A Bone to Pick

by S A Ison

  He rubbed at his nose. It was starting to stink down here. He’d have to wash them up. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t allowed to touch them in a sexual way, but he could accidently touch a few things while he cleaned them up. He’d give the two new girls an extra dosing, make them real pliable. Parker loved his job, he had to say. His only problem was keeping the others off the kids. It was only fear of Bojo that had kept them off. Now he had to keep the merchandise under lock and key.

  He’d have to answer to Mr. E if the kids were roughed up too much. That was money, bottom line. They’d need another go between, someone to replace Bojo, which meant either he or Jessy would get the bump up. He liked that notion. It would be more money in his pocket, a larger cut. He’d have to make sure that Mr. E viewed him as a capable asset. Jessy was good too, but Jessy could work for him if he took over Bojo’s position. That was a fine idea and Parker nodded at the thought.

  That was up to Mr. E and he could just hope he’d fill the spot in the upper tier of the organization. Although he knew of Mr. E, he’d never met the man, never seen him, or even knew his real name. But Parker knew of two incidents in the past that ended in a bloody mess after Mr. E had given an order to set an example for disobedience.

  Mr. E had passed orders down via Bojo and Parker had only spoken to Mr. E via the phone. He could be standing right in front of the man and never know it. Parker thought that was smart. None of his men had ever seen Bojo; they reported directly to him and Jessy. Randy, Grant, Nadar, and Quinn did most of the grunt work for him and Jessy. Sometimes they had one of the men’s acquaintances help out, but that was rare. Bojo ran a tight crew.

  Parker walked up the steps and out of the deep cellar. He closed the soundproof door behind him and locked it. He held the only keys. He didn’t trust any of his people not to go down and rape every single one of them. If he were going to get bumped up in position, he needed to think of a successor. It was more than likely gonna be Jessy. They were roughly on equal standing. Then he’d bump up one of the men, someone he could trust.

  He scratched at his patchy beard, then lit another cigarette off the one in his mouth, crushing the butt. He pulled out his phone.

  “Quinn, get over to Myrtle. I think you and I need to talk.”

  Quinn was his second cousin and a good man. He was about the same age as Parker and the man didn’t take shit from anyone. He helped from time to time with the merchandise and knew the business. Quinn didn’t know Bojo, or Mr. E. He wouldn’t tell him about either man—Mr. E wouldn’t like that kind of exposure.

  Quinn could take over his duties and help Jessy and Parker would take over Bojo’s job. The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. It wasn’t set in stone, but he thought Mr. E would promote him. Quinn could run the men and make sure that the kids remained untouched. Randy, Nadar, and Grant were his top guys to run the kids.

  They might have to bring on a couple more men, but he and Quinn would vet them and ensure no fuckups occurred. Parker decided he’d start looking for a possible location for the transfers. Maybe in the heavily industrial areas? A little farther away from the last location. He was sure the cops had that area under surveillance. Parker had been doing this too long to get caught.

  He found Ginger. She was an old whore turned den mother to the girls below. She was always on site and knew better than to cross Parker. He’d cut off one of her nipples, years ago. She’d never given him problems since.

  “Dope those two new gals a little extra. I gotta clean them up. They stink to high heaven,” he told her, his gold molar glinting.

  Ginger nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to take the meals down, I’ll let you down there.” At her nod, Parker left the building, whistling happily. He was gonna have some fun tonight.

  §

  “I don’t see why you have to work late,” Brenda complained over the phone.

  Dr. Kevin Winter rubbed at the bridge of his nose, moving the thick glasses up to his forehead. The old harpy never stopped and this was an old argument.

  “Look, Brenda, I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to get this insurance stuff straightened out. If I can get home sooner, I will.”

  “Fine,” she said and hung up on him.

  He winced. She was on the house phone and hit the cupboard beside the phone before she hung up, making a loud bang in his ear. He knew she did it on purpose, the old bitch. Holy shit, he hated her, but she had him by the short hairs for now. Or at least she thought she did. He let her have that illusion.

