by S A Ison
His restaurant, Bojo’s, served the best ribs in the state and there was normally an hour or better wait to get a table. He had to thank his cousin, Darnell. That boy could cook. Darnell used an old family recipe on the ribs and the rubs. It was where high end meets low end. A shabby chic atmosphere that allowed all walks of life and incomes. The restaurant was elegantly simplistic and customers couldn’t get enough.
Ten years before, Leon had suggested that Bojo go legit, at least on the face of things. You could only be a thug for so long before it caught up to you. Leon had fronted Bojo the money to get started and he’d paid Ellsworth back. Leon got a percentage of the income. Bojo still kept the backdoor aspect his trafficking business open. It was too lucrative not to. It was so easy and the young people just fell into his hands. He knew his days were coming to an end for that one-on-one aspect and he’d have to turn it over to one of his most trusted people. Like Leon, he needed to put distance between him and the not so legit side of his life. He’d been grooming Jessy to do just that. There were aspects that Bojo would miss but Leon was correct and Bojo wasn’t stupid. The new men hired on didn’t know Bojo and only dealt with Jessy. Slowly, he was pulling away and ensuring he was well separated from that side of the house.
For years he’d been running girls and a few boys, but that had become a pain in the ass, with busts and bails. Leon found a niche, the best of both. Get them young and pass them onto someone else to deal with the problems. So Bojo ordered Jessy to subcontract a few dependable men, good looking of course, and scour the state for young women, vulnerable and alone, preferably under the age of eighteen. It was easy to scoop them up and move them along. The money was damn good. A little oxy to fuck ’em up and boom, they were malleable and transportable.
This business about Mike was troublesome. Mike was a mouthy and quick-tempered little cracker, but he was a go-getter and a good earner. Leon was a good judge of talent. Bojo hoped the murder wasn’t a new crew trying to make a grab for territory. He was now making some serious bread and he’d diversified his portfolio. In another ten years, he’d leave this place and head down to the Caribbean and retire. Things were going great, and now this.
It had shaken Waywood up, that was for sure. He’d seen Clint in passing and when he’d described the crime scene, Bojo thought the man might hurl. This wasn’t good, and not knowing who was behind it wasn’t either. He supposed it was a wait and see for now.
§
Hellen wore her jet-black wig. It was a blunt cut and made her look years younger. The thin, sharp glasses made her appear to be a hipster. She was at Down and Brown Speakeasy, a nightclub. This was one of Bojo Brown’s haunts. After a lot of digging and sifting through records, she found out that Bojo was part owner here, a silent partner. She’d already put a tracker on his vehicle. She’d done a little digging and found out that a Detective Ross Down was co-owner of the joint. She’d have to burn it down.
She sipped at her drink, nonalcoholic of course. She drank wine occasionally, but when she was on recon, she was completely sober.
Detective Down was in a corner booth with a couple of women, young. He had dirty blond hair and a lantern jaw. Very distinctive. She had gone past him earlier to clone his phone. Since he was a detective, she’d have to be careful when dealing with him. Killing an officer of the law had its own challenges.
She was watching him from the bar, the glasses she sported helped with that. Since the glasses were narrow, it was difficult to see which way her eyes shifted. There was soft jazz and blues and the place was surprisingly nice. She would be sorry to destroy it, but not the two men who owned it. She wondered if Down helped Brown with the trafficking. She’d have to dig a little deeper on Detective Ross Down. She had no problem killing a cop, a dirty cop, she amended, just carefully.
Down got up and went to the back, so she paid her bill and left. She was parked up the block and went to sit and wait. Twenty minutes later, Down pulled out and she followed. He was heading to the industrial section and Hellen could detect the difference in the air, which took on an oily quality. The streetlights seemed yellow, a coating of something covering the globes. It reminded her a little of Seoul and its industrial areas.
