by L. T. Ryan
Keeping the women there, alive, hurt so badly. It felt like he’d been kicked in the balls and his nuts hadn’t dropped back out of his stomach. Novak never liked to keep them around for longer than it took for him to satisfy his desires. Sometimes that only took a day. Other times it lasted for weeks. Now he had two locked up. Used to think that was one too many. But he had begun to realize the benefits. Maybe his partner wasn’t so wrong. In some ways, at least. Sure, Alice was easy to deal with. But he needed the magic of pharmaceuticals in order to subdue Cassie. And that just wasn’t as much fun. He never enjoyed fucking the dead ones, and it felt too much like that with her.
Only warmer.
The bus ran on a twenty-minute schedule and would continue to do so for another couple of hours. He’d watched this spot before. It was sketchy, for sure. The inhabitants of this side of town weren’t always kind to him, though he’d rarely dabbled in Hispanic or African American women. Not since he’d relocated. They really had no reason to treat him like a jerk here.
“Don’t screw around with any more women until we’re out of this mess.”
His partner was so condescending toward him. Novak had explained his needs, and that was the asshole’s response. Novak realized he had little choice in the matter, though. The other guy could put a bullet in Novak’s skull, and then the man would be a hero. The world wouldn’t know his dirty secrets. And if Novak tried to make a pre-emptive strike against him, well, let’s just say that would be suicide.
That might be nice, too.
His thoughts bounced from Alice to Cassie to the thought of taking his life, or perhaps that of his partner. The squealing brakes of the bus pulling up—a new opportunity to make a friend!—distracted him from his wandering brain.
The first few women who got off simply would not do. Too old. Too tall. Novak spat across the walkway into the hedges. A man exited, followed by his two sons.
“Keep moving,” Novak whispered. “Keep moving.”
And then he saw her. My, she was fine. Not too tall, and probably not all that strong. Perfect. He didn’t want to deal with another fighter. Someone he could subdue rather easily would be better for what he had in mind.
The woman looked back and waved and smiled at the bus driver. They were on a first name basis. How cute. She was light-skinned with long, straight hair that was black at the roots and red interspersed throughout. Was it a weave? He chuckled to himself. He knew little about such matters. He didn’t care, anyway. Her shorts rode into her ass crack and her shirt was cut so that it just covered her breasts. She’d practically invited him over to her place.
Novak shoved his hands into his pockets, tucked his chin to his chest, and began following her. Flecks of stone trapped in the sidewalk cement shone in the sunlight. He traced a path from one to the other. His fist wrapped around the spring-loaded batons he carried. One in each pocket. If anyone got near him, they’d find their skull bashed in faster than they could say hey what are you doing with those batons.
With every store and bar the woman approached, Novak felt a tremble of excitement. It would be here, there, the next one. One of them? He wanted an opportunity to talk to her. Try to win her over. It was so much fun that way, you know, when they believed him. Trusted him. Invited him in to play.
But she kept walking, shaking her round ass, the shorts digging in further. She pulled out her cell phone and stared down at it. She better put it away before stepping onto the street, lest a driver might take care of her before Novak could.
A group of guys sitting on a stoop spoke rudely to her. Novak squeezed the baton grips. Talk to me, cocksuckers. He averted his eyes after she passed. Before they took notice of him. There were five of them and one of him. The batons only gave him the edge on the first one or two. After that, they could overtake him and then it would be his skull in danger.
The guys said something to him as well, but it went in as noise and was drowned out by the chaos within. He heard their laughter. Chumps. They were good for nothing except sitting on those steps harassing women and trying to intimidate white guys like Novak.
The woman looked back. Her eyes locked on Novak’s. His chest tightened in on his heart. The moment was fleeting and gone before he knew it. She’d paid him no attention. She’d regret that. Oh, how she would regret that.
Shit.
What was she doing?
She stopped to talk to another woman. This one was nowhere near good enough for Novak. She wouldn’t even do for target practice. Was she testing him? Seeing if he was following her? A quick glance around was enough to realize that he was the least threatening thing on the block. If you went by looks, at least.
