Bitter Angel

by Megan Hand

  On second thought, screw the shiny knight and white horse. She probably had no loving parents or a friend with the balls to show her what it’s like to want more—or the balls to show up at all.

  Now I know. Goosebumps spread up my legs and down my arms. This is exactly what’s been haunting me all day—the only reason I’ve been meandering around this blasted city with no real plan and chump change in my pocket. This is my chance. Maybe she didn’t have anyone to stop that uncle or neighbor that molested her, abused her, stripped her of her precious value, but I can be that person for someone.

  I can be that person.

  Suddenly, my tongue loosens, itches with words, long strands of conversation. I know exactly what I’ll say. I’m ready. Stepping into the booth, I slide the door closed and pull out the few quarters I exchanged a couple bucks for back when I was waiting for my third bus. I hike up the hoodie and T-shirt and punch in the numbers.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  I hold the receiver to my ear and lick my lips. I tap my fingertips against the phone above the dirt-coated number buttons.

  Oh God, oh God, dear blessed God.

  It rings twice, three times, four. And goes to voicemail.

  Damn.

  I hang up the receiver, taking a few breaths for puffs of courage. I double and triple check the number to make sure it’s correct, and I dial again.

  Holy Jesus. My heart is about to burst from my chest! I’m hot all over. My skin is already damp.

  It’s ringing. I run my tongue over my lips again.

  “What the fuck, Mitch? I told you to get yourself a goddamn phone!”

  Jesus! The venom in his voice catches me so off-guard the receiver topples from my grip. As it dangles, he bitches on and on about how he doesn’t answer unlisted numbers.

  Familiar nausea is churning my stomach. I swallow and pick up the receiver. I put it near my mouth and clear my throat. “I have something you want.”

  This time it’s my voice that catches him off-guard, and he’s silent for so long that I wonder if he hung up.

  Then he says, “Hello.”

  Aww, hell, I think. Then I notice he doesn’t say it the same way he said it earlier. Something’s different. It’s more calculating than flirty.

  I cover the mouth speaker because I don’t want him to hear me clearing my throat again. I have to come out loud and clear. “I have something you want.”

  There’s a pause. “And this is?” It sounds polite, but again it’s calculating. Maniacal in a too calm way.

  Shit. Can I really handle this? No choice.

  I copycat his tone. “You know who this is. Meet me in Lockshire Park in an hour, or you’ll be all over the fucking news in less than twenty-four.”

  I hang up, giving him no time to reply. I give him no chance to talk me out of it, manipulate me, threaten me, et cetera. Once the receiver is on the hook, I press a hand to my heart and lean against the dirty glass for a few deserved breaths. I got it out. Step one is complete. I have to admit that I’m feeling like a genuine badass right now, but there’s no time to celebrate.

  Step two: I pop two more quarters in the slot and dial.

  Lockshire Park is beautiful. I found it listed in one of those flyers. It sits in a square just outside “the heart,” surrounded by low-rise apartment buildings and small mom-and-pop shops. It’s not Central Park by any means, but it has several acres. The perimeter is lined with flowering pear trees that are all in the midst of their fall shed. In the middle stands a gorgeous oak that has to be nearing a hundred years old. That’s probably why this site was conserved for nature. No one has the guts to chop down that tree.

  I chose this place on my last bus trip because I knew it was within walking distance of where I’d be getting off and it’d be teeming with people.

  And it is.

  As I stand on a stone bridge that crosses a man-made pond, I see teens playing Frisbee and dogs on leashes. Kids with carefree rosy-cheeked faces frolic around while their parents look on, and none of them have a clue that I just invited Satan to come watch.

  I’m kind of bummed that it only took me a half hour to walk here because now I have to wait, and I’m way too anxious to stand still. Hood over my head and hands in the front pocket, I scan the area, keeping my gaze as natural as possible. I don’t need some paranoid mom thinking I want to hijack her kid.

