by Stacy Green
“Don’t talk about Todd that way,” Justin snapped back. “He’s the only reason she’s not in jail. And I told you all of this earlier. Anything associated with you is the first place the cops are going to look.”
“Good thing I’ve got places no one knows about.” He pulled me to my feet. I swayed, trying to catch up to their conversation.
“You do?”
Chris ignored me. “And surely you could have gotten some cash and put her up–”
“Stop,” I said. “Justin and Todd were right. Police are going to be looking at hotels. This was a safe place.” I smiled at Justin, although it probably looked more like a grimace the way my head pounded. “And I can’t thank you enough. Tell Todd I said thank you as well.”
“You can tell him yourself,” Justin said. “I’ve got the phone.”
I shook my head. “No. He’s not going to lose his job for me. And you aren’t going to get in trouble.” I nudged Chris. “Either of you.”
“What are you getting at?” He asked.
I looked up at him, for once not feeling put off by his scrutiny. “I knew this day would come. And being here, this isn’t right. What is right is accepting I’ve done some good things, even if they were bad. Maybe I’ll walk away from this, maybe not. But running isn’t who I am.”
“Lucy,” Chris started.
“I’ve thought about this a lot. You know what my plans were for Sarah.” I didn’t bother to worry about Justin. He’d stay loyal to the end. “I would have carried them out. And then moved on to the next. I’ve lived in denial, convinced myself I had some calling. It’s all a lie.”
“You’re exhausted,” Chris said. “Let me take you somewhere safe while we work this out. You can sleep, get your head on straight.”
“My head is on straight.” I tugged at his collar, bringing his face close to mine. My whisper was only for him. “If I don’t go, I won’t stop doing bad things. That girl, Riley. What I nearly did to her…that’s not who I want to be.”
He grabbed my shoulders. “I won’t let you do this.”
“Isn’t it the right thing, though? I always said I’d accept it when the time came. Not run around taking up space where I don’t belong.” I waved my hand toward the empty room. “Using these people. I’d rather sit in a cell.”
“This isn’t the time.” Chris held me too tightly. His eyes were harder than I’d ever seen them. Pleasant chills shot through me. “This isn’t the plan. You know it. We’ve discussed it. And I won’t let you throw your life away for something you didn’t do.”
“Me either.” Justin spoke again. He cleared his throat. “Listen, my brother–Todd, you know, the one who actually accepts that I exist?” Chris rolled his eyes. “He told me what he thinks you do. He’s not sure how you do it yet, but he thinks he can find out.”
Chris and I stared at each other. The air stilled, my heart slowed to a painful thud.
“The thing is, I’m not sure he really wants to do anything about it,” Justin continued. “When he talks about you, about the men he thinks you…he sounds like he admires you. He wishes he would have killed my mother. Our mother,” he added for Chris’s benefit. “He thought about it, you know. Couldn’t go through with it. He blamed himself for what happened to me, and that’s why he became a cop.”
I tried to look around Chris’s broad shoulders to see Justin’s face, but Chris held me firm.
“Todd wants to know what you did. He wants to figure it out. But in the end, I don’t think he’ll arrest you. He just wants to know, for himself.”
“Why on earth would you say that?” I choked out.
“Because this business of being all honorable and not wanting you arrested for the wrong crime is a bunch of shit. He brings people in on holds or suspicion of crimes they didn’t commit all the time, and it’s no more than a ploy to get to the truth. And yet he’s doing just the opposite with you.”
“What’s your point?” Chris finally released me and turned to face his younger brother.
“That she needs to stop comparing what she’s accused of to what she’s actually done.” He stepped passed Chris, brushing the older man’s shoulder. They glared at each other, so different and so much alike. Justin stopped in front of me, ignoring Chris’s fuming. “Todd doesn’t want you in trouble for anything, and the people who are trying to bring you down are the same kind of monsters you hunt. His hands are tied. If you throw in the towel now, everything you’ve done–every dark decision you’ve made–is for nothing. Because this trafficking thing just gets bigger. And the leaders get more powerful. And more kids get hurt.”
