“He’d close the door to the seclusion room so we were alone. Sometimes there was another guard in there, sometimes it was Miss Hefner. One time, Mister Royal held me down. Most of the time, it was just us.” Clara rubbed a thumb on the pistol’s handle grip. She watched her thumb go back and forth.
“Continue.”
“He would take off his belt, whipping it out of the holes on his pants. He’d pull my shirt up and start slamming the end of the belt against my back.” Clara pushed out a deep angry breath. She’d never told anyone about that. Not even the therapist before Rick. Hell, she hadn’t told her anything. Their sessions consisted of her seated in that hard wooden chair, tearing her fingernails off with her teeth. “Then he put the jacket on me. I yelled that I would tell my grandmother what he did. He always said to go ahead, he didn’t care. Now I know why.” A wave of sadness engulfed her and she turned away. The act made the pigeon fly into the air. She raised the gun, sighted quickly, since the target was moving, and pulled the trigger. The bird squawked once and plunged to the grass.
She felt Rick staring at her but she couldn’t tell if she made him angry or not. She hadn’t asked permission to do that. “He used to call me his little slave girl. He said he called me that because he whipped me like one. I hated when he said that.”
She lifted the gun again and fired at the can. The bullet hit the bark of the tree, leaving the can untouched. Very slowly, she turned on a heel. Rick stared at her. She couldn’t read his emotions. If he was mad she missed, surely he would’ve reacted by now.
“I really hated that straitjacket.”
“I had no idea that was going on. He really whipped you with his belt?”
“Yes.”
Clara had been called a liar by so many people she’d about given up on them. That was part of the reason she was here. Whatever Rick and the others were, they were honest, at least with her. Clara turned away and pulled up her shirt. From the soft curse behind her, she knew he’d seen the scars across her back.
“This is all from him?” The chair squeaked as he rose. A finger probed the worst of the marks. It ran all the way across her lower back.
“Some of them are—the newer ones.” Clara dropped her shirt and faced Rick. “Some of the other kids got punished too, but he whipped me more than anyone else.” Clara tucked her shirt inside her pants. “Mister Royal used to say how come the others could learn respect but I needed a lot of lessons. God, I hate them all!”
Clara set the gun back on the ledge and then wiped her nose with the back of a hand. She blinked off the threat of tears. She wanted to stay strong, and not cry. Not ever again.
“Clara, you have experienced firsthand why you can’t let people hurt you. They get away with it once, they’ll do it again.”
She watched his attention drift. He ground his teeth and cracked his knuckles. When she looked back at him, he gazed off into the distance, a scowl on his face. Suddenly, he said, “Even when they say it’s for your own damn good. Even when he calls it part of the training…”
“I know you’re right. But what can I do?”
“Yes. What can you do?”
Rick seemed to still be in some sort of self-imposed trance. He shifted his glance to the gun on the ledge just below the basement window. She folded her arms across her body and shook her head. “I guess nothing.”
“Guess again.” He spun around. His left hand shot up and wrapped around her throat. He heaved her back against the wall. Clara was so surprised she didn’t react except to gasp. When no air would pass, she pulled harder, the instinctive need for air compelling her.
“Don’t panic, think. Consider your situation and figure your way out of it.”
What the hell was he trying to prove? Then she knew. Learn by example. Her right hand shot up and took hold of Rick’s wrist. She yanked on his hand, but his grip was too tight. She needed air. She couldn’t think.
“You’re not strong enough to pull my arm away, you can see that. Use those brains of yours. Come up with something else.”
Clara punched at him, but she couldn’t reach him.
“Work it out in your head before you act!” Rick fingers tightened a little more. Her legs grew weak. “Think your way out of this; otherwise you’re going to die here!”
He was serious. To teach her this lesson, he would let her die. Air! She needed air. Her movements turned erratic, frantic. She kicked, she clawed.
“Come on, think!”
