He tiptoed closer inside their bedroom, trying to stay quiet so they wouldn't notice him. He cringed when he saw his mother fall to her knees in her pink housecoat, rollers falling out of her hair, grabbing onto his father's legs so he wouldn't leave.
"Get up Earline! Get the hell up!" his father growled, kicking at her. He snatched her up by her hair, causing her to scream out in pain. Wrapping her long hair around his hand, he yanked her face towards his. Shoving Earline back, he began to plummet on her with his fist, releasing his other hand so he could fling her across the room. Just as he was about to stomp over to his mother, Warren Jr. called out to his father. He turned around with dark eyes, but Warren Jr. was not moved at all. In fact, he couldn't wait to destroy his father.
"Hey asshole, why don't you just fucking leave? You said what you had to say to destroy our family, now get out! We don't need you! You don't talk to us anyway!" Warren Jr. screamed out, he still had his fists balled up on the sides of him, ready to attack. His eyes went rabid-like, his hair disheveled in his face. He glanced down at his mother.
"Mom get the hell up! Stop it! We don't need him! Let him go on to his picture-perfect bastard family," Warren Jr. seethed. He leaned to the side and spat on the floor then met his angry gaze at his father's.
The one he always looked up to.
His father chuckled at his son. "Boy, I'm really going to kick your ass now," he hissed. Before Warren Jr. could react, his father pounced on him, toppling him to the floor, his father's fist landing on his face. Warren Jr. howled out like a banshee, trying to block the blows, but they were of no use. He might've been nearing his father's size, but he was not as strong as him. At least not yet.
Earline jumped on top of Warren Sr., screaming and clawing away at his eyes. "Get off of my son, you cheating backstabbing bastard! Get off of him now!"
Warren Sr. stood up, tossing his arms out so Earline could fall off of his back. She fell to the floor with a heavy thud, looking up at him defeated through her tears. Warren Sr. snatched up his son to his feet.
"You want to fight me, fight me like a man," he hollered in his son's face. He shoved him backward to the wall, forcing Warren Jr. to hit his head against it with a crash. Warren Jr. winced at the pain, trying to focus on his father. Instead of approaching his father, he cowered in a corner, glancing over at his mother.
His father chuckled and spat on the floor. "Yeah, that's what I thought, you weird little disrespectful piece of vermin." He glanced around the room at his family, ignoring Warren Jr.'s heavy breathing and his wife's whimpering. He walked over to the closet, snatched out his packed suitcases and walked out without a care in the world.
Earline heard the door slam and cried out loud. Warren Jr. held onto his head once more, then crawled over to his mother to hug her. He still loved Earline Squires although she was not that strong.
"It's okay Mom, he'll be back, watch and see," Warren Jr. said calmly, staring out into the hallway.
And Warren Squires Jr. was right. After three months without his father present, he returned. The woman he left his mother for had lied. The baby did not belong to his father, but another man. Warren Jr.'s father was pissy drunk when he came home to announce the news to his mother. He sobbed for hours, begging her for forgiveness. The sickening part was that his mother took him back. When his father fell asleep that night, Warren Jr. asked his mother why she took him back. She cited her religious values about being submissive to her husband. Warren Jr. pitied her and walked away. He didn't share those same values as his mother.
The months that followed were excruciatingly painful for Warren Jr. as he tried to avoid his father at all costs. When he did run into him, his father terrorized him with harsh criticism, beatings and the worst, verbal abuse. His father would scold him and his mother for hours whenever he got drunk. Warren Jr. knew the begging was going to be shortlived. This went on for the next several years, leaving the house full of doom and gloom.
And the birth of a darkened Warren "Numbers" Squires, Jr. He resented his mother for being so weak for his father, but he loved her anyway. Numbers made a promise to himself that he would never turn out to be like his father.
But in all reality, he was much worse.
Chapter Twenty-One
Later that afternoon, Numbers stood in the center of their lab which consisted of monitors on his walls, two large fancy glass computer desks, and several laptops. This was where the excitement of a hack went down. He was especially happy that Brennan was able to pull off the auction.
