This new driver and I needed to talk because I needed to know who to go after. With only his shoulder wounded, he would be around for our talk later.
As I passed the new driver, I grabbed my cell phone from my back pocket and kept it at my side, walking around the back door.
The car started.
Good.
I tossed my phone in the car onto the floorboard, but the driver did not see what I did. It did not matter if the thug in the backseat watched what I did because he would not be around to warn the driver.
The shooter in the backseat, who lay next to his dead colleague, appeared to be shot in the throat. Alive with a bullet to the throat was painful. Or so I'd imagine. The shooter glared at me in a familiar way.
When a mark understood what would happen to him he did one of the following: cried and begged for his life, waited for the death blow, closed his eyes and began praying, or, the most unusual, the mark stared at me and smiled.
This guy smiled at me.
I aimed only one HK at him.
"Fuck you bi….
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
A bullet entered his face, and his body stopped moving.
The new driver sat there as if he expected me to shoot him because I had him dead to rights. Killing him later was part of the plan. Though, this thug would regret not dying now.
In Spanish, I said, "I'll see you later."
The driver didn't even hazard a glance back. He backed up and drove off.
Scooping up the cell phone from the street, I stuffed it in my pocket.
Chapter Fifteen
Rage Against The Darkness
People screamed.
Adults and children. The scene reminded me of news photos of the Boston Marathon bombing. Upturned tables and chairs on the sidewalk, and in the street. Blood covered everything.
Like a lonely leaf on a pond, a young girl, about five years old, stood by herself on the sidewalk. Not crying, she stared straight ahead at nothing.
I did not go to her. Her eyes did not blink. I moved into her line of sight, but she did not know I was there. A dark spot on the crotch of her red pants grew, and then made its way down her legs.
A woman and a man rushed to her, scooped her up, and took her away.
Time slowed when I spotted Sarah.
Bloodied, Sarah lay on her back. Her eyes opened halfway. Her left arm extended, grabbing his leg.
Off to her side, his little body lay face down with an apple-sized hole in the middle of the back of his jacket. Although I suspected the worst, I checked on him first. I turned him over and the golf-ball sized hole in his chest told me he had a quick death. At least he did not suffer.
I exhaled, shutting his dead eyes with two fingers, trying to contain the rage bubbling under my skin.
Moving over to Sarah, sitting, I placed my friend's head in my lap. Unlike the movies, I didn't yell for a doctor, because she could not be saved.
"Hey, Sarah, I'm here," I whispered. She needed to hear a friendly voice before she left.
It's what I would have wanted.
"Hey Chloe," Sarah whispered, grabbing her hand. "You look great as a blond."
Her eyes tried to focus on my face.
I caressed hers. "Thanks."
Sarah shivered. "I'm cold." Blood loss made her cold.
Wanting to take off my jacket to cover her, I couldn't because my weapons would be revealed. "Hey, you're okay. The ambulance is almost here, Sarah. Don't worry!" Scanning the immediate area, I spotted and grabbed a child's jacket on a chair that still stood on all four legs.
I covered her. "Here you go."
"Thanks, Chloe," Sarah said, gazing gallantly into my eyes.
The hole in Sarah's chest leaked so much blood. I was surprised she could talk. "Where's Timmy?"
Timothy's body lay approximately two feet away. "A lady has him. He got a cut on his arm. They're fixing him up right now." I looked away then back. "He's giggling because she's tickling him."
Sarah stared up at the sky. "Do you think God is waiting for me?"
I did not believe in the supernatural, but at this moment, with so much anger and sadness coursing through my veins, I wanted to believe in something better than human beings. Beings who, at times, were deeply flawed. "Sarah, I don't know, I really hope so."
Sarah closed her eyes. "I feel funny, Chloe." She coughed, bloody spittle falling onto her chin.
I wiped it with my hand. The lines of her face seemed to go soft. "The sky is so beauti...," she said, the edges of her mouth turning up. Her head turning to the side, her hand went limp in mine, her mouth remained open.
Sarah was gone.
Hugged my friend for the last time.
I picked up Timmy and placed him on top of Sarah, wrapping her arms around him.
Backing up, I turned and walked towards my car.
Crossing the street, I didn't look back. Nothing I could do, my friend and her son had been murdered, and now I needed to focus all of my attention on finding those responsible.
Chapter Sixteen
His Brain Craved Tequila
Felix's plan was to retire in Mexico or in a South American country.
Not that the US was a bad place, he loved his country, he just wanted a slower life with not a lot of people around during the downward slope of life. He loved the beach and the mountains, but Felix had not made up his mind where to retire.
His grandfather, Hector Fernandez, grew up dirt poor in a town about a hundred miles south of Reynosa, Mexico.
His grandfather didn't have his first pair of real shoes before his tenth birth date. At sixteen, he crossed over to Texas. Found his way to Corpus Christi. Hector, nineteen years old, married Felix's grandmother Alicia Pena, seventeen years old, before the couple made their way to Houston when Hector got a warehouse job. Hector Luis Fernandez Junior, Felix's father, was born two years later, and his uncle, Julian Fernandez, entered the world the following year. Felix's dad did not go to college, worked in the same warehouse his father worked.