She slowed down and turned off her lights. She didn’t need them and was pretty far back. She took note of where Down’s car turned and pulled over. After a few minutes, when she was sure he wasn’t retracing his route, she pulled up to the turnoff. It was a large, squat, three-story building. She took note of the large lot. It was some kind of industrial area but there were quite a few derelict buildings in the vicinity. Exiting the vehicle—it was Betty’s car, with different plates—Hellen moved forward. The women had agreed to let her use their cars as trackers. She giggled at the thought.
It was like one of those episodes of Murder She Wrote and the older women were all keen on helping. Her sister was really lucky to have such friends. Hellen had never had the ability to engage on a meaningful level. It had totally escaped her, the complex intricacies of relationships. Hell admitted that hers had been a lonely life, punctuated with visits to and from her sister. Viv’s friends were always over and underfoot. Widget had betrayed her by curling up in their laps. Except Betty, who spoke too loudly. But she had to admit, she was getting used to having the women over and their constant chattering. It flowed over her like a soothing rain.
During the day she was on the computer, investigating and following up leads. She was starting to connect the dots of this enterprise and it was quite extensive. Sometimes she fell asleep in her chair, the women still talking around her. She would wake with a start to find a blanket around her shoulders and a hot cup of tea next to her. Even her werewolf liked them. She’d woken from a nap once to find her six-inch claws painted brilliant pink. At some point, her werewolf had come out to meet the ladies.
Hell had never known any kind of camaraderie. Yet these women, in their quiet way, had adopted Hellen and her wolf as one of their own. At the agency, she’d known the other agents, especially the werewolves, but they were all restrained and unapproachable. Assassins were not known for their warmth or amity.
Hellen shifted and moved rapidly. She wore a dark jacket filled with several mags and her Beretta Nano. She moved silently around the equipment. With her werewolf’s aid, her vision made negotiating the area easy, and it beat having to wear NVGs. The warehouse yard was quiet. At two in the morning it should be. She paused by Down’s vehicle, reached under the wheel well, and placed a tracker. She moved on and paused from time to time to listen.
Although Hellen had taken a nap before heading out tonight, she was again struck by the betrayal of her body. She no longer had the stamina she’d enjoyed before the cancer and was in a constant struggle not to let the frustration and rage overtake her. Before, she’d never once given aging a thought, her werewolf kept her young. Now it seemed to consume her, especially when she fell asleep while the women chatted in her home.
Before, she had never been able to sleep or even nod off when in public. She’d never had the ability to sleep without being locked behind a door, alone. Something deep within and primitive would not let her, nor would her werewolf. She was a killer, and not being in constant control and awareness was deadly. Now, she found herself dozing in her chair, the women coming and going from her house, unfazed by her narcolepsy. She looked around her. No movement or sounds.
She removed a pack from her shoulder and pulled out a miniature parabolic device. She attached an earpiece and listened, turning the dish from side to side and up. At least the werewolf’s hearing was good. She was glad it wasn’t a tall building, otherwise she’d be shit out of luck with picking up any kind of sound.
“Got a couple more and will bring them in tomorrow night,” a man said.
“Any troublemakers?” another man asked, his voice was deep.
“Naw, we’re keepin’ them pretty sedated. Lot of cryin’ for mommy,” the first man said and laughed.
“Good, okay. I’ll be in t
omorrow. Let’s make it midnight, I can’t get out early. Got a few things going on at the restaurant,” the deep voice said and Hellen suspected this man was more than likely Bojo Brown.
She’d just take him tonight and get the intel about locations, handlers, and maybe more information on the detective. She would follow him home and take him there. Detective Down and Bojo Brown together verified the link that she’d suspected. She’d leave the detective for another time, after digging deeper into the policeman’s background.