"Man I can't believe you sold all of that stolen data to one group! Do you know what this means? Luxembourg underground hackers will be checking for us first!" Numbers almost shouted. He didn't want his captives to hear him no matter how soundproof he had the entire house.
"Yup, and we should be receiving a wire transfer of about three-hundred thousand each. And what you mean you can't believe I sold all of that stolen data?" Brennan said, chuckling playfully. His fingers drummed across the keyboard, not missing a beat of what they were involved in. Illegal hacking.
Numbers patted Brennan on his back. "You know what I mean bro. Handle the logistics of submitting the goods to the group and collecting our money," he said, glancing down at his phone. He was watching a video clip of the news replaying Rodney's disappearance. He shrugged, not caring about him either. He had his own itinerary for him. Turning his attention back to Brennan and their jackpot of the day, he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He clapped his hands loudly causing Brennan to stop typing.
"The sky's the limit B! The fact that these guys are straight legit, no feds or Interpol involvement, we did the damn thing! I'm telling you, a few more of these and we can end it altogether. I don't want us to get out of hand though you know?" Numbers said to Brennan.
Turning around in his swivel chair to face Numbers, Brennan noticed the smirk on Numbers' face. "Yeah, we don't want to get out of hand but we also don't want to take our hand out of the pot, innit?"
Stretching his arm behind him in an angle, he brought it to the front doing an exaggerated fist pump in the air. "Exactly! Which is why we need to keep planting those honeypots so no one knows who or where we are, ya dig?" Numbers said leaving out the room.
Heading towards the basement, Numbers wasted no time confronting Po.
He went over to him and slapped him across his stammering lips, bending down to mock him.
"What was that you say? Huh? Dios Mios? Where is your god to save you know boy?"
On his knees with his hands clasped together in a steeple, Po continued to pray in Spanish.
"Por favor, don't kill me Numbers. I promise I'll make it up to you!" Po shrieked, tears falling down his face. He could feel Rodney staring at him sympathetically from behind Numbers with his knees drawn up.
Numbers smirked. "Oh I'm not going to kill you. You're going to do it to yourself," he said as he held his hand out towards Brennan who had come downstairs quietly behind him. He handed Numbers what looked to be drug paraphernalia.
Po started praying in Spanish again. Numbers stood closer to Po and bent down to meet his face.
"You know, when I was a little boy, my mother used to take me to her boring stale ass church. The one where you go to mass, eat stale crackers and sip a shot of wine and hear this dry ass bishop talk about how we are all saved. Saved from what? I asked him this one day and he got mad and told me to leave his office. This was around the time the rumors started of him messing with the altar boy. But he wouldn't dare touch me. I was around fourteen, fifteen years old, already one-eighty solid."
Po didn't answer him. His prayers turned to him just trembling his lips as he listened to Numbers. He figured if Numbers told a long story about God and church, he could get him to understand that He was real and that he did not like murder. Maybe he would put a spin on the Cain and Abel story. He waited for his opportunity to jump in by simply listening.
"So see," Numbers started as he stayed in Po's face, "I don't believ
e in god and I don't care if you do or not either. If god was real, he would've told you not to steal from us. But you kept doing it, Po. I gave you so many chances. You're just a low-level piece of scum who takes from people. One thing my mother taught me was to never bite the hand that feeds you. And that you have done. You were sporting the same pair of Levi's jeans when we met you and upgraded you. You're a waste of talent. You would've been better off going to SUNY Oswego instead of trying to be a gangster. You're just as bad as a snitch. Snitching and stealing are two of the most things that I despise. And right now, you fit the stealing category." Numbers stood back up, taking a step back from Po.
Po tried to laugh it off. "Man I'm no thief. I can truly make it up to you. I promise. Then I'll be out of the game for good. Get me a nine-to-five so I can take care of my baby girl. Please don't leave my baby girl fatherless!" Po begged.