The fingers of both hands found Rick’s fingers. She plucked and dug at them, pulling, wrenching. She’d never felt so helpless. Not even in that straitjacket.
“Good! You’re on the right track now. But my fingers are too strong. They work together and outnumber you. What else can you try?”
Her brain wouldn’t work. Burning lungs about to explode.
All at once, she had hold of his thumb. Dig! Four fingers and a thumb wrapped around it. Jerk, pull, get it away! Clara yanked it with all her might and desperation. The pressure released a tiny bit, just enough for air to reach her throat. Before he could clamp around her again, she jammed her knee between his legs.
He let out a shriek that brought an apology to her throat. But the words never made it to her mouth. She dropped on all fours, gasping for air. Four feet away, Rick gasped too. The knowledge brought quicker recovery and she battled to stand up, coughing so hard she thought her insides might come out. The contact of his fingers was still a vivid reminder.
Rick improved and climbed to his feet, his left hand clutching his crotch. First instinct told Clara to turn tail and run. This man wouldn’t take kindly to what she’d done. Instead she planted her sneakers, ready for another attack. His right hand shot out. She leaped back and he grabbed dead air. A few more steps made her more secure.
Rick half-crouched over, his hand still holding his privates. But—and she couldn’t believe it—he was smiling. “Very good,” he rasped, “that was the right move. You get an opening you take advantage immediately. Never hesitate.”
His fierceness made her want to wince. She wouldn’t though. She maintained the extra distance from him while rubbing her throat.
“Someone grabs you like that, you take the thumb and twist. That will cause a stumble. And then you fire a shot between the legs. You kick so hard, your attacker’s balls squirt out his mouth. Do you understand?”
Clara planted her feet, sucked in her gut, and nodded her head in the affirmative.
“Do you know what you do after that?”
“Run like hell?”
His emphatic “No!” made her jump. “You don’t have to run. Not as long as you keep hold of this!” Rick removed the gun from the window ledge. “Keep hold of your weapon. Never give it up or hand it over like you did for me earlier. When your attacker is in pain and stumbling, you point this right to his head and squeeze the trigger.”
They both eyed the gun Rick held between them. “Permanent solutions. Remember those words.”
“That’s what you want me to do tonight.”
“Exactly right. Tonight, we both get what we deserve. We both settle our past issues—once and for all.”
Rick took a step back and folded his arms, tucking the gun near his ribcage. “How does that sound to you?”
Bewildering. What did he want her to say? Okay, I’ll kill at will? She couldn’t guarantee that. Not yet anyway. Maybe in a few months. Maybe never. She really had no idea what she would do in the situation.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No…I don’t know. A little, I guess. I’m just not sure…if I’m the kind of person who could…who would…”
“You’re the kind of person who ended up in a mental institution, Clara.”
This time, she couldn’t stop herself from flinching.
“You are the kind of person who walks a fine line between angel and rebel.” His tone sounded scolding, but his face didn’t look perturbed. “You can’t be both, because that’s what gets
you locked up, when your conscience surrenders you to the decisions and mercies of others.”
“But…”
“There is no mercy out there, Clara! Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Yes,” she answered although she really wasn’t a hundred percent positive.
“Then what am I saying to you?”
“You’re saying…” She inhaled. The air burned a little going down her throat, but when it hit her lungs, felt like absolute heaven. “You’re saying I have to decide what I am.”
“No, it’s not a choice! It’s just who you are! You can’t change your basic instincts without getting screwed for it.” Rick rubbed the barrel of the gun with his right palm. “Figure out who you are. Accept it, embrace it, but for god’s sakes, don’t lie about it, not to yourself.”
Clara let out the breath as she stared across the yard at the empty oak tree branch. She folded her arms across her chest, but quickly moved them away. It reminded her too much of that jacket.
