The second run happened the following day around noon, and he’d almost not escaped. It was a long chase, lasting over a half-hour. His first attempt to shake the car failed when he slipped through another walkway only to find one woman had jumped out and followed him on foot while the car had turned the corner to continue the chase. He barely made it to another walkway in time, and the routine had been repeated, this time with another woman with fresher lungs.
He tried to lose both car and woman in a footrace around corners, but they had clearly known the streets better than he and seemed to find him around every corner. He had soon become truly tired and honestly scared for his life. In the end it had been another man in blue, a true Family man if Obe had ever met one, who saved him. Running through an alley, a stranger jumped from behind a dumpster and attracted the women’s attention by giving them the finger then fleeing at full speed.
The tires immediately screeched to a halt then screeched again as the women turned to pursue this violator of rules. Obe didn’t bother catching his breath as he made his escape in the opposite direction. He hoped to see the man at grocery time the following day to thank him. He hoped to see him at all. That night he prayed not just for himself and brother Orion, but also for the stranger who had saved his life.
CHAPTER 7
EVIDENCE
1
The day after the women’s successful raid of the black sector, Gertrude was showering off four hours’ worth of grime and sweat. The incinerator had broken down again and she’d spent the whole morning trying to fix it. She hadn’t been able to do so, and the infernal thing had gotten on her last nerve before she’d given up.
The damn thing always seems to break just when we have big kill counts coming in, she thought as she scrubbed. If the cooler was at least working it wouldn’t be so bad, but in this heat-
She cut herself off. The cooler rarely worked and the incinerator was as temperamental as a spoiled child. That was simply the way of things. It seemed to have been so for years, and despite the vast fortune she’d been left, Gertrude couldn’t afford to hire an expert. Money, of course, only solved some of life’s problems.
She washed without slowing, without pausing to enjoy the water’s warmth or even to help compose her mind. When she was clean, she would get back to work on her other problems. The incinerator’s hold on her was done for the day. This was also the way of things, and she would not let life’s daily challenges change that.
She added shampoo and thought instead of the raid the previous night. It had been splendid, of course. It always was under her guidance. The new participant, Sherry, had partaken eagerly and the surviving men had been once more scattered across the island’s vast hills. More importantly, Gertrude had gotten to hunt in her own fashion, as it, too, was meant to be.
The thought calmed her and soon she was composed enough to address her newest complications. Raids have a way of doing that, she thought. And they, too, seem to often come at just the right time. She dried, dressed, and moved swiftly back to her office where even more work awaited her. Everyone on the island that day was busy with increased workloads, of course, and she must continue to lead by example.
Her spectacular plan to oust Lorraine as blue headwoman and replace her with Lucy had backfired, and the resulting catastrophe was a total disruption of her Cause. She needed to deal with the consequences, and soon, before the disruption became a full derailment.
A woman’s work… she reminded herself, and breathed another deep lungful of clean oxygen that streamed in through the open window.
It was at moments like these that she needed her ‘special moments’ even more than she needed her maps. Her last one had been what seemed like a month ago but in truth had been mere days. It had been ruined by the now-infamous shotgun blast, but she was accepting of the trade-off it had provided. That incident had, of course, finally given her the caveat to solve her Lorraine problem. Yet this didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t supplemented her workouts with Monica’s unique steroids in over a week.
Hells bells, she thought, her mind laced with sarcasm. I’ve barely done more than three basic workouts a day. My slackness is unacceptable. This week I shall triple my efforts.
But the rumination was mostly in jest. Gertrude never slacked in her iron-pumping routines, even if she did have to occasionally forego her preferred fourth and fifth sessions each evening.