Maybe his words got to me. Or maybe my coward side won out. I’d probably never know the answer. I rolled my neck and shoulders and then slipped on the back pack.
“I’ve got two conditions.” I poked Chris hard in the shoulder. He turned to glare at me. “Thanks for coming for me, in spite of everything. I’ll go with you, but I’ve got a stop to make first. If we’re careful, we should be safe. That’s the first one.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And the second?”
I felt the blood pulsing through me now as my old self returned. I gave him my most charming smile. “You start spending time with Justin. No arguments. You guys need each other. Or you might, one day. And you’re lucky to have one another.”
Chris’s mouth twitched. Justin hid a smirk.
“Whatever,” Chris finally said. “Let’s go.”
24
When I first started down my chosen path, Kelly and I hashed out all the possibilities. She had the foresight to think of a code in case I wasn’t able to use my own phone. I texted her from the pre-paid cell Justin brought me, and we made arrangements for me to stay with her. I’d kept my relationship with her secret from everyone except Chris, and neither one of them would allow me to spend another night in the shelter.
Kelly locked the door behind me, her eyes wide and scared. “You’re crazy. You’re running from the cops on information from Todd? The same guy who wants to arrest you for multiple murders?”
“Technically,” I dumped the bag on her countertop, feeling safe with it for the first time since I left home, “I’m not on the run. I left before they showed up. I’m just hiding.”
“How’d you dump your heroes?”
“Justin was easy enough. He still listens. Chris, on the other hand, I had to threaten, but he’s getting some cash from his uncle’s place. He didn’t want to use his ATM.”
“He keeps cash at his uncle’s?”
I shrugged. “He’s got a history of forgetting his bank card, I guess. Safety measures. You sure it’s all right for me to stay here? You need your space.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “You’ll have to sleep on the couch, but it’s better than the shelter. I can’t stand the idea of you out there alone.” She took my hand and squeezed it. I squeezed back, wishing I’d never brought this sweet girl into my web of lies and death.
Forty minutes later, I emerged from her tiny shower with clean hair and in the only change of clothes I’d brought. The hot water stripped away the physical and mental grime, and I’d been able to bury whatever feelings of doubt and fear I’d dredged up during the night. “You said you had something you wanted to show me?”
She motioned for me to sit down in her makeshift office. “I’ve spent way more time than I wanted to going through these dark net sites. Some of the things people post…what they request, for kids…I can’t even describe them.” She was pale, I realized. And her face was thinner. Scouring these sites took a horrible toll on her.
“Stop looking,” I said. “I’m not sure you’ll ever find what we’re looking for, and it’s not good for you. Didn’t you say all the double blinds and overseas server routing makes it nearly impossible to prove where a site’s really coming from?”
“That’s why I’ve been digging deep,” she said. “Because if you go through enough pictures and posts,” she shuddered, “you get an idea of where the owners might be operating from.
The problem for law enforcement is they need more technical information to get a warrant, which is where the trouble with the overseas servers come in. Plus there are so many thousands of sites they can’t really dig into them without some kind of tip. I, on the other hand, can spend countless hours obsessively surfing and looking for specific locations and requirements.”
“You found something related to Philadelphia?” I couldn’t believe we’d be that lucky. “Surely the operators weren’t so dumb as to make their location obvious.”
“They aren’t.” Kelly pulled up a browser window. She bit the inside of her lip. “Listen, we’re dug into the cesspool of life right now. I shouldn’t need to click on any of the graphic images, but you’ve been warned.”
“Got it.” Although I’d heard countless depraved stories of abuse, one thing I’d learned is that there is always something worse out there.
“So this one site, The Candy Market,” she winced at the name, “has a whole bunch of pages with kids being horribly victimized. I don’t need to show you those, but they have an actual market page, where interested parties can shop.”
