Vicious Justice

by Tobi Doyle

  Enough coffee settled in the pot to make a cup. I added creamer and sweetener to my cup and topped it off with the hot, brown liquid. With time to relax, I settled into the leather couch in the reception area and turned on the local station.

  A photo of Herndon filled the screen, that smarmy grin, his hair gelled in place, the shoulder of his dark jacket pressed against the identical suit next to him. The camera pulled back, revealing the shoulder belonged to our mayor.

  Of course it did. Because Herndon was connected. And now people were looking for him.

  The coffee grew bitter and burned in my gut. I set the cup on the coffee table and listened to the public information officer. A middle-aged mustache, suited in a cheap poly-wool blend, gave the details of Herndon’s disappearance. His mustache, thick, brown, and looking like a prop from the Tom Selleck collection, moved but hid his mouth. It mesmerized me.

  “Gregory Herndon was last seen Friday at work.” It waggled.

  The television cut to a scene that looked like they were filming in city hall, reporters calling out questions, and a dark brunette looking frightened stood next to Mr. Mustache.

  “We are asking if anyone recalls seeing Mr. Herndon Friday night,” the mustache said. He had a pleasant voice; clear, warm, the kind of voice that could sell poop in a paper bag and make the buyer feel like they got a great deal.

  “Have you found his car?” A reporter called out.

  “Yes, and we are examining it. His phone was left in his car, but we believe he had his keys and wallet with him.”

  “Have his credit cards been used?” another reporter asked.

  “No. However, his wife…” He nodded to the mousy woman standing next to him. “Suggests he frequently carried large sums of cash. At this time in the ongoing investigation I can’t say much more. He didn’t show up for work on Monday and hasn’t answered any emails.” He looked straight into the camera and said, “If you have any information about Gregory Herndon’s whereabouts please contact the police immediately. We’ve set up a hotline…” He rattled off a phone number that appeared in a banner across the bottom of the screen.

  Was he truly gone? Was he dead? Had my Avenging Angel killed him?

  The front door opened, chiming the bells and I jumped, knocking my coffee over.

  “I think you’ve had enough caffeine,” Kendra said. Today she was dressed head-to-toe in Betsey Johnson, and her hair looked lighter, too. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “That.” I pointed to the TV and grabbed a towel from the cabinet.

  She gripped her purse tighter and stepped closer to the television. “Holy shit. Do you think he left here and disappeared?”

  “I don’t know…” I folded the towel over and mopped up the rest. I used the edge of the towel to clean away any streaks. Kendra brought over paper towels and glass cleaner, and spritzed the table top. I folded the wet towel over my cup.

  On the TV, a too-dapper newscaster smiled brightly. “In other news, Moore Elementary is holding their Pumpkin Festival and sale; proceeds to fund their library.”

  “So much fun,” the blonde added. She smiled brightly and read from the teleprompter. “The Kolchak family needs your help finding witnesses for the accident on July 4th this year that resulted in the death of their daughter and granddaughter.” She paused for a moment, and her smile lessened. Resuming in a more serious tone with the story details I wondered why the news producer didn’t put some kind of happy or sad emoji in front of the story. I’m sure the Kolchak family would appreciate it.

  I walked to the laundry room and threw the dripping towel in the washing machine. I washed my hands and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup applied like war paint hid the color drained from my face.

  Kendra joined me in the laundry room and she poured herself a cup of coffee. She added twice the creamer I liked. “We’re going to have to call the police. Marlo knows he was here Friday night.” Her lips pursed and she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think we should tell her he got weird.”

  My head bobbled up and down. Worse, my hand trembled pouring the coffee. “I agree. I’ll say he left after I shampooed his hair.” My spoon stirred the whirlpool of coffee, creamer, and sweetener. My gut wound up too, tightening at the idea of being questioned.

  Kendra took a sip. “I’ll tell them I saw him leave in a hurry.” She eyed my frenetic stirring.

