by Sophia Gray
As the steam surrounded me, I tried to breathe deeply and think about the situation at hand. I wanted to help Torque, but if he wouldn’t listen to me, I might as well not even try. I wasn’t sure if there was some kind of masculine pride thing preventing him from accepting my research, but it was infuriating all the same.
When the bath was almost overflowing with steaming water, I added some of my lavender bath salts and eased myself in, inch by inch. The hot water burned my skin, but it felt incredibly good after not washing for two days. All of the carbs from dinner earlier had settled in my stomach, and the combination of being full and soaking in a warm bath was heavenly. I decided that right after this, I’d go to sleep and come up with a solution in the morning.
But back in my bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. No matter how hard I tried, Torque lingered in my mind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Torque
I hated myself for doing what I was about to do. In prison, I’d sworn that I’d never deal again. Hell, I promised I wouldn’t even look at junk, much less sell it. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was certainly a desperate time.
Peyton had left a baggie for me in his apartment. I’d found it when I was carrying Lily’s suitcase outside. He ain’t subtle; it was taped to a piece of paper with Torque written in big block letters. I spent the whole fuckin’ car ride worrying about whether or not Lily had seen it. After all, in the parking lot, she told me that she had a lot of things she wanted to tell me. So I was on pins and needles during the whole meal. What if she’d seen the junk? What if she knew what it was?
I was both relieved and annoyed when she brought up Rose and the Iron Angels. Sweet of her to try, but no thanks, kid. I can handle this shit by myself.
Now I was headed downtown to score a sell or two. I had bags of junk in my pocket and knew I could find some unfortunate assholes desperate for a forty-dollar hit. Peyton told me that the junkies hanging outside of our favorite bar had connections to the Iron Angels, and it was up to me to ease the information out of them.
Just like he’d said, there was a crowd of three guys hanging around when I got there. They crawled up to me, looking desperate.
“Hey, man,” one said with a shaky voice. “You know where I can find some junk around here?”
I nodded and reached into my coat pocket. Picking up one of the baggies, I pulled the man’s hand close and pushed it into his fingers.
“That’s forty,” I said quietly. “Forty and we need to have a little talk.”
The junkie handed me some crumpled, sticky bills with a shaking hand. I jerked my head to the side, and he followed me into the alley.
“Listen,” I said, my tone blunt. “I need to know about the Iron Angels. I need to know about their connections to those murders around here.”
The junkie threw his head back and laughed, exposing a mouth of rotten and yellowing teeth. “I have no fuckin’ idea, man.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“I’m not taking any lines from you,” I said, snarling. “You better fuckin’ tell me everything you know!” I made my hand into a fist and punched the wall right next to the junkie’s head. He cowered in fear and looked up at me with big, wide eyes.
“H-he k-kills with a single slash,” the junkie sputtered. “With a machete.”
“I know that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s not good enough!” I grabbed him by the front of the collar and pulled him close, so we were eye-to-eye. The smell coming out of his mouth was horrible. It reminded me of prison: dank, smelly, and rotten.
“Okay, okay,” he stammered. “The Manticore is the one slashing up all those little girls. He’s the one in charge.”
I frowned. “The Manticore isn’t around anymore, asshole,” I said, shoving him up against the wall. “Thanks for nothing.”
I left the junkie in a quivering mess on the ground and walked back to the front of the bar. The other two dope fiends swarmed me, their hands outstretched, begging for a fix.
“Follow me.” I growled at them, jerking my head to the side. I led them both down another alley, then turned to face them with my hands balled up into fists.
“You have one fuckin’ chance to tell me what I wanna know, or else I’m not selling you shit,” I threatened. They both nodded, looking terrified. “I need to know who’s responsible in the Iron Angels for these slashings. Tell me who is doing it.”
Nervously, they looked at each other and then back at me.
“Uh,” one of them stammered. He was shaking so hard that his teeth were chattering.
Stupid fuckin’ junkies, I thought in irritation. Is this how useless I was when I was hooked on this shit?
“It’s The Manticore,” one of them said in a quavering voice. “He’s back. It’s him.”
I shook my head. “That’s not fuckin’ possible!” The junkies both looked at me and nodded.
“It’s true,” they said in unison. One of them turned to me and spoke plainer. “He’s back. He got us both hooked on smack and then turned us out when we wouldn’t clean up his dirty work. I don’t wanna be involved in that, man,” he whined to me. “I ain’t got no money, but I need a fix!”
“Whatever,” I muttered, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out a handful of plastic baggies. Tossing them on the ground, I laughed out loud as the junkies threw themselves on the drugs and began scooping as many little envelopes as they could into their pockets.
“Y’all are fuckin’ useless,” I finally said, turning back around and walking out of the alley. I knew that the Iron Angels had to be fucking with me on this one—why else would they send these useless dopes out to get me?
I decided to check the bar, just in case anyone had some information. As usual, it was empty in the middle of the day. There was a weird feeling in my stomach as I sat down; I couldn’t articulate it, but I knew something was wrong.
