by Nolon King
She thumbed through her news feed and saw Gloria had responded to Claude Barry’s opinion piece, issuing a press release saying there hadn’t been any new information on the missing Kozack and Gilchrest cases. Both were open but cold.
A matter-of-fact response. Mal scrolled to the comments section, a cesspool of haters and racists wishing for “the good ole days” of Barry’s reign. It was hard to read the comments without wanting to respond with a few indisputable facts, but she resisted.
Mal was in the middle of reading one particularly infuriating comment from a Barry supporter, or proxy, someone claimed the seat beside her. She looked up, saw it was Maggie, then turned off her phone. Glad the woman wasn’t ignoring her, she offered a smile. “Hi. I’m sorry about the other night. I overstepped and—”
“It’s okay. I’ve thought a lot about it, actually. You’re right. I do need to do something.”
“How’s it going?” Mal asked.
“Not good. I tried talking to Tommy, and he wasn’t hearing it. I told him I don’t think we’re good for each other, sorta broaching the subject. I explained that if he wants to stay together, I really need some support. Told him he should come to an NA meeting with me. But he hated that and said he didn’t need to be in a room with a bunch of losers. Apparently, he can handle his pills just fine and isn’t an addict.”
“So, he’s in denial,” Mal managed before the meeting got started.
Maggie answered with what sounded like a bottomless sigh.
It was a solid meeting but dragged on for too long. Mal didn’t share, but found comfort in the words of others who were struggling. A woman in her late fifties talked about dealing with abuse she suffered as a child that still haunted her today. That made Mal wonder how long she would suffer from her recent trauma. Gloria had suggested getting therapy, and Mal would be required to at least see the Sheriff Department’s shrink before returning to work, but the thought of discussing what happened — with Ashley, Mexico, or any of it — felt like a fate worse than death.
Maggie had more pressing issues. Maybe helping her would be a way for Mal to work through her own shit.
After the meeting, she gave her number to Maggie, just in case Tommy was waiting outside. “You ever need to talk about anything, hit me up. Any time, day or night.”
Maggie thanked her, then they left. Of course Tommy was waiting outside. And not just in his car. He was standing under the awning.
Immediately, Maggie’s demeanor changed. Her shoulders slumped as the light in her eyes faded to a dull and distant echo.
Tommy gave his wife a hug. “Hey,” he said to her, then he nodded at Mal.
He was tall and too skinny. Had a greasy brown mullet and dark circles under his eyes. The kind of guy that looked like he hung out way too much in bars bitching about his life but doing nothing to actually fix it. Poorly drawn tattoos lined every available inch of his arms and neck, including one that said Fuck Life on his left forearm.
Classy guy.
“So, you Maggie’s new NA friend?” He gave her a knowing, overly familiar look.
What, exactly, had Maggie told him?
“You must be Tommy.”
“Yeah, and … I didn’t catch your name.”
She didn’t want to give her real name to this dirtbag. But Mal had given her name to Maggie and didn’t want to cause any problems. She shook his hand. “Mal.”
“Mal,” he repeated, as if he didn’t believe her. "How’d the meeting go?”
“It went well.” Maggie nodded. “The usual.”
“Ah, cool,” Tommy said, his eyes wild and movements fidgety. He wiped at his nose and turned to Maggie, “Hey hon, you mind if I talk to Mal alone for a sec?”
Her face melted. “Tommy, you—”
“I just wanna talk.” His voice rose in pitch. “Go wait in the car. Now.”
Maggie gave Mal a helpless glance full of apology before slinking off toward Tommy’s car.
Now alone with her, Tommy met her gaze with a ferocity he no longer bothered to hide. “You the one putting ideas in my wife’s head about how she should leave me?”
Mal wanted to say fuck you, buddy, it’s none of your business, but doing so might only make things worse for Maggie when they got home.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Tommy stared, his nostrils flaring. “Well, alls I know is that before she met you, she wasn’t trying to get me to go to fucking NA meetings, actin’ like she’s gonna leave.”
Mal had busted a number of guys like this for beating their wives, kids, and even their dogs. Guys who failed to take any responsibility for their actions and blamed the world for every morsel of shit they were forced to swallow. “A meeting might help. They saved my life. I was a wreck before I started coming.”
“Well, I don’t need ’em, and I’d thank you to mind your own fucking business when it comes to my marriage.”
“I’m not sure what you think I said, but I assure you I didn’t mean to interfere. I’m new here, so I don’t have many friends.”
Mal could get her mouth to lie, but she hated this prick enough that the disdain was surely there in her expression.
Tommy sneered, “What’s yer deal, anyway?”
“My deal?”
“Yeah, you some kinda dyke or somethin’, prowlin’ NA meetings looking for sad bitches to draft into your feminazi group?”
“Why, do dykes threaten you?” Mal couldn’t resist pushing his buttons, but she already regretted it, knowing Maggie would likely have to pay for her smartass comments.
He bristled, straightening his posture. “I ain’t threatened by no bitch. Just stop fillin’ Maggie’s head with your man-hating bullshit.”
