Bly swallowed hard, his throat scratchy. "I said hell yes, this low salary is for the birds. I wanted in."
"That's right. Do what you gotta do, is what you said precisely," Warren added. He knew Bly knew this already, but he wanted him to suffer.
"You should have taken care of Nina Westbrook a long time ago. Sent her back to the NYC where she belongs. Portray her nephew to be the piece-of-shit he really is. No one would counter it. Who would? His family? Friends? Please, they could really care less. That two-bit Lance would've eventually switched up, and wrote the kid off. Besides, all he wants is free publicity." Bly thinks about how much he and Lance do not get along. Letting out an exasperated sigh realizing it was Lance's viral stories that he couldn't stop. It was always Lance getting in his way since they were kids.
Bly's lips were trembling as he stared over at Wendy who still wasn't moving. He growls at Numbers, "What have you done to my wife?"
Numbers looked at him. "What do you think? I can't have any witnesses around, that's why your ass must go, too," he hissed.
Before Bly could beg for mercy on his life once more from the devil, Warren swiftly pulled out a large dose of deadly fentanyl and injected it right on the side Bly's neck. Bly tried to take out the needle, but it was too late. He fell on his side, broke into convulsions as his legs flapped against the tiled floor. Warren stepped back giggling at his handiwork. Feeling his life drift away, Bly's heart stopped pumping, dying in a few minutes.
Numbers pulled out a typed letter as if it were written from Bly and tossed it by his face. He had already planned it out to say that Bly was having financial troubles with his wife in college so he killed both of them in a murder-suicide. It will appear that Wendy stabbed Bly in the shoulders, Bly stabbed her to death, sitting her at the table, then he took the drug to kill himself. Shrugging, Numbers dialed a number. The person answered on the first ring.
"Yeah."
"Clean up on Aisle 13." He hung up. Warren smiled sinisterly walking out of Bly's house as if he didn't just kill two people.
Chapter Thirty
I decided to go to a bar instead of going home after I left Bly and the volunteers. They all told me how sorