A Matter of Vengeance

by Kevin Sivils

  Ever watchful and hyperaware of her surroundings, Blondie noticed one of the pit bosses had taken an interest in Heat. The one time she’d asked for more chips, Heat had been happy to give her more. When asked if he was up or down, his response had been even.

  Being even didn’t attract the attention of a pit boss. But being careless when showing a picture to the dealers would.

  She'd had fun and wouldn't have to go somewhere else in her mind that night while she earned the rest of her fee for the evening. If she planned to collect, Blondie would have to get her generous client out of the place in one piece.

  Taking both hands, Blondie adjusted her assets. She positioned them for better viewing in her low-cut dress and put what remained of her chips in the tiny purse she carried. With the well-practiced walk of a seemingly inebriated woman, she soberly made for her tall, blue-eyed benefactor of the evening. With a wink at the men at the blackjack table, Blondie slipped into Heat's lap and draped her arms around his neck, slurring her words.

  “Momma wants some lovin’ from her big strong man.”

  “Not now,” Heat said firmly.

  “Please,” she teased, kissing Heat on his ear lobe while whispering, “We need to leave. One of the pit bosses has taken an interest in you.”

  Heat's eyes got wide, and as Blondie bit down on his earlobe, he cleared his throat as if suddenly embarrassed. Tossing a twenty-dollar chip on the table to tip the dealer, Heat hurriedly stood up and collected his chips.

  “Um, excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “Duty calls.”

  Giving Blondie a firm smack on her round bottom, Heat leered at her while pulling her close. "Let's go get a room," he announced for those nearby to hear.

  Blondie earned the rest of her money as she put on a show of being a drunken working girl eager to finish earning her pay for the evening. Once outside, the blonde stood up and walked normally, distancing herself from Heat.

  “You need a ride?”

  “No, I’ll get an Uber.”

  Heat paused for a moment. “No. We still need to settle up. Let’s go somewhere and get a cup of coffee.” He grinned. “Last of the big spenders, that’s me!”

  Blondie laughed despite herself. She liked this one. If she played her cards right, maybe he’d become a regular.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SOMEHOW BLONDIE LOOKED cute wearing Heat’s windbreaker over her evening wear. He’d assured her it was clean, that he kept extra clothes in his truck for work to change how he looked or if stakeouts went on longer than expected. She’d flashed him a look that said, “we’ll see” and looked the light jacket over and then gave it a quick sniff test.

  "I can still smell the freshener," Blondie announced, draping the jacket over her shoulders and giving him a genuine smile. Heat settled up as promised, giving Blondie a two-hundred-dollar bonus.

  From his vantage point from a table at the back of the Denny’s on Washington Avenue, just off I-10, Heat kept an eye on the entrance and the parking lot. Despite a sudden and safe departure, he was under no illusions someone hadn’t followed the two of them.

  “Now, tell me why the need to leave so suddenly.”

  Blondie's happy expression vanished. "One of the pit bosses was starting to eyeball you. I noticed you were showing people a picture, and that sort of thing is going to get you noticed. Not in a good way, you know what I mean?"

  “You’re observant,” Heat told her. “I’m pretty discrete.”

  Blondie shrugged, a sad expression on her face. “In my line of work, you learn to be aware of everything. It could be the difference between a beating and getting home okay.”

  “He’s going to know you got me out of there,” Heat observed in his matter-of-fact manner.

  “I can handle him. He likes freebies.”

  Heat felt his stomach turn. “Not on my account.”

  A smile returned for a second. “Look, it’s okay. I have no illusions about what I do." Blondie paused for a second before adding, “about what I am.”

  For the first time, Heat was able to get a good look at the woman sitting next to him. Denny's lighting, such that it was, illuminated his new friend far better than the bar and casino had. Patches of faint yellow from old bruises could be seen on her upper arms. It was enough for Heat to know other injuries were healing in places he couldn't see.