Hellen walked quickly back to her car and pulled back about half a mile. She would follow Bojo to his home. If he had family, she’d have to deal with that. Hopefully he was single, but she couldn’t always count on that. She had looked Bojo up on social media and there was nothing about a wife or kids. The restaurant was listed but not the speakeasy. Was Brown a silent partner because Down was a cop? She hoped Bojo didn’t have roommates, but like at Mike’s, she would take care of them. Hellen had taken time to do a few searches for Bojo’s information online and gotten a possible location of his home. She had crosschecked with the DMV and the photo. The photo matched the restaurant’s social media advertisements. If he was heading toward the address, she could move ahead of him and get into his home. There weren’t that many Bartholomew Joseph Browns in Charlotte. In fact, he was the only one.
All was quiet around her; this was not a residential area and so there were no homes or traffic moving.
She heard the blip on her phone and picked it up. The target was moving and she waited and then pulled out. A slow chuckle escaped as she realized he was heading to the apartment she’d located in her web search. She pulled ahead and passed him, turned down several avenues, and within ten minutes arrived at the location. She only had a few minutes to get into the apartment and verify it was empty.
She parked her car on a side street and exited it, searching for any street cams; there were none. Bojo’s apartment wasn’t near a streetlight and she moved swiftly to the door. She pulled out her lockpick tools and was inside the apartment within fifteen seconds. Before she went a step further, she slipped on disposable booties over her shoes.
Hell stood a moment listening, sniffing the apartment, scenting it. It was uninhabited. She moved to the bedroom and opened the door. Nothing. Her nose twitched. Bojo favored a heavy cologne or aftershave. She rubbed at her nose; her wolf didn’t like it either. It was a small apartment, and neat. She noted the large flat screen TV and a shelf with DVDs. She went to the bathroom and peeked inside, then went back into the living room.
She now had the location of the human trafficking drop-off. She wasn’t sure what the three-story building was used for during the day. She would check into it and see if Ellsworth owned it, making a mental note to add that bit of information to her growing dossier of Leon Ellsworth and his organization. She had verification that Brown and Down were associated with the trafficking and the speakeasy. She had yet to find a whole lot about Ellsworth. It would seem that he’d covered his trail very well. On the surface, Ellsworth appeared to be a successful realtor, with no official or obvious links to Brown, Down, or Mike.
Hell moved to the window when she saw car lights flash past the living room window. She moved the curtain slightly with a gloved finger. It was him. She pulled out her small aerosol bottle and then thought better of it. No, with this one she would use her taser. She was glad she was able to get here ahead of him. It would have been just a little awkward and noisy if she wasn’t here first. Or she’d have to wait another day and why bother? She wanted answers now. She was tired and she would make quick work of this dirtbag.
“Shit!” she hissed in a low snarl.
Bojo had a young girl with him. His hand was wrapped around the upper arm of the girl, moving her ahead of him. Hell yanked the spray out. Dammit, she hadn’t counted on this. She should have stayed closer to watch. Who could have known that the sick bastard would bring a child here? There was no other option, she’d have to use the taser on Bojo and spray the girl. Hopefully she could do it in a way that the girl didn’t scream and make noise. She wasn’t worried about the girl seeing her, it was dark.
She could hear him coming up to the door and she stepped back and behind the door. She would get him as he entered into the apartment, and once he was on the ground, she would attend to the child. She heard the keys jingle and waited. Her heart rate was elevated only slightly. She would wait until later to be angry at herself. Now was not the time for self-recriminations.
The door swung open. Bojo was humming softly under his breath and she could smell cigarette smoke on him. His large shape stepped into the dark room and he was turning to shut the door. She could see the ghost of a shape, the girl. She extended her arm and rammed the taser into his side. His body went rigid and he dropped the keys, his hands turning into claws.
He made a strangled noise and went down heavy. Holding her breath, Hellen aimed the aerosol bottle at the girl, whose expression reflected blank resignation. Hell sprayed the girl’s face and there was a split second of surprise and then the girl slumped to the floor beside Bojo. Hell stepped over Bojo, kicked his leg out of the way, and shut and locked the door.
“I have a bone to pick with you, Bojo,” she said, grinning down at the twitching man.
§
Wanda was making tea in Vivian’s small, neat kitchen. She knew this kitchen by heart. Hellen looked tired. She’d been out all night.