Standing before the full-length mirror hidden behind her office’s closet door, she enjoyed the evidence of all that work. Her eyes darted up and down, left and right, resting briefly on various favored shadows, curves, and lines. Her naked body rippled with sculpted, colossal muscles covering every possible inch of her upper body. Then, below her waist, a set of womanly, unmuscular hips and legs still shouted that her femininity remained intact. The juxtaposition of her two physical halves was considered all but comical to everyone but Gertrude herself. To Gertrude, she was the epitome of the human form, a thousand times more perfect than that asshat DaVinci’s “Vetruvian Man”. The famous drawing, in Gertrude’s humble opinion, was flawed in three ways. First, it was male. Second, it displayed a mere fraction of what the human body was capable. And third, experts had agreed that a slight bulge in the V-man’s abdomen indicated he had a hernia. Such imperfections, Gertrude believed, were disgusting.
As the drugs coursed through her veins, several of her new problems coursed through her mind. Lucy had denied her. Had rejected her. And somehow Josie had ascended far above her rightful place as second-in-command and was now considered a virtual equal to Gertrude herself! This, too, was unacceptable.
As she admired her flattened breasts, curved more from shaped muscle than God-given fatty tissue and milk glands, another problem suddenly blasted through her head. The bastard pig who had caused the other trouble that day was still alive. She’d somehow forgotten that particular thorn in all the chaos. He had first embarrassed her black-squad hunters in front of the entire cast of men in blue, then he had escaped Gertrude’s attempt to kill him thanks to a faulty tire rod when her car had failed to swerve away from a tree.
Yet that’s when I found my evidence, she reasoned. They’re still eating vegetables, the bastards. But it’s a fair trade so it was meant to be. The Cause always wins in the end.
But Gertrude wasn’t the kind of woman who either forgave or forgot. The GOPHER still needed to die. She only hoped her little game of using his brother’s memory against him had been paying off. Perhaps letting him live on in mental anguish was better than simply killing him.
Perhaps.
Gertrude’s roaming eyes stopped for a moment when her muscles suddenly began to jitter. This was the moment she so loved. The drugs Monica provided were a special blend from Guatemala. They were illegal in not just the states, but everywhere. Originally developed to help professional baseball players recover from injuries, it had been tweaked. Embellished. Grown into a monster concoction worthy of its street name: “Lethal Hyde”.
The Hyde had begun to kick in now, and her quivering form was a splendid sight to behold. All over her upper body, muscles twitched and popped. Without conscious movement, she was nevertheless alive with energy. Her strength was literally increasing, if but infinitesimally, without the benefit of exercise. Side effects be damned! she thought, smiling. It was a beautiful sight, a beautiful moment, and it was what kept her sane during the island’s ever-present bitch-fests and bedlam. She allowed herself a glance at the wall clock. As per the Lethal Hyde’s abilities, she needed to get to wait a full hour before going to the weight room. But then… ah, then. Her display of power would then be the truer sight to behold.
She exhaled a violent gust of air through her nostrils, and a spittle of snot landed on the floor. Gertrude saw it, tried to ignore it, and failed. She ground her teeth before quickly cleaning the spot with an ammonia-dampened rag. When the rag was properly disposed of and she was again standing erect before her mirror, she tried to rediscover her zone of appreciation.
But the special moment was gone. In and out of her life in a flash, like a lightening-lit sky at sunset. Its truest beauty would only exist in memory.
Defeated, Gertrude quickly dressed. Moments later a fresh map was pinned under her hands and she was glaring at it, her mind whirling and slowly focusing.
Utter crap, she thought. Why the hell did she decline my offer? And her insolence!
Gertrude’s eyes scrolled the map, pausing on nothing yet seeing it all.
I should call her in right now. Grill her one last time for some answers. But at this Gertrude balked. Lucy had been a loyal participant in The Cause for ten long years. One outburst at the end was no reason to insult her. She has just ten days left. I’ll let her have them. She’s earned that. I’ll wait ‘til her departure to find out what I need.