  Another fifteen minutes pass, and my pulse ticks like a metal detector. Here comes the worthless gold. Alpha crosses the street and starts across the paved walkway that curves into the park. He’s wearing the same get-up he had on earlier, hands stuffed in his pockets. He peruses with a smirk on his face, his attention stopping on each person. I can almost see the gears in his head turning, spinning, hypothesizing.

  Once he’s near the tree, I move to the other side of the bridge and approach him from behind. I’ve mentally prepped for this since I saw him this morning, but I’m again getting the deepest itch to run, to turn around and race away until I have no breath in my body. It’s so strong I almost feel it might be radiating in a localized perimeter around me.

  I keep my hands in the pocket and the hood on my head. “You showed.” Miraculously, I’m able to pitch my voice in that same badass tone. My face is deadpan. I could’ve gone for tough but that route wasn’t working for me earlier.

  He turns, and, God is he slow. It’s like a horror movie. I’m just waiting for the clown makeup to complete the illusion.

  When he sees me, he looks me up and down like he did this morning. Then he laughs. “Is this for real?”

  I remain deadpan and come close enough to smell his cologne, which is sickly sweet and really makes me queasy. “Laugh your ass off if you want. I know what you and your friends do. I have names and pictures. There are three envelopes that will be mailed tonight if you don’t do exactly as I say.” I could mention Jay and Trigger, but for all I know they haven’t even met up with him yet. I can’t out them either. That would be bad for business.

  That smirk of his drops just a hint, enough to know I’ve got his attention.

  His eyes narrow as he cocks his head. “And what is that?”

  “Call it off.”

  The arrogant bastard snickers again. “Look, I don’t know what this is about. I mean, it’s hard to take you seriously when you look like you just got fucked by a pumpkin, but more importantly, I don’t know who the hell you are.”

  “But you do know,” I say, going off his attitude toward me earlier when I wanted to snap that pic, and he slammed me into the wall.

  Before I have time to react, he shoves the hood off my head, and his hands are in my hair. To anyone watching, we are just another couple reuniting after a day apart. But his hands are not gentle, and his eyes…let’s just say if they had lasers, I’d be dead.

  “Look, princess, I told you to tell your boss—”

  “I have no boss.” His fingers clamp around the back of my neck, and I do my best not to wince or change my tone. “What I said was true. If you don’t call off tonight’s event, everyone will know who you really are. The police, the press…your father.”

  I’m going on fumes and bullshitting my ass off. I have nothing. I know it. But does he?

  Funny how I can bullshit him, but I totally flunk out with the police. I’m desperate. This is my last card, and I need it to count.

  He yanks my ear to his mouth, but this time I’m not putting up with it. My hands are at his chest, pressing, pushing, and getting me nowhere. Instead, he locks an arm around my waist and hugs me.

  I cringe and writhe, but he’s got a lock on me. How on earth can he be this strong? He’s got about half a foot on me but still. My face heats with shame that I can’t even defend myself in a public arena. I could scream, but if I give myself away, I blow all my chances at making this work.

  His whisper is deadlier than all of his other words combined. “You won’t do shit. I don’t give a fuck what you say. You’ve got nothing. You wanna know how I know? ‘Cau
se I told your cop friend you were just an ex that wanted a piece of me. And of course, the fucker believed me.”

  What? How would he know it was me that reported him? Isn’t that stuff confidential?

  My hardass exterior is cracking, and my expression makes him chuckle, a whisper-soft sound that ruffles the hairs at the nape of my neck and covers my body again in goose bumps. This time they’re not fueled by inspiration but cold fear.

  Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?

  “If I see you again, rest assured you’ll get your piece and so will everyone else.”

  Don’t know what that means. Does he know I’m connected to Trigger and Jay? Has he met with them? Or is he referring to breaking me into pieces and giving all of his other clients a turn?

  In an instant, he lets go and walks away.

  I could easily sink into the ground right now. Quit. Pretend I never saw him. Pretend none of this happened.

  I knew this would happen, though. This guy’s a pro. There was only about a two percent chance he’d believe me and an even lower chance he’d call tonight off.

  I expected this, and this time I’m prepared.