“I don’t think I know who I am yet.” She sighed and looked away from Rick again. He reached out with his left hand. She flinched away and he laughed. She realized he wasn’t about to attack her again and let him pat her on the back of the neck.
“Once you’re there tonight, face to face with that monster, you’ll know exactly who you are and what you want to do. At that point, this will all make sense.”
Clara nodded. She understood the message Rick tried to give her, or at least she thought she did. She still wasn’t sure what she’d do when she saw her mother later that night. Deep down, she hoped the woman wouldn’t be home.
“Can I take another shot at the can?” Clara asked.
Rick held out the gun. She took it and waited while he stepped behind her.
Clara pointed the barrel of the gun at the small tin target. It balanced on the branch, just a few inches away from the bullet hole. Both seemed to be laughing at her for missing the first time. Clara closed one eye and lined up the shot. Another distraction, this time a mosquito buzzed near her ear. This time she wouldn’t waiver. She eased her finger on the trigger. The gun went off. The can flipped in the air and dropped, joining the pigeon in the grass.
“Not a bad shot,” came Jen’s voice from the doorway, “for a novice.”
Rick and Clara turned toward Jen, who stood with her hands on her hips.
“Derrick gassed up the van and the others are ready.” She took a handful of Rick’s shirt and pulled him to her.
“Welcome back. And good luck.”
Jen cupped her hands around the back of Rick’s head and leaned in, touching the end of her nose to his. She brought her chin out and pointed her lips toward him.
“I won’t need luck! I’m killing that fat bastard tonight,” Rick spoke against her lips.
Jen pulled back with a roll of her eyes. She slapped him across the shoulder. “Rick Rasner, you are still as frustratingly oblivious as ever.”
Rick eyed Jen with a befuddled expression that made Clara smile.
“What the hell’s the matter?” Rick shouted at Jen.
“Nothing. Better get to it. You don’t want to keep the general waiting.”
Jen turned her angry stare on Clara, who stiffened up and lost the humored face. Maybe someday she wouldn’t be so nervous with Jen around. She also realized Jen had picked up on this and did nothing to try and alleviate her nervousness.
“Go ahead, Rick, I’ll take care of our new young gun.”
Jen’s eyes dropped down to Rick’s crotch as his posture was still hunched slightly. “Maybe you want to put some ice on that before you go,” she suggested with a smirk.
“Very funny,” he mumbled. He turned and walked in through the back door leading into the basement.
Jen circled Clara, who remained still. What the hell was she doing? Was she going to teach her a lesson the way Rick had? She resolved to keep at the ready. Jen’s hand snapped out and took the gun from Clara’s hand. She then strolled to the ledge and set the gun down.
“Well,” Jen said with a cocky grin. “Let’s get you ready.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nighttime. Dark streets due to the many broken streetlights. Graffiti covered the large tightly-packed apartment buildings as well as the sidewalk and street. One of the projects of downtown Brooklyn—not a good place to be at such a late hour. Or any hour.
Jen steered the tan Lincoln Continental around the corner. The headlights picked up only two vehicles parked along the curb. One a red ’78 Dodge, propped on four milk crates, missing its wheels, the second stripped down and burnt beyond recognition. Jen noticed how out of place the Lincoln was on this particular street. She eased up ahead of the Dodge, stopping in front of the second of four apartment buildings.
Jen checked out the building, but not with the same intensity as Clara in the passenger seat. Jen’s temper had flared during the ride here. Clara stared at her throughout the entire trip. She hadn’t spoken a word the whole way.
“This where she lives?” Jen asked.
“Yeah, third floor,” Clara answered.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve been there before, yeah.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Jen shut off the engine by jerking a short-shaft screwdriver out of the ignition. Clara hadn’t moved a muscle. The girl seemed lost in thought, a trait Jen had become familiar with from Rick. She hated it.
“What’s the matter now?” Jen growled.
“I’m just thinking.”
“You’re thinking about what?”
