The Beast of Boston

by JL Mac

  “Not a fuckin’ chance,” Will shoves his brother back.

  “Fine. How about the both of you?” I offer from where I’m standing in the corner of the ring. I bounce from foot to foot, keeping my muscles warm and loose. Both the fellas look from me to each other then back to me. They shrug and help each other with gloves and headgear.

  “Don’t fuck up my ring with blood,” Rodney orders dryly as he strolls over to the ropes. Truth is this is my gym. He just runs it for me. “Don’t murder the guys, yeah?”

  “C’mon. It’s just a little workout. I like the Neily’s. Good guys but if they don’t hurry the hell up, I’m coming for them before they get that headgear on,” I warn pointing my gloved fist at them.

  “Never fancied you for the homosexual ménage type, son,” Orin’s voice comes from behind me and I turn, surprised to see him at the gym. Rodney snags two folding chairs from the wall and opens them for the two of them. Orin nods at Rodney. His days of visiting the gym pretty much came to an end when my career came to an end.

  “Oh, these ugly fucks? Nah. I prefer prettier men,” I joke as the brothers clamber further into the ring, still bitching at each other. They’re stout motherfuckers, built. The evidence of how many hours they spend around here is stacked on their arms and legs but they don’t stand a chance. I almost feel bad. Almost.

  Orin chuckles from his folding chair right outside the ropes and I decide that giving him a little show may lighten the tension that’s clearly on display around his eyes. He has his crossword puzzle resting on his knee but his eyes are firmly set on me. It’s a reminder that he’s old but he’s still around and he’s watching and expecting resolution to any and all High Knoll problems that arise. I give him a tight nod paying him the respect he’s owed and silently vow to resolve the missing girl conflict as soon as possible.

  “All right!” I shout, clapping my gloves together and bouncing a little higher on the balls of my feet. “Let’s go, ladies!”

  “Don’t kill ‘em,” Rodney warns again.

  “Ding-ding, asshole,” Mikey deadpans, shoving Will towards me and I have to swallow the grin I feel coming. It’s sick as hell but I like the trepidation in their eyes. They’re scared and I’m a fear junky ready for a fix. Kicking their asses is going to be the best part of my week. I don’t see how it could get any better.

  Chapter Six

  Ena

  I leap from bed, startled by my alarm. I set it hoping that I would actually get some sleep. Tonight is pivotal and I need to be rested. Lan’s return could very well hinge on my success this evening. I’ve slept the afternoon away and it’s no wonder. With Lan’s disappearance and my meticulous preparing, I have been plagued with insomnia from hell. Every night for several weeks, by the time I finally settle my mind enough to sleep, it’s time to get out of bed again. My body sways as I sit on the edge of the mattress rubbing my eyes. I get to my feet and head for the bathroom, hitting the power button on the coffee maker on my way to relieve myself. A subtle ache in my muscles reminds me of the late night workout I pushed myself through to ease my nerves and attempt to exhaust myself right to sleep. After all the preparation I have made to pursue my plans of infiltrating Eden, now all that remains is to actually go to the club and get the job, and that has me feeling tense beyond words. My mind is reeling with possibilities and how I should react to random scenarios. It’s more than overwhelming. The moment coffee starts flowing through my system, my brain comes to life and my mind continues racing against a clock I can’t see but at least now it’s racing whilst wide awake.

  How much time does she have left? Any at all? Where’d you go Lan?

  Deciding that I need to do something even if only to quell my own fraught mind, I find a familiar name in my cell phone and hold the phone to my ear. Kevin Santini picks up on the second ring.

  “Hey, Ena,” the despondency in his voice tells me everything I need to know.

  “No news?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Dammit, Kev. Is there—”

  “I’m working it,” he interjects shortly before I can ask a question I already know the answer to. No, there’s nothing else I can do to help him right now. Well, screw that.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You gotta understand that because she’s an adult, Ena, and there’s no evidence of foul play or force, and she happened to have an argument with Beth the day she disappeared, we have to assume that she’s hiding out somewhere. I’m working on tracking her down but if she doesn’t want to be found…” Kevin leaves his words hanging on the line between us and I grit my teeth together.

