by Nesly Clerge
We got into the modest rental Ford at O’Hare International Airport and made our way into mid-afternoon traffic on the multi-lane highway, and onward to the chain motel holding guaranteed reservations for us—two rooms under our new names, and not reserved at the same time. We checked in ten minutes apart, put our overnight bags in Connie’s room then went to mine.
“Remember,” she said, “make it look occupied so housekeeping doesn’t get suspicious when they do their thing in the morning. You do this part. I’ll do the bathroom and vanity. There are particular touches that have to be done just right.”
“Should I ask?”
“Maybe another time. Let’s do this and get out.”
Ten minutes later, Connie gave me a thumbs-up for my efforts. “Leave your room key on the dresser. And take the blanket.”
Back in Connie’s room, we sat on the double bed to review our strategy. She pulled out folded sheets of paper from her overnight bag.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Surveillance on Buster-boy procured by the tech fairies. You’d didn’t think I’d let us show up with no intel, did you?”
“How’d they manage that?”
“WAM has far-reaching arms.” She opened the papers. “Now I can fill you in on his comings and goings.”
A few minutes after eight, and with overnight bags in hand and the blanket from her bed, we left the room key on top of the TV and exited. Connie drove to a favored burger place not far from the motel. We pulled into the drive-through lane, got our orders at the window, and parked in the lot to eat. Her appetite proved more stimulated than mine.
We ran inside to use the facilities then headed over to Armour Square, the squalid neighborhood where Buster now resided, so we could scope out his place and handy exit streets. Squalid was an understatement.
That task accomplished, we drove to a better neighborhood, found a strip mall, where we parked in the darkest corner available. I climbed into the back seat, handed Connie’s bag to her, and we began our transformation into ladies of the night. Then it was back to Armour Square to wait until the appropriate moment presented itself.
We parked about fifty feet from Buster’s building and on the other side of the one-way street. Scooted down in the front seat, I glanced at Connie. “I can’t get used to you in a black wig and black eyebrows.”
“Back at you, blondie.”
A gust of wind blew sheets of soiled newspapers and other bits of trash down the broken sidewalk and rutted street. I followed one such item as it tumbled toward the corner, and then retrained my eyes on Buster’s dilapidated three-story apartment building on the opposite corner.
“Not that I blame them,” I said, “but no one’s moving around outside. It’s like being in a ghost town.”
“No one’s going to sit out on their stoop around here. Besides, most of these residents are probably passed out inside or getting high so they can enter oblivion.” Connie checked the time. “Almost ten. He should be returning soon. If our intel is right, our boy will lounge inside awhile, snort some snow, and head out close to eleven to play with prostitutes.”
“I don’t want to know how the person who learned that did it. I am, however, certain that we’re doing those women and the community a service.”
“You bet your ass.” Connie sat up an inch.
“What?”
“Stay down. He’s just turned the corner and … up the stoop he goes. Some people are such creatures of habit. Makes my job easier more often than I can count.”
“They’re positive he lives alone?”
“Yep. A woman would have to be pretty damn desperate to live with him in this place, or anywhere, for that matter.”
I went quiet.
Connie looked my way. “Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. You’re accurate in your assessment.”
“Still …”
“That truth makes doing this even easier.”
“All right then.”
Connie handed me a pair of nitrile gloves. We slipped them on then covered them with black lace gloves. She slung the strap of a bulky purse over her shoulder and said, “Time to roll his rocks.”
CHAPTER 56
We crossed the street and walked under a flickering street lamp, one of four that hadn’t been shot out. Something on the broken sidewalk stuck to my shoe. I scraped it off against the curb. “What is that?”
Connie pulled a penlight from her purse, bent over and aimed the tiny beam at the unidentified thing. “Condom.”
I bent over as well. “What’s that pink stuff?”
She flicked off the light. “Lipstick.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“You cut off a man’s bits without a flinch, and this makes you sick?” She dropped the penlight into her purse. “Let’s go. And no more distractions.”
The smell inside the tiny foyer sent ripples of remembrance through me. “Shades of Cabrini-Green.”
“What?”
“Nevermind.”
Between the shoes Connie insisted I wear and the rickety wooden stairs leading us to the top floor, I stumbled more than once. “Why stilettos? And why a skirt that stops where it does?”
“Part of the uniform.”
“To think that decades ago, when these buildings were constructed, the families that occupied them considered this a charming, safe place to live.”
“You gabbing about architecture and days gone by ‘cause you’re nervous?”
“I suppose it’s the memory of him coming into my room. He was so large. Everything about him was large. And brutal.”
“Well, he’s gone to flab now, and he’s several years over a decade older. But he is big. Seeing him in my room would’ve terrified me too.” Connie stopped and placed a hand on my shoulder. “If worms are wiggling in your innards, remind yourself of the women you’re about to save and those you’re about to avenge.”
I nodded and stayed silent as we reached the third floor.
We moved toward his door as stealthily as possible across wooden boards that creaked no matter how softly we placed our feet down.