Mal resisted all her urges — the urge to tell him he was a sad, pathetic excuse for a man, the urge to knock him flat on his ass, and the urge that was almost a compulsion to tell this asshole he should do his wife and daughter both a favor and put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. Preferably somewhere far from home so they didn’t have to clean his mess.
Tommy walked away without another word.
Mal watched him climb into his Camaro. He slammed the door then revved his engine like an asshole before tearing out of the parking lot.
Mal was shaking as Tommy drove.
Louis ran up to her. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just met Maggie’s lovely husband.”
Louis rolled his eyes with a sigh.
“Maggie wanted me to call her, but Tommy showed up and interrupted before we exchanged contact info. You don’t happen to have her number, do you?”
Louis looked at Mal, trying to decide if he should trust her. After a stilted moment, he said, “Okay.” He checked his phone then gave her the number.
Mal was dying for her pills, but she refused to let that asshole murder her sobriety.
Maybe she’d use tomorrow. But tonight, she refused to give in, even if anger was her only motivation.
She wasn’t even sure why she was so worked up. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen this movie a hundred times on the job — an abused woman too afraid to leave her shitty man. No one could save a person who wasn’t ready to save themselves.
Yet, Maggie did seem ready and wanting tonight.
Mal couldn’t give up on her now. She’d also seen how this movie ended when the woman stayed too long — violence, death, murder of the whole damned family sometimes followed by suicide. There was a certain kind of pathetic man for whom a simple angry outburst wasn’t enough. They had to let the world know just how deeply they had been wronged. As if they alone were the victims, that their pain weighed more than the world’s.
They needed to prove that they mattered.
But in the end, the world never mourned them. They grieved for the victims, the women and children who paid for their lack of self-esteem and their woe-is-me victim mentality.
These losers weren’t worth the spit on their graves. Or even headstones. No one should ever remember the n
ames of these walking husks of shit.
Men like Tommy only changed when someone forced them to. If Maggie stayed with him, he had no reason to be a decent father and husband.
When Mal got home, she drank straight from the vodka bottle in her freezer. Not to get drunk, just to dull the edges. Then she opened her laptop and hit a couple of her data services, using Maggie’s number to discover her full name and address.
Along with Tommy’s arrest record.
“Hello, Thomas Milner.” Mal pulled up his mugshot from a possession arrest six years back.
His rap sheet wasn’t too bad. Possession of a controlled substance but not enough to put him away. He also had a DUI and a battery in a bar brawl from three years ago.
Small-time shit, nothing she could immediately exploit.
But then Mal saw Tommy hadn’t worked in more than seven months.
How are you all living off a cashier’s salary?
What sorts of other activities was Tommy engaging in to make his money? Maybe they were living off of savings or an inheritance. But Mal had a feeling a little digging might reveal something to jam Tommy up, to remove Maggie’s man from her life — long enough for her and her kid to escape and start over somewhere, free from his overbearing menace.
Mal’s CloakPigeon app beeped with a message from Tim.
Can we talk?
She called him.
“Hey,” he said.
“What’s up?”
“I got something on your guy.”
“Oh?”
“A tip from someone who knows Oliver Kozack. Says he’s gonna try and squeeze BlackBriar, lowball them on a new contract.”
“Kozack?” All she could think about was Kozack’s missing son.
“Yeah, BlackBriar does their security. And now Kozack sees the chance to land a better deal.”
“So, he doesn’t have a problem hiring a company associated with a pedophile ring, provided he can shake them down for lower rates? Do you know where and when the meeting is?”
Tim told her and she thanked him.
Before she could hang up, Tim said, “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
His voice was somber. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” she lied.
Mal didn’t know him well enough to vent to, and she sure as hell didn’t like pity parties.
“You sure? I know you went through a lot of shit with Mexico and … well, all that. I just want you to know I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
She was quiet, a part of her longing for release, for someone to confide in. Breaking down to Mike would only worry him. Maybe talking to someone she didn’t know as well could offer her solace.
But now wasn’t the time. A kidnapped girl’s life was in danger, and the world didn’t have time for her tears.
“I appreciate the offer. Maybe I’ll take you up on it once all this shit blows over. Thanks, Tim.”
“Anytime, Mallory.”
She hung up.
Time to call Jasper back.
Chapter 15 - Spider
Spider woke up to the sound of a closing door.
Clark came in carrying two cups of coffee and a box of donuts. He set them on the table. “How are you?”
Before she could answer, he lifted her from her sleeping bag on the floor then eased her into the wheelchair.
“I need to pee,” she said.
After he uncuffed her wheelchair, she rolled to the only other door she was allowed through. Once finished, Spider wheeled to her table. “When are you going to let me shower?”
“When the boss says you can. Now, eat.”
Spider was hungry, but she ignored the box of donuts and coffee at her station. She had slept like shit and wasn’t in the mood for token acts of kindness from her captors.
“Come on, I got those for you,” Clark said through a mouthful of cruller.
“Gee, you shouldn’t have.”
“You’re welcome.”
The donuts smelled good enough to get her stomach growling.
“You’re hungry. Eat.”
“Why does it matter? You all are going to kill me, anyway.”