Through the open window a light breeze blew in and lifted the corners of Gertrude’s map. In heavier days- days where Gertrude was seeking the black sector’s hideout- the paper never seemed to move no matter how much wind blew about. Today the detailed drawing seemed to gain just enough life to wave a little hello to the world outside the fortress. Gertrude saw the flutter or paper and found it disturbing. If the wind didn’t die down, she’d have to administer one of her glass paperweights.
And then there’s Josie, her busy mind continued. Christ what a mess. That one must be contained. Must push the thumb of influence. Lorraine is gone, though. Very good. Rachael needs molding. Easy but distant. Two girls new to my squad at the same time. Lucy’s fault. But the GOPHER. That’s my priority today. Yes. The slippery little fuck continues to live, continues to breathe when I chose him for death. This is unacceptable.
Her eyes rested finally on a single alley in the northeastern sector of the map’s city. It was the largest in that entire square mile. On her map, it was colored blue.
Today is grocery day, she mused. He’ll be especially hungry because he was new last time and didn’t get any. They never do their first time. If he’s lucky he’ll be done early and gone from there. Running the streets with his little prize of bread and fruit. If I’m lucky he’ll go without again and he’ll be at my mercy. Either way, I’ll be there to watch and he’ll die.
She knew she didn’t have the luxury to enjoy the thrill of the hunt this time. She had only the time to snatch him up and kill him quickly.
Smiling at the sudden decision, Gertrude rolled her map, stored it in her closet, and turned toward the stairs that led to the garage.
2
Lucy, Emma, and Sherry rode in a black, open-topped car they had affectionately named ‘Laverne’ toward yet another clean up. Emma, the driver as usual, was demanding of the gas and brake pedals. Sherry sat in the passenger seat patiently looking at the passing scenery. She had a faraway look in her eyes that Lucy’s experience told her was entirely because of the events at last night’s raid. She knew almost every girl came away from their first raid with a totally new perspective, herself included. Emma was one of the rare few who hadn’t.
Lucy had taken her usual place atop the seat back in the rear. The bat she had taken with her had the name ‘Ted Williams’ scrawled across its barrel in the faded fountain ink that stood as evidence of a time gone by. Her Babe Ruth bat was today safely back in the garage. Lucy was, if nothing else, an equal-opportunity huntress.
She took the moment to follow Sherry’s lead and enjoyed the picturesque view. I’ve only got a handful of these days left, she thought just before a squawk came from her transceiver. Through it came the laughing voice of Ann, the head hunter of the green squad.
“We got another one for you, Luce. Over by the southern gates. You can’t miss him. He’s splayed right up against the fence like a damned scarecrow!”
Lucy and her companions shared in the laughter. “Can’t wait to see it,” she said. “We’ll be right over after this one. Out.” She released the transmission switch. Ann returned a customary one-word affirmation of understanding and then all was silence once again. The only sound was Laverne’s revving engine and squealing tires. Lucy barely heard them, noticing instead the warm breeze and the beating sun.
Emma zipped the car easily through the green sector’s streets and maneuvered toward the outskirts of the city. The kill they were after now had been made out toward the ocean. When they came to the area previously described to them by Ann, their discovery of the body was no more nor less gruesome than such tasks had ever been. Less than five minutes ago it had been a lively pig, not a body. Now it was simply a jumble of unknown broken bones. Its blood was still glistening in the nearby grass.
Emma pulled up to it and stopped the car. “The transmission’s slipping again,” she said. “This poor old girl’s as abused as the rest of us.” She put her hand briefly on the 12:00 slot of the steering wheel. “Sorry, Laverne,” she said. “You know I love you but it’s true. I think your days are almost as numbered as Lucy’s.”
“We’ll take care of her,” Lucy said. “This spree can only last a few days. We’ll fix her up when we’re caught up.” She turned to Sherry, who had already hopped out and gone directly to the body. “You need a hand?”