  He’d gotten an earlier call from Leon; he’d located an abandoned place at an industrial park. The property was apparently listed for sale for over six months.

  “It’s one of my listings, there’s been no activity so we should be safe using it. I’ve got access to the security cameras and I’ve seen no activity. I’ll shut those down while we use it. I have a crop of kids that will be there tonight. Get them cleared.” After giving the address, Leon hung up.

  This was probably smarter, going to someplace abandoned. Kevin might suggest that they move the locations around each time. After the last bust, he thought perhaps Leon would act a little more prudently. Bojo was a loose cannon and had gotten killed for his trouble.

  He shook his head, still unable to believe that the idiot took the kid to his house.

  You don’t shit where you eat, he thought, then cringed when he remembered his wife catching him all those years ago. A hard lesson to learn to be sure.

  Kevin got up and went to his locked cabinet. He unlocked it and pulled out one of his special videos, then locked his office door. Most of the people were gone from the office, but he never knew if someone might pop over from the hospital. He shoved in the DVD and sat on his couch in front of the TV. He wanted to prime himself for tonight. Though the kids were older than he liked, they were still kids.

  §

  Parker hustled the girls into the building, helped by Quinn and Randy. The girls stumbled along, each naked save for a filthy blanket across their shoulders. Parker had washed each one of them, with Quinn’s help. Quinn was coming along nicely and was a natural, herding the girls. He was a big man and frightened the girls into submission. Keeping the girls disoriented and heavily drugged helped to control so many at one time.

  Randy stopped; he’d go no further.

  “Wait by the van,” Parker ordered and Randy turned, walking away.

  The building was dark from the exterior, ensuring anonymity. There was another van that was filled with donors. Parker had to admit, Mr. E had fingers in every pie. Donors were sent with the kids to New York, where they were then sold to brokers. The kids would be sent out to whoever was looking for sex slaves, the donors were sent out to become parts for the black-market organ trade. Most of the donors were illegal immigrants, since no one would be crying out after their disappearance. Donors had become a lucrative business in the last few years and Mr. E had jumped on that wagon fast.

  Parker didn’t know the men who ran the donors and he didn’t ask. He knew better than to question anything. He knew not to look at the men. You kept your eyes on your merchandise or on the ground. Identifying someone could land a bullet in your brainpan.

  Parker hoped he would be meeting Mr. E tonight and he was nervous. He’d send Quinn out once the girls were settled. Whenever he went with Bojo, he had been sent out. It would now be the same here. Quinn would go back out and wait for him.

  Parker was impressed that Mr. E was able to set up a station so quickly. There was no hesitation with Mr. E, and he admired the man. That was why Mr. E was in charge. The man was a genius, as far as Parker was concerned.

  Parker watched as Quinn moved the girls, who whimpered and shuffled into the dark building. Both he and Quinn had a flashlight and illuminated the way. Taking note, there were three men standing around. They were nondescript, but Parker knew better. He’d warned Quinn not to look at any of the men directly. The men were armed to the teeth and carried walkie
-talkies. Parker followed Quinn, and a short, skinny man led the group through a series of hallways into the back of the building.

  Dr. Winter was stepping out of a door and Parker saw six adults, three women and three men. All were Hispanic, all drugged, all cuffed and gagged. Those must be the donors.

  “Head back to the van when we’re done,” he whispered to Quinn, who nodded.

  The skinny man stopped at a door and opened it. Parker ushered the nine girls in. They huddled together and stood in a corner. Dr. Winter wore a convivial expression as he walked past.

  “Hey, Doc, this is my cousin Quinn. He’ll be handling and moving the merchandise for you, once you’re finished,” Parker said in a low voice. He didn’t want the girls to remember any names.

