by S A Ison
Wanda was teaching Hellen how to knit. She’d never done it, never cared to, but she liked the aspect of keeping her hands busy. With the women’s daily visits, she was becoming used to their chatter, that included her sometimes, but not always.
When she was working on her computers, the women talked among themselves, leaving her to do her work and research. None asked her directly about the covert operations. When she did tell them something, they gave her their undivided attention.
Hell was looking into the finances of Detective Down, silent co-owner of the now burned down club. She noted that he had a hell of a lot more money floating in his accounts than a police officer should have, detective or no. Hell was linking him with Officer Clint Waywood and his associates. On the surface, none had any connection. Yet Bojo had mentioned a couple of cops, and a detective. Mike had done the same, though he hadn’t known about Detective Down. Waywood’s name had come up in both interrogations. Hopefully she would track down even more corrupt police officers. Those, she’d leave for last.
Bojo had mentioned a certain doctor. Apparently, Dr. Winter was connected with both the sex trafficking and the drugs. She remembered that Betty was approached by dealers.
“Betty, has anyone come to you again about going to the pharmacy?” Hellen asked.
“No, thank goodness. I’ve not seen any of those rascals for a while now. You think they’ve moved on?” Betty asked, pushing up her glasses.
“Hopefully so,” Hellen said and looked down at her computer.
She hadn’t told the women that she’d shot the men who were in their neighborhood a couple nights ago. These women needed deniability. Besides, she didn’t want any of them forgetting themselves and mentioning the incident to an outsider. She would look into Dr. Winter and start tracing his money and his movements. The more she learned about Leon Ellsworth the more intrigued she became.
On the surface, there was nothing unusual about the man. Successful yes, but many Americans were. This man, however, had two distinct businesses and was successful at both. She wondered about his upbringing and his motivations that drove him to do what he did. There was definitely something dark inside of him to do that to other humans. To poison them with drugs and to take children and send them to their deaths in a most heinous way—sexual slavery.
When she got to Leon Ellsworth, she would take her time killing him. She and her wolf. There was a deep rumble within her, a low growl of satisfaction. Hell smiled. Her werewolf liked the idea of that. Leon was the head of the snake and she’d cut that head right off.
As for Dr. Winter, she would wait until the last for him as well as the officers. Once those were done, the public would be in an outrage and wanting justice. Killing drug dealers and human traffickers was one thing. But the law would raise holy hell if she were to kill a cop or two. She knew, however, all their leads would die.
She would then head to Las Vegas for a nice working vacation. Hell was now accumulating each scofflaw’s financials, both hidden and clear. When or if she killed the detective and cops, she wanted to expose their hand into the shady part of their dealings. She would anonymously be sending their ill-gotten gains to worthy charities that would help with children, runaways, and survivors of human trafficking.
That would be the only way she could walk away and not have to look over her shoulder. It was tricky business killing law enforcement, they tended to take it personally. Well, they should, but these were dirty cops. Maybe she’d let them live and turn them in with evidence. Let them spend the rest of their lives behind bars, fending off the felons. She mentally cheered at that thought.
“I take it you had an enjoyable evening last night?” Wanda asked, a knowing smile on her face.
The statement startled Hellen from her thoughts.
“What? What do you mean?”
“You know, at our age, we don’t sleep a lot. I’m up and down all night. I saw you drive out last night and then come back a bit later. I noticed that your car looked a little different,” Wanda said.
Hellen narrowed her eyes. “Are you watching me?”
The women laughed and she looked at each of their faces. There was humor, but no ill intent.
“Of course we’re watching you, dear. We watch out for each other. That’s the way it is with friends. Did you do some little pissant bastard in?” Wanda waggled her nearly invisible eyebrows.
Hellen harrumphed. “Geez. Busybodies, every last one of you,” she said, though without any kind of heat.
This caused another burst of laughter from the women.
“Of course we are. What else are we supposed to do at our age? We have so little excitement in our lives. You’re a breath of fresh air, Hell, don’t you know that? We’re proud of the fact that you’re avenging our Vivian. We’d love to help in any way we can.” Miriam rolled out a ball of peach yarn across the floor.
Widget pounced on it, her body fairly vibrating with excitement, with her tail plumed out twice its size. It reminded Hellen of her werewolf when she was excited.
“It’s grisly work. That doesn’t disgust you?” Hellen asked, surprised.
“No, dear. We’d be doin’ just the same if we had the know-how. That scum is invadin’ our neighborhoods and our children aren’t safe. We know you’re used to doing things yourself. What you do is so important. Just know that we are backing you and approve of everything you do, whether we know what it is or not,” Miriam said. She tugged at the yarn as though she were fishing and caught a fat and fluffy catfish.
“Well, I do have a line on a human trafficking group. From what I understand, there are two more big locations. I’m trying to figure out how to hit them both. I know who the king player is. I’m saving him for last.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Take the bastard out in style.” Betty hooted with laughter.
Nora nodded her approval as well.
“Well, you could always hit the players of the trafficking group, call in the location to the police, and then later burn it down,” Wanda suggested.
“Or kidnap the players, torture them, kill them and then call the police,” Betty chimed in.