I stayed out of sight, about a foot and a half to Connie’s left.
She took her position in front of the door, faced me and whispered, “Ready?”
“You bet your ass,” I whispered back.
She grinned and knocked.
Heavy footfalls inside neared the door. Connie plastered a seductive expression on her face.
Buster yanked the door open. “What the hell? I ain’t ordered no ho.”
Connie looked toward me. I stepped into view, smiling as though this was the only place in the world I wanted to be. It was.
Buster ran his eyes over me then over Connie. “What the hell goin’ on?”
Connie pretended to brush something invisible from her exposed cleavage. “We’re your birthday present.”
“It ain’t my birthday.”
Connie puckered her lips into a pout. “Freddie said you’d be happy to see us.”
“Freddie who?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t ask his last name. He paid us. That’s all I care about. You don’t want to party, we’ll go. But no damn way I’m giving Freddie his money back. He can talk to you about that.”
Buster scratched his crotch. “Guess we don’t wanna piss ol’ Freddie off.” He opened the door wide and stepped back. Connie swished into the room. I swished in behind her.
The place reeked of body odor and too many other odors to identify or want to. Buster returned to his seat on the sofa, which had a leg that had somehow lost an inch. I knew that’s where he’d been because he still had two lines of cocaine centered on the surface of the battered coffee table in front of it.
“I ain’t sharing this with you,” he said.
Connie gave a dismissive wave of a hand. “Freddie took care of us before we came.”
He snorted the white powder into his nose then lit a fat joi
nt, inhaling deeply. He leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the dingy sofa. Eyes half-closed, he exhaled and said, “Strip.”
Connie wagged a finger at him. “You first. I’ve heard so much about what we’re going to play with—how huge it is—I want to see it. It’ll get me in the mood, you know?”
He ignored my silence, and that I stood there like a pillar of stone. Connie’s performance covered my inactivity.
She started toward him, bag still over her shoulder. “I’ll help you peel those clothes off. Then this party can start. Baby, I’m gonna light your candle and let you make a wish.”
Connie dropped her purse onto the end of the sofa. Buster stood. She helped him remove his pants and underwear over his growing erection, all the while making comments about how impressive he was down there. He began to raise his sweater over his head. As soon as his field of vision was obscured, Connie zapped his testicles with the stun gun. He crashed onto the cheap coffee table, which splintered beneath him.
I walked over and squatted next to him. I looked him in the eyes, ran my gaze down to his genitals and said, “It looked a lot bigger when I was a child.”
Connie dragged her purse closer and dropped the stun gun into it. “Everything looks bigger to a child. However, this was one for the record books.”
I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. “I doubt you recognize me. Katherine Barnes. You used to call me Little Katie when you forced yourself on me in my room, in the dark. Cabrini-Green. Remember?”
It took a moment but became obvious he did.
Connie said, “We don’t want to spend a lot of time reminiscing here. Did you decide about giving him an Eric?”
“Patricia advised me not to establish a pattern.”
“Then let’s get this done and get out. Yes?”
“Ready when you are.”
She pulled a small can of drain cleaner from her bulky purse. I pinched his oily nostrils closed and yanked his mouth open.
Connie removed the cap and said, “Let’s see how well this stuff eliminates grease.”
CHAPTER 57
The drain cleaner would work its magic without us staying to watch. We were certain of this because Connie had emptied the entire contents of the small canister into Buster’s maw, even though a tablespoon’s worth would have done the job. Its effects were kicking in at full force as we exited and closed the door behind us.
Twenty minutes later, our hooker attire and other disguises, as well as the empty can and nitrile gloves, were in a dumpster far removed from his neigborhood, but in an equally degraded part of the city. We drove off as the fire inside the dumpster whooshed to life.
It took a while, but we finally found a pay phone somewhere we likely wouldn’t get mugged or worse. Connie reached the tech waiting to hear from us. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. I listened to the one-sided conversation.
“We’re all set,” Connie said as she ended the call. “Now to find another hotel or motel closer to our destination.”
“You were amazing back there. I would have taken care of it by myself, but I’m glad I didn’t have to. I doubt I could have made the pretense as convincing.”
Connie took a bow. “What can I say? I got skills. C’mon. We need to boogie.”
We found a motel in the desired vicinity, drove to the back, parked front-end facing out, and locked the doors. I took the back seat, Connie stayed in front. Wrapped in one of the blankets, it took longer than I thought it would to fall asleep. Too many memories cropped up. Nor was I spared in my dreams. I didn’t dream about what we’d done to Buster. I dreamed about what Buster had done to Mama and me.
At first light, Connie said, “Rise and shine, partner. It’s next-step time.”
I crawled over the seat and yawned. “I’m starving.”
“You’ll have to wait an hour or so.” She reached into her purse and handed me a candy bar, taking one for herself. “This will have to hold you.” She started the car and headed for our next destination.
