by Tiana Laveen
“You are so lame tonight,” Wanda teased as she approached her again, putting her hand on her hip and twisting her lips as she glared at her preoccupied friend.
“I know.” Jayme laughed. “I just need to get home. But thank you for inviting me out, Wanda, and throwing this party for me.” Jayme stood and grabbed her purse, putting it over her shoulder after setting her half drank glass on the table in front of her. “You know I love you, girl. I have to go out tonight though, got work to do and I’d like to get cleaned up first.”
Wanda sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotten so boring in your old age,” she teased some more before giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek.
Jayme laughed as she made her way toward the crowd, hugging and thanking everyone.
“Call me!” Wanda yelled out before she turned back to the dance floor and snapped her fingers to the beat.
“I will and thanks again!” Jayme disappeared out the finger smudged glass doors into the cold that kissed the side of her face, welcoming her into its icy arms. Christmas was three days away and all she could think was: What gift will the ‘XXX’ killer give the people of DC this time? Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be topped in a bloody red bow...
****
Xzion leaned lazily against the outside of the dark brown brick apartment building. Propping his leg up a wall, he brought his black hood down over his face and began to play with his cuticles. Police cars roved past, and his heart never changed tempo.
Who out here would make a good candidate?
A woman walked past, her violet short leather shirt hiked up, exposing long legs covered in black fishnet stockings. It was only nineteen degrees outside but she acted as if she were walking around on a sandy beach in the tropics.
He opened his wrist and moved it toward her while his right eye scanned her body.
Subject: twenty-four in human years. Ethnicity: African American father, European mother. Drugs in system: Yes. Time of last usage: Six hours, twenty-two minutes and seven seconds ago. Drug(s) of Choice: Alcohol, Marijuana and Crack cocaine.
Well, she sure as hell won’t do. Fucking druggie, damn addict. Is anyone clean around here?!
However he knew he was hitching his hopes to a frail prayer. He fully understood that prostitution and drug abuse often went hand in hand. Never the less, he needed someone that no one would miss...just in case things went awry.
He turned away and continued to wait. She was the ninth person he’d scanned in the heavy sex trafficking area and though he understood quite clearly the ties between the sex trade and addiction, he also hoped for a shooting star.
Will she do? Will anyone miss her?
...and who cares about a woman that sticks herself with needles and sucks dick for a living? There in Ward 7, east of the Anacostia River, he had high hopes of taking a pretty streetwalker home, to make his very own. Yet, sex was the farthest thing from Xzion’s mind. He liked sex, hell, he loved it, but that wasn’t his reason for staking out the area. He needed to fulfill Aton’s request and he hated to admit it, but nights like this reminded him of the suppressed concerns he had. The United States was taking too damn long to shake down. He’d saved the easiest for last, or so he thought...
He anxiously rubbed his hands together and peered mysteriously from beneath the covering of his oversized hoodie. From a passerby, all one could see was his long Romanesque nose with a slight bump on the bridge and his plush, heart-shaped lips. He crossed his arms over his stomach as he conducted another scan of a passerby, and cursed to himself as she, too, was enjoying her kryptonite to the fullest. Xzion shook his head in disgust, pulled his hoodie away from his face and peered across the street.
There, shrouded in darkness, she came into the light. Wearing a midnight blue little dress, thigh high black boots, a long red scarf around her neck and long, dark brown hair, she pivoted, like a ballet dancer in slow motion. He couldn’t believe his luck...not one hit of blow, Casper, China girls, Rich White Girl, cherry meth, highballs, smack, acid, or zambi in her system, not even a drop of liquor...and she was young. Way too young to be on the streets, but that never meant anything as of late. Xzion’s lips curled upwards as he took steady steps toward her, almost salivating over the delicious morsel that came into his proverbial lap. Little Red Riding Hood had met the Big Bad Wolf... bon appetit.
****
Jayme continued to stand close to Candi, much to the woman’s chagrin.
