No Stopping

by Nolon King

“You get the Pentz transfer?”

  He’d transferred half of Victor’s crypto to her and kept the other half in his account. Wars needed funding, after all.

  “Yes, and thank you. That’ll go a long way.” Spider was using her half to upgrade computers, pay for protection and information, and otherwise cover the basic overhead of their highly illegal vigilante venture.

  “Good.” He looked down, unable to shake the memory of the little boy seeing him kill his father. “One more thing, we need to set some aside for an unexpected situation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “His son was there. Saw everything.”

  “His son was there? Did he see your face?”

  “No. I had a mask. But … I want you to monitor the situation, see what happens to the kid. Set up a trust fund for him, give him access when the time is right.”

  Spider shook her head. “Such a softie. Can’t help but go around saving orphans, can you? Maybe he’ll be working for you someday.”

  She was kidding, trying to lighten the mood, but Jasper couldn’t find any humor in it now. “Difference is, I didn’t kill your family. You were already an orphan. And no, I don’t want his son ever working with us. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ve got much left in me.”

  Spider raised her eyebrows.

  Jordyn, leaning against the wall to Jasper’s left, mimicked Spider’s reaction.

  “For real?” Spider asked. “Like, quit it all?”

  “I thought I was helping, but no matter what I do, I can’t save everybody. Those kids and women in Mexico — how many actually escaped that life after the place was shut down? I saved a few, sure, but how many others went from one abuser to another?”

  “What if it was only one?” Spider asked. “You still made a difference. Every life matters.”

  “But what about tonight? What about that boy’s life? I ruined it, and for what, to try and keep Victor Forbes from escaping justice? Was that worth it? If the lives I save matter, then how about the ones I destroy?”

  Spider was silent, all three of them were. Then she said, “Do you want me to continue decrypting the drive?”

  “Yes. How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “Hard to say. I’m running my best brute force on it. Could be any day. Could be months.”

  “Months?”

  “Maybe years. Or never, if the password is long and complicated enough. Though I hate to say never. Quantum computing is on the rise, and when it’s here, things like this might get cracked in seconds. Minutes at the most. But the not-too-distant future is still a ways off.”

  Jasper hated leaving a job undone, but if there was nothing he could do now, then maybe it was best to rest up like Jordyn had been begging him to do. If and when Spider cracked the encryption password, he could decide whether to turn the list of people in the pedophile network over to the authorities or pursue them himself.

  “No need to choose now,” Jordyn said. “Take a break. Relax a bit. You deserve it. Then you can decide.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed.

  “Maybe what?” Spider asked.

  “Maybe I’ll take some time off.”

  Spider was still quiet, and he wondered if she was worrying about the money they took tonight. They’d taken it to stop Forbes from leaving and help fund Jasper’s war with the network. If he stopped the battle, then the money wasn’t as necessary.

  “Regardless of what happens to me, keep your half. If — or when — I quit, make sure that kid gets enough, then do whatever you want with the rest. Maybe you can finally get the hell out of here, stop working for … the locals.”

  Spider rolled her eyes. “And here you go again.”

  “What?”

  “These are my people. You see them as thugs and gangbangers, but they’re not all like that. Not the ones I work with. They were here for me when nobody else was, before you came along like a white knight.”

  “White knight?”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Professor, really I do. I’m sure I’d be on the streets without you. But these are my friends. People I’ve known my whole life. And I’m not giving up on them.”

  “Yeah? Hate to break it to you, but they gave up on themselves. We all have choices in life. And none of them is forced to sell drugs.”

  Spider shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like, trying to survive.”

  Jasper wanted to argue he did know what it was like. He grew up in a place a lot like this in South Florida, But he managed to make a different choice. But Spider didn’t know Jasper’s name or his past, and he wanted to keep it that way. She only knew the fiction he’d given her. That plus the one truth he was willing to share — he was hunting some human scum. Given his methodology, that didn’t exactly give him the moral high ground in an argument like this.

  He looked over, but Jordyn was gone. Then he remembered what he forgot all too often. His daughter was dead. “I’m sorry. I just get protective. You remind me of someone I couldn’t keep safe.”

  “I’m fine, Professor. If someone ever hurts me, it won’t be one of these guys ’round here.”

  Jasper nodded. Spider was probably right. They did seem protective of her. Maybe she was better off here than some place in the suburbs.

  “Thank you. I’m heading out. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Spider met his gaze. She looked like she wanted to say something else but nodded instead. “See ya ’round, Professor.”

  Jasper left, missing Jordyn and feeling lonelier and more lost than when he’d arrived.

  Chapter 6 - Mallory Black

  Mal’s NA meeting was at a Baptist church in St. Augustine, a place she’d never been before.

  She released her ponytail and let her hair hang in her face, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure her features were obscured. She was also in baggy sweats, T-shirt, and oversized denim jacket — her best attempt at a fast but not too obvious disguise. Just blend in with the others.

  Mal crossed the barely lit parking lot with her head down. Once inside the church, she followed signs directing her to a small classroom with several folding tables forming a square in the center. A half-dozen of them, with four seats at each, plus two other tables along the wall.

