Tender Echoes

by Reily Garrett

  Chapter Four

  Slamming the steel bar in its slot allowed Lexi to take a deep breath before trembling legs, refusing another wobbly step, dropped her to the cold concrete floor.

  The warmth of Hoover’s fur twining around her fingers along with the rough pad of her tongue bathing her cheek imbued some desperately needed warmth and security. “Thank God you were with me. Maybe he’ll think twice about confronting us next time. I’m sure all that growling and showing those pearly whites helped.” The steady beat of her protector’s heart under her palm imparted a soothing balm to her tumultuous spirit.

  “C’mon, girl. Let’s call Frannie then do some light hacking. The time has come to break a most sacred rule and develop open communications with a cop.” Wariness of police came naturally after living on the street with prostitutes. The makeshift family they’d formed had kept her secreted from the one they called Ghetto Beast—never another name, a bastard as mean as he was crazy. She’d seen the truth of it in the prick’s gaze earlier.

  After closing her eyes and dragging in a lungful of warm air, she realized staying busy would stave off the terror waiting to crush her spirit with two deadly encounters in less than twenty-four hours. “Time to get this madman behind bars.” She’d suspected the stranger she’d dodged when first hitting the street was the same prick who made the girls cower, but her makeshift family had feared him to the point of eliciting her promise to never interfere. Now that she had proof and a well-developed set of skills, she was no longer powerless.

  Lexi realized long ago that her computer was every bit the weapon as Ethan McAllister’s gun. Instead of wounding with bullets, she could use her skills to subtly direct the police to clues leading to arrests. She’d previously sent anonymous tips to the narcotics division but never to anyone in homicide. Rather than bowing to society’s term of hacker, she considered herself a social engineer or white hat.

  “Frannie always encourages me to do good, but I haven’t saved enough money to get my friends off the street, which leaves them vulnerable. Now that I’ve seen his face, I’ll damn well find where he lives, get some evidence against him, and lead the cops to his door.”

  A quick call to Frannie verified Charlie’s continued recovery and safety. Digital medical records estimated the hospital stay would last about a week. Thank God, we arrived in time. The hospital administrator would ensure security stayed tight around the clock, which allowed for a calming breath. Now, Lexi could search through police records and put a name to the pimp. Surely that psychotic prick had been a customer of the city PD at one time or another, unless he was either smart or lucky. The former didn’t seem likely.

  “So, Hoover, we have seven days to find this prick and maneuver him behind bars. He said he’d been practicing on other stables, which I hope means he’s got evidence at his house, research on names and areas worked.” If action followed plan, she’d break into the prick’s crib and distribute his stash among the girls before the police raided his nest and confiscated his assets.

  It was the least she could do. Whatever the girls had seen in her and deemed worthy of their protection had flourished and would now benefit them. Perhaps they’d seen the same potential as Frannie, who’d helped her find this niche in life.

  Not only had the girls protected her from their employer, but also they’d nurtured her in other ways, insisting she read and study. After realizing her knack with all things electronic, they’d begged or borrowed books to advance her skills and encouraged her to learn. Still, they shielded her from the worst of their world and kept even their boss’ identity a secret.

  Once Frannie had finagled her a job interview, Lexi focused her energy with the results affording her a place of her own and complete independence. Even so, her friends refused to risk her safety and take refuge within her home, shunning her world altogether. It didn’t matter that they were trying to insulate her from their harsh life. It still hurt. They were the only ones she’d called family since orphan status had destroyed her world.

  Now she stood a chance to help them all. The ones indoctrinated into prostitution early might prove resistant to change and succumb only when the cops arrested their boss, but she’d find a way to ease them back into society.

  Slipping into police records like an invisible breeze, Lexi spent two hours searching mugshots. One bleary-eyed degenerate after another flicked across her screen in a never-ending parade of murderers, rapists, and other social garbage. She’d never imagined her education would expand to such degrees of depravity.

  “Whoa! Hoover, I found him.” His name was Otis Cabersom, street name, Ghetto Beast. “No wonder he adopted the moniker. Hell, I would, too.” Her skin crawled just from viewing the picture. Hatred and a thirst for vengeance radiated from the screen in ghostly waves seeking like-minded perspectives. In cataloging his arrests, she reaffirmed this man had no fear of anything. Assault victims disappeared each time police charged him with a crime while witnesses refused to testify. Nothing ever stuck.

  Further digging led to the discovery that he owned a house on Vine Street. How appropriate, since he chokes the life out of women. She knew of the neighborhood. Middle-class, well-kept homes sat on moderately sized lots.

  Thanks to the extracurricular skills she’d picked up, she could break in tonight. Safes proved more of a barrier than door locks, but she’d give it her best shot. Otherwise, Charlie had everything to lose.

  The rest of the afternoon entailed formulating a plan. Timing would be crucial. As soon as she got her hands on his money and anything incriminating, she’d sic the police on his monstrous ass. The evidence would have to be irrefutable considering its anonymous donation.

  Several area shelters existed where the soon-to-be jobless women could take refuge if they wouldn’t share her digs, but if their boss kept significant cash at home, the girls would have enough for a fresh start in a place of their choosing.

  The memory of his beady eyes, hooked nose, and square jaw, constricted her throat. Evil emanating from the screen only hinted at the multidimensional terror Lexi had experienced when standing in front of death itself. Instinctively, she’d known what lurked in that gaze, mingled with an arrogance that denied the possibility of failure. If he ever got his hands on her, she’d wish for an instant demise.

  A full-body shudder forced her to close the laptop after gathering the necessary information. “I do need to work for a bit, Hoover, but first, how about a play and training session in the back yard?”

