. The small pleasure of a hot shower felt like a treasure.
Diana sat at a small table, eating an apple. Chloe’s stomach growled.
“Can I have one of those?”
Diana looked up, her earlier jealousy softening. “There’s a bowl of fruit in the kitchen. The Father never eats it, but he insists we keep the bowl full.”
Chloe shuffled to the kitchen. Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh fruit. The sparse kitchen had a miniature refrigerator in the corner, next to a hot plate on the counter. She found the bowl of fruit next to the hot plate. Reaching for an apple and a pear, Chloe noticed a small metal point behind the bowl. She found a small paring knife with a flimsy plastic handle hiding behind the bowl.
Chloe called from the kitchen, “Can I get you anything, Diana?” She stuffed the small knife into the pocket on her dress.
“No, thank you.”
Returning with her fruit, Chloe took another seat at the table.
“How long have you been here, Diana?”
Diana’s head flinched back slightly at the question. Her head tilted to the left as she considered the question. “Here? Oh, no idea. My baptism happened in the fall. I remember the water was freezing. Then it was winter. Now it’s spring.”
“Then you’ve been here about six months?”
“Probably. Why do you ask?”
Chloe slurped a drop of juice from her palm, dropping a bare apple core on the table. “Just curious. I’ve only been here a few days.”
Diana laughed. “You’ve been here about two weeks.”
Chloe’s stomach fell. Two weeks?
She focused on Diana. “Do you know how I got here?”
“Oh, no. One day you weren’t here and the next day you were. And one day you won’t be here. It’s simple, really. All part of Father Paul’s plan.”
“His plan?”
“For us to share our gifts with the world. Sometimes men come and they leave with a sister. Sometimes they leave with two or three sisters. Other times, well, sisters are just gone.” Diana’s eyes fixed on a distant point. “I hope I’m selected soon.”
Chloe reached across the table, taking Diana’s hand in her sticky grip. “Diana, listen. Do girls ever get to go home? Do they get to leave?”
The color ran from Diana’s face. “Why would you want to leave? You have everything you need here. You have your sisters, and you have Father Paul. You’ll see.”
Chloe pressed Diana for more information. She learned about the senior sisters, with their red heads band denoting their place above the sisters.
Diana touched her own headband, self-conscious about the artificial chasm between them. “I don’t have any power. None of us do. We think Paul gave us these because it makes us easier to spot in a crowd.”
When Chloe asked about the sisters that disappeared, Diana grew quiet. Chloe pressed her.
“Two girls left just a few days ago. Kimberly and Olivia. They had doubts about Father Paul and the collective for months. He punished and forgave them every time they questioned him. It didn’t help.”
“How were they punished?” Chloe wrapped an icy hand around Diana’s.
“Oh, Father Paul has cages outside. He left them outside for a few days. Father Paul said the cages would help convince them. Olivia spent a lot of time out there.”
“Where are they now?”
Diana shrugged. “Father Paul said he let them go home, but I don’t believe him. He’s never let anyone go home.”
“Do you know where they went?”
Diana’s lip quivered. “No. And it’s better if you don’t ask.”
Chapter 13
Mason and Tracy stepped out of their ride share and onto the crowded street. TJ, working the front door, waved at his boss. Mason hired him because TJ could block any door by standing near it.
“Bossman, you’re running late,” TJ called out, knocking a meaty finger against his knock-off Rolex.
Rolling his eyes at TJ’s dramatic watch tapping, Mason replied, “I’m the boss. I’m always right on time.”
“Yes, sir.” TJ held up a fist. Mason’s own clenched fist crashed into it. Both men felt the stinging pain, but neither dared showed the impact.
TJ found Tracy standing next to Mason, still wearing her Club Trinity uniform, minus the tacky vest. “Who’s this lovely lady?”
“TJ, meet Tracy. She’s the new manager here, replacing Cindi.”
Tracy extended a hand. Leaping from his bar stool, TJ took it, bowing. “A pleasure.”
Ignoring TJ’s theatrics, Mason checked the line of people waiting to get into the club. It snaked down the block and around the corner. “Busy for a Tuesday night. What’s going on?”
“Some rapper showed up out of the blue with a deep entourage. Word got out. Now it feels like the whole city’s here.”
“Should be good for the cover split and tips inside. You got a twenty on Clay?”
“Last I knew, he was working the penthouse with our surprise VIPs. Want me to ask?” TJ pointed to his earpiece.
“No, but thanks. I’ll find him.”
Mason escorted Tracy into Gridlock.
The illumi
nated red brick of the colonial house cast shadows over the facade. Inside, Sal saw a grand piano in the front window. The lighted rooms upstairs showed wallpapered walls with antique sconces. Marching up the pressed concrete walkway with manicured hedges and fountain, Sal felt out of place.
Reaching for the doorbell, Sal heard the distinctive crash of broken glass from inside the house. Her hand flew to her hip out of instinct before remembering she’d left the pistol locked in the trunk of her car. The missing Glock in its familiar place shook her back to reality.
Taking a breath on the porch, she strained for any sounds from inside the house. She heard the raised voices of a man and woman arguing.
Pressing the doorbell, she landed four solid knocks on the wood and glass door as the chimes echoed in the cavernous house.
More shouting. A man’s voice drifted closer to the door. Through the glass, Sal watched a gaunt Harrison Stewart step to the door. Throwing the deadbolt lock, he opened the door, stepping aside for Sal to enter.
“Thanks for coming. I assume you have news.”
Sal sniffed the air as she passed, picking up a waft of bourbon or whiskey coming from the judge.
“I’m hoping you can answer some questions and look at a picture for me.”
“I’ll do what I can. Let’s go into the kitchen.”
Sal followed Harry Stewart through the first floor, past the grand piano and through the formal dining room. The ancient hardwood floors offered a satisfying groan as she walked through the house.
“You have an amazing home.”
A bitter laugh echoed from the kitchen. A woman’s voice responded, “Thank you. I designed it myself.”
Judge Stewart sidestepped to the right outside the kitchen door, waving his hand for Sal to precede him into the next room. As she entered the kitchen, the judge skulked in behind her.
The kitchen was a monument to marble and stainless steel. The spotless range appeared unused, while glass cabinet doors displayed empty shelves.