  “My name is Heatley,” he suddenly said, realizing he’d never told her his name, or at least a name. “James Benoit Heatley, to be exact. I go by Heat mostly. I’m sorry for being so rude and not introducing myself.”

  Blondie smiled, her cheeks turning a rose color in response. “My clients make up names, Heat, and I don’t tell people my name. Well, I do, but it's always a made-up name. You can call me what you like, though."

  People did strange things, and in his line of work, Heat experienced weird on a daily basis. Keeping her real name a secret gave his new friend a means to protect something important to her, to prevent what little dignity she had left from being tarnished.

  “I like music from the 70s and 80s,” Heat suddenly announced. “You ever heard of a lead singer named Deborah Harry?”

  “Ah, no,” Blondie laughed. “I can’t say that I have.”

  “You’ve heard her though. She fronts the New Wave band Blondie.” Heat smiled. “Dyed her hair blonde. Can I call you Blondie?”

  She looked at him with her head tilted at an angle for a second or two and then grinned. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

  Tickled by her response, Heat rewarded her with a grin of his own. “Well, Blondie, before the waitress brings us our food, let me show you the picture that got me in trouble. I’d like to know if you know this man.” He pulled the picture of Wolf from his pocket and handed it to Blondie.

  Her grin vanished.

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him in the casino. What happened to him?” Blondie handed the picture back to Heat. “Who is he?”

  “He was my partner.”

  “YOU SURE,” THE VOICE asked.

  "Yeah, I'm sure. I talked to the dealers, and they all recognized the guy in the picture as Wolf."

  “This is not good,” the voice informed the pit boss. “You did well to recognize what this Heatley was doing. It’s a shame you weren’t able to get your hands on him.”

  “You want me to do something about the working girl?”

  “Yeah, when she comes back, bring her to me.”

  “Will I need to make arrangements?”

  The voice on the other end of the line considered the pit boss's request.

  “Better to go ahead and arrange for a replacement. Jennifer has lost that fresh look we like to provide our customers.”

  “Would you like another blonde?”

  “No, not this time,” the voice replied. “Let’s go for something exotic. Call our supplier and see what is available.”

  NO MATTER HOW AMY ARRANGED the blinds in her room, the sun found a way each morning to peek through and wake the young woman up. On overcast days, the clouds cooperated and parted when it was time for the sun to do its work and wake the young woman. She'd tried using a sleep mask and found that it made her hot while sleeping and tossed the mask on the floor by morning, allowing the sun to play its tricks.

  “I’m getting a pulldown shade,” Amy muttered while stumbling towards the bathroom to relieve herself. “That will work,” she mumbled to herself. “No more getting up at an hour God never meant for humans to be awake.”

  By the time she’d returned to her tiny bedroom, Amy was awake enough to rethink her plan to go back to sleep. Undecided, a quick glance at her phone did the trick. She was wide awake.

  Ben had texted her about an hour before the sun had done its first dastardly deed for the day. Amy considered a variety of reasons Ben would be awake at that hour and couldn't think of any other than the concern for her he'd expressed in his text message. She smiled and turned on the radio, turning up the volume to listen to the morning show and music w
hile she showered and got ready for work.

  Warm water ran down the young woman’s back, waking her more thoroughly than she preferred at that time of the day. The shock jocks on the radio station bemoaned the weather report for the coming day. Amy gritted her teeth as she listened to the predicted high for the day and the accompanying heat index.

  It was bad enough the sun had awakened her so early. Evidently, it wasn't through torturing one Amy Nguyen yet. The sun had plans to roast her during the day and then melt her that evening.

  Picking up her phone, Amy’s fingers began to fly, touching the screen in a flurry. When finished, she hit send and set the phone back on the bedside table so she could get dressed. After the day she’d had yesterday and how awful the evening had been the night before, Amy decided Ben’s offer of a wild night out on the town was exactly what she needed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RUBBING HIS EYES ONLY made them feel worse. The irritation in his eyes made the throbbing in his temples quicken. Boucher regretted his decision to tie one on and not end his evening with a promising new conquest until the wee hours of the morning. He consoled himself with the fact he’d had enough sense to call an Uber to get himself home, leaving his car locked and tucked away in the parking lot of the gated complex where his new lady friend resided.