“You been causin’ too much heat, bringin’ static. We all know don’t none of y’all give a shit about these dope boys gettin’ killed. Jayme, don’t even front. I thought you’d keep it one hundred but I see I was wrong.” The prostitute rolled her green contact lens colored eyes, flipped her blonde hair and turned away in repugnance as she adjusted her red lace bustier.
“She’s right, you know?” Macelina piped up, a transsexual transplant from Philly. “I been on these streets here for four years, and when people were getting killed every day all day, me and my girls,” she grimaced and flicked cigarette ashes onto the group while Candi high-fived her, “no one gave a shit but as soon as these dealers get got, then it’s time to investigate. Pulease!”
“That’s not how it is, Macelina. You only see one side of the story,” Jayme corrected.
“I got five days last week for having a cooker on me. Bullshit. My girl Carmen got her throat sliced by a bad date. Happens all the time and no one gives a flying fuck. We ain’t talking about shit because one,” Macelina’s voice escalated as her recently imbibed alcohol loosened her tongue, “we don’t know who is doing this shit, but at least his ass isn’t fuckin’ with us for a change, and two, some of those motha fuckas are just as bad as the pimps! Nuh uh, Jayme, you ain’t getting us tied up in some bullshit, no ma’am!” She crossed her arms and moved around nervously, looking around more than likely for other police and familiar johns.
“Macelina, I was the first one to help you, over and over again, so don’t try that with me,” Jayme said angrily. “I know someone saw something and if you think you’re safe because whoever is responsible for these murders is targeting drug pushers, you are mistaken. No one is safe until this guy is off the streets! If he did that to the drug dealers, took out fellow police officers, what do you think he’d do to a woman at the wrong damn place, at the wrong time?!”
Macelina and Candi glanced at each other, then turned away from Jayme, forcing her to face their backs.
“Oh yes!” Jayme laughed loudly. “I know that look! You all know something. Talk to me!”
The two women kept quiet and started to move slowly away. Jayme stayed close behind, but kept a safe distance.
Finally, Candi broke the silence. “I don’t know if we should tell her...”
“She’s right though—anyone out here could be a target...”
The two women continued to talk amongst themselves ahead of her as they strolled the dimly lit sidewalk with cars passing by every few minutes.
“Jayme, Michelle saw something a couple days ago...” Candi admitted, her voice low, almost inaudible.
“Michelle? MeMe?”
“Yes, that Michelle,” Candi clarified. “She was out of it; don’t know how true it was. Sounded like some crazy story from a movie... said she saw DeAndre get iced.”
Chills went up Jayme’s spine. DeAndre Williams was the latest case to roll across her desk. He wasn’t a drug lord by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a penchant for influencing the street crowd and conducting some of the most outlandish pill parties. The police had been on to him, knowing that any party flyers stapled to telephone poles with his name listed as the DJ, more times than not, meant he was dealing. The problem was that he offered freebies to new prospective clients, and no one could turn that down. His specialty was PCP, premium blunts and roofies. The college-dropout had a record a mile long, but his awardwinning smile and charisma, as well as gift of gab, made him more friends than enemies. He was good to his customers, always jovial on the surfac
e—but there was a dark side to DeAndre. If his kindness was mistaken for weakness, which it often was, he was known to hire brutes and unleash mafia-style beat-downs. He never wanted to get his own hands dirty, preferring to spin records, make people happy and count his cheddar. Now, the only thing he was counting was daisies...seven feet under.
“Do either of you know where MeMe is?”
“I have no fuckin’ idea. She was scared to death,” Macelina confessed. “She ain’t been out here since.”
“Can you tell me what she saw?”
Candi turned around, her eyes filled with anger and trepidation.
“Jayme, either she was trippin’ on some shit really bad, or she was telling the truth. I know she didn’t want to talk to no police though. Nobody trusts anyone, anymore. We honestly don’t know where she is though. I think you better just ask her. If we see her, we’ll let her know to call you.” And with that, the two women hastened their step, their heels clicking loudly against the cold pavement until they were several feet away, too far away for Jayme to ask any more questions.