  “I’ve already told you it was hardly a fight! It was a normal argument between a young woman and her mom. She wouldn’t just run off on us like that over one stupid argument. She wouldn’t scare the shit out of Mom like that. She wouldn’t leave me like that.”

  “I know,” he says, his tone placating. “I’m gonna keep doing my best to find her, Ena.”

  “I know,” I whisper into the phone and then hang up realizing that if the cops still aren’t taking her disappearance completely serious all because she fits some stupid profile produced by some random quack that doesn’t know a damn thing about my sister then screw them. I’ll bring her home by myself.

  I’ve waited, I’ve planned, I’ve drained my savings account and the time has come. I’m scared, but hopeful and determined. I have rehearsed relentlessly and now the time has come. All I have to do is get out of my car and walk into Eden and make things go to plan.

  Visions of Dad’s blue eyes looking at me warily makes me want to hug my arms around myself and pretend I’m not fully acquainted with that look. I’ve seen it time and again. Dad has been gone for two years now but memories of him are still distinct. That disapproving look is especially vivid. It reminds me so much of one of the first times I really felt like he judged me for the way I am—for the world I spent the first ten years of my life living in.

  I lean forward and pop open the glove compartment. I push a few things aside until I feel the silky smooth locket of hair I’ve always kept. Yeah, I’m certainly a fucking wreck of a human being.

  After Lan went missing I dug through my trinket box looking for it. It had been years since I had last seen it. I wasn’t even sure it would still be there. Longing to have a piece of her near, I dumped the box full of old stuff and luckily there it was. Memories flood back as I run my fingers over the strands.

  Ena, 16 years old…

  “Beth, where’s my beard trimmer?”

  “It should be by the sink!” Mom shouts up the stairs and I keep my eyes on the Captain Crunch in my bowl but the trimmer in my backpack is burning a hole right through the canvas.

  “Not here!” Dad shouts back to mom. She sighs and shakes her head.

  “Girls, rule number one about your future husbands, they are positively helpless without you.” Mom smiles, shaking her head then takes the stairs two at a time to help Dad find his shaver. They won’t find it because I have it and I need to use it. Brandon Simmons is getting a haircut and it’s the perfect day to do it since Lan will be staying late at school for tutoring today. I look up at Lan across from me and notice that she’s fidgeting with her long blond hair. She keeps tucking it behind her ears and I can’t wait to catch up with that jerk Brandon.

  “Why didn’t you just tell Mom and Dad?” I whisper. Lan’s blue eyes snap up to me and bug out a little.

  “No way! If I run and tell like a baby, it will only make it worse.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I mutter back then lift my bowl to my mouth and gulp down the sugary milk. I wipe my mouth and smile brightly at Lan. “Bad shit has a way of getting back to bad people. I wouldn’t worry about that punk.”

  “You shouldn’t cuss. Mom is going to hear you one day.”

  “Nah. I’m smart enough to get away with it. And shit isn’t a terrible word. It’s not like fu—”

  “Ena!”

  “dge. I was going to say fudge.” I
grin at my sister and rejoice a little when she giggles at my rebellion. I slip on my coat and backpack and head to the bottom of the stairs. “Mom, Dad, we’re outta here!”

  “Okay! Have a great day, girls! Love you!” Mom’s disembodied voice echoes from upstairs. Lan gets herself together and follows me out the door. It’s freezing out. I reach over and tug Lan’s knit cap a little further down on her head and sling my arm around her shoulder.

  “Think he’s going to pick on me today? Can you tell my hair is uneven?”