“Where’d you get that idea?”
Spider turned and met his gaze to see if he actually believed his own bullshit. To her surprise, he looked almost genuine. “Well, first of all, I’ve seen your face. And your boss’s. I also know your names. That’s Kidnapping 101 — be able to identify your captors and you’re a dead man walking. Plus, you killed a bunch of people already, and you’re also involved in a pedophile sex ring, so forgive me if I’m not feeling too fucking hopeful.”
“No need for the salty language.”
Spider laughed. “Salty language? Of all the shit I just said, you’re lecturing me about the F-word. Damn. Er, I mean, fuuuuuuck.”
Clark rolled his eyes, took a sip of coffee, then looked back down at his phone. “Fine. Suit yourself. Starve.”
She would, damn it.
She refused to eat his donuts.
Even though they smelled delicious.
The program she’d used to brute force the encrypted partition on one of laptops finally paid off.
The folder contained hundreds of photos, PDFs, and videos.
She clicked on one of the images and opened a nightmare.
“Jesus,” she said, quickly closing the image.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just your guy Richardson’s stash of kiddie porn. Want I should make a copy of his collection for your enjoyment?”
“I ain’t into that shit.”
“You just work for people that are.”
“No, the people I work for aren’t into that, either.”
“So, y’all just work for pedophiles then?”
“You’re lecturing me on who I work for?” Clark’s voice rose slightly higher than his usual drawl. “You work for drug dealers and gangbangers.”
“At least they ain’t kiddy rapists.”
“No, and I’m sure all their clients are of legal age, right?”
Spider finally looked back at him. And she saw it, the first sign of annoyance. Good, she was getting to him.
She could press harder or back off a bit and let him come around on his own. What would the Professor do? He knew how to work people.
So did Tyrell.
She flashed on seeing Tyrell gasping on her living room floor, blood gurgling from his mouth as she was dragged out by BlackBriar’s men. Their gazes had met, and he’d seemed so frightened. But even more than that, Tyrell seemed sorry that he hadn’t protected her.
Tears welled in her eyes.
The door opened.
Victor Forbes entered wearing a charcoal gray suit, red shirt, and bright yellow tie. He smiled like he wasn’t a sack of excrement.
The air changed. It had been tense from the beginning, but Spider was getting used to Clark, even if she was scared he’d put a bullet in her if she tried to escape. But Victor thinned the oxygen. It was suddenly a struggle to breathe. Her chest tightened with anxiety.
“Morning, boss,” Clark said, standing as he entered.
“Morning. How are we on the flash drive?”
Spider wasn’t sure if she should answer or if Victor was expecting a status report from his underling. But then he turned to her, expectantly.
“Still working on brute-forcing the flash drive. No way to know how long it’ll take.”
“And the website?” A frown teased the corners of his mouth.
“I decrypted one of the partitioned drives on one of the laptops, so I’ll try that password on the flash drive then add it to the brute-force dictionary to try variations. As for the drive itself, I just got it open, so I’m hoping we can find something linking us to the website. Once I have that, I can hack it and bring it down.”
“Very good then.” Victor eyed her up and down.
Something in his eyes unsettled her. Not just the alpha male arrogance she’d seen when he threw her in this room
, but a sinister something else he was obviously waiting to unleash.
He leaned toward her then opened the box of donuts. Eleven left, assorted flavors. Glazed, jelly, and one chocolate frosted — her favorite.
“Ah, donuts.” His fingers hovered above the assortment as he debated his selection.
He chose the last chocolate. When he took a bite, he stared at Spider as though he knew that was the one she wanted and chose it to fuck with her.
Then he headed toward the door. She couldn’t wait for him to leave the room.
But he turned around, instead. Crammed the rest of the donut into his mouth and raised his index finger to tell her to hold on for a second. He swallowed, licked chocolate frosting off of his hand, then reached into his coat.
“I almost forgot.” He retrieved a photo from an internal pocket then held it up for Spider to see. It was the man she knew only as Professor Xavier. Sometimes she’d call him “X.” He was getting into a car.
“Is this your Professor?”
Too late to mask recognition. He would know it if she lied.
Spider nodded.
“Good.” He returned to the table. “And have you remembered his name yet?”
“I told you, he never gave it to me. It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”
“Right, right.” Victor grabbed another donut from the box. “That’s all right, we’ll know it soon enough. I’ve got friends in law enforcement. Soon, we’ll have a name to go with our mysterious friend’s face.”
He left the room.
Clark stared at Spider for a moment, though she couldn’t infer what the hell his gaze meant.
Scared, she turned back to the laptop.
Professor was always super secretive, deeply concerned about safeguarding his identity.
If Victor got a name to match the face, how long would it be before BlackBriar stormed his place?
She grabbed a donut from the box. Jelly squirted into her mouth. “I’m not eating this for you.”
Clark didn’t respond.
Chapter 16 - Victor Forbes
Victor got a call from Molchalin saying that even though he was on leave, one of their biggest local clients, Oliver Kozack, refused to deal with Susan. If he couldn’t meet with Victor, Oliver would know something was wrong and take his business elsewhere.