Vigilante

by Jessica Gadziala

  "And black hoodies," I observed.

  "Exactly," he said with a smirk.

  "What is an MRE?"

  "Meals, ready to eat. They are military rations. They're supposedly good for just about ever."

  "Wow, must be tasty," I laughed.

  "Hey, nut jobs gotta eat, man." There was a short, but strained silence before he reached to put my plate on the coffee table. "So, you ready now? Feeling all fainted-out?"

  "I think I should be able to withstand the shock. What did you find?"

  "Not as much as I would like. Actually, do you have your old passports on you?"

  I did.

  That was likely weird for normal people. I spent so much time traveling that I always had my current one. But I kept my old ones on me as well, as tokens. They almost felt like a security blanket. It felt almost irrationally wrong to be without them. "Yeah. Why?" I asked as I reached for my purse that must have slipped off my shoulder outside to be retrieved by Luce.

  "Just want to compare something," he said, reaching for a folder on the table.

  As I handed him the little blue fold with the little circle cut out of it, indicating its expiration, I saw another appear from the file, making my skin immediately chill, and my stomach twist. "Is that my father's?"

  "It's Alejandro's, yes," he said, nodding, as he flipped mine open to the first page, then went several pages longer in my father's. "Yep. I thought so."

  "You thought what?" I asked as he just kept looking at the stamps.

  "McAllen, Texas."

  "What about McAllen, Texas?"

  "Alejandro has a stamp in here for Dallas on June 11th of this particular year. And then I found an article about a suspicious poisoning in McAllen on the 18th. Some pain in the ass sheriff who was getting to close to figuring out how the cartel operated. Then just two days later, he has an entry stamp for Mexico. And suddenly you do as well." He stopped, looking at me, looking for me, I was sure, to agree with him. "You would have been three here. Why was this the first time you showed up on paper?"

  "Maybe I lived with my relatives. That's what he always told me. His life wasn't conducive to dealing with a screaming infant. He took me when I would be less work. Which sounds horrible repeated, but I mean... I understand that logic."

  "Sure. Maybe. But I think it is more likely you never met Alejandro Cruz until sometime between the 11th and 18th of June."

  "I think Old Man Loonybin must have left some of his residual conspiracy theory energy around here. And you, my dear, have soaked it up or something."

  "Just, hear me out," he said, reaching for his folder.

  "Well, I guess I owe you that after drugging, abducting, and holding you prisoner."

  "How... magnanimous," he threw my earlier word back at me. "Anyway. McAllen, Texas. It is one of the most immigrant-packed border towns there is. And thanks to local churches being, well, all churchy about opening their doors, they often become asylums. Especially to women and children."

  "You think my mother traveled in with me from Mexico? You know how long a walk through the desert that is, right? How hot? How many adults don't make it all the way? How would my mother make it with me in tow?"

  "People can be weak, singularly. A mother, on the other hand, I don't think there is a fiercer creature on the planet. Depending on what she was trying to escape, what life she was trying to provide for you away from that, she could have done it with you strapped to her back for an extra week if that was what she needed to do. Besides, you're being pretty literal about 'crossing the border.' There are plenty of underground tunnels as well. For the right amount."

  "Okay, so let's suspend reality for a moment and say she crossed over with me into McAllen, Texas. What then? What next? Your trail is cold from there."

  "My trail is cold online from there, yeah. Records from Mexico are hard at best to get. Many areas aren't as... digitalized as we are here."

  "So you're proposing I visit McAllen, Texas? Go knock on the doors, and ask anyone if twenty-four years ago they remember a mother and her young daughter? Get real, Luce."

  "There's also this," he said, looking grave, like maybe he was hesitant to share it. He reached for a scanned copy of a newspaper, handing it to me."

  "Oh, fun. A parade!" I mocked enthusiasm.

  "Smartass, one column below."

  And there it was.

  And maybe it was a bit of a long shot.

  It happened every day. It happened every three minutes in the US alone.

  But considering the other evidence, it was hard to deny the probability.

  "'An unnamed immigrant was severely beaten and assaulted,'" I started reading, feeling the sandwich roll around in my stomach.

  "Alright, there's that paleness again," he said, ripping the page out of my hand. He had literally ripped it too; a corner was still between my thumb and forefinger. "The gist is, she was treated, and released. Reports said she maybe went to the St. Christopher Church in McAllen. But that was all there was. I know it doesn't sound like much, but if there is anything I have learned in this line of work, it's that if something looks fishy, it is. And if you keep digging, you'll find that rotten fish."

  "So you think I should go to Texas and... dig."

  I could do it.

  Fact of the matter was, my father left a lot of money. True, in most cases, you needed a death certificate to get a dead parent's money. And when there is no body, to get a death certificate in absentia, it takes seven years.

  You know, if you did things legally.

  If you used banks.

  My father didn't exactly obtain his money legally. To avoid getting into trouble with the IRS, he just stashed it every time we crossed into the states, just keeping out enough for the next leg of our travels.