  “He’s a dumb kid but if he messes with you today, he’s a dead kid. And you’re lucky you have a ton of hair. Can’t even tell the little jerk snipped a piece off.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, really.” I nod and give her a reassuring smile. She does have a ton of hair. She’s thirteen and has more hair than she has body. It’s true what I said. You can hardly tell that the thirteen-year-old little prick took a three-inch lock of hair off the end. Like all thirteen-year-old boys who feel entitled to do what they please, he got ass hurt when Lan brushed him off. He said he liked her hair and wanted to touch it and she told him no. He got mad because she shot him down in front of two of his little buddies so the next day he decided to snip a lock of her hair and tease her with it saying he planned on making a little keychain from the shimmering lock of hair. Lan was red-faced and stifling her tears when she got off the bus yesterday. I was red-faced too, but not because I was embarrassed. I wanted to kill the little asshole. I still do. Instead, I’m going to teach him a little lesson. Don’t mess with Alana Perryman.

  “Stay out of trouble, midget,” I say ruffling Lan’s hat.

  “I’m not a midget!”

  “Yeah sure,” I laugh and watch as she makes her way up the stairs of the bus and finds her seat. I scan the small windows of the bus to find the little jerk, Brandon. I find him looking out the window at me and I give him a wicked smile and a wink. His cheeks tinge pink and I can’t wait to see them wet with tears. Sure, it’s wrong of me to flirt with a thirteen-year-old boy just to distract him but I don’t really care. He hurt my sister. That’s all I care about. This is the rare occasion that the life that Viv taught me to lead is going to come in handy. Some little girls are taught to twirl. Others are taught to appeal to men. No thinking on that right now though.

  So when Lan is still at school today, and he gets off the bus as normal, I’ll be waiting for him.

  I spend most of the day fantasizing about the look on his face when he realizes what I plan to do to him. I zip through my work and sit back in my desk, plotting, planning, my spiraling mental stability a small afterthought. Sophomore algebra, as fascinating as it is, doesn’t quite hold the same excitement factor as revenge does. When the dismissal bell blares through the speakers throughout campus, I hop to my feet and make my way to the bus. I’m entirely too excited about messing with this kid. I’m all kinds of screwed up. I shrug my shoulders, dismissing my private musings as I stand in line to board bus 198.

  The minute my feet hit the pavement near our house, my eyes scan the scattered groups of kids. I smile when my eyes land on Brandon Simmons walking with his little cronies. I jog across the street, letting my backpack dangle from one shoulder. I will need quick access to the front pocket.

  I conveniently place myself a few steps behind him and his pals. Smoothing my tongue over the three pieces of bubblegum in my mouth I blow a big bubble and pop it loudly causing Brandon and his pals to whirl around. I pretend to be distracted and conveniently smash my boobs right into his face.

  “Oh shoot! Sorry about that! Brandon, right?” I crinkle my brows and point my finger.

  “Oh, yeah. Brandon.” His voice squeaks and he clears his throat and tries again. “It’s Brandon. You’re uh, you’re—” he goes on with a forced deeper voice.

  “Ena. Nice to meet you,” I lie. “You know, you look much older than a Junior High kid. That’s why I was staring at you this morning,” I whisper leaning in flirtatiously.

  “Thanks,” he grins and nods like an eager moron.

  “Wanna walk with me?”

  “Yeah, definitely. See ya, guys.” He smirks at his two friends and they gape at him as he falls in tow beside me.

  “So, do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head feigning indifference and it only stokes the lust for revenge burning in my chest.

  “You’re pretty cute. I heard you’re smart too. You should have a girlfriend. Or two.” I wink and smile brightly.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’d offer to hang out with you but you have a crush on my sister right?” Brandon scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No? I see. You know she’s not even my real sister, right?” I curl my lip, mocking disgust.

  “You’re sister is a bitch,” he snaps, emphasizing the word bitch like he’s cool for using it. Little prick. I nod my head and bite my tongue until we make it closer to the alley beside Mr. Luccesse’s house. I glance around us and I’m pleased to see the other students have scattered into little groups and they are engrossed in conversation amongst themselves. I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. This kid is screwed. The minute we are at the entrance to the narrow alley, I link my arms in his and tug him forcefully into the alley. He whirls in a half circle, meets the brick wall at his back and let’s out a heavy oof!

  “Hey!” His protestations instantly make me want to do it again.