  “Sounds good. Oh, and this place is to be used every other drop-off. Boss says he wants to shake up the routine. He’ll let you know about the location on the next drop-off,” Winter said, setting his bag down and turning on a bright light.

  He nodded for Quinn to set the first girl up on the desk for examination. She tried to struggle but was weak and puny. Parker smiled, anticipating the examinations of the girls. Yes sir, Mr. E was a brilliant man.

  §

  Leon hung up the phone and sighed with contentment. Parker had confirmed the cargo’s delivery to New York and was headed back. He was moving Parker to Bojo’s position and he approved of Quinn. Jessy would act as backup. He’d gotten a confirmation about the donors as well. Leon hated keeping a low profile with the kids, but he needed to step back and let his people do the work, especially now with his warehouse and one of his stables compromised. When the desire arose, he’d have Parker bring over a girl instead of inspecting them himself. He’d have to come face to face with Parker, but there was no help for it. Bojo was gone and Parker was next in line.

  Bojo had spoken highly of the man over the years and had said that Parker was discreet and loyal. Leon missed his hands-on approach to the incoming kids but as fun as that was, it was dangerous too. He’d been in that building not a week prior. It was simple luck and that was all there was to it. There was an increase in street dealers getting shot or ripped apart. Most were not his people, which smacked of encroachment from someone. Word was spreading and people were nervous. Law enforcement was no help, his connections there were just as stymied by recent events.

  He checked his calendar and sighed. He had a lunch meeting later with a client. Although his legitimate side of the house was dull, it had to be done. He needed that façade of respectability and it was a great way of laundering money. He’d found a way to deal with several of the clients that he despised. They would either get robbed at some far later date, have an accident, or their children taken and sold off. He snickered at that.

  He’d done it more than once to some snotty ofay cookie cutter sonofabitch. It took time to get even, but in the end, it was very satisfying. He’d made sure that the fucker had known who the author of his misery was. Their reactions were priceless. Leon chuckled at the remembrance.

  He had to admit that he was a vindictive man and he was sure it was one of his best qualities. Sure, there were killings here and there, it was the price of insulting him. He sighed and rubbed his temples. It was only a matter of time before something else happened. He was on edge, waiting for news of another death of a dealer or street thug. He needed someone to pick up Mike’s neighborhood. That void had yet to be filled. He shook his head. There was always something to do and someone to move around, like chess pieces on a large-scale chessboard.

  He thought that perhaps it had been a stroke of luck to think of alternating the screening and departing locations. Only Parker and Winter would know and that would be a last-minute decision. It was less likely for word to get out when and where the drop-off of merchandise would be. His contacts in the police department had their feelers out, but so far, no suspicion was pointed in his direction. He was very pleased but there were no leads into Mike’s murder. He thought perhaps the results would be the same for Bojo’s murder as well.

  §

  Hellen was trying to follow the money. Leon Ellsworth was a very tricky man indeed. The information she extracted from Bojo and Mike was incredibly valuable. She wished she was a forensic accountant, but she wasn’t, so she muddled through layers of finances the best she could. She’d always hated this aspect of the jobs. It was tedious but the most important. If you wanted to hurt people, you had to know how and where to hurt them.

  From her digging, she could see that Leon Ellsworth wanted to swim among the rich, and had worked on his façade so extensively that it was difficult to follow the money. His people were loyal to him; however, with a sharp blade, she could extract whatever information she needed. The sight of her werewolf was the first volley in her attack on her prey. She’d dug around online for his face and public identity, found the make and model of his vehicle, and had put a tracker on it. He would be one of the last to die by her hand.

  She sat back from the computer and rubbed her eyes. She was trying to figure out the best way to go at Ellsworth. Certainly, take his money. That would be fairly easy once she traced down all his accounts. Because the money was simply ones and zeros, a binary soup, she could make it disappear with a simple click. There was no actual, tangible currency. The numbered accounts were just that, numbered accounts. Once Hellen accessed them, the money could either be erased or transferred to another account.