“No, I got it,” Sherry said. As well as a missing roof, Laverne also had no lid to its trunk. In earlier days the lid had been left in place and often got in the way. Today even the inner lining had been removed for easier cleanup. No one could ever rightfully claim that Monroe’s Island didn’t learn from its own mistakes.
Sherry grabbed the body by its middle and easily lifted the light weight. Without so much as a grunt of effort she walked it to the rear of the car and tossed it into the open trunk.
“Umph!”
The grunt that had emanated came instead from the body itself. “Shit,” Sherry said. “Lucy, this one’s still alive.”
“Those damned girls in green gave up too soon again!” Emma chastised.
“Give ‘em a break,” Lucy said. “This is their third kill today and they just made a fourth. This schedule we’re all under is insane but it’s probably the toughest on them.”
Emma flapped a hand that suggested even more chastisement, but said no more. Lucy hopped to the grass clutching the bat in her right hand. As she walked to the rear of the car, she grabbed the wooden handle with both hands putting her left, dominant, hand above her right. “Pull him out,” she said.
Sherry grabbed the man by the collar of his jumpsuit and hauled him half out of the trunk, hanging his torso over the rear of the car and exposing his head at about knee level. “Perfect,” Lucy said. “Low and inside. Just how I like it.” Then, with a mighty swing she smashed the nearly dead man in the head. His skull cracked queasily as it split in two. Some blood splattered around, but not enough to bother the women. Lucy rested the bat on her shoulders as Sherry looked the man over.
“I’d give him another one,” she said.
“He’s still alive?” Lucy asked, honestly surprised.
“No. He’s dead. But I’d give him another one anyway.”
“Ha!” Emma cackled. “Hold on! I wanna see!” She hopped out of the driver’s seat and joined the other two women. Lucy chuckled along with her then, the woman who had spent four years as second-in-command under Gertrude’s scrutinizing thumb wet her forefinger and held it up to the wind, turning it slightly to find the breeze. Then she reared back again, and both Emma and Sherry took a step backward, knowing what to expect.
The second blow shattered what was left of the skull. Blood sprayed and a small dollop of fluid gray matter shot out and landed on Sherry’s leather boot. She shook it off absently. The body’s head had risen into the air from the impact and pulled the torso with it, lifting the body most of the way back into the trunk.
“Home Run!” Emma shouted. “And the Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant!”
“Nice,” Sherry added more solemnly. “Aren’t you going to miss this?” she suddenly asked. “You never know. That might have been your last time to hit a homer wi
th a skullball. Your time is so short now.”
“I know,” Lucy said. “And believe it or not, no, I won’t miss it. I’ve been hunting for ten years, Sherry. Anything can be done to excess. I’m honestly ready to leave.”
“Not me,” Emma said. “I’d never get tired of killing these pigs.” She gave the body a brisk shove with her foot and it fell back into the trunk. Its head banged against the bare metal there.
“It’s not that I get tired of killing them,” Lucy said as all three women got back into the car. “It’s just that it’s been the same thing for far too long. How much I would have liked a real revolt sometime, just to stir things up.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Sherry warned. “You just might get it.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Lucy said. “Not with the losers these days. When I was a newbie here it might have happened, but the brainwashing done now is really top-rate. Even if it did happen, it would be more of a joke than a real fight.”
The other women didn’t argue with her, though each had her own thoughts on the matter. As they got back in the car and headed toward the next kill, Lucy wondered what would have happened if Gertrude had asked Emma to be her next second-in-command instead of Josie. Would she have then fallen to Lorraine’s vacant position instead? Somehow she didn’t think the other headwomen would have been so eager to nominate the loudmouthed hunter in that situation. Probably it would have been Monica for a while, she thought. But just until Dirty Gertie had time to sculpt another patsy like she thought she could do with me.
She smiled widely all of a sudden, thinking again of Gertrude’s look of utter shock when she’d told her off in front of all the others. All the years of being yelled at and put down had been worth it in that one, perfect, moment.
Woman Scorned Page 18