  Garcia’s smug grin wasn’t helping matters.

  “Heat will be here in a minute. Has a witness for us.”

  “Whatever,” Boucher grumbled, gently rubbing his temples and then pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “You’re getting too old to be doing that,” Garcia pointed out.

  “Am not.”

  “Okay, you’re getting too old to be doing that and then getting up and coming to work early in the morning.”

  Boucher considered the idea for a moment. “You might be right. No more mid-week sessions like last night might be a good policy for Mamma Boucher’s little boy to adopt.”

  “Mamma Boucher? What happened to Missus Boucher?”

  An evil stare from bloodshot eyes was all the response Garcia received, delighting him further. "I see how it is," Garcia said, shaking his head with a sad expression. "Tsk, tsk, to think a grown man, in his peak, sexual prime, wants his mamma to come and baby him.”

  "Now look here," Boucher growled. Fighting words had been uttered, and Elijah Boucher had fought many a man over insults of a lesser nature.

  “Really. You two are sad.”

  Both detectives looked up to see Heat standing next to their desks. Next to him was a stunning young woman, dressed in a form-fitting green dress with a man's windbreaker draped over her shoulders. Boucher promptly leapt to his feet, smoothed his hair with a well-practiced motion, and flashed his bleached white teeth in a broad smile. Garcia, despite being happily married, did likewise. Both men extended their hands to the attractive blonde.

  "You two are incorrigible," Heat commented. "That one is pretty safe," he informed the young woman, pointing at Garcia. "Detective Garcia here is married with kids, and his wife would skin him alive, slowly, if his eyes, let alone his hands wandered."

  “This one,” Heat added, directing his finger at Boucher, “this one, you stay away from.”

  "Heat," Boucher protested, "you've done me wrong!" His broad smile still on display, Boucher made a sweeping motion with his right hand and bowed, feigning humility. From his bent position, Boucher glanced up, still smiling, and spoke, "Detective Elijah Boucher, at your service. Heat and I go way back. We're both from Louisiana, in case you hadn't noticed from our accents." Boucher stood up straight, grinned at his partner, and whispered, "Harmless, Garcia, that's what Heat said about you, harmless."

  Blondie giggled and moved a little closer to Heat. She liked flirting, and Boucher looked like he'd be fun. Cops and police precincts, on the other hand, made Blondie nervous, and she hadn't forgotten why she was there.

  “Miss Blondie would like to make a statement about Wolf,” Heat informed the two detectives.

  “DID I DO OKAY?”

  Blondie’s sudden comment broke Heat’s chain of thought. The pair hadn’t spoken a single word once they’d left the police precinct’s parking lot.

  Exhausted and emotionally drained, Heat grunted a gruff “yes.”

  Silence reigned again while Heat finished driving to the office building where his office was located. Two blocks off the I-10 Katy Freeway in the Energy Corridor, the older, white brick building was hidden by oak trees and strategically placed shrubs. Despite its age, the owners maintained the building well, and the turnover of tenants was low.

  Parking his truck next to his Honda Pilot, Heat turned the engine off and glanced over at Blondie. A picture of misery, the pretty blonde’s makeup needed repair, her hair was a mess, and she looked exhausted.

  “Let me see your arm,” Heat ordered. Blondie frowned and pulled his windbreaker around herself. Not in the mood to display patience or tact, the detective grabbed Blondie’s arm without warning. Using his left hand, Heat got a strong hold on Blondie’s left arm, preventing her from pulling away. With his right hand, Heat repeatedly squeezed the young woman’s arm, starting at the wrist and continuing up to her bicep.

  “Owwwww,” Blondie shrieked, twisting so she could strike Heat with her free right hand and kick at him with both feet.