Wanda took a tray out with a teapot and two bone china cups. The cups were designed with pale blue flowers and delicate butterflies. She set the tray on the coffee table and sat down across from Hellen. There was still a bit of blood on Hellen’s face and Wanda didn’t think Hellen knew about it.
Wanda poured a bit of tea and handed Hellen the cup and saucer. She got up and went to the kitchen for a paper towel, putting hot water on it to dampen it. Coming back in, she gently tilted Hellen’s face up. Surprisingly, Hell let her and Wanda wiped away the blood. There was quite a bit and it surprised her. She lifted Hellen’s black wig off her head and took it to the bathroom. It would need to be washed. She noted that Hellen had shaven recently, her head was smooth. When she went back to the living room, she finished wiping Hellen’s face. She smiled down at the younger woman.
“You okay, Hell?”
“Yes, just a long night. After questioning that garbage, I went back to his restaurant and set it on fire. Then just before I came home, I went to his speakeasy and torched that. No one will get any revenue off either of those businesses. Especially if there are more silent partners like Ellsworth and Detective Down.”
“Good. Is it true that Mr. Brown was trafficking people?” Wanda asked.
“Yes, I found the location of where they are being held. I used Brown’s phone and called that information in. So by now, those kids are free or in custody and being cared for. I’ll go back later and deal with the players. It boggles my mind how extensive and pervasive this trafficking thing is. I never really knew, nor thought about it.”
“It isn’t something that’s in your wheelhouse, Hellen,” Wanda said and finished up wiping the blood. She went to back to the kitchen and shoved the bloody paper towel down into the garbage, under a used coffee filter.
Going back to the living room, she picked up her tea and sat on the couch. The morning light was harsh on Hellen’s face and for the first time, Wanda realized how fragile Hellen really was. It had never occurred to her that Hellen was anything but invincible.
“But the thing is, this is kind of in my wheelhouse. When I was in my early twenties, just as I was leaving college, I was approached by a lot of men. They thought I was a kid. At first, I thought they were just being nice. Then I realized they wanted something more sinister.”
“My goodness, Hellen, what did you do?” Wanda set her cup aside, staring intently at the younger woman in front of her.
“I went with them, just to see how far they would go. They thought I was eleven or twelve. You’d think it was only a couple me
n here or there, but it wasn’t, Wanda. There were many men.”
“My Lord. I don’t understand, evil, just evil,” she said breathlessly.
“I don’t know about that, but when I got them alone, I killed them. Or rather, my wolf killed them. It was easy and I walked away. Then I was approached by CIA. Apparently, I was being watched and followed. It was in my senior year.”
“Oh, Hell, did they see your werewolf? What happened?” Wanda leaned forward.
“No, they didn’t see the wolf, I used only a claw or two. I’d come up on the FBI’s radar. Apparently, several of the men were under surveillance for child pornography and sex trafficking of minors. Instead of arresting me, I was recruited. I finished my senior year and went into training for the CIA.”
“Wow. I never knew. Vivian never said.”
“She didn’t know. I didn’t want her to know that I was a murderer when I was so young. I knew she’d be disappointed.”
Wanda sighed sadly. Though Hellen was sixty, sometimes her concepts of her sister were that of a child.
“No, she’d never be disappointed in you, Hellen. She was proud and knew you were a capable woman. She worried a lot, that you’d end up alone.”
“I’m not alone, I have Widget.”
“Have you ever dated, Hell?” Wanda suddenly wanted to know.
“No. I never had any kind of want to. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not very gregarious.”
“Well, I’m not sure about the gregarious part, but I think you have a lot to offer a mate. But I honestly don’t know who’d be good enough for you,” Wanda said.
“Ah, well, thanks. I think I’ll sidestep that little landmine and keep that cat” Hellen sipped her tea.
“So you shut down the head of a trafficking ring, that’s good. I know, at least from watching the news, that the evil organizations are all over the place.”