“If this is wrong…” Clara’s eyes blinked rapidly as though she had something in them. “I mean, I hate her, I really do, but two wrongs don’t make a right. It just makes me wrong too, don’t it?”
Clara looked at Jen, hoping for validation perhaps. She wasn’t about to hold this kid’s hand. She could sink or swim on her own, though Jen had to admit she seemed to have held her own with Rick earlier. She acknowledged Clara with a roll of the eyes and, “Where did you pick up that philosophical nonsense?”
“Miss Hefner. Whenever someone messed with me, she grabbed me before I could do something. That’s what she told me.” Clara’s voice dropped as though shy about repeating the advice. “One time she made me write it five hundred times. After I did it, she said it was too sloppy. And she made me do it over again.”
Clara brought her right hand up in front of her face and turned it from one side to the other. “I had blisters on my fingers, and my wrist hurt for a week.”
Jen smacked the dashboard with the palm of her hand. The noise startled Clara out of her self-induced trance.
“Two wrongs don’t make a right, is that what you think? How are you at math?”
Clara finally looked at Jen. “I’m good at math, it’s my best subject.”
“Then let me ask you this. What do you get when you bring two negatives together?”
“Two negatives? I…” Clara dropped her head in thought.
“A positive, Clara, they make a positive,” Jen snapped.
“A positive, yeah, I knew that,” Clara raised her eyebrows and gave Jen a nervous smile.
“Good, and now you’re going to have the opportunity to make a positive for yourself.”
Jen was careful to keep her voice sweet and considerate. It wouldn’t help for the girl to read it for what it was—a honey-coated bit of blarney to boost the girl’s sagging ego. “Rick is taking a very big chance on you. He wants you to have your retribution. I do hope you are going to make him proud.”
Wearing a firm look of determination, Clara turned to look at the doorway of their intended building. “I want to. It’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
“Well, you murder all the time, right? You hurt people.”
“Yes we do. Rarely good people, though. We don’t kill innocent or upstanding citizens. Those sorts of people never associate with the kind of folks we do business with.”
; Clara remained silent, rubbing nervous hands together in her lap.
“Even when I was your age and my father ran the organization, I remember the profiles on those we were hired to execute. Every single one deserved it. Believe me, the world is a better place without them.”
She leaned toward Clara and whispered, “They hurt people, much the way the woman…” she nodded toward the apartment building, “in that building hurt you. That’s why you are going to do this.”
Clara’s dark eyes widened and then narrowed. Jen, unsure which decision Clara would opt with, reached for her gun, in a holster inside her denim jacket. It was now up to Clara, Jen decided. She was prepared to leave the girl’s body behind if necessary. She would make it quick and as painless as possible, out of respect for her partner and long-time lover. She knew Rick would be very disappointed; he had some great plans for this girl.
Finally, Clara looked at Jen and nodded. “I deserve this. She deserves this.” She tipped her head at the apartment building. “I want to hurt her…like she hurt me.”
“Then enough talk, young lady.” Jen slowly brought her hand away from her weapon. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a wasted trip after all. “Let’s take care of business.”
“Do I get a gun?”
Was she serious? Jen couldn’t tell. “You don’t need a gun. This should be more personal for you than that.”
Jen reached over Clara and opened the glove compartment. She pulled out a Wakizashi knife, pointed the blade up, removed the scabbard, and placed the Wakizashi in Clara’s lap. The slightly curved six-inch blade glinted in the meager light. It was sharp, sharper than any blade had need to be—Sanaga would’ve made sure.
Clara picked the blade up by the ivory grip. She held the four-inch handle in her right hand and slowly rubbed the forefinger of her left hand against the sharp edge. For a brief moment, she wore the same expression Jen had seen on Sanaga’s face dozens of times.
“We found two of these in that disorganized mess Derrick calls a basement. Sanaga really worked some magic on this one. Rick has the other one now as we speak.”
The Rasner Effect Page 26