  I stopped. “That’s the truth.” I looked at her, begging her to keep the secret. My hand clenched the hot coffee cup and my head buzzed. They won’t believe you. My voice was softer, a whisper. “I won’t say I asked him to leave.”

  “It never happened.” Kendra held my gaze, promising it. “It’s better this way. He came. I left for coffee, and when I got back he was leaving.”

  I wished that was the reality. “I’ll say he had to leave suddenly. It was weird but he paid me and left.” The lies were coming easier now. Thank god I wore the turtleneck today to hide the bruises.

  Kendra held out her hand, pinky extended and I did the same. “Pinky promise. He paid and left.”

  “Pinky promise,” I repeated.

  “What do you think happened to him?” Kendra asked, her pretty face clouded with concern.

  It felt like my brain was splitting in two. The memory of Herndon’s horrible face looming over me as I fought for breath. The hands pulling him off me. The sound of his head hitting the pavement. That voice, You’re safe. I shook my head, forcing myself to stay present, avoid my memories, avoid the fear.

  Kendra waited for my answer.

  I think he’s dead. “Maybe he left here and went to find someone else and got into trouble.” I added an encouraging smile.

  “Maybe.” She smirked, that I’m-done-with-this-crap look that preceded something outrageous. We walked back out to the reception area. “He’s one of those guys that looks like white bread, but then you find out he’s got like, sex slaves tied up in his closet.”

  “I would chew my arm off.”

  “Huh. I never figured you for a biter.” She winked and then looked at the clock. She sighed theatrically. “Marlo’s gonna want to be the one to call the police. Should we call her at home or wait until she gets here?”

  “Let’s wait.” I switched off the TV and turned on the music system. Imagine Dragon’s Demons filled the space, the lyrics reminding me to keep my face neutral at all costs. I didn’t want anyone to see what I was hiding. I wasn’t that brave.

  I folded the towels in the laundry room. The familiar comforting scents of coffee, soap, fabric softener reminded me that I was alive, and today was a new day. I would forget the past, forget the alley, forget Herndon.

  I stocked the cabinets by the sinks. Standing by the reception desk, all tall, broad-shouldered, and blond was my avenging angel, and the memories rolled over me.

  He was here. Do I greet him, or hide? He had to be here because of the news on TV. Should I have called the police?

  I walked toward the front.

  Haley, the receptionist waved at me. “There she is. Adri, Mr. Bykov had a question.”

  “Hello.” My head buzzed, my heartbeat, the rhythm too fast and accelerating, and my belly fluttered and it had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with him.

  He stepped toward me and I looked up into sharp brown eyes. The harsh lights overhead created villainous shadows on his face. His chin jutted forward and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. The action squared his shoulders making him appear more mountain than man. I wondered what it would be like to be cradled in those arms.

  “Adrianna, I wondered what conditioner you used.” He looked around the salon and then returned his complete focus on me.

  His subtle accent, along with the warm tone of his voice, was like a soothing embrace. I liked the sound of his voice. I hadn’t moved, instead I stared, memorizing the bone structure of his angular and masculine face. A small smile softened his features, an eyebrow rose in question as he stood waiting for my reply. I inhaled his
scent of sandalwood and soap, turned, and walked toward the shelves of products. The buzzing in my head ceased, and reminded me I was safe.

  He followed me. The pressure of his presence pushed me forward.

  “Have you spoken to the police?” His voice low so only I could hear.

  “Not yet.” I handed him a bottle of conditioner. A jolt of awareness singed my fingertips.

  “You saw the news?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Marlo, the salon owner, rescheduled him for Friday night. His appointment is in my appointment book. Kendra saw him. We’ll have to talk to the police.” I whispered and hoped he understood.

  His eyes narrowed.

  My veins constricted and my heart beat faster to compensate. I held my breath hoping it would slow my pulse.

  His face relaxed. “I understand.”

  Those two words released my breath and tension. I picked up a bottle of shampoo and showed it to him. “My boss will be in later. I’ll ask her to call the police and tell them he was here Friday night and left.”