“Dayum, Betty, you’re vicious,” Wanda said, glancing sideways at her.
Betty snickered, her face flushing bright red as her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
“It bears thinking about.” Hellen nibbled at her lower lip, thinking of their suggestions.
“Stick it to ‘em good. They are takin’ young people, children, and using them. There is no death too good or easy for those rotten sonsofbitches,” Betty said, her mouth bent down, the loose skin of her chin and throat wobbling.
Wanda leaned over and patted the woman’s arm. Hellen knew they all were strongly emotional about the criminal element that hovered in Charlotte like a stench. It was like that in every city and large town. Hellen was under no illusion that someone wouldn’t move in once she cleared this nest out. But perhaps they’d think better about it.
Besides, she’d already decided to go hunting after all this was tied up, here and in Vegas. It wouldn’t be on this kind of massive scale and it would be a hit and run scenario. She was pretty sure that as many as she killed, more would just pop up in their places. But they’d all have targets on their head and they would all be looking over their shoulder, though for whom, they would never know. A satisfied sentiment creased her face and she looked back down at her computer. She went back to work, listening to the women chatter among themselves.
SIX
Agent Tim Rancher opened his emails while he sipped his coffee. It had been a long weekend and he’d been working six of his assets, all of whom were spread far and wide across the globe. There was a lot going on in the world stage, so much so that he’d had to team up two sets of assets to work together. Something hinky was going on in Iran, though what, no one knew. While normally each asset was self-contained, things over in Cairo, Egypt were a little shaky and he’d had to deploy a pair there as well. Iran and Egypt. Huh. He’d mentio
n his thoughts to O’Donnell.
His lip curled. When O’Donnell had taken over a few years ago, Rancher was bumped laterally. While it was not a demotion, it was not upwardly mobile either. O’Donnell’s hand was in part of the Djibouti screwup nearly two years ago. How he hadn’t lost his job, Rancher didn’t know.
Agent Vector—Ethan Moreno, and Agent Echo—Alexander Wilder, were sent to Africa and had barely gotten out with their lives. When Wilder was injured, Moreno had gotten them to the extraction point. Rancher was sure it was investigated internally. He would never know all the details since he didn’t have a need to know, but he could guess. For now, he had his own assets to run. Such was his job and though the world turned, his job was mostly mundane and clerically driven.
He opened an email and groaned. One of his retired agents had gone off-grid.
“Shit,” he muttered and took another drink of coffee. He wished he could light up a cigarette but that ship had sailed years ago. If he wanted a smoke, he’d have to leave and head out to the smoking area. He brought his hands up to his face and massaged his forehead. It was Hellen.
Dammit!
He skimmed down the email then sat back. Usually it was Agent Zed who disappeared. Zahara Demir was a solid pain in his balls. Why the agency put up with her, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps because there were so few women agents and she was damned good at her job. A stone-cold killer, that one. Just like Hellen. He checked Agent Zed’s status. No, she was still in D.C.
Good girl, stay put, he thought.
Special Agent Bobby Wilmer swung into his office, a doughnut wedged in his mouth, another doughnut in one hand and his coffee in the other. He handed Tim the pastry and took a bite of his own.
“What’s the matter? You look like someone pissed in your Cheerios,” Wilmer said, crumbs flying from his mouth. He took a drink and cleared his throat.
“Hell on Wheels has disappeared again,” Tim said. He took a bite of the doughnut.
“Oh shit. That’s not good. Least it isn’t Zahara, just saw her down the hall. The last time Hell went missing, we had six bodies float to the surface in Seoul. Did they ever prove she did that?” Wilmer asked, taking a seat in front of Tim’s desk.
“No, but I know damned well she did it. The agent that was in Atlanta never made actual contact with the woman in Hell’s yard, only a visual. It could have been Hellen, but the idiot was satisfied that Hellen was at her house ten hours after the incident,” Tim grouched and took a drink of his coffee.
“What is it? You know, with these women agents? Disappearing?” Tim said and wished for a cigarette more than ever.
“Hormonal? If the bodies turned up eight hours after she killed them, she couldn’t have made it back stateside, even if she chartered a flight. That’s a thirteen-hour flight at best,” Wilmer laughed.
“Right, the timeline doesn’t work. And Hell left no trail, no intel, no security footage at any of the airports. We couldn’t move an asset that fast if our asses were on fire. I can’t prove it, but I’d say she had a body double at her home while she made her way back stateside. Again, no way to prove it because the agent didn’t get close enough,” Tim said sourly.
“Yeah, bad luck for him and you,” Wilmer said, humor gone. He couldn’t prove it but he was sure that was why O’Donnell got his job and he was moved to a different area.
“Shit happens. But they couldn’t prove she did it and no matter how much you know it’s true, if you don’t have viable facts, intel, and evidence, then it didn’t happen.”
“So where has she gone, or do you know?” Wilmer asked.
“Email says her sister was killed, down in Charlotte. Looks like she went there, but there’s no intel that indicates she did. No movement on her place in Atlanta for six weeks or better. She flew up to Charlotte, but went home after a couple of days. The agents these days are slack as hell.”