He loved his father, and working in the warehouse was honorable work, but both were content that Felix did not follow in his father's footsteps.
His father was proud of his son.
And now he found himself in this screwed up situation. Felix wished he had never answered Rogelio's call begging him for help.
Checked his watch, not even noon yet and his brain craved tequila. He and Tony needed to start thinking about an exit strategy. His children wouldn't miss him. Felix would miss them though.
It would have been nice to go to his daughter's medical-school graduation in a few years or be at his son's celebratory party for being drafted into the National Baseball League. Felix would miss a lot, but he would live long enough to die of old age.
Shrugging it all off, he pulled out his burner and called Tony.
It rang once, and Tony answered, "Hey, I was about to call you."
"Where are you?"
Tony cleared his voice. "I'm here with Spider, in his car, heading to a safe house. Happy told us that he just got off the phone with one of the hitters. Says a woman started shooting at them and that's all me and Spider know."
"Yeah, this is a fucking disaster!" Felix's bowels felt loose. That woman was the reincarnation of Wyatt Earp. She emptied two magazines into that car before reloading and shooting the idiot that got out.
At least one idiot survived the onslaught because someone had to drive the car away from the crime scene.
The fact at hand was the driver and anyone who survived were liabilities.
"How?"
"Because first, instead of a shooter putting a bullet in her head, their car drives up and several shooters opened up fire on a crowd of men, women, and children! A drive-by! It was like it was the Fourth of July out there!"
Tony was quiet.
He knew that Tony could not speak his mind in front of Happy's man, yet Felix persisted in being pissed. Those dumb asses
had unleashed a shitstorm that they could not sidestep.
"They killed a lot of people! It was a massacre!"
"But they got her?"
He wanted to choke Tony. "Yes, they got her, but the shooters will definitely need medical attention, and when they go to the hospital, the cops will be there to arrest them. Do you think any of them have any loyalty towards us? They will give us up in two-seconds!"
Tony sighed into the phone. "I understand."
"I'm not sure you do. You did not watch that woman in action. She killed at least one or two of his guys. She has to be police or military." He continued. "She might be giving the cops her statement as we speak!"
Tony did not respond.
Happy, Felix knew, would be pissed, and might want to take it out on Tony. "Hey man, you need to get out of there. We can regroup later and go over our options."
Tony was speaking, but not to Felix. He was explaining something to Spider. He took a half minute to respond. "No, let me find out what happened and I'll let you know."
They were in trouble now. Everybody recorded parts of their lives for social media these days. "You know how many cellphone cameras there were on that street? Not to mention the video cameras the businesses have, and street cams. One of the shooters got out. His goal was to shoot her, yet he was unable to raise his arm. Maybe someone shot some pictures or video of him or got pictures of the other shooters and gave the footage over to the cops already! They will in time ID him and the others!"
"You're right. Can't be sure at the moment. Let me go find out what Happy wants to do and I'll let you know, alright?"
Tony could speak his mind. "Be careful, Tony."
"So, what you going to do?"
It just turned into a shitstorm, but Felix had a rainy day fund. He had a decent amount of money set aside, over half a million, however more money was always welcome.
Felix needed to take a short break from this situation and think. "I'll go talk to Rogelio, fill him in to what has happened."
"Alright."
"What do you want to do, Tony?"
"I'll talk to Happy and we'll assess the damage and I'll let you know, cool?"
"Cool, call me within the hour."
"I will."
Feeling nauseous, Felix ended the call.
Chapter Seventeen
Perfect For Contract Killers, Drug Dealers, And Monsters
Killing a person was easy if you thought of the person as less than human, like an insect.
Monsters, like insects are easy to kill.
The men, and the few women, I have been contracted to kill in the past were always less than human to me. Most were bad guys, mostly drug dealers and the wise guy types.
Sometimes the client wanted a mark killed a certain way. I didn't do specialty jobs, but if you wanted the mark killed by a bullet or poison or hanging, or by knife, I'm your girl. Killing Lawrence and setting up Stacey as the murderer was as special as I got.
If you are looking to cash out your wife's life insurance policy, I won't kill your wife. I don't care if you want to be with the titty dancer, who's half your age, six months ago. In fact, I just might kill you for being a degenerate.
Recently, I got my hands on a photo album full of old Polaroid photos of men and children. Hundreds of them. The men in the Polaroids are monsters—the children, their victims.
Talk about degenerates: My foster parents, Kenneth and Miranda Parnell, were vile people. Kenneth and a man, his friend—who I called Uncle—pimped me out to pedophiles when I was a little girl.
No pornographic images in the photo album, only Polaroids of men along with their victims. A lot of the Polaroids had first names hand written on the bottom, fat part of the Polaroids. Many had last names too.
Monsters, or pedophiles, used to trade Polaroids like boys who traded baseball cards. Some still trade them today, low tech, impossible to trace.
I have tracked some of the monsters down; discover where they live, exterminate them. Pedophiles aren't human so it could not be considered murder. Cancer-riddled roaches had more value in my book.