  Releasing the agitated Blondie, Heat glared at her, frightening her into silence. Blondie seemed to physically shrink in front of Heat, her eyes wide in terror as her lips quivered. "Don't hurt me," she whispered, pleading with her entire body. "I'll do you, right here. Anything you want."

  Disgusted, Heat unfastened his seatbelt and opened the door to his truck. He sat there, staring at Blondie. “Get over yourself. Not all men think that way all the time. Now get out, be quiet, and follow me.”

  Terrified by Heat's sudden change in demeanor, Blondie did precisely as instructed. Taking her cue from Heat, she ignored the stares of the other workers entering the building. All it took from Heat was a single, pointed stare, and the others waited in silence for the next elevator.

  Turning to the right after exiting the elevator, Blondie noted Heat walked past three office doors before opening the fourth and barging in.

  “Amy?”

  From the hallway visible from the small reception area, a woman's voice answered.

  “Heat, no need to bellow. I’ve got the coffee started.”

  Despite her suddenly developed fear of Heat, Blondie felt a twinge of jealousy as a beautiful, young Amerasian woman stepped into the reception area. The girl stood all of five feet and one or two inches and weighed perhaps a hundred pounds. Jet black shoulder-length hair fell down to the woman's shoulders, framing her symmetrically perfect face. Exotic brown eyes peered at Blondie, and just like the blonde, the woman Heat called Amy was taking stock of the competition.

  Expressionless, the woman stared directly at Blondie, and without looking at Heat, the woman spoke. "New client, Heat?"

  "No, Amy." Heat glanced at Blondie and, taking note of the expressions on both women's faces, chuckled out loud. "Put the claws away ladies, I'm not worth it."

  “I’M SORRY, HEAT,” AMY informed her boss.

  “Just be mindful, okay. We need to keep Blondie in one piece and, well, you know the drill.”

  "I do, but she's got to want to, or there's nothing either of us can do, Heat."

  Heat wrapped his arms around Amy, hugging the young woman close in a paternal manner. From deep within his core, waves of emotion began to well up despite his best efforts to tamp them back down. Tears ran down his cheeks, falling on Amy’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” Heat mumbled, releasing his grip. “No problem, Heat,” Amy mumbled back, hugging him still. “Wolf was my friend too. I’d be dead or worse if it weren’t for the two of you.”

  Hugging Amy again, Heat rested his chin on the top of her head. “Talk to her. Help her see there’s a chance to get out of the life. You’ve come so far, Amy. Make Blondie see that she can do the same.”
<
br />   “I’ll try,” Amy whispered. “But I can’t promise anything.”

  Holding his receptionist at arms-length, Heat frowned. “I squeezed her left arm.”

  It was Amy’s turn to frown. “I told you to quit doing that.”

  "Yeah, well, she's still feeling the effects of the last beating he gave her. I could feel a ridge on her radius from a break that didn't heal properly. If nothing else, we're going to keep her from going back to the monster doing this to her."

  Her face turned pale, and Amy looked away. Heat knew she was recalling memories of the nightmarish days Amy had spent as a sex slave, rented out to whoever was willing to pay the owner's fee.

  “Just keep an eye on her for now, let her clean up and sleep.”

  “I will,” Amy promised.

  “Thanks for agreeing to take her to your place.”

  Wiping her cheeks dry, Amy displayed a weak smile. “It’s your dime, Heat.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EXHAUSTED DIDN’T BEGIN to describe how Heat felt. He needed to sleep and try to clear his mind. He parked his Honda Pilot beneath the oak tree next to the small house he owned in Old Katy. Running on autopilot, Heat let himself in, locked the door behind him, and headed for his bedroom. Halfway down the hallway, Heat stopped and sniffed the air. Suddenly wide awake and all of his senses fully aware, Heat stood stock still.

  Something was wrong.

  Avoiding the spots that made noise, he moved in complete silence through his house, scrutinizing each room. Unable to put his finger on it, Heat knew someone had been in his home. Nothing had been moved or taken, but the fact remained, his living space had been invaded.