He sighed. “Chloe…”
My finger went up. “Your justice system has no place here! How many other girls do you think this animal has killed? How many has he raped? We need some names. Who is the Hispanic guy who shot at us?” The rage bottled up inside me wanted to escape and unleash incredible violence.
Mitch smirked and glanced at Henry. “What do you think, partner?”
My brother shrugged. “I say let her do what she wants to do.”
“Alright. Do what you need to do to get the information.” Mitch stared at Bradley. “You better talk, I’m not going to save you. All I’ll do is tell my boss that one of the dead bodies here did that to your leg and whatever she does to your face, and I promise my partner here will back me in anything I write up.”
I walked over to Bradley who was quiet, pulled the knife out of his leg, and he yelped like a whipped dog.
Henry glanced at Mitch. “Hell, I don’t even think we need to write this up at all. We don’t have to have been here! That’s if she kills him.”
Mitch shrugged and nodded.
Bradley shook his head vigorously. “Okay, guys! Guys! You don’t need to leave! I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“You had your shot with us, you wanted a lawyer, by law we can’t talk to you, sorry!”
Henry followed him.
Mitch turned around. “Before we leave you two alone, I’m going to have some coffee. Rose, you want a cup?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I waited a few moments, giving Bradley time to think.
Then I spoke. “Unless you want me to start cutting chunks of flesh from your body, you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
Bradley whimpered.
“All I want to do is find Norman, that’s all. I don’t care about any of this. Your lawyer will probably get you off because I came in, and Mitch and Henry, who are cops, came in without your permission. This case will be thrown out, everything those two find as evidence can’t be used against you. And they don’t have a warrant.”
He nodded, and smiled like a mental patient. “What do you want to know?”
This guy was loosening up now. “How long have you been having sex with young girls?”
Grinning, Bradley glared at me. “I’ve been making love to young girls for years now. Yes, it hurts them at first, because I am kind of big down there.” He glanced down at his crotch. “But the girls learn to enjoy it in time.”
Personally, I have cut up bodies and fed them to dogs so there’s not much I can’t stomach. I was glad he felt like talking, but I could barely endure his words.
Bradley Miller was truly delusional.
“How long have you been making love to young girls?”
“I don’t know. Since I was a young man.”
“What do you mean? Ten years? Fifteen?”
“Since my early twenties maybe?”
He had raped little girls for longer than I’d been alive. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled. “How many girls have you made love to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
“Over the years, maybe two dozen?”
Tasting bile in the back of my throat, I let it go. “Where did you find Samantha? Did you take her, or did Norman find her for you, like the one in there?” I pointed to the kitchen towards Bernice.
He giggled. “You don’t know?”
“What do you mean, Bradley? Tell me.”
Mitch entered, holding two coffee cups. “Here you go, ma’am.”
I accepted one of the cups. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Bradley here has an espresso machine.” Mitch took a sip with a pinky in the air.
I couldn’t help but grin.
“Yes, it’s expensive coffee,” Bradley said.
I took a sip, and it wasn’t half bad.
Mitch and Henry stood in the living room, sipping coffee. All they needed to complete the stereotype were doughnuts. They inched their way into the next room, keeping away from Bradley and me, so he would keep talking.
“You were telling me how you got Samantha. When did Norman bring her here to you? How much did you pay for Samantha? I’m not a cop, I don’t care about any of this. I want to find Norman White and tell him, or force him to stop the hit on my brother. That’s all, I promise.”
Bradley waited a few seconds before answering.
“You have it all wrong, Norman was only the middle man. I didn’t buy Samantha from him. He just put me and Teresa together.”
“What are you saying?”
“I bought Samantha directly from Teresa.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
The Pain That Pulsated
I was angry with Mrs. Ramirez.
The question was, why would a mother, a father, a parent, sell a child? They did that shit in Third World countries, not here in Texas.
Before smashing her face in, I wanted to talk to her first. Let her tell me her side of things.
Parking on the street, I walked down the sidewalk to the stairs that led to Teresa’s apartment. I went up the stairs in decent fashion, acknowledging the pain that pulsated throughout my body.
I glanced back at the courtyard, empty.
As I stepped onto the second-floor walkway, I stopped a few feet from Teresa’s front door, and heard moaning, and not the good kind.
“Shut up!” a man said.
My pistol stayed behind in the car. I wanted Teresa to talk to me and figured she wouldn’t talk if she saw them. Perhaps, I didn’t trust myself to not use it on her.
Should I go get it? Yup! As I moved, to go back to my car, there was more whimpering.
“Ouch!”
I stopped.
“Ouch!” It was louder this time.
Damn it, I decided there wasn’t enough time to grab my pistol. Why should I go inside and get mixed up in this shit? My body hurt and I wasn’t sure if I could handle getting into anymore scuffles today.
Who could be in there with her?
Her dealer?
An abusive boyfriend? Customer?
Shaking my head, I should leave now, I didn’t owe shit to Teresa. A junkie who sold her child to a pedophile.
But that wasn’t true, she owed me something. She probably knew the whereabouts of Uncle or how to contact him.
Fuck it!