  Alyosha had a micro-tightening around his eyes. “Then what?”

  “We closed up and went home.”

  “You’ll say you drove your car?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He shot me a look, part doubt, part disapproval. “Where did you park your car today?”

  “It’s over two blocks, and parked under a light.”

  He grunted. His firm lips were stretched tight. He raised an eyebrow. “May I take you to dinner, Adrianna?”

  He knew my name. He knew where I worked. He knew where I lived. He knew what kind of car I drove. He knew my shoe size.

  And I knew nothing about him.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” My brain screamed, that’s right, sister. My body whined, just one night, please.

  “I’d like to talk to you later.” He leaned closer. “After.”

  After I talked to the police… well, that truth-bomb doused my lust.

  He continued, “If not dinner, we can meet for coffee, or I could take you to lunch.”

  “Lunch.”

  “What time shall I collect you?”

  Collect? Like a thing? My body froze now heeding my brain’s earlier warning.

  He sighed like my reaction had weighed him down. “I have said something wrong, used the wrong word. I wish to meet with you later today, someplace you choose. I promise you are safe with me, Adrianna.”

  His words settled deep into my joints, solid and secure. I believed him. “Can you meet at one thirty, at Kincaid’s coffee shop?”

  “Yes.” He smiled and his angular face softened.

  His gaze never left my face which was a novelty for me, since most men rarely looked past my cleavage. He muddled my senses. My skin warmed from his attention, but there was chill prickling the back of my neck, a reminder that he was dangerous.

  He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Contact me if you can’t make it.” His fingers lingered in my palm sending an electrical charge through me. His sharp intake of breath told me he felt it too. “What do I owe you?” He plucked the shampoo from my other hand and held up both bottles.

  My knees squished, as if made of oatmeal.

  Damn, he was swoon worthy. I swallowed. My brain spit out logical words. “Haley handles the money.” I walked with him. My red pumps clicked against the floor.

  “See you later,” he said, but the way he was looking at me it felt like he was promising something more than a meal. Not predatory, not possessive, not presumptuous. His expression held hope, the potential for more.

  More.

  More than food.

  More than answers.

  More than just getting by. And I wanted more.

  Chapter Six

  Her red jersey clung to her curves and she moved smoother, easier today. The sight of her soothed an ache locked deep in my chest that had annoyed me for the better part of three days. Her promise to remain silent cost her the time to recover. She hid the bruises and the pain, and seemed accepting of the unfairness of life. Her strength was admirable, but she deserved more. Fragility hid behind her wary eyes and tentative words. She reminded me of a kitten, curious, brave, but delicate. Delicate and tenacious.

  I hated the police would question her. Adrianna showed every emotion on her face; her interest, her desire, her fear. The honesty of her reactions was a sweet gift that should be protected. I paid and turned to give her a final nod, and she answered with a warm smile, encouraging me to be more. I wanted to be more for her.

  I texted Dima and Vanya requesting a morning meeting and drove toward Dima’s office. Adrianna’s involvement was a complication with consequences that could affect Dima and his family. But this complication held my interest, and the police involvement meant avoiding contact with her was no longer an option.

  Dima owned a building in North Beach with apartments on the second and third floors. The first floor had a laundromat and bar, Suds and Duds, on one end, and an upscale strip club, Alimony, on the other. He chose to work out of an office in the back of Alimony. The club’s purple door and bright brass fixtures drew attention from street traffic. The sign was simple, but Alimony was known for having the prettiest dancers on the weekends. It was also known that Dima was an enforcer for the Russian Mafia, the Bratva, and curious people wandered in to catch a glimpse of a made man. The heavy door swung silently open revealing the bouncer at the bar watching television. At ten in the morning a few retired men drank Bloody Marys and surrounded the stage watching the thirty-something dancer. They looked bored, watching the woman swish tired pompoms and her hips to Mickey, like loneliness and desperation made them all weary.

  If this was my future, I would swallow a bullet.