We parked in the long-term lot at Midway International Airport. Before we got out, we exchanged our fake IDs and credit cards for the second batch of false ones, and wiped our fingerprints off the interior and exterior of the car. We checked in and retrieved our boarding passes under our new names.
It would be another three hours before our flight left to return us home. We located the food stalls. My appetite had definitely returned, much to Connie’s amusement. On the way to the departure gate, we passed a gift shop.
“Hold up,” I said. Connie followed me to a display case.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
She shrugged and wandered around while I looked for what I wanted. Purchase made, Connie trailed me out of the store.
“What’d you get?”
I stopped at a trash receptacle and removed two small cards from the plastic shop bag. Each card held a pair of earrings.
Connie crinkled her eyebrows. “Wieners-in-buns? That doesn’t seem like your style.”
“They’re not for me. Not exactly.” I removed one earring from the card, stuffed it into my front jeans pocket, and threw the other away.
Connie put her arm around my shoulder. “Caitlin’s tree.”
I nodded and sniffed back tears.
“And the small hearts?”
“One for Mama, one for me.”
CHAPTER 58
Connie and I went directly to the techs the moment we arrived at headquarters. Because ours hadn’t been a direct flight, deliberately, it was after nine at night, so the building was mostly empty. Patricia was likely at home, planning how to take over the world.
We handed over our sets of fake IDs and credit cards, which the tech with spiked purple hair and a tiny diamond stud in her left nostril tossed into an incinerator. “Since we’re doing business, the name’s Lavender,” she said.
I avoided saying the obvious and held out my hand. “I’m—”
She ignored my hand. “Already know, don’t I?”
“Of course. Apologies.”
She returned to her desk and said, “I’ll clear the fake stuff from the system in a bit.” Looking directly at me, she added, “I made some headway with your other project.”
Excitement rushed through me. “What did you find?”
“Let me show you.” She swiveled her chair so as to face her computer. “Coeur d’Alene police had a strong suspect but no evidence conclusive enough to avoid the reasonable-doubt trap in court. Plus, he had an alibi. Flimsy as shit, but it stuck.”
“Was it Anthony?”
She shook her head. “Still in prison, but maybe getting out in about another year or so, if he’s a good boy. The guy they arrested and released is Ralph Johnson.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Maybe his mugshot will help.”
She made rapid-fire keystrokes I couldn’t follow. Seconds later, a police report appeared on the monitor screen, which included the front and profile photos.
I grabbed onto the desk.
Connie said, “Whoops. Girlfriend needs a chair.”
I plunked onto the one she provided.
“Who is it?” Connie asked.
“Someone I never would have expected.” I told them about the nice man on the beach and his Irish setter. “I never knew he and Mama had further interaction. She never mentioned him.”
Lavender summarized as she read from the police report. “Says here that he told them he and your mother spoke on the beach a few times. He visited your mother at her apartment a couple of times, and they did things socially on a couple of occasions. Said although he felt sorry for her, their acquaintance didn’t last, because they were too different. That they came from different worlds in every sense.” She leaned back in her chair. “He was clever about covering his ass regarding his prints being found in your mother’s apartment. They couldn’t pin her death on him, but feel pretty sure it was him. W
hat about you?” She looked at me and waited.
“The police were proficient regarding Anthony, but I never heard more from them about Mama’s killer. They should have told me about Ralph.”
Connie leaned over and studied his face. “Probably preferred to have a sure case. They had to let him go. No choice.”
“If it is him,” I said, he planned it carefully. All this time I thought … It doesn’t matter, only proving it was him does.”
Connie said, “Bet it’s him. And like so many of the guilty damn bunch of them, he’s walking around free.”
“Not for long,” I said.
Connie punched my arm. “Friggin’ A.”
Lavender nodded. “Times two.”
CHAPTER 59
I put my fork and knife down, slouched back in the upholstered dining room chair, and undid the button on my jeans. “I’m stuffed.”
Patricia laughed. “I’m not surprised. You ate almost an entire half of the turkey by yourself.”
Connie picked a piece of dark meat off the bird and tossed it into her mouth. “Yeah, what’s with that?”
My cheeks grew warm. “Sorry if I made a pig of myself. I’ve never had turkey that wasn’t in an aluminum tray before, and even that’s been in the last couple of years only.” At their stunned expressions, I added, “We always had spaghetti and meatballs for holidays.”
The fact that such a holiday meal of spaghetti came later in my life was one I chose to keep to myself. We were each too full of turkey and well-being to bring up bologna or peanut butter sandwiches or the fact I’d been unable to enjoy my favorite dish since that day I’d found Mama. The last thing I wanted to do was turn this into a pity party, a term I’d learned from Connie.
Connie halted her reach midway for another bit of dark meat and said, “No one ever invited you for a holiday meal?”
How many times had Abigail invited me? Each holiday since Mama had died was the answer to that question. I found myself relieved that she was in Montana. “I was invited many times but declined.”
“Why?”
“I had my reasons.”
Patricia stood and said, “No one get up. I’ll start the coffee. We’ll let the food settle before we even think about cleaning up.”