He couldn’t stop, too. That’d be so obvious. She’d know he was following her. Then the game would have to begin anew. He’d have to find another as perfect as her. And that was no easy feat on this side of town. He spat into a trashcan and kept moving, slowing ever so slightly as he passed by. She smelled of roses and cinnamon. How would she taste?
Ah, there it was. Cover. He ducked into the vinyl shop and greeted the old guy with the gray afro behind the counter with a hello. The guy lifted his chin an inch before going back to his MacBook.
Crazy ass cracker. That’s what he’s thinking. I’d love to show him how crazy I can be with this baton right here.
“Help you find anything in particular?”
The address of that sweet Black ass outside your store?
“Sir?”
That’s right. You better call me sir, bitch.
“No, thank you, I’m just browsing for a present for my mom.” Novak lifted his eyes, smiled at the guy, then went back to rifling through a stack of worn album covers while keeping the street in his view.
“All right. Just give me a shout you need anything in particular.”
Novak’s mind eased a bit. Something about the guy’s baritone voice. The maniacal thoughts dissipated and he let go of his baton. For the first time since entering the neighborhood, he removed both hands from his pockets.
A record caught his eye. The Supremes. One of his mother’s favorites. The only one he recalled, as a matter of fact. She’d left him early in life. Dad told him she’d run off. But he found out the son of a bitch had killed her after she had found out he’d spent their rent money on a couple of prostitutes. Not that mom had the best reputation, of course. That’s why dad was never charged. Cops were happy to get rid of her and must’ve figured he’d take off sooner or later, too. But when a few more bodies of women similar to her turned up, they couldn’t look the other way anymore.
The beauty outside walked past the store, glancing through the window, nodding at the old guy’s afro. Her gaze never landed on Novak. Good or bad? He couldn’t decide. He wanted her to want him. She would. She definitely would whether she wanted to or not.
He pulled out his wallet, dropped a twenty on the counter and left with Mom’s favorite album. He thought so, at least. She was dead, so what did it matter?
Half a block separated him from his latest love. Too much distance. He picked up the pace and got within a hundred feet. Most of the row houses here had a street level apartment. The one she stopped in front of was no different. She disappeared behind the front stoop. By the time he reached where she had been, she was no longer underneath the stairs that led to the house above her little nook in the city. Novak ducked under and out of sight. He backed into the shadows and waited there for a moment.
The front door was solid. The windows were shored up with thick drapes and iron bars. He looked back through the thin slits between the stairs. No one was watching. Hell, there wasn’t anyone around.
Are you smart enough to welcome me in?
He reached for the handle. Unlocked! It turned out she had spotted him and knew he was coming and she wanted him inside.
A cool blast of air rushed out. The place had that old musty smell a lot of ground level apartments in Savannah had. He’d adjust. It opened into a large room the width of the place. It was minimally furnishe
d with two chairs and a television on one side, and a small dining table with two chairs on the other. Two chairs…a roommate? The floor was concrete finished smooth. A door protruded into the hallway past the main room. Light seeped out. There was the sound of running water and R&B music. Oh, how perfect. She was getting ready for him.
Novak reached into his pocket and pulled a baton out. With the flick of his wrist, he whipped it open and used it to push the door the rest of the way. The light came from over the shower. Her silhouette danced on the curtain. His mouth watered now.
He pulled the door shut, turning the handle so it wouldn’t click, then leaned back against the wall.
His frustrations were about to be relieved.
Chapter Fifty-Six
I dropped to both knees and managed to get my left hand out to break my fall. A warm trickle ran down the back of my neck. Darkness narrowed my vision to the size of pins. I fought against passing out and collapsing to my chest. No good would come from me blacking out completely. It felt as though there were a stack of forty-five-pound weights on my back, pressing me closer and closer to the forest floor.
“Mitch!”