“By shop you mean looking at pictures of the available kids.”
She nodded.
“Christ. And it’s local? How could you possibly find that out?”
“I wasn’t sure at first, because everything is so damned buried, but then I started looking at the names of the kids.” She started talking too fast, and I knew she’d found something good. “A lot them are old-fashioned. They just didn’t seem like something parents would name their kids nowadays. And they were weirdly familiar. As soon as I started Googling the names, I hit on the connection. They’re all Philadelphia historical figures.”
That was the last thing I’d expected to hear. My mouth actually dropped open. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s kind of ballsy, but these guys are so sneaky they figure they’re deeply hidden, and unless someone is specifically looking for this area, who’s going to notice? Look.” She clicked on the Market page. At least thirty small pictures of children popped up. Likely taken with a cellphone, most of the kids sat on a bed or a couch looking tense and frightened for the camera. Some were teens, others much younger.
“Agnes Radcliffe,” I read.
“Agnes Irwin, first dean of Radcliffe,” Kelly supplied.
“Cornelius Tiller.”
“Cornelius Van Til, Theologian.”
“Cecilia Beaux.”
“A painter way back in the old days,” Kelly said. “You get the point. All of these are carefully chosen historical figures, nothing recent. Names run the gamut from historians to teachers to musicians. Carefully selected so as not to stand out, but the theme is there. And every one can be tied to a historical figure from this city. I’m absolutely positive we’ve found the right site.”
I scanned the pictures, trying not to look at their eyes. Even with the forced, tight smiles, most of these children had dead eyes. Likely sexually abused before they were selected, and now suffering horrific things.
“There’s a new arrivals link,” I said. “Have you looked at those?”
“Nope. That’s recent as of today.” Kelly clicked the red link.
Two more boys came up, both younger than ten. For a moment I thought I was seeing things, and then dizziness washed over me, followed by acute nausea. “William Allen.”
Kelly did a quick search. “Mayor of Philly from 1735 to 1736.”
“It’s the little guy.” I tasted vomit.
“What?”
“The little boy with Riley the other day, the one she was babysitting. He’s wearing the knit hat I gave him. Preacher must have found out she talked to me,” I said. “She was attached to the little boy, said Preacher would never get him. He’s punishing her.”
Now I’d had it. Any thought of giving up my plan and turning myself in evaporated just like that little boy’s innocence had. I was going to kill Preacher. But first, he’d give me the information I needed. “Give me that pre-paid phone.”
“What are you going to do?” Kelly handed me the phone, looking scared.
“It’s time I had my test run with Preacher. He’ll talk, and then I’ll take care of him.”
Kelly stood up and began to pace. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you going to have backup?”
“I’ll talk to Chris.” I didn’t want to pull him into my vendetta. But I needed him, and if he wanted to help go after his mother, this experience would be good practice. “I’ll probably need help pulling it off since I’ll have to be on Preacher’s turf. But we’ll manage.”
She steepled her hands against her lips. “Think about where this is going. It will change everything, including who you are. Are you prepared for that?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. “All I know is that I can’t go down without a fight, and this bastard deserves to pay. And if that means doing something I never thought I would, then I’ll accept that. If the time comes.”
“Preacher isn’t going to just share his life story with you.”
“I’ll get the information I need.” I’d accepted my decision the minute I decided to leave the shelter with Chris and Justin. “I need to find out if he killed Sarah and who’s behind this ring. And then I’ll take care of him once and for all.”
25
Preacher was very happy to hear from me. Within minutes, he’d made arrangements at the Capri Motel, nestled conveniently between Strawberry Mansion and the dangerous area around Temple University. Chris nearly refused to drop me off when he saw the place, but I managed to convince him this was my best shot at clearing my name and moving on to bigger targets, namely his mother.