Numbers laughed, tossing his head back so his hair, which he had out, flowed down. He glowered at Po. "I am sure she will be just fine without your worthless junkie ass. She has a mother and a grandmother who does all of that anyway."
Po's eyes widened. "How do you know this? Have you been following me? Disturbing my family? Don't you touch them! You can have me, but leave them out of it! They have done nothing!" Po said, getting loud. His face was etched with anger.
"Don't worry, I'll be paying Maribel a visit soon after our meeting. She won't resist this body or all this green I'm working with," Numbers bragged, pulling out a wad full of bills from his pocket. He stuffed it back.
Licking his lips, Po's brow began to sweat. He balled up his fists, taking swings at Numbers. "You cock sucking bitch!" Po spat on the floor next to his side. "You will meet your maker eventually. We all do. I repent of my sins. The thievery, the drugs, all of that. I never snitched though. In the next life, I will come back stronger and better, watch!"
Numbers laughed maniacally, shaking his head at Po. "Stupid bitch ass." He lit the joint Brennan handed to him and handed it to Po. Brennan came to stand over Po, ensuring that he smoked it.
"Smoke it. Now," Numbers seethed through his teeth. His eyes went dark as Po's fingers shook and took the lit joint from Numbers.
Gleefully, Po was happy for the weed even if it didn't give him an ultimate high. He coughed a bit, but then took another hit. After a few more hits, Po realized the smoke was different from any he has ever had.
"Is this laced? What the f-", he said, feeling woozy, his vision going blurry, falling down and slumping over on his side. Rodney stared on in amazement, wishing he had some of the weed to help him calm down. But none like what they gave to Po. It was obvious the weed was mixed with something else. For a minute there, he forgot he was a captive.
Numbers and Brennan watched as Po lied on his arm, taking more hits of the joint until, after a few minutes, his body clammed up. He started to convulse, his body jerking all over the floor. Po tried to talk, but his tongue was thick. His eyes were rolling in the back of his head, as he now lay flat on his back, his arms outstretched, his fingers held tightly to the weed.
Numbers chuckled at Po's fiendish behavior from the weed mixed with meth but began to grow frustrated.
"Let me take this dog out of his misery," Numbers said tightly between his lips. He took out his hunting knife, leaned over Po and gutted him in his stomach repeatedly. Po yelled out, his arms outstretched to Numbers.
"Oh my God!" Po slurred, thick spittle forming on the sides of his mouth.
"I told you I don't believe in him," Numbers yelled out, giving the knife a deep plunge in Po's stomach dragging it up a few inches. Po's arms reached out again then helplessly fell by his sides. Numbers stared down at Po until Po's eyes went stiff, his head flopping to the side, deathly eyes staring at Rodney.
Numbers stood up from Po's body, wiping the blood off his face and knife with a handkerchief Brennan handed to him. He cocked his head at Po, giving off a sick smile. As he was putting the knife back in his pocket, he turned to Rodney's whimpering.
"Please don't kill me! Please! I promise not to tell anyone and I can make you and Brennan a lot of money. So much that you won't ever have to hack again! I swear man, just let me go!" Rodney cried out, his arms wrapped tight around his knees as if protecting himself from these killers.
"Don't worry Rodney, you're going to be the main course whenever I feel like I need to eat," he said in a low voice. Leaving out, Numbers stepped over Po's body. Rodney didn't understand this parable but he looked at Po's dead corpse, cursing himself for even getting involved in the hacking business. He thinks about Jessica, his aunt, and his father and his entire family. He cursed his mother since she was the cause of all this. Had she never cheated, he wouldn't have moved with his father. If his father hadn't gotten deployed, he wouldn't have had to move with his aunt Nina and if he hadn't gotten greedy, he wouldn't have joined Numbers and his Brennan.
The two men who just killed a man right in front of his teenage eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lance got us to Watertown after an hour of driving. Cruising through the downtown area, we spotted many shoppers. With all that was going on, I almost forgot it was the holidays. Either way, crowd or no crowd, I was going to get some answers today.