  With an eagle eye, I follow his every step as he exits the park and crosses the street. I take speedy, concentrated steps in his direction. At the corner near the exit is a cab—that second call I made.

  I get in and point. “Follow him.”

  Okay, a yellow taxicab might not be the stealthiest car to tail someone in, so it’s a good thing I called one of those red ones with a yellow stripe down the middle…Yeah, no better, but I had no other choice. It’s the cab or the bus. Thanks to the four-dollar day pass the city offers, I still have thirty-one dollars and fifty cents. It might not get me far, but this is my last shot.

  I hate to say it, but I don’t trust Trigger. He’ll do what he needs to do to keep his career and his life. Who can blame him? And Jay will…well, he’ll probably risk his life if he has to as long as I’m not in the mix, which is why I’m here, directly inserting myself into the nucleus of this mother.

  I’m the gap filler. I’m the missing link. I was last night, and I am now. My money is on Jay and Trigger tailing H and Brandon and containing them somehow. If Jay had left me my phone, I’d know for sure, but he didn’t.

  My luck so far is good as I watch Alpha hoof it around a corner and down the street. He slides into a black sports car and pulls out of his curb spot. I quickly jot down the plate number with the pen and paper the cab driver so unhappily bequeathed to me.

  Then I slide my hand through the neck strap of the camera. I left it in here while I was in the park. I turn it on, ready it on the auto setting, and tense my fingers around the black plastic body. With one eye in the viewfinder, I take a couple test shots. Blurry. I fiddle with the sophisticated zoom until the picture looks clear and take a couple more. Blurrier.

  “Damn it!”

  My driver is a middle-aged man. He doesn’t seem thrilled to be on stalker duty, especially while following a car that could definitely go from zero to sixty in ten seconds.

  “Still want me to follow him?” he asks with a frown.

  “Yeah.”

  I ignore his surly attitude. I’m too engrossed in getting this piece of shit camera to work. The thing acts like it wants me to buy it a steak dinner. I growl a sigh and put my attention back on Alpha. If he gets away, I’m screwed.

  So far, he’s taken all side roads, no freeway yet. We drive for about ten minutes, careful to stay at least one or two cars behind him.

  After inching the lens left and right several hundred times, I’ve finally gotten what looks like a clear shot in the digital screen. Thank God! I throw my head against the gray vinyl seat with a fraction of relief when I notice the meter is already up to sixteen dollars. Small sweat drops bead on my forehead.

  Alpha stops in a Wendy’s parking lot. He leans against his car’s exterior, arms folded. My cab idles farther down a side road where he can’t see us, but I have a clear view. I balance the camera in front of my face. I’m so ready.

  A giant black SUV pulls up next to him, and my heart slams against my rib cage because I’m sure it’s H and/or Brandon getting out, with possibly Jay and/or Trigger with them. But it’s no one I recognize. Some tall dude, by himself. There’s an awkward handshake, which I surmise to be an exchange. Money? Drugs? I can’t tell.

  Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick. The camera takes pictures faster than I sweet-talked that nerd at Starbucks earlier. I just might buy this thing a steak dinner.

  Before I have any real time to appreciate it or breathe, Alpha is back in his car, and he’s in a hurry. The cabbie just sits there.

  From the backseat, I pound the passenger side headrest with my fists. “Go, go, go!” I’m tempted to knock the guy upside the head. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

  Begrudgingly, he lead-foots the gas and gets us a car length away from the black sports car. “This isn’t Matlock, lady,” he yells. It sounds more like a whine to me though. “I’m no cop. This isn’t my job.”

  “Your job is to drive, so drive.”

  He shakes his head, annoyed.

  Maybe I will whack him. I could knock him out, steal the cab, and—

  Quit it, Lil. Stick to the abiding side of the law.

  Damn conscience.

  We drive for another few minutes, heading farther outside the city. The landscape changes from skyscrapers to not skyscrapers to plazas. Everything now is shopping centers and fast food restaurants, all interspersed with random houses, businesses, and apartments. The farther we go though, the shittier everything looks.