“Hey, barkeep,” I growled out. “Can I get a beer over here?”
The bartender, a middle-aged bald guy, threw me the finger before sliding a glass down the counter. Beer slopped over the sides and puddled on the wooden bar. The smell of this place told me that wasn’t the first time alcohol had been spilled in this joint. I fingered a couple of the cigarette burn marks on the bar and cleared my throat.
“Those fuckin’ junkies were stupid enough to tell me The Manticore is back,” I joked. “Can you fuckin’ believe how dumb heroin makes people?”
The bartender narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I felt a stab of nervousness in my chest. Suddenly, it seemed like everyone was a potential suspect. “The Manticore,” I said calmly. “That asshole who disappeared a few years ago. Everyone knows when you go out of sight in Detroit, you ain’t coming back.” I leaned back on the bar stool and gave the bartender as level a look as I could muster. “He ain’t back.”
The bartender shook his head. “I don’t have that kinda talk in my bar,” he said, his voice nasty. “I don’t have time to get involved with your petty gang shit, boy. I have a business to run.”
“You’re doin’ a great fuckin’ job,” I spat out. “Real crowd you got here.” I gestured around the empty bar. “People are just crawlin’ all over me to get a beer!”
“Fuck you, kid,” the bartender threw back. “You deserve to get hacked up by that freak with a machete.”
My ears perked up. “What?”
“I said, fuck you!” The bartender leaned across the counter, his eyes flashing. “Do I have to call the cops to get you out of here? Get your fuckin’ trashy ass out of my bar right now!”
I stood up and looked at him level in the eye. He was a little shorter than me, and I knew I could easily take him. Pushing my sleeves up, I leaned menacingly over the bar.
“You wanna tell me what to do again, boy?” I emphasiTorque the last word, glaring at him.
The barkeep backed away, rubbing his hands together. “Get out,” he repeated. “I don’t have anyth
ing to tell you.”
“The thing is, I don’t believe you.” I snarled, jumping over the bar in a smooth motion. When I was right next to the bartender, I realiTorque he was much smaller and older than I’d first thought. I smelt alcohol coming off of him in waves, and I grabbed the front of his apron, yanking him close to me. His eyes were open wide, and his breath was coming in shallow bursts. I knew I could stick a knife in his gut and be done with it.
“I can kill you right now,” I threatened. “No one would find your body for hours in this shithole. You better tell me what I want to know, right the fuck now!” Slamming my hand against the wall, I watched as the bartender flinched.
He shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. “He’ll kill me.”
I pressed my forehead against his and snarled in his face. “Who?” I demanded. “Tell me!”
The bartender closed his eyes, and he was shaking in my firm grasp. He opened his mouth but no words came out, and he moved his lips open and closed like a useless fish.
“The Manticore,” he finally whispered. “He’s back.”
“Good,” I said under my breath. “Tell me more. What does he do? Where does he go?”
The bartender began praying in a low voice under his breath, and I dashed his head against the wall. He cried out in pain, and I pulled his face close to me again.
“Answer me, you shit!” I hissed. “Now!”
“He comes in here,” the bartender said in a trembling voice. “By himself, two days a week. He meets addicts outside and gives them a fix and forces them to be his henchmen. Usually, he kills them and sometimes dumps their bodies back out front. He’ll make more junkies clean up the bodies.”
“How long has this been going on? It better not be for long!”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said in a quavering voice. “A couple of weeks, tops.”
I let him go, and he fell to the floor with a crash of dust and broken glass. “The next time he comes in, you’re gonna call me.”
The bartender started shaking his head and praying louder. I kicked him in the thigh.
“You’re gonna call me,” I repeated. “Or else I’ll be back, and you won’t like that very much.” When I was sure he was watching me, I pulled a gun out of my waistband and held it close to his face. He started to tremble and shake.
“I understand,” he said shakily. “I’ll call you the next time he’s here.”
“Good!” I said in a bright voice. “We understand each other!”
I hopped back over the bar and headed outside, whistling. A part of me was in disbelief; in less than half an hour, I’d dealt heroin and almost beat up an old man.
The Manticore. It made my head swim in disbelief just to think about it. All of this time, I’d thought he was gone for good. And even now, it didn’t make sense that he’d come back just to taunt me. I was a small fry compared to him, even if I did fuck the gang when I stole heroin. So why was everyone telling me that it was him?
I figured that the most likely scenario was another gang member, posing as The Manticore. That had to be it; there was no way that guy was still around. Not after everything that had happened. Not after all the murder, when all those girls went missing…
It couldn’t be The Manticore. There was no way that guy was back. Like I told the barkeep, when people go missing in Detroit, they stay missing. It wasn’t possible for someone as high-profile as The Manticore to come back when there were so many cops hot to catch him. And even fuckers like me—people with a score to settle who were willing to do anything. But I wasn’t going to waste my energy on a figment of the imagination.