  As she’d arrived late to the meeting, which started at eight, there were few empty chairs left. She chose a seat at the far end of the square next to a mousey, brown-haired woman in her twenties who was dressed for work in a green Publix uniform.

  The woman looked at Mal. “Hi."

  Not one for small talk, she nodded then faced forward to hear the person seated at the other side of the room, a short Indian man in his sixties, talking about this week’s biggest hardships.

  Mal listened as he confessed to his near slip-up. The only thing that had stopped him from using again was his daughter showing up at his house and asking if he could watch his granddaughter. If she hadn’t been called to a last-minute shift at the hospital, he wouldn’t be sober.

  “So, I sat there looking after my beautiful six-year-old granddaughter, the sweetest, most precious girl. She was drawing pictures for me and talking about school and chattering on and on. I remembered how much I missed these days with my own daughter, how I’d been too busy working to enjoy them. Here I was, getting a chance to experience a special moment with my granddaughter, no work to preoccupy me since I’m retired, but … I still couldn’t enjoy it. All I could think about was waiting for her to sleep so I could start using again.”

  He paused and wiped his eyes.

  A few other people in the room’s eyes were watering, too.

  “And then, finally, I got her to bed. Once she was asleep, I just stared at the pills I’d been so desperately waiting to use.”

  The silence stretched on, as if he were trying to figure out how to say the next part. In that pregnant moment, Mal feared what he might say.

  “And … I couldn’t do it. I hated the pills, hated myself even more for wanting them more than I w
anted to spend time with my own granddaughter. So, I flushed them. Thank you all for listening. Glad to be in my home group.”

  Several of the people responded with, “Fucking A.”

  “Thank you, Aaron,” said a Hispanic man in his fifties. “Anybody else?”

  He looked at Mal. She hoped he wasn’t going to request an introduction. Being late meant she’d missed the part where someone would ask if there were any newcomers or guests from out of the area.

  “Well, I guess I need to get this out,” said the woman next to Mal. “Hi, my name is Maggie. My D.O.C. is opiates, and I’m five weeks sober this Tuesday.”

  “Hi, Maggie,” the others said.

  “It’s been hard. Tommy is getting sooooo difficult and thinks this whole twelve-step thing is a scam or a joke or something. He practically laughed when I showed him my thirty-day keychain. He’s always saying shit like, ‘You know this isn’t gonna last. What, you think you’re better than me?’ Or he’ll accuse me of cheating on him with my friend, Jake. I’m not being unfaithful, but damn it if he isn’t making me want to leave his ass. But I just can’t do that to our kid. So, for now, it looks like I’m stuck.”

  A few nods from women in the room.

  Mal looked closer and saw the bruise under her eye. Concealed with makeup, but still ,she could see the faint remains.

  Is this bruise from her Tommy?

  “Anyway, Jake is trying to convince me to leave him, but … I can’t. Tommy would make divorce a living hell. He’s always bitching about men’s rights, saying women always get the kid and he can understand why men kill their exes because ‘the bitches’ leave them no choice. I don’t want to raise my daughter with a man who thinks like that, but I don’t know what he’d do if I took her.”

  The woman paused and wiped her tears.

  “I can’t go on like this. Now that I’m sober, I see how much I’ve let him treat me like shit for so long. But … I can’t just leave. I’m so angry and sad all the time. Pills were my only escape and without using, I … I don’t know. It’s a real struggle. But I have to stay sober. I do bad shit whenever I give in, and I can’t lose my daughter. I’m just glad to be here. One day at a time, right? Thanks for letting me share.”

  The skinny white dude sitting across from Mal went next. He had long hair, denim shorts, and an ankle monitor. When he started talking, she looked over at Maggie, who was back to wiping tears from her eyes.

  Mal wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what she could say, other than yet another empty platitude. Besides, she wasn’t here to make friends.

  She listened to others share but avoided speaking. The last thing she needed was for someone to recognize her. People usually respected the anonymity, but that didn’t mean she didn’t get looked at. Sometimes, Mal heard the whispers.

  Isn’t that the cop whose kid was murdered?

  Hey, wasn’t she kidnapped, too? Do you think he raped her?

  Didn’t she win the lottery?

  Mal wanted to blend in and maybe feed off the strength of shared suffering and recovery. Hearing the struggles of others helped her to remember this wasn’t a battle she fought alone.

  And right now, a bit could be all the difference between a normal life and losing everything.

  Once everyone was through sharing, the Hispanic man — whom she’d heard someone call Louis — asked if anyone else wanted to share. Nobody spoke or raised a hand.

  Then he asked if it was anyone’s first time, so they could get a keychain and the Basic Text.

  Nobody spoke.

  He handed out keychains for thirty and sixty days. And an anniversary chip, which invited hugs and applause. Mal felt good as she clapped for the other addicts’ achievements.

  She hugged Maggie at the end of the meeting, then, just to avoid awkward small talk or coffee and snacks, asked where the bathroom was.