A large two-story motel with a parking lot that backed up to an industrial area, Capri advertised its hourly rates with a bright, neon sign. Working girls, many of them wrecked from drug use, loitered along the sidewalks. Either the police had forgotten about this area or the girls were too far gone to care; one even had a crack pipe sticking out of her purse.
I arrived at the motel first as requested. Preacher provided fake names for both of us, and the room was already paid for. I didn’t even have to show identification. The manager looked equal parts bored and smarmy. He smirked at me as I took the elevator to the second floor. The fire escape was at the end of the hall. Preacher had chosen well for reasons he’d never know.
The room was like every other one-star room: barely clean with the faint scent of the previous bodies, the walls stained with dried splashes and crusty streaks of unknown liquids. I set my bag down and did a bed bug check, yanking out poorly tucked in sheets. All clear for bed bugs. A small television with a crack in the screen sat on a scratched chest of three drawers. The blinds were closed.
Our room faced the street. The woman with the crack pipe got into a junker of a car that quickly disappeared. An old man ambled out of the lobby of the hotel with a can of cat food. He rattled a fork against the tin, and soon a stray cat came to greedily gobble the stinking feast. The man went back inside, and I closed the blinds.
Inside the square and dirty bathroom, I regarded myself in the mirror. Someone had written a number in the corner, and the maid hadn’t bothered to clean it off. If a maid had been through the room at all. I brushed the brand new blond wig, figuring Preacher wouldn’t notice the difference, tucking a strand behind my ear. Applied a bit more powder to cover the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of my nose. Put on some mascara. Brushed my teeth and then applied lip gloss.
My backpack contained the more essential items. Preacher was too smart for me to slip him the ketamine in a glass of wine, but that was fine. Ketamine could be injected into the muscle, and if I choreographed the dance right, he would be singing in a matter of minutes.
I slipped on my latex gloves, checked the already prepared syringe, and then surveyed the used bed. How would Preacher want me?
He likes to be the boss, so dominatio
n was likely. But this was an audition. He’d want to see if I could take control, make a man salivate for more. Wasn’t that every man’s fantasy? A woman who operated with complete confidence in the bedroom? Minutes ticked by as I envisioned the night playing out. I’d have to let him touch me, make him relax. I couldn’t seem too eager, but he’d have to believe I was into him. Maximum ego boost.
Blocking out the cheapness of the act was easy. This was simply another role on a foreign stage. My skills were good enough to pull it off.
I chose the hiding spot for the syringe, hid the gloves in the trash underneath a wad of tissues, and sat down to wait.
Preacher arrived ten minutes late. I admired his effort at controlling the situation. He wasn’t an amateur. But I was better.
I’d chosen a form fitting white sweater top over skinny jeans. I opened the door after his second knock.
He’d dressed casual too, looking more like the kid from the street than the businessman he pretended to be. All swagger, his eyes swept over me, lingering at my chest. He made a circling motion with his index finger. I obeyed, turning a slow circle.
“Very nice. My clients like a girl with some ass.”
I giggled. “Thanks.” I stepped aside to let him in, twirling a lock of hair and popping my spearmint gum.
“You nervous?”
I ducked my chin. “A little.”
He used his index finger to tug my head up. “That’s part of your charm. I like that. So will the boys. But you got to loosen up too.”
He set his hat down on the desk, draped his jacket over the chair. Pulled off his bright, red hoodie and tossed it over the jacket. Down to a white t-shirt and jeans, he looked younger and even lankier than before. His jeans were loose, but they didn’t hide his enjoyment.
The ketamine would take away Preacher’s ability to fight, and his reflexes would be greatly slowed. Still, he’d have a moment, a single moment when he felt the needle go in and realized he was no longer in control.
My skin heated. I pulled at the collar of my top. He smiled, showing white, wolfish teeth. Taking my cue, I stepped forward until the space between us evaporated. He was shorter than Chris, the top of my head touching his cheek. His fingers trailed up my covered arms. I shivered.