My plan was not to make society a better place to live. My motives were purely selfish. I wanted bloody revenge on those who had wronged me, and if I could make those who wronged other children pay, even better.
The last fun I had with a monster had been with Eric Lewis. Married a woman who had a daughter. He worked and lived in LaPorte, Texas. He was employed at TriStar Chemical Company as a safety inspector.
Eric did not recognize me. He ass raped me when I was ten years old. I remember begging him to stop, he told me, "Little girl, I paid for this! You better shut the hell up before I beat some manners into you!"
I'd never forget those words.
With my rudimentary computer hacking skills, I discovered that Eric used Tor, or The Onion Router, to surf the darknet. I also used the darknet, mainly to watch gay-midget porn.
The darknet was perfect for contract killers, drug dealers, and monsters who hunt children. Love it or hate it, this was our world now.
He used Tor to hide his internet history because I could only imagine the kinds of pedophile sites the perv visited. Eric, like most monsters, was impatient, using his work computer at his job to chat with young girls.
A very stupid thing to do.
I met Eric in the chatroom—where I posed as a twelve-year-old girl tired of her mother treating her like such a little girl. We chatted for a while before I agreed to meet him. I told him to meet me at the Denny's in Sugar Land.
Spotted him as he entered the diner, I sipped my coffee. I then got up and paid the bill. Went outside and waited outside for the monster.
Eric's face was painted a shade of pink as he exited Denny's an hour later. I moved briskly, with Taser in hand. He got into his car and I walked up to the driver's side window. I knocked on his window.
He jumped.
Sheepishly, I giggled.
Men are rarely threatened by women; Eric rolled down his window. "Yes, can I help you?"
My hand rested on the door, the taser at the ready. "Yes, I'm looking to hurt a piece of shit child molester!"
His nose wrinkled as if something reeked and tried to roll up the window, but I reacted quicker. The end of the Taser bit his neck and his entire body spasmed, slouching forward. I got in and pushed him over to the passenger seat. I got in behind the wheel and drove off.
I took Eric to a house that had been on the market for a couple of months. The sellers would never sell at asking price. The house was too ugly.
I had four two-by-fours stretched across two sawhorses. Eric was an average sized man, so I dragged him from the car that I parked in the garage to the makeshift operating table.
After stripping him of all his clothes, I used Gorilla super glue to immobilize him on the table. He was spread out like Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man.
"Who are you? Why can't I move?"
"I used an industrial glue to immobilize you, while I make you pay."
Eric's eyes darted back and forth. "Who are you?"
"Don't you remember me? Chloe Creed from Baytown?" I leaned over, my nose almost touching his. "Kenneth Parnell was my foster father."
His eyes narrowed, and then an eyebrow bent upward. "Yes, I do."
Pancakes with a hint of bacon were on his breath.
No coffee.
Many of the monsters who abused me had coffee breath.
Craning his neck, he scanned the room. "Why am I here?"
"Like I said, you are here to finally pay for what you did to me."
He frowned. "Come on, that was a long time ago. How about I give you money? How much do you want?"
He did not have that much money. "You told me that you'd beat me if I didn't stop begging you to stop hurting me!"
"I'm sorry, Chloe!"
What was it with these guys and their insincere apologies? 'I'm sorry' was for bumping into my cart at the grocery store.
"So you raped me when I was a little gi
rl, and all you can say is that you are sorry?"
He started to cry.
"You are pathetic, just like all the others that I killed." I didn't want to hear his voice. Stuffing his mouth with his sweaty sock, I doused his feet with lighter fluid and lit.
The fire lasted for several seconds.
Eric screamed through the sock.
After dousing and relighting a couple more times, his feet were blackened nubs.
Eric passed out.
When he woke, I asked, "Do you still want to beat me?"
He didn't answer.
Doused his hands and genitals. I lit the lighter fluid, and the fire burned bright. Eric's demise happened three weeks ago.
Although, I had the next monster, Jonathan Hyde, in my sights I had to deal with Sarah and Timmy's killers first.
I drove to my nearest storage unit. I needed a few items before I searched for the phone I left in that drive-by car.
Chapter Eighteen
A Massacre
He listened to the radio.
Mitch heard the dispatcher informing about shots fired in midtown.
Creed made a quick U-turn, wheels squealing. Then he gunned it.
Before leaving the Jennings' home, Sarah hooked him up with more coffee. He spilled some of that coffee on his pants when his partner decided to make a one-eighty. It didn't burn him, and the pants were black so no real mess, but Mitch stared at his partner. "Come on, that was so undude! What's going on?"
"That is where Chloe was meeting Sarah for brunch!"
He pointed forward. "DRIVE! GO!" Gears started turning in Mitch's head, and his stomach fluttered.
Creed turned and spoke before Mitch could. "Do you think ..."
He glowered at his partner, holding up a finger. "Hey! Stop that shit. Chloe is fine! Okay?"
Creed, nodding in acknowledgment, kept his eyes straight ahead.
"Do you know any uniforms that might be at that crime scene?"
Creed's face lit up. "Maybe." He slid out his cell phone and called his buddy, Officer Stuart Varney. They were in luck. Varney was at the crime scene.
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