  Exercising her dog’s mind and body provided a reprieve from the overwhelming stress and horrific images of Charlie’s ordeal. Each obstacle in Hoover’s agility course equaled something they might encounter in real life; various jumps, a small ladder, and a slanted wall. Successfully navigated stations ended with a treat or short game of tug as a reward, the final triumph being a ball-throwing session.

  Increasing wind and a setting sun compelled her to submit to reality despite her need for fresh air. The darkening clouds that capped the earth denoted one of two impending storms on her horizon. Her plan was both ballsy and dangerous with freedom for her family on one end and mutilation by a lunatic on the other.

  Once inside, keeping her mind on developing her new graphics program provided an exercise in futility. To delve within the ones and zeroes arena normally captured her full attention, yet now her traitorous thoughts ventured back to Charlie and the possibility of ending up beside her in the hospital. When she finally closed her laptop, a tapestry of lacework shadows in muted forms dappled the countertop from the diminishing afternoon light. She couldn’t hide in the digital world yet would soon seek refuge in the obscurity of night, a place where the predator thrived.

  Her body remained too hyped up to take a nap in preparation for tonight’s excursion and as much as she longed to talk to Frannie, she couldn’t risk her mentor throwing a wrench in the works. Except for Frannie and the street girls whom she couldn’t contact, her friends consisted of online acquaintances, separate
from the physical world and safe behind firewalls where nothing was real and nothing could cause her pain.

  Dinner consisted of a simple stew for herself and a raw chicken leg quarter for the dog after several cups of chamomile tea soothed Lexi’s blooming anxiety. Hoover matched her nonverbal tension with constant motion, leg nudges, and the occasional whine; restlessness had always been contagious between them. The quiet crunching of bones brought images of several murder victims to mind as described in the police reports. Since the stew held the tasteless consistency of a mud pie, Hoover received the leftovers before she set her dish in the sink.

  Street friends had given her the mongrel pup as a goodbye present, knowing she’d need companionship in the coming months. The duo had become partners, almost always together, sensing each other’s needs and providing without conditions. She couldn’t help but liken that to memories of her parents’ close-knit relationship, something only dreamed about after fate’s cruel reality tarnished the first blush of adolescence with their demise.

  When Lexi sat on the floor, Hoover lay next to her, resting her broad head on her companion’s jean-clad legs. Tonight’s plan would be dangerous, deadly if caught, and Hoover’s presence would negate the idea of stealth, not to mention Lexi couldn’t lift her through a window. Considering events of the past twenty-four hours, the dog’s presence might increase her chances of survival. Thanks to training, her canine friend would remain hidden down the block or in the back yard of her target’s house. Few took offense of stray dogs, especially one lying quietly.

  Life on the streets carried certain risks; a working girl’s death rarely caused public outrage. Several prostitutes had been killed in the past three years in other sections of the city, which made her wonder at whose hand they perished. Had her friends understood the monster in their boss’ soul and obeyed his every command out of terror? Thank God, Hoover would be her backup tonight. Though not trained in protection, the dog had proven she wouldn’t hesitate if the need arose.

  Since exacting vengeance on Charlie was not an option for now, what form would the hustler’s hatred take? The police had no witnesses who’d talk and no evidence, yet fate rarely tolerated a stalemate.

  “We’d better check the police bands and logs to see if anything has changed before we leave.” Life had taught her to be prepared and always stack the deck in her favor whenever possible.

  Otis might anticipate her intent since the girls had described him as a paranoid prick. Paranoia bested street smarts at every turn with its unpredictability. Those going up against the likes of this creep had to be demented, desperate, or just plain stupid. She’d selected door number two.

  The familiar nuzzles and nudges from Hoover calmed her more than the clicking of her laptop’s keyboard until a new horror bloomed in black and white on her screen. “Oh, shit, Hoover. Pauly’s dead. Oh my God! The detectives have already identified her body. Why would he do this?”

  Anguish and anger shoehorned a maelstrom of memories and lesser emotions into the unchecked moisture coursing down her cheeks with long-ago memories of how the girls used to sit together. Pauly had been one of Lexi’s most determined advocates for a better life. Conversations had ranged over a sunnier future where they’d sit near their cottage garden and read their favorite books.

  Grief eventually morphed into frustration, then the quiet of her grief transformed into harsh breathing and cracking knuckles of rage. An hour had passed as Lexi absorbed the pain of loss and strengthened her resolve. No one else is gonna die.

  Dispatch had called for the coroner’s wagon an hour ago to the same neighborhood where Charlie was nearly killed. “That cretin went straight to another girl to send Charlie a message.” Or maybe the message is for me. Who knew what transpired in the mind of a deranged killer?

  “Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s probably gonna lay low for now.” In addition, arrogance and a developed hatred for police would preclude him from running. The asswipe was probably laid back with his feet kicked up and guzzling beer.

  “We can’t go out tonight, girl and we can’t send Detective McAllister there without any evidence. But we can send the cop a text and let him know this attack is connected to Charlie. That way, they’ll give him this case, and we’ll only have one cop to deal with. Who knows, they may dig up enough evidence for a warrant all by themselves.” Sending a message that would help his investigation but lead their tech department on a wild goose chase carried some small measure of satisfaction. Without previous, direct interaction, she had no reason to hate cops but no reason to trust them, either.

  There was no way to contact the other girls without putting them at risk. It had been so long since they’d interacted and their lives had probably changed. If anyone reported seeing her in the area, the lunatic would kill again. He’d probably already collected their cell phones.

  “He won’t stay home two nights in a row with his girls out working. We’ll nail his ass tomorrow night.” At least she hoped they would.