I did a quick mental survey of what I had on me, two knives, my boots, bulletproof vest, and my brass knuckles. That should suffice.
Pulling out my knuckles, I put them on and walked up to the apartment door. Instead of knocking and alerting whoever was in there, I grabbed the doorknob to see if the door wasn’t locked. You never know.
The door was unlocked. I pushed it slowly, and stopped when it was about an inch open. The security chain was secured.
I backed up a step, raised my right leg, slamming the sole of my boot on a spot on the door next to the doorknob. The door flew open, and slammed against the wall.
My eyebrows lowered when I saw him on top of Teresa. They were on the floor, in between the short hallway and the living room. I watched him hit her in the face before he glanced up at me.
Hamburger meat looked better than Teresa’s face. Strands of hair mixed with blood, sticking to her face. A good look for a mother who sold her daughter. Teresa was still alive, barely.
The blond man turned in reaction to the increase of sunlight entering the apartment.
Earbuds nested in his ears, and he stood, pulling them out, then he faced me. I got a good look at him, but didn’t recognize him at first. Although, I didn’t know him, my instinct told me he was an enemy. Not for what he was doing to Mother Teresa over there, but for an unknown reason. I had a feeling I would find out soon.
I needed her to tell me where to find Norman White, however I believe this blond man could help me too.
Or not. I wouldn’t be sure until we chatted.
Raising my hand near my face, I waved. “Well, hello there, Blondie. You like to listen to m
usic when you beat your women? That’s nice.”
As I said those words it dawned on me who this guy was.
He frowned. “I must’ve forgotten to lock the door.”
“No, the chain was on, but I kicked the door.”
He nodded.
“You must be Carter?” Pointing at him, my eyes narrowed. “But I’ll call you Blondie.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Who are you?” His eyes studied me not only like a man studying a woman he found attractive, but like a predator studying its prey.
Extending my fingers, the pain in my body magically disappearing, I was ready. I placed my hands on my hips. “I’m nobody.” Angling my head to the side, I winked slowly, and deliberately.
He extended his bloody fingers, moving two steps forward. Carter was about Mitch’s size, and I didn’t see any sign that he carried a weapon.
“What’s up, Blondie?”
He reached for something on his waist, but grabbed air. Something should have been there, I guess. He then looked up at me, and then over in the direction of the living room.
A handgun sat on the coffee table in the living room.
Amateur.
He didn’t bother moving towards the pistol. He just grinned. Blondie figured he didn’t need the pistol, because I was just another weak, defenseless female.
His eyes narrowed. “My name’s Carter.”
Grimacing, I wagged a finger. “Carter? I don’t like that name, sounds like a dumb name. Sounds like a name given to a pet baboon. I like ‘Blondie’ better.”
His hands curled into fists. “Who are you?”
“Like I just said, Blondie, I’m nobody.”
His eyes inspected my entire body. “Why are you here?”
I pointed to Teresa. “I needed to talk to her.”
Blondie took a step, looking as if he wanted to tango. My hips were angled to send a kick to his face.
He took another step and swung.
I moved like a matador, sidestepping the punch, and pushed him in the back. He almost fell over, but caught his balance, stood up straight, and moved slowly towards me again.
Holding out a hand, I said, “Hang on, Blondie.”
He stopped.
“I don’t have anything against you. What you do with her, it’s y’all’s business. I’m looking for somebody. A man. I’m looking for Norman White, you know him, don’t you?” I asked. “Where is he?”
His left eye twitching, Blondie shook his head. “He’s not here.”
“So, he’s not here, where is he?”
As if something clicked in his brain, he asked, “How did you know my name?”
“I’ve heard about you.”
His jaw clenched. “Who have you talked to?”
His eyes told me he wasn’t going to tell me Uncle’s location. “Tell me something, Blondie. Are you a child rapist too, like your buddy, Norman?”
His eyes squinted, becoming darker, telling me he too was a monster.
Assuming a defensive stance, I prepared for the violence I was about to unleash on this monster. “So, you’re a monster too?”
Right arm cocked, Blondie thrusted his body at me.
I brought up my right leg, introducing my steel-toed boot to his gonads. He crumpled like a piece of construction paper.
Pouncing, I cocked my right arm and came down hard, pummeling his face with my spiked, brass-knuckled laced gloves. I got two good licks in before he brought up his leg, forcing me off him.
Blondie stood up tentatively, grabbing his crotch. The kick to his boys stung more than the punches to the face. “That was a lucky kick,” he muttered, opening his mouth, trying to extend his jaw.
“Keep telling yourself that, as I kick your ass.” I held up my right fist.
He smirked. “I doubt that, bitch.”
“Why do men insist on calling me a bitch?” I asked. “Are you deflecting your mommy issues onto me?”
“My mother was a whore who rented me out to make the rent.” Blondie shrugged. “Besides, I need to call you something. ‘Bitch’ sounds good to me. “
I redirected. “So, do you like women like me, sexually?” I paused for effect, shaking my head. “No? I bet you like little girls who can’t fight back!”
Blondie’s smile disappeared like ass-virginity in prison. His left eye twitched.