Tim rubbed his face again. It was frustrating. Though Hell had been quiet the last few years, that didn’t mean much if something happened.
“Yeah, but she’s retired, why would she just sneak out? Why would she care? Does Hell on Wheels even know she’s being monitored?”
“After Seoul, I’m fairly sure she’s paranoid enough to know it’s a possibility. She was one of our best assets, extremely proficient. I only worked with her for five years, but she earned her moniker. She was fast and decisive and invisible. It wouldn’t be so bad, but local law enforcement is showing an upsurge in bodies turning up. Drug dealers and traffickers, but bodies all the same,” Tim said.
“You think Hell is in the middle of it?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I think I’m gonna take a trip to Charlotte.”
Wilmer laughed. “What? Just send someone. Shit, she’s retired and she’s old.”
“You’re kidding right? After the fuckup three years ago, I’m going and personally putting eyes on her. I’ve seen her dossier and she may be sixty, but somehow, I don’t see her age as a factor. I’ve handled her assignments, she’s lethal.”
“But she had cancer, she’s done. I get it though, cover your ass.” Wilmer got up and went to the door.
“Keep this quiet, Bobby. If I don’t find anything I don’t want Hell getting bothered, and I don’t want any red flags raised if this is nothing,” Tim warned.
“No worries. Not my chair, not my problem. Good luck and safe travels.” Wilmer lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared down the hall.
Tim looked back at the email. Before he headed to Charlotte, he’d do a little snooping. He sighed. He’d often wondered how Hellen was after the chemo and all. He experienced a twinge of guilt for not keeping in touch, but that was the way of things. Once an asset was retired, you just moved on. It wasn’t as if he kept in touch with any of his other assets. He navigated to Charlotte PD’s website and began his search.
§
Herley Parker lit up another cigarette and then smoothed back the dull red, graying hair from his forehead. He let the pale blue smoke stream from his nostrils as he walked by the cells at Myrtle Bay stables. He’d just gotten two new girls, blondes. He put them together in one cell. He now had nine females. They were naked, just the way he liked them. Nothing hidden. That kept ’em scared and docile. He doped their food and water. The two new ones were fourteen. A couple of his boys had picked them up at the bus station.
It was so easy. It was like they wanted to get picked up. Runaways were always a good source of kids. Going by the bus station, the young were easy to spot. These two were from Tulsa, Oklahoma. He guessed Mommy and Daddy were too strict so they bolted. Well, now they’d have a whole different kind of life than they’d hoped for.
Parker knew Mr. E would want a taste of these two once the doc cleared them. Of course, if they were virgins, they’d be kept pristine and sent to the Middle East.
He grinned with dark humor; the ragheads paid good money for pure pussy. Well, if you had money, you could buy what you wanted. He personally didn’t care what color their hair was. He liked them young though. Most men did. It was becoming a bit more difficult with the bust and Bojo’s bullshit.
Unfortunately, the warehouse was no longer an option for processing the inventory. Mr. E was finding a new location to process the girls through. Parker liked that his boss was careful like that, unlike Bojo. He still couldn’t believe that the dumbass took a girl to his crib. Who did that? Anything could happen and you didn’t want a witness knowing where you lived. Bojo could have done her and left her at the warehouse. Was that why he was killed? Because he was careless? Bojo had no direct connection to Mike yet both men had their fingertip cut off. What was the link?
This all smelled of Colombian takeover bullshit. Intimidation. But he hadn’t seen anything on the streets. Sure, a few dead dealers had turned up recently, but that was normal. Still, disputes always happened, and if there wasn’t a daily murder in Charlotte, well then, it just wasn’t Charlotte, was it?
Parker took another drag from his cigarette, moving th
rough the underground complex. Whatever was going on, he’d just keep collecting the merchandise until it was time to ship them out.
Once more, the thought of Bojo crept into his mind. While he hadn’t heard everything about what had happened to the man, he’d heard enough. Gruesome shit like that spread fast and it kept them all on edge. It would be one thing if Bojo was just shot or something, but the man was butchered. And Mike, peeled like a banana. Parker spat and wiped at his mouth.
Who the fuck does that sick shit? Colombians, his mind whispered.
If the Colombians were moving in, Parker figured he would be moving on. He would just leave and head north or south or any place other than Charlotte.
Some of his men had asked him what he knew, but Parker didn’t say a lot. The less they knew the better. None of them knew about Mr. E and most were only vaguely aware of Bojo. Parker and Jessy ran the crews and kept them all separated by stables. The men working women in one location knew nothing about the men who ran product in another location. It was smart because if any were busted, there was very little information they could divulge. All of his people were threatened with the deaths of their families if they talked. Mr. E said if you threatened them with their loved ones, they’d keep their mouths shut.
It was true, each man who worked for Parker had to give over a list of names of each of his family members and their locations. Their addresses and information were filed away. If they wanted to work and get paid, they had to trade something valuable.
Mr. E knew loyalty only went so far when a felon was faced with years in prison. There would be no deal making on his account.
Parker liked that; it was a smart move. If he did have to relocate, he would start up again and run his own business and he would employ the same tactics as Mr. E had. Run a tight ship with fear and slaughter.