Sam’s voice sounded like it was in an echo chamber. I knew my eyes were wide open, but I couldn’t see a damn thing anywhere I looked. There were footsteps all around me. Instinct said to protect my head. But I couldn’t find it.
“Dammit, I need a gun!”
The light pierced my skull like a long boring needle. It was too bright to see more than a foot in front of me.
“You all right, man?”
Pressure on my shoulder. A hand gripping me, pulling me up. I couldn’t assist.
“He’s gonna get away. Stay here and don’t move.”
Not a problem, Sam. Not a problem.
* * *
The ground was soft in spots, which made it difficult for Sam Foster and his size fourteens to plow his way through the woods the way he wanted to. The asshole who had knocked Mitch over the head wasn’t that bright, as demonstrated by the bright yellow shirt and matching shoes he wore. Had he just come from playing racquetball or something?
The guy had long since ditched his weapon. Sam spotted it, thought about taking it with him to do unto the guy as he had done unto Mitch. Worse, probably. Despite a little blood, Mitch looked okay. He had to shake off the blow. Rub some dirt on it. He’d likely refuse going to the hospital, but if he couldn’t stand, he was no help to Sam and the effort to find Cassie.
Sam was gaining ground now. He reached out and grabbed hold of every tree he passed, propelling himself forward. The other guy seemed to be slowing down at the same time. The bright clothes must have been a fashion statement. An unwise one, at that.
Obstacles sprung up at every turn. Sam had no trouble avoiding them. Who knew his trail running hobby would pay off? People always asked why he bothered running at his size. Wasn’t it counterproductive? Shouldn’t he be in the gym, getting even bigger? Strength had served him well for many years. But now that he was getting older, he needed the extra endurance running provided him. Lord knows he did everything he could to hide his yoga habit.
The guy was almost within reach. His yellow shirt stood out like a single post-it on a black fridge. Sam lunged forward and slammed his hands down on the guy’s shoulder. The man twisted in an attempt to shrug Sam off, but Sam grabbed hold and let his bodyweight drag the guy down.
“Get off me.” The smaller guy kicked up a storm, managing to connect on a few blows to Sam’s stomach and groin.
One he could prepare for. The other he had to clench his jaw and fight through.
You know, rub some dirt on it.
“Who the hell are you?” Sam maneuvered himself until he had the guy’s legs locked up. Years of Brazilian Ju-Jitsu training paid off. As the guy squirmed, Sam gained control until he finally had him subdued.
The man mumbled a few words, but they were hardly discernible through Sam’s thick forearm.
“You’re lucky I don’t snap your scrawny neck right here,” Sam said. “You hear that, asshole?”
“Mmyhmm.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sam eased up on the guy. Just enough to give him some wiggle room. “You move, squirm, fight against me and it’ll be lights out. I won’t need a damn club to do it, either.”
The guy remained frozen as Sam worked his way to his feet. He lifted the guy off the ground and marched him forward while holding his arms high and tight behind his back. One move and Sam’d dislocate them at the elbow and then yank them out of his shoulder socket.
“That-a-boy. Nice and easy.”
* * *
The blinding pain subsided in a matter of seconds. It had been so intense that I fell again after Sam took off. I made it back to my knees, then wedging my fingers in bark grooves on a tree, got to my feet. It took a few seconds for the world to stop jerking around. The back of my head felt as though it had split in two. I felt around, expecting a large gash. Didn’t feel that bad, though. I wiped the blood off on my pants leg and looked for any sign of Sam.
I hadn’t seen which way he’d gone. With the way he blew out of there, he had to have a line on whoever attacked me. There was no screaming or shouting going on, so he either hadn’t caught him yet, or he’d killed him. I’d put my money on the latter. People were surprised at how athletic Sam had remained over the years. Guys that tall with a thick muscular build tend to stiffen up as the years go by. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them it was his yoga practice that kept him so nimble. Cops could be a brutal bunch.
It was unnaturally quiet in the woods. Perhaps the disturbance had sent the birds and squirrels fleeing. After all that had happened in the spot, who knew when they’d return?