“If you like girls, I’m probably too old for you by a couple of decades. Or do you prefer boys? Boys who are too little and can’t fight back.” I tilted my head to the right and my neck cracked. “But, Blondie, I’m big enough to fight back.”
His hands balled up. Then, he lunged at me.
There was enough room behind me, so I let him come directly at me. He grabbed my shoulders. Reaching inside his arms, I grasped his collar with both hands. I hopped up, my boots landing high on his thighs, close his crotch. Next, I let gravity do its job.
We fell backwards. My butt kissed the floor, and I extended my legs upwards, flipping Blondie.
Blondie came crashing down on the dining table.
I stood and gazed down at Blondie lying on the broken table. He turned to his side, reaching for his back. “Ouch, fuck!”
“You done playing around? I need to find Norman White.”
He didn’t answer.
“All you have to do is tell me where he’s at and I won’t hurt you anymore.” Didn’t say I wouldn’t kill him, though.
Blondie turned over and eyed one of the detached table legs. He snatched it up, stood up straight, moaning.
Shaking my head, I asked, “You sure you want to do that, Blondie?”
“Screw you, bitch!”
“I won’t take it so easy on you anymore.”
He slouched slightly. “I’m going to kill you.”
I’d had that statement thrown at me more times than I could count. “Blondie, I’m going to have to put you down.”
“All I need to do is land one hit and you’ll go down, bitch!” He sidestepped to his left.
Finding Uncle was my priority, but I couldn’t help thinking about the children this man helped Uncle find and sell to monsters. Killing this piece of trash would feel so good.
Slightly leaning on my back leg, I moved my body perpendicular to Blondie’s. “How about this? I’ll give you a chance. I won’t kill you if you tell me where Norman is, and you surrender to police. Then you go to prison and get viciously ass-raped for the next several years. I’m sure you’re familiar with the practice.”
He didn’t respond, swinging the broken table leg at me and missing.
I jabbed a few times, but was wide of the mark.
He swung the table leg again, but this time like a professional baseball player on human growth hormone, the end of it managing to hit my arm.
“Fuck!” I adjusted my position. In fighting for your life, one couldn’t concentrate on any pain nor should you waste any time cheering. Pain was irrelevant if you were about to die. Not professional.
“Ha! Got you, bitch!”
Our right legs lined up now, so I brought my right leg up, and pivoted at the hip, my knee bent. I faux-kicked low, quickly bringing my boot back towards my butt. His hand moved swiftly to block the kick but he blocked air. Aiming higher, I extended my leg again. My boot connected with his jaw, Blondie’s head ratcheting sideways like a flag in a strong wind.
He fell, again.
Three red, dime-sized holes, lined up in a straight line on his cheek. He grabbed his face, wiping the blood away.
The sight made me smile.
He shook his head.
“Come on, Blondie, I thought you’d be better than this.”
“You got lucky with that kick! I’m going to kill you!” he shouted, making a dash towards the living room. He wasn’t going to be able to beat me with his hands, so he needed the handgun.
Reacting fast, I kicked his outreached arm, knocking him, face first onto the floor next to the coffee table. I went for the pistol.
Righting himself quickly, B
londie growled and grabbed it. He had it by the barrel, bringing it up off the coffee table. I grasped it in midair, actually grabbing hold of it.
Holding the pistol by the handle, I tried to finger the trigger guard, but he had a finger in there already, but he faced the wrong way, so it wasn’t on the trigger.
Two options.
One, I needed a way to get the handgun.
Two, make it inoperable, as in taking it apart.
Mentally going through the design of the firearm, I knew what to do.
He pulled on the barrel, trying to stand. The fact of the matter was if Blondie stood, he was strong enough to wrench it out of my hand.
With my other hand, I reached a spot just above the hand gripping the handle, rubbing the magazine release button. I pressed it, and the magazine ejected into my hand.
He blinked.
I smiled.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Waddling Down The Sidewalk
Julie Creed passed tired a few hours ago.
Today was busier than normal. She got off a little early today so she picked up her kids. Normally they would ride the bus and go to her parents’ house.
Julie thought that guy, Art Murphy, was so weird. Before he left, Henry told her Art had dumped a corpse. She met all kinds in her job.
“Mom! Hascal’s touching me!” Heather said.
Julie glowered at Hascal in the rearview mirror.
“Hascal?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him the look. The universal cool-it-or-else look. Or else meant she would get his father to talk to him.
She hated disciplining the children. She spanked them when they were younger, but they were getting to the age where they were changing from munchkins to people. Plus, both were scared of Henry.
“Okay, Mommy,” Hascal said with a devilish grin. He looked like his father. Julie knew she was powerless against Hascal and his cute ways.
She turned off her car. “Homework, first guys!”
Hascal and his sister rolled their eyes. They each knew they had to do their homework before TV or Xbox or internet. Well, they were allowed to use the internet, but only for homework.
Hascal gave his best puppy dog eyes. “Mom, can we do our homework at grandma’s?”
Sounded like a great idea. Julie called her mother. “Hey, Mom, how’s it going?”
Ungoverned: A Thriller and Suspense Novel (Ungoverned Series Book 1) Page 16