  “Hey nothin’ you little fucker!” I slap my hand over his mouth and bridge the gap between my face and his. “You wanna scream, go ahead, then everyone will know you got your ass kicked by a seventeen year old girl.” I cock one questioning eyebrow up and his eyes are wide but he doesn’t make a sound when I lift my hand from his rotten little mouth.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong? Nothing at the moment. I’m just doing a little public service.”

  “What are you talking about?” he splutters indignantly.

  “Did you honestly think that you could threaten my sister and she would keep her mouth shut? That she wouldn’t tell me, her sister, her best friend, that you fucking cut her hair yesterday all because she shrugged you off in front of your stupid little pimple-faced friends?”

  “I—I—” he stumbles over his own words, clearly looking for a decent explanation.

  “Don’t. You’re a big tough man picking on girls, right?” I growl, gritting my teeth so hard they hurt. I curl my fist into the fabric of his coat and whirl him so that his face is pressed to the brick. “Better not make a peep, big man. Then everyone would know just how little you are,” I warn darkly. “I’m just going to be taking this back since it doesn’t belong to you,” I growl ripping the lock of my sister’s hair hanging from the handle of his backpack. The sick little bastard braided the little bit of hair and wrapped it with leather string from what looks like a baseball glove, fashioning a keepsake. He has future criminal written all over him and I realize that being a cop is going to be tough on me. I enjoy punishing the bad guys entirely too much.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Brandon whines.

  “Uh-uh-uh!” I coo sweetly. “Hush now, Brandon. You’re a big tough man remember? So you’re going to take your punishment like a big tough man. An eye for an eye, Brandon. Ever heard that line? You’re a good Catholic boy, right? You know what that means.”

  “Get off me,” he whimpers and struggles against the wall. It’s a good thing that I’m high on revenge because he’s relatively easy to pin in place thanks to the adrenaline coursing through my body. I click my tongue disapprovingly in response to his wriggling.

  “It’ll cut you if you struggle. Best to be still, big man,” I warn close to his ear. I reach into the open front pocket of my backpack and brandish my weapon of choice. Dad’s shaver makes a low humming noise as I flick the toggle to the on position. I cram my forearm harder into Brandon’s back as warning. He stills like the obedient little asshole I have convinced him to be. With disregard to his
scalp and ears, I zip the shaver through his ruddy brown hair and crane my neck to see if he’s crying yet. I want tears. I also want him to be mortified like my sister felt. He trembles beneath my grip and I grin triumphantly at the sight of tears falling from his eyes, scoring tracks down his cheeks. I run the shaver haphazardly all over his head giving him a fresh look. Less is more but only here and there. Long chunks of hair are scattered all over. His white scalp is blotchy red thanks to my careless technique. His cheeks are wet with tears and I’m stoned on revenge.

  “There. Now you will have a nice reminder every time you look in the mirror. Don’t mess me my sister again. Understand?” I shove him into the wall again and he nods as he sniffles, his bottom lip sucking back and forth into his mouth like a toddler.

  “What happened to you today, Brandon?”

  “Some big high school boys attacked me and cut my hair for no reason.”

  “Good boy. Did you learn anything from this experience, Brandon?” I ask as I half-heartedly dust his hair from my dad’s shaver.

  “I’ll leave her alone and I’ll stay away from her.”

  “See? You are a smart boy.” I give him a satisfied smile as I drop the shaver back into the pocket of my backpack and zip it up. Something moving down the alley catches my eye and Mr. Luccesse shakes his head, drops a trash bag in his can and walks back into his house.

  Shit.

  “Get outta my sight,” I shove him back out onto the sidewalk and he quickly begins shaking loose hair from his head and shoulders then tugs the hood of his coat up onto his freshly buzzed scalp. I groan, knowing Mr. Luccesse may say something to Dad about what he saw—whatever he did actually see. It doesn’t matter though. I don’t regret it.

  I open my palm and look down at the little lock of my sister’s hair. I shove it into my pocket and decide to take the back way home.