She’d seen that ‘look’ before—the same one she used when she’d have to pretend to undress with a creepy guy that gave her goosebumps. She never took ‘back-up’ for granted. Even though help was in the other room, the john could still have a gun, slice her like a pizza pie or bang her head into the wall so hard, it would leave a gash. All of those things could happen, they’d happened to plenty others she knew—and silent prayers were always covered in nervous sweat.
Jayme continued down the street, devising plans, stopping people she knew and flashing a smile or simple ‘hello’ at the ladies of the night...
****
“Pleeease!” Blue mascara streaked down the woman’s caramel skin as she twisted her roped and bound body, struggling to get free. Xzion looked down briefly at her, then back up at his wrist. He scanned her once more before starting the process. He kneeled down in front of her on his knee, looking at his specimen closely.
“Why are you upset?” he asked quietly.
“You...you told me we were going to a hotel! I don’t go to people’s houses and...it’s cold in here, it’s weird! Just let me go, please?” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears as she bucked her tied ankles on his bed sheets, disheveling them.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” And he meant that. Xzion had no intentions of killing the young lady. He did, however, have plans for her that may cause her a slight bit of pain. Regardless, she’d still have her life fully intact—only, she’d never be the same. He had no control over that. He simply needed what he needed, and she could be on her way.
He removed the needle from a velvet covered case.
“Oh God! No! Please! I’ll do whatever you want! I have a little money, you can have it! You want sex? Okay, I won’t fight you! Please...just don’t!”
She screamed at the top of her lungs, her body bucking around as she if were having a seizure. Much to his surprise, he didn’t even have to use mind control to get her. She thought she’d found a happy new john, a guy willing to pay top dollar for her barely used vessel of love. Fact of the matter was, it had been used plenty , but her little girl face, petite ‘barely a woman body’ and lack of heavy drug abuse made her look like a teenager. She’d come for excitement, wanted some cash, and had yet to run into any major issues. In short, here was a little girl lost, and unfortunately, now she’d been found...
He ran his finger down the side of her face, tracing her smooth skin ever so slowly.
She’s so damn young...
Then he began. Eyes staring intensely, he forced her mind to join with his and he locked into her, taking full control of every muscle of her temple. He quickly untied her, moving swiftly while she was still under his influence.
“Turn over on your stomach.”
Without a moment of hesitation, still under mind altering hypnosis, the hooker did as she was told.
Xzion sat down beside his unwilling medical assistant. He carefully pulled the top of her silky dress down, exposing her bra strapped covered back. Her upper shoulder sported a small dragon tattoo. He enjoyed mythical creature cartoons and illustrations. It amused him, because he knew that on some planets, such creatures of similar fashion really did exist and no one thought they were cool or great to look at—except these hominids. A dragon would kill you for fun, had brains the size of pebbles, and ghastly odors that oozed from their reptilian pores. Xzion’s people, in their true historic warrior form, would wipe them out, thousands at a time due to back to back, senseless invasions. The damned things kept coming, monsters shunned across the galaxy and considered inferior to any other creature.
Stupid humans...drawing the bastards on their bodies. May as well draw a pile of shit...same difference.
Xzion reached into his bag and removed more equipment. He cleaned the area right in the middle of her spinal cord with rubbing alcohol. Next, he picked the syringe back up, and slowly injected the needle into her back, eliciting a slight moan from her.
“You’re just going to feel a bit of pressure...it will be over soon enough. You won’t remember any of this. I promise.”