  Vanya nodded to me from a booth in the back. He looked like an English professor, from his straight, combed-back hair, to the buttoned wool vest covering a crisp shirt and bowtie. The folded Wall Street Journal set precisely to the left of his plate with the remains of eggs and toast. His tea was at eleven o’clock, dark and steamy.

  I approached, weaving past the empty velvet booths. “I have a complication.”

  He appeared nonplussed by my announcement. Although very little ruffled Vanya.

  “I read the paper.” He stood, stretching tall and rolling his meaty shoulders. He smoothed the front of his starched shirt, his pants creased razor sharp, the line pointing to highly polished shoes. “There’s a new cannabis bakery opening next to a school. How do you explain to a child that brownies are only for adults?” he drawled.

  “Tell them they are made with kale.” Vanya’s lips to twitched at my response. We walked to Dima’s office, Vanya behind me, on my six, his position for years and a habit. I knocked on the heavy black door. “Dima, you have a minute?”

  The door opened and Dima looked out, tilted his head and scanned the restaurant searching for trouble. “Did you want coffee?” He opened the door further.

  “No, thank you. Did you see the news?” I asked.

  Dima retreated and sat behind his oak desk. I sat on the velvet couch which matched the booths outside. Vanya locked the door and sat next to me ignoring the chair in front of the desk, inside Dima’s personal space.

  “The woman will talk to the police today,” I said.

  Dima leaned forward, his face shifting to predator.

  I held up my hand. “Herndon had an appointment scheduled. She cannot lie and say she didn’t see him. There are witnesses, and he may have told someone where he was going.”

  Dima leaned back, tension coiled. “What will she say?”

  “He came in for a haircut and left. There was another stylist who will corroborate her story.” My voice sounded certain.

  Dima grunted. “The police will have a timeline.” He steepled his fingers under his chin, as if his mind was factoring all the possible outcomes.

  “Yes.” And this concerned me.

  Vanya spoke. “What time do the photos from the charity event show you there?�
�� He crossed his leg and picked at a piece of white lint on his pant cuff and dropped it onto the carpeted floor.

  “Just before ten,” I said.

  “Will she mention the alley?” Dima leaned forward, he rested his chin on his thumb, his pointer finger stretched to the side of his eye, effectively hiding most of his scar.

  “No.” I emphasized with a jerk of my head.

  “But she can put you in the alley,” Dima said.

  “That’s a complication,” Vanya said.

  Dima sighed and finger-combed his hair. “You drove your car to her house. There are cameras on the freeway. Fuck, Alyosha. This complication will have to be handled.”

  Handled? I leapt, grabbed the front of his button-down shirt and twisted the fabric tight in my hand.

  Vanya gripped my arm, pulling me back and failing.

  Dima punched my ear.

  The surprise of sharp pain forced my hand open and I stumbled backwards into Vanya’s steadying hold.

  Dima stepped back, a cold glare directed at me as he smoothed his shirt front.

  I jerked away from Vanya, putting space between us.

  Vanya cleared his throat.

  I turned to face him.

  His smile proved he was taking pleasure from my situation. “Alyosha has a girlfriend,” Vanya said in a sing-song voice.

  I bit down hard, stuffed my fists in my pockets.

  Dima plopped back into his chair. “Alyosha, she can tie his disappearance to you. You are tied to me. I won’t bring the disappearance of the DA into my house. My uncle will have us chumming the waters alongside of Herndon.”

  “She won’t say anything. She was unconscious. I trust her.” I sat back down on the couch, rested my elbows on my knees and begged. “The police may talk to her once and never come back.”

  “How will she explain her bruises?” Vanya asked.

  “She’s covered them with makeup and clothes. I don’t think she’s told anyone.”

  “But you don’t know.” Dima’s scarred face twisted into a smirk. “Fuck, I hope this girl is worth it.”

  I slumped back and felt like an adolescent explaining why he stole the car. “She was in no condition to drive. I wasn’t going to leave her in the alley.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “And…” I shot Dima a silencing glare. “She’s worth it.”