  Transferring to another account would, however, leave a trail. Erasing the money…well now, that would just be sinister. She snickered at the thought. She had found seven accounts linked to Ellsworth. If she didn’t erase the money, she could move it around and then send it to various charities anonymously, spread out over time. This way, she could use his money over the course of years to fund those who needed it most, helping those hurt most by Ellsworth and his ilk. When she took his money, she wished she could be a spider in the corner of the room when he realized he was seriously screwed.

  “Why on earth are you smiling like that, Hell?” Wanda asked.

  “Just thinking of Ellsworth and all of his machinations. If that man used his brain for good, he could do anything. As it is, he’s a bastard of a man. I’ve found his accounts. It’s taken me over two weeks to weed them out, verify, locate, and identify them. The man is one smart cookie.”

  “Oooh, do tell. What are you going to do?” Wanda put her knitting down in her lap.

  The other women were elsewhere, doing whatever they did when they weren’t hanging out at Hellen’s home. It was funny, she was thinking more and more of this place as her home. She felt a funny pang. It was an odd feeling to share her information and strategies. It was actually enjoyable. Wanda had a keen mind and sometimes offered up ideas that helped Hellen think outside her own little box.

  They heard a car door slam and Hellen got up to look out the window. She whirled around and stared wide eyed at Wanda.

  “Oh, for goodness sakes, what is it?” Wanda asked in a low voice.

  “It’s my old section chief from the CIA. Shit, what should I do? Why is he here?” Hellen hissed, looking wildly around the living room. Why had her brain just seized up?

  “Take off your wig and put this afghan over your shoulders, quick,” Wanda ordered, shoving Hellen to the recliner.

  “What?” Hellen cried, looking at Wanda as though she’d lost her mind.

  “Do as I say damn it. Here, put Vivian’s reading glasses on. If he’s here, then he’s checking to see if you’re up to no good. I’m sure all the crap you’ve been doing has raised alarms on someone’s radar.” Wanda glanced out the window. “Quick, he’s coming up the steps! Now sit in that chair with the yarn and needles. Shove that laptop under the cushion. Hellen, you need to act old and infirm. Your hands need to shake. You need to look harmless and helpless. I’ll answer the door, you just act surprised,” Wanda barked softly.

  Hellen shoved the laptop under the cushion just as the man knocked on the door. She shoved her wig
under the pillow and put the afghan around her shoulders. She nearly poked her eye out when she shoved her sister’s thick reading glasses on her face.

  Wanda nodded at her and opened the front door.

  §

  Agent Tim Rancher walked up the wooden steps to the old townhouse. He took note that the adjacent door appeared boarded up. He was sure he was on a wild-goose chase, but Hellen had somehow slipped Atlanta and her plates fortunately sited here in Charlotte. Wilmer didn’t seem to think there was anything to it, but Tim couldn’t take the chance. With O’Donnell looking over his shoulder, he wanted to clap eyes on Hellen.

  Although it was rare that he left Washington, Hellen was a special case since she had been one of their best hitters. He’d hated to see her leave the office, especially with North Korea acting up lately. Because she was such a special asset, they’d kept tabs on her. Two months ago, however, they lost track of her in Atlanta. Then they’d seen the activity in Charlotte and her plates came up. He hoped she wasn’t involved. That would cause complications.

  The CIA didn’t like rogue agents, retired or not. He lifted his hand and knocked. He’d read that her sister was murdered and he wondered about it. Was Hell here tending to her sister’s estate? The door opened and an old black woman stood smiling up at him. He gazed down at her; she was a little thing.

  “Can I help you, young man?” she said. Her voice sounded like fluttering paper.

  “I’m here to see Hellen Marigold,” he said.

  “Of course, young man, please come in. Dear, there is a nice young man to see you.”

  Tim stepped into the house. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and then they found the woman he thought he knew. This did not look like Hell on Wheels. This looked like some old and shriveled husk of a woman.