  After freshening up, Mal avoided the classroom and went straight to the parking lot. Maggie was standing on the sidewalk, smoking, looking like she was waiting for a ride.

  The skinny guy with the tracker on his ankle was chatting her up. Based on Maggie’s body language, it was clear she was trying to avoid the conversation.

  Mal considered leaving, but as she passed she overheard the guy promising Maggie a good time — either propositioning her for sex or offering drugs. It wasn’t uncommon for drug dealers or predators to hunt for prey in rooms like this.

  Now Mal couldn’t leave. She turned around and headed straight toward them.

  The guy looked at Mal approaching and narrowed his eyes. He planted a fake stoner smile on his dumb face. “Hey, you new here?”

  “Yeah,” Mal said, waiting to see what he would say next.

  He was looking her up and down, his sneer like a wolf. “What’s your D.O.C.?”

  “Sobriety,” Mal said.

  “Well, I ain’t got that, but I can hook you up if you want some real fun. Can hook both you ladies up.”

  Mal took an assertive step toward him and gave a sharp rise to her voice as others shuffled out of the church. “Are you trying to sell drugs at a fucking NA meeting?”

  He looked around sheepishly then glared at her, “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

  Mal smiled. “Oh, I’m not even getting started.”

  He stared at her for a long, idiotic moment, as if his dumb brain was trying to get the message.

  “Leave,” she said. “We don’t want your shit.”

  He looked like he might argue but then thought better of it and sighed instead. Then, as he turned, he said, “Whatever … bitch.”

  Mal watched him slink off toward the street, probably too spooked to approach anyone else.

  “He a regular?” Mal asked.

  “Seen him a couple of times, but this is the first time he approached me,” Maggie told her. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “You waiting on a ride?” Mal asked instead of saying goodbye.

  “Yeah. I texted him fifteen minutes ago. He should be here by now.”

  A fat raindrop fell on her face, followed by more. Mal looked back at the awning over the church entrance, where others were chatting and smoking. "You want to wait in my car?”

  Maggie looked at Mal for a long moment, as if trying to determine if she was another predator. Finally, she nodded, “Okay, thanks.”

  They sat in the car near where Maggie had been standing, waiting for Tommy.

  “How long you been sober?” Maggie asked, starting on the small talk.

  “In hours?” Mal smiled awkwardly. “Kinda slipped.”

  “Sorry. Been there. A few times.”

  “How long have you been an addict?”

  “Oh, God. Um, on and off since I was eighteen. Stopped for a while when I got pregnant with Emma. And I stayed sober for the first two years. Then, last year, I hurt my back at work and … one thing led to another.”

  “Ah, I know the feeling.” Mal considered sharing a less detailed version of her story but then thought better of it. She barely knew this woman. And besides, Maggie needed to vent more than she needed to hear Mal bitch.

  Maggie stared out the window, growing quiet, maybe contemplating how much she should share.

  “Did Tommy put that bruise on your face?”

  Maggie played dumb, but her lie crumbled as she met Mal’s gaze, and so did her resolve to keep the secret. She wasn’t crying, but her lip trembled all the same. “He doesn’t usually hit me.”

  Mal had heard that song before, plenty of times. But instead of pushing Maggie, she asked, “What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t. Nobody should ever hit you, least of all your husband.”

  She shook her head. “You’re right, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “Leave,” Mal said.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure, it is. There are places you can go if you feel unsafe. You can—”

  “No, I d
on’t want the police involved.”

  “So, what then? You wait until he hits your kid?”

  Maggie glared at Mal. She’d pushed too hard, too quickly.

  “I think I’ll wait outside.”

  “Wait, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, but … I’m just gonna wait over there.”

  Maggie got out of the car, walked to the front door, then waited under the awning where people were still smoking in a huddle.

  Mal drove off, pissed at herself and her stupid mouth.

  Chapter 7 - Jasper Parish

  Jasper woke to his buzzing phone and a sliver of morning light burning through the crack in his block-out bedroom curtains.

  The number was unlisted.

  He picked it up and heard silence on the other end. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  His gut churned, gnawing at him. He sensed something was wrong but didn’t know what yet. “Hello?”

  A static crackling pop came from the other end, the kind he got when an automated machine called his number to see if a live person was on before passing the call to a telemarketer or scammer.

  Jasper hung up. He considered calling the few people who had his number, just to ease his mind of the sensation that something was horribly off, but there was a knock on his bedroom door before he could, loud enough to startle him.

  His hand was under his pillow and on his gun before the door exploded open.

  Jordyn.

  He was glad to see her. He felt some measure of relief — until he saw her eyes, and the look inside them that said she had some terrible news to share.

  “Did you see it?”

  “What?” Jasper asked.

  “The vision?”

  “Of what?”

  She looked down at her feet. “I … I feel like I have to tell you but I don’t want you to do anything.”

  “What?” Jasper repeated.

  “Someone you know is in danger, but you can’t get involved this time.”

  “What? Who?”

  “You’ll want to get involved if I tell you, and I doubt you have a way to contact him, so you’re going to ask me to find him. Then it’ll all begin again.”