  I never actually went with him when he pulled into the storage center in the wee hours of the night, so before he went missing, I had no idea how much he had stored there.

  But, well, poisons experts the likes of his skill set and knowledge were rare. And rarity, in every single aspect of life, was rewarded handsomely.

  So when I ferreted out the key, found the storage locker, and stepped inside, I wasn't overly shocked with the stacks of money, jewels, and even a stash of diamonds I found.

  It was enough to set me up for the next fifteen years with me doing nothing but sitting on my ass.

  It was certainly enough to get me my modest home, get some furniture, build a prison in the basement, and maybe take a trip to Texas to look for answers.

  "You really think it's wise to be doing any digging into your past on your own with your newfound fainting condition?"

  "It's not a condition!" I squeaked, shaking my head. "I've just been... overwhelmed is all."

  "Think it is going to be any less overwhelming to find out the truth about your mom and Alejandro?"

  He had a point there.

  "I'll... invest in some smelling salts and wear them around my neck," I said with a smile.

  His deep eyes watched me for a long minute, unreadable, as they almost always seemed to be.

  "Just ask me to come, Evan."

  Whoa.

  Don't ask me why, but those words, and maybe the depth with which he said them, sent a weird fluttery feeling across my belly.

  Ask him to come?

  Of all the insane, asinine, yet somehow completely appealing ideas.

  Did I want him to come? I sort of did.

  Was that pretty nuts? Ah, hells yeah.

  Then again, the whole situation was nuts.

  So, what could it hurt, right?

  "Come with me, Luce."

  EIGHT

  Luce

  Don't fucking ask me why I asked her to ask me to go with her.

  I was not that guy.

  I didn't go on road trips to solve mysteries.

  I didn't make friends with practical strangers.

  In fact, the only time I traveled was to find my marks and bring them back with me. And that was only
when I couldn't find a way to trick them into coming to me, which was rare. Usually, I could just make a post for the perverts about some new den where they could get their rape on with underage boys or girls, and they just came running. Paying an upfront fee for entrance too.

  Fucking suckers.

  Truly got what was coming to them.

  But yeah, I didn't do random trips to random towns in fucking Texas to go dig up twenty-four-year-old dirt.

  Yet somehow, I was doing just that.

  What can I say, I fucking liked Evan.

  She was different.

  There were equal parts silk and steel to her.

  On top of that, I just got this weird feeling like she needed a friend. Normally, I'd just ignore that urge to forge bonds, calling it what it was - stupid and reckless. I just couldn't seem to make myself do that in this situation.

  A part of me wanted to claim it was just the story, just the untied ends, just my almost compulsive urge to know the truth, to know I was right. But the other part of me seemed to acknowledge that it was something more than that.

  Though, whatever more it might have been, was just going to be friendly.

  No more kissing.

  No more imagining her touching herself while thinking of me.

  No more rubbing one out and thinking about her begging for my cock.

  Fuck.

  Seeing as even thinking those things had me half-hard, yeah, this whole part of the plan was going to take some real goddamn willpower.

  "So, when are you free to go?" she asked after what must have been a tense silence with me all lost in my own thoughts.

  Ah, yeah.

  We were doing this shit.

  Planning.

  Comparing schedules.

  I had never had to plan shit except traps and escape routes before.

  "Ah, I just have some fucking shithead to deal with first," I said, realizing I had spent the whole day researching Evan's shit and not working on my own.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  "Oh, yeah. About that," she said, nipping into her lower lip slightly, looking guilty as hell.

  "About what?" I prompted when she didn't go on.

  "That shithead isn't real. That page and that robot voice on the phone..."

  "No shit," I said, finding myself smiling when I should have been raging mad. First, because a connection was compromised. Second, because that contact didn't think to tell me they were compromised.

  "I needed to lure you out so I could follow you," she admitted. "And maybe get your mind occupied, so you didn't see me coming."

  "Mission accomplished," I said, unzipping my hoodie slightly, so I could pull the back down and show her the nasty ass bruise I had across the back of my neck.

  "Ow," she hissed. "Sorry. I, ah, really threw all my rage into that swing. I've never hit someone before. I had no idea how much force it would take to take you down."

  "More force is usually the best bet," I agreed, zipping my hoodie back up. "Well, then... my schedule is clear. I don't exactly have a nine-to-five here."

  "It might be good for you to get out of here too."

  "So the Old Man Loonybin conspiracy theorist energy stops getting soaked in through my pores."

  "Exactly," she agreed with a small laugh. "Oh," she said, suddenly looking crestfallen.

  "Oh, what?"

  "Oh, Diego."

  "Yeah, I'm gonna need more than that, doll."

  "My bird," she explained.

  "Your macaw," I specified, still feeling pretty damn proud of myself for calling that one.