  I purposely don’t glance at the meter. If I have to, I will jump ship. My moral compass isn’t exactly pointing due north right now. I’m doing a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do.

  Thank goodness this driver doesn’t know I only have a little over thirty bucks in my pocket. He’d pull over and kick my ass out.

  Please, I plead to no one really, just to whoever might be listening. Please let me stop this.

  I get another adrenaline jolt when Alpha pulls up to a slum apartment building. Clickclickclickclickclick. I look out both windows. No corners say Harrison Road. I’m not confident enough in my memory to know if it’s the same building.

  He’s at the curb, parking behind a shiny red car. I can’t tell what it is, but it looks expensive. Alpha gets out, and two guys exit the red car. They’re young, good-looking, and they hand him…money.

  Shit. These are the clients. I know it. I’m going to be sick, but my index finger takes no breaks from documenting this.

  Alpha pockets the money, hands them a paper, and they leave. Alpha goes inside.

  It’s now or never, I tell myself. I can’t wait for him to come out. If this is the building, he might never leave. I must have a serious death wish. I wait for two seconds, debating. Warning bells, fire truck sirens, and Jay’s voice are all competing in my brain for top billing, but I cut them off simultaneously. There’s no way I’m not going in there after him. I have to do this. This is my shot.

  With shallow breaths, I pull my money from my pocket, loose change and all. Alpha’s been in the building for four seconds.

  Now or never, chicken shit!

  I clench my jaw and toss the money at the driver. “Here. Thanks.” I make a break for it. I’m certain that it’s not enough.

  By the time I reach the dilapidated building door made of thick wood with worn paint chipping off its edges, I hear a far off, “Hey, lady!”

  I ignore it. He can come after me if he wants to. The more, the merrier.

  Inside, I’m taken aback by the dimness and the smell. Ugh. It’s an awful recipe of rotting food, mildew, and pet urine. Hopefully, only pet urine. Totally rank.

  Similar to the room I was in last night, the walls are peeling and stained, like they survived a hurricane and lived to tell about it. The floors are white tiles, cracked and disintegrated to powder in some corners. At least I think they u
sed to be white. The hall I’m in is narrow. There’s a staircase to my right. A light flickering several feet away is the only sign that this place isn’t vacant. The owner wouldn’t pay an electric bill for an empty building, right?

  Stifling my inner germaphobe, I flatten myself to the wall to remain inconspicuous. I pinch my nose though the smell is sinking into my pores anyway, and I tune my ears to the muted surroundings.

  I hear footsteps on the stairs. I dash up on light feet, careful not to make a sound. When I come to the first floor, I peer around with one eye. Nothing.

  A slamming door has me jumping backward, down three steps, and I’m barely able to catch myself from plummeting to the bottom. That was close. On my feet again, two men pass me mid-flight. They’re big guys, eyeballing me and chuckling to each other in another language. Russian maybe? What kind of stuff goes on here? This is freaking Tennessee. Yeah, they have cities, but it’s mostly the back hills, mountains. Not the New York City mafia! Well, I don’t really know where the mafia lives, but I’m positive it’s not in Bumpkinville, Tennessee. Not that my judgment is sound seeing as twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea that a gang of rapists were loitering here either.

  With only one backward glance, I shoot up to the second floor and peer in. Nothing.

  Third floor. Nada.

  Fourth floor—

  Shit! I hear those footsteps again, which means I’m getting close. They’re heavy, distinct, unrushed. The sound is up another floor, maybe two. I don’t hear anything else though. I wonder how many people live in this building.

  I slow my pace and follow the footsteps, keeping my body slightly crouched and prepared for flight. Alpha’s a tricky son of a bitch. He might already know that I followed him. He could be perched around any one of these corners, waiting to take me out.

  I think all of my organs must be crammed into my throat because I’m having a hard time catching my breath. My legs are burning, unaccustomed to climbing stairs with bent knees. My mind is like a Dr. Seuss book, speaking a different language, and I’m having difficulties communicating with it.