I shook the cobwebs from my head and felt steady enough to move away from my support tree. The first few shaky steps made me think I’d made a mistake I might not recover from. But once I got the hang of it, it wasn’t so bad. Look at me, Ma. I’m walking!
Sam’s voice shook the silence. He was preaching, which meant he had someone in custody. My gut tightened at the thought of apprehending Novak right here, right now. Bastard had come back to the scene of the crime. Couldn’t help himself. Didn’t count on running into us, though. He got the best of me, no doubt. That only pissed Sam off even more. The poor son of a bitch didn’t stand a chance.
“Hey, yo,” I called out.
“Mitch?” Sam yelled back.
“Yeah, man. I’m here. On my feet again.”
“All right. Just stay put till we get there.” His voice trailed off as he gave his prisoner a few instructions.
I resisted the urge to sit down on the ground, knowing I might not get back up. I was out a few minutes ago. Odds were I had a concussion. Sam would insist I go to the doctor. Fat chance that was happening as long as I wasn’t throwing up and passing out every few minutes. Besides, I’d been knocked out worse before. One day it would all catch up to me. This was not that day.
Sam emerged from the woods dragging a guy almost half his size dressed like half a banana. I couldn’t believe this was the dude who almost brained me.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I said.
The guy looked at the ground and spat a wad of bloody saliva between us.
“You know him?” Sam said. “It’s not Novak, I know that.”
“We couldn’t be so lucky.” I walked up to the guy, made him look me in the eye. “What the hell are you doing out here? You involved in this somehow? Speak up, boy.”
He said nothing.
“Who is it, Mitch?” Sam asked.
“Seth. That hurricane night massacre, this poor excuse for a man is the boyfriend of the only survivor. He’s withheld some info every time we’ve run into him, and here he is, popping up again.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
“Who the hell is this?” Cervantes blocked the doorway with his thick frame, arms folded over his chest. He eyed Sam, looking like he wanted to spit on my partner’s shoes.
“Sam Foster.” Sam stuck out his hand. He didn’t accompany the gesture with his trademark smile. Cervantes didn’t accept the handshake. Still, Sam kept his hand out for a good fifteen seconds, making the moment that much more awkward. The two men engaged in a stare-off I was certain would end up in an MMA-style brawl. Would Sam’s height-advantage give him the upper hand, or would Cervantes’ stocky build prevail? I’d put my money on Sam.
“Mitch, glad to see you made it.” Pennington tossed a casual glance at Sam as he walked toward us. “We think we got something we can use.”
They’d sent a black and white and an ambulance to the woods. The officers took Seth back to the station. The ambulance drove me to the hospital to get checked out. There was no way out of it. Even if the paramedics had relented, Sam insisted I get checked out. I’d be of no use heavily concussed. Six stitches later they released me and we made our way over to the station.
Pennington and Cervantes went straight to work on Seth. They’d already pounded the guy on previous occasions, and knew his weaknesses. And now he’d assaulted an officer, albeit an out-of-state one, which gave them a huge bargaining chip.
“Come on, let’s get a secure room.” Pennington motioned us to follow. He glanced at Sam again. “Who’s your friend?”
“My partner from back home. Sam Foster.”
Pennington offered a quick nod-smile gesture in Sam’s direction. “If you’re half as good as Mitch, I think you’ll be an asset here.”
Cervantes muttered something under his breath as he shot his partner a look that said he questioned what the hell Pennington was thinking letting Sam join the conflicting team we’d created.
“Not now, Cerv,” Pennington said. “You can address your concerns with me when we’re alone. There’s just too damn much to do right now.”
We entered a small conference room that looked like the type of place they brought a family to give them bad news in the hospital. Maybe they did the same here. The light blue walls were accented with calming paintings done in pastels. A vase on the round table was filled with fake lilies. I wondered if it was a quiet room, or something. A place the cops here could go when things got to be too much for them.