"We should stop at all of these clubs, hit up a few of the locals, same as you did in Oswego, Nina," Lance suggested as he parallel parked his car near a strip of upscale boutiques. I looked up and down the block, noticing people not having a care in the world as to what I was going through. They wouldn't have known anyway.
"Are you sure we should hit up this spot? This area reeks of money and all things designer," I said, waiting for Lance to feed the meter.
He chuckled. "Yes, believe me, rich kids like to light it up, too. C'mon let's go inside," Lance said, stuffing his hands in his pocket as we headed towards the tattoo shop.
We spotted the owner, Snakes, a slim guy in skinny jeans and a tank top and no more room for tattoos on his own body judging by his tatted arms, neck and cheeks. He stopped going over tattoo designs with a customer and came over to us.
Shaking his head, he glanced at Rodney's picture on the flyer. "No, I don't know him, sorry. But I'm sure if you check out these places," he pulled out his phone, scrolling quickly through his screen with his thumb, until he stopped, "You'll find kids that go to these types of parties all the time. Check out over on Factory Street. There are these kids that come to my shop to get tats and they always brag about these parties." He held out his phone for Lance and me to see.
"Great thanks. Hey, you mentioned "kids". Are they of age? These kids that come in here?" I asked him. The cop instinct went off as I stared at him blankly, waiting for his answer.
He put his hands on his hips, looking at me directly in my eyes. "Ma'am, they're of age, eighteen. See that sign over there?" He asked, pointing to an age of consent to receive tattoos sign near the entrance.
I shook my head. "Fair enough. You've been a great help Snakes. Thank you for your time and that information about the clubs."
He put his hands down. "No problem. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work," he said politely.
We left the store, both looking up and down the block at people who were oblivious to us and our mission. "I say we check out this area first, show people Rodney's picture and then head over to the area Snakes told us about. What do you think?" Lance asked me.
I nodded. "I think that's a good idea. Let's do it."
After an hour explaining to countless store owners, we were turning up cold. The only lead we had so far was what Snakes gave us. We decided to head over there which was about a fifteen-minute drive south.
Approaching the area, I examined it was nothing close to posh like the one we had just left. This side of town was empty of holiday shoppers and full of warehouses and commercial buildings.
Parking at a meter, Lance glanced through his window at our surroundings. "This is familiar. I think this is the area where my reporter
friend Charlie Waynesworth did a report on a huge drug bust last year." He opened his car door looking around. "Yup, this is it. C'mon, let's go," he said to me.
"This doesn't look like a club," I said, looking over the building. It was old, had a wooden door with tons of locks on it with dark painted-over windows.
He nodded. "Yup, this is a club. Many warehouses do this." He looked at me quizzically. "Don't they do this in the city?"
"Yeah, but that was so 1990 you know? Not so much anymore," I explained as Lance examined the entrance. He finally spotted a bell and rang it.
He chuckled, giving me a sideways glance. "You were a babe back then. How old are you? Like twenty?" he asked, smirking at me.
I laughed in what seemed like ages. "No. And don't you know? Never ask a grown woman her age."
He smirked again and was about to say something else when the door opened. A man around fiftyish with a graying ponytail, thick glasses and all black on glared at us.
"Yeah? Can I help you?" he gruffed.
I took out a flyer from my coat pocket and held it up to him. "Sure, we'd like to talk to you about this young man here missing from Oswego. Have you seen him?"
The man, who was around five-eight and slim, flung the door closed in our faces and took off running. Luckily, Lance had stopped the door with his foot before the door locked on us.
Lance took off running after the man whose looks were deceiving as he was booking it. He turned around taking a look back at us as Lance yelled out for him to stop. I was fast on Lance's heels running past at least three bars full of liquor, chairs, a large VIP section, two stages, and some poles. Stripper poles? I tried not to think about that as I kept pace.
The man took to a flight of stairs I assume leading toward the basement. He jogged down them fast, almost making it to the door when Lance, who was behind him still, leaped out of nowhere landing on the man.
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