He slowly removed the needle from her back, her blood drawn into it—exactly 20 CCs. And the best part was, his scan of her on the darkened street was correct; she was AB blood type, definitely ideal. The hard to come by stuff was the only kind that worked faster as a coolant on their delicate systems. Unlike O blood, which had a tendency to clot, or A blood, which only gave a week or two of relief, or even B blood, which lasted a bit longer and would help in a bind, but still wasn’t good enough—AB blood gave months of protection from overheating. Even though only three percent of the United States population had the blood type, it helped all of his people, just like humans—anyone could use it. Xzion wouldn’t be picky, however. All donors were welcome but he’d hit the jackpot, and couldn’t wait to tell Aton after it was complete.
“Stay lying face down until I tell you to get up,” he said coolly as he looked at the filled syringe from various angles.
He exited the room, locking her inside. Walking up the hall, he reached a bright blue room, the light in it almost blinding. A sterile environment, equipped with a long, white slate work counter covered with assorted filter funnels, chemical spoons, test tubes and volumetric flasks. He sat down at the counter and opened a drawer filled with ice chips and blinking, flashing bright red chips. They glowed like Christmas decorations. Dipping his fingers inside, he retrieved several and set them flat onto the table. Next, he placed a petri dish in the middle of his work area, then opened his wrist. He pushed several small buttons, and waited.
“Aton,” he said with a grin while he kept busy, lining up clean syringes, small beakers, and a mortar and pestle.
Aton’s voice came through loud and clear via the speaker on Xzion’s wrist.
“Aton, I just wanted to give you an update. I have the subject and I am conducting an experiment for Phase II. She is type AB Blood.”
“What a find!”
“I know. I took the sample from her back so that synthensization wouldn’t take as long.”
Back samples were always more ideal, though harder. The sample was cleaner, thus, required less ‘clean up’.
“I will let you know my findings as soon as it is complete.”
“Thank you, Xzion. I will be waiting.”
And the call disconnected.
Xzion placed the blood inside of the pestle. He then added a small cup of ice, crushed it and mixed it together. Next, he added a thick green liquid, known as habas. It was a blood astringent. The mixture started to bloom and bubble. He poured the concoction into the petri dish, after which he pricked himself with a needle. He placed one drop of his blood inside the blend, which sparked and fizzed. After a few moments, he stood and poured the mixture into a thick test tube pre-filled with bubbling, pool-blue liquid called kivi, a binding agent. Everything combined, swirling and knotting, dancing in strange contortions. He washed his ha
nds at a nearby sink, then vacated the area and returnedto his bedroom. There the woman still lay on the bed, a faraway look in her eyes.
“Good girl. I see you’re still here.” He joked as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Now, after this is over, I will let you go, but first, we have to sit here and wait...”
He removed his shoes and the rest of his clothing, entered into his bathroom, and immediately submerged himself in an ice bath, for sheer pleasure...
****
Jayme tossed her papers across her bedroom floor in a huff. She’d spent the better part of four hours, canvassing the area, interviewing and chasing down leads. Still, no sign of MeMe; it was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Even so, Jayme knew MeMe all too well. The poor woman had six children lost in the system, four of which came from johns, hepatitis C and a crack cocaine habit out of this world. Only twenty-six, she looked forty. The streets had treated her unkindly and the once hopeful young lady had succumbed to her demons. Whatever MeMe had seen, it may or may not help, but the quest to find her would continue, just not right then.
Jayme sighed and grunted loudly as she fell back onto her bed, hands over eyes. She’d read over her notes, the police files regarding the ‘XXX’ murderer and the classified information from the FBI but she continued to run into brick walls. No one wanted to rat out a drug dealer, especially the ones that were being targeted. They were needed after all; who else would give them their dope and furthermore, the price had skyrocketed, causing a feeding frenzy amongst the last standing. The ones still alive turned it into a money bonanza. Less competition, more profits—simple math.
Angry at the world, Jayme kicked her foot out, forcing a book off of her bed in angst. All she needed was one tiny morsel to materialize, and she’d chase it to the moon and back but all she had were time-stamped, ‘Fuck-You, Cop!’ and missing MeMe, the round-a-way, high-school drop-out turned base head.