  "Yes, my blue and gold macaw, Diego. I can't bring him. I mean, he's been on a plane before. But there was always an RV or van or something on the other end where he could move around. And I don't think hotels let you bring birds. I just... I don't know anyone who would be willing to take him on. And I don't want to board him."

  I rubbed my chin, feeling the stubble, making a mental note to shave that off before we left. "I might know someone."

  "Do they like birds?"

  "Sure," I agreed, nodding.

  I was sure he maybe had, you know, enjoyed the look or sounds of a bird from afar at some point or another. Then again, maybe not. He was a weird fuck.

  But considering I had done him and his friends a big fat favor a while back, I was going to go ahead and call in the marker.

  Barrett might have been trapped in his own head a lot, too smart for his own good, and anti-social, but he was a good guy. He would probably spend ten hours researching macaw care, and Evan would come home to the healthiest fucking parrot on the east coast.

  "Do you think they could do it on short notice?"

  "Yeah, he's not busy. I can swing by and let him know to expect him whenever you are ready to leave, and then you can come and drop him off."

  "Okay, well. I need to go and look into flights and stuff. But if we can maybe get going before the weekend..."

  "You give me the day and time, and we can make it happen."

  "Alright, um," she said, looking around for something else to say, but there wasn't anything. "Thanks for the catching me when I fainted thing."

  "Super leading man of me, right? That shit should make its way into that erotica."

  Fuck.

  I shouldn't have said that.

  Because her eyes got heated, man. And I was trying to be all noble and keep my dick in line with the 'just friends' idea.

  "Very dreamy," she said, voice blank, recovering quickly. "And thanks for the food and movie and company and... you know..." she trailed off, shrugging.

  "I know?" I prompted, wanting to know whatever it was she thought I could silently pick up on. I couldn't.

  "For, I don't know, kinda... being a friend," she said, sounding strained.

  "Doll," I said, standing as she did as well, "if you're happy to have me as a friend, you got some pretty fucked up ideas about what constitutes a good friend. But you're welcome for the food and movie and, you know, the pleasure of my company," I said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

  "Do you, um, have a cell I can contact you on? You know... without having to use the pager system?"

  That, well, that was asking for a fuckuva lot.

  I didn't give a direct line out to anyone.

  Literally no one.

  "Ah, one sec," I surprised myself by saying, walking into the bedroom and grabbing one of the boxes off the dresser. I bought burners by the fucking cart-full. "Alright, this one, this will be just for contact between you and me. Give this number out, and you will have to be the next body melting in my tub," I warned, but there wasn't a drop of sincerity in the threat and we both knew it.

  "Like I have anyone to give it out to anyway," she said as she typed it into her phone. And her voice when she said it, well, it was sad. Hollow, almost.

  It was a pretty awful thing to realize that a vigilante serial killer who melted bodies in tubs and couldn't seem to have any normal relationships with people was your only goddamn 'friend' in the world.

  "Okay, all set. I will text you about the flights. Text me when you get an answer from your friend."

  "Will do."

  "You need to install a slide or something on this hill," she informed me as I walked her to the door, and watched her eye the hill in question with distaste. "Oh, and you might want to, I don't know, pack some t-shirts or something. It's hot in Texas."

  With that, she was gone.

  Well, not gone.

  In fact, she wasn't out of sight for almost half an hour, and my crazy fucking ass stood there and watched until she pulled away.

  Once she was gone, I locked up, and made my way down the hill as well, walking my ass all the way into town and to Barrett's office.

  "Yo," I called when he looked at me from his periphery, then just went back to work, likely thinking I was just there to use the john to make a call.

  "What's up, Luce?" he asked, reaching up to scrub his hands down his face.

  He
looked like he had lost a night of sleep too.

  I felt bad for the fuck sometimes.

  It couldn't have been easy to be the younger brother to the best PI in town, always having to work so much harder to get even a fraction of the recognition that he did. The crazy thing was, Barrett was about a thousand times better than his brother in the computer and research department, but with Sawyer's special forces training, there was no way Barrett could come close to his hand-to-hand skills. It was a shame the two of them never could figure out how to work with each other without wanting to kill one another. And they had tried.

  "Calling in a marker," I explained, leaning against the wall, my arms folded over my chest.

  "You?" he asked, not even pretending to hide his astonishment. I never needed help. I always worked alone. "You need to call in your marker? I swear I was sure your headstone would say: Barrett, you still owe me."

  "Yeah, well, this isn't work-related. Personal favor."

  "Well, seeing as you're every bit as good at computers as me, and seem to have no interest in learning Polish... what? Do you need me to water your plants and take in your mail?" he asked, voice full of sarcasm.

  "I need you to bird-sit."

  I swear there was a solid five beats before his brows went back down. "Bird-sit?"

  "Parrot actually. Blue and gold macaw."

  "Since the fuck when are you a bird person?"

  "I'm not. It's for a, ah, friend of mine."

  "I wasn't aware you had any friends."

  "Right, because your social calendar is booked solid."