As I got back in my car and started driving around aimlessly, I thought about it. When the barkeep called me, I could have Peyton go down and check it out. I was sure he’d do me the favor, and he was just the kind of guy who could slip around unnoticed if he had to. Pulling out my cell phone, I dialed his number.
“Yo,” he said. “What’s up with you, Torque man?”
“What happened with Lily? I showed up to grab her, and you were nowhere in sight.”
“Aw, man, she’s fine, she’s cool. I left because I got word about this new strain going around. I wanted to buy out and then sell so all those useless fuckin’ junkies would have to buy from me.”
“Wait, I didn’t know you were dealing again,” I said slowly. “I thought you got that bag for me so I could sell it to those assholes in front of the bar. They were useless, by the way. They all fuckin’ lied and told me The Manticore is back. How fuckin’ ridiculous is that shit?”
Peyton laughed. “Those dumb fuckin’ junkies, they sure can tell a story, man. I’m headin’ down that way now. You wanna meet up?”
“Nah, man. I need you to do me another favor.”
“Can you make sure this favor is a little sexier than the last one?” Peyton let out a loud guffaw. “She wouldn’t let no man near that icy pussy on her. I could smell it from a mile away.”
Thinking about Lily’s pussy made my cock twitch, and I involuntarily shivered in my seat. “Nah, man, fuck that. And don’t fuckin’ talk about her snatch that way, you hear?”
“Whatever, man, you and your weird fuckin’ skanks,” Peyton said dismissively. “Whatchu need, bro?”
“I need you to go check something out when I ask you to. This barkeep’s gonna call me when the Iron Angels asshole posing as The Manticore is going into his bar. Go talk to him, ask him a few questions. I’ll let you know what to say.”
“You’re real fuckin’ lucky that’s not the real Manticore.” Peyton laughed. “Or I’d be dead fuckin’ meat.”
“You’re a pal,” I said drily. “Thanks.”
“No problem, man. Peace.” Peyton hung up, and I tossed my cell back on the passenger seat.
Finally, I was starting to feel as though all my hard work was going to pay off. Finally, I was going to catch Rose’s killer. The Manticore was sure to lead me right to him, and all I had to do was wait.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lily
After being cooped up in that horrible hole, it felt so good to be back in my apartment. It was amazing how much the past thirty-six hours were starting to seem like a bad dream. The first night I was back, I didn’t get a ton of sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d read and why Torque wouldn’t listen. But in the morning, I woke up with an idea.
“Do you remember when you worked for the library in college?” I asked Jackie over the phone.
“Unfortunately,” she said. “Why, do you need something?”
“Yeah, I’m going to go and look at old newspapers that haven’t been digitiTorque,” I explained. “More research for this project.” I felt bad lying to Jackie about why I was hunting, but I couldn’t risk putting her in danger, too.
“You’re such a nerd. Do you want me to come with? I’m not working today.”
“Nah, it’s fine, I can handle it,” I told her. “Thanks though. Do you want to get dinner later?”
“Sure. I can come over with a pizza. Sound good?”
“Definitely. I’ll be home in a few hours, I’ll call you when I get there.”
It was a warmer day outside; the sun was out, for once, and I was starting to feel like this endless winter would be over soon. Dully, I wondered if the cold and snow would always remind me of Torque now. They had a reason to; I’d been completely absorbed with him for weeks now.
The drive to the library was uneventful. I kept checking to see if there were any cars behind me, but it didn’t look like anyone followed me for more than a turn or two. I was more and more paranoid all the time, but so far, it didn’t look as though I was actually in danger. I’d never seen any of the guys Torque had threatened me with. If I was being completely honest, the scariest people I’d ever seen were Torque and Peyton.
The library was almost deserted, and I found a computer in the back hooked up to microfiche. There were a few newsreels from the year Rose was murdered, as well as the subsequent year
s. I hadn’t wanted to tell Jackie, but part of me was curious to see Torque’s mug shot, or the article detailing his arrest. I still couldn’t believe that he’d gone to prison for heroin of all things. That was terrifying; it made him an alien. I couldn’t believe I’d lost my virginity to an ex-heroin addict! Just thinking about it made me cringe.
To my surprise, there were some write-ups in national papers covering Rose’s murder. I found one in the St. Louis Tribune from a few weeks after her killing.
Nation On Edge After Girl’s Brutal Slaying: Detroit, along with the rest of the country, wait by a thread as the nation searches for the killer of Rose McIntyre. McIntyre, 17, was stabbed to death over a week ago and police are still hunting for the clues to her killer. Authorities believe that her killer was a member of the Iron Angels, a fearsome gang known for their ruthless drug connections and running guns. McIntyre was a star student at her local high school, with a full scholarship to college waiting for her after graduation. Her death was a senseless and brutal tragedy that’s given new meaning to the term “degeneration”, and it’s likely that parents will be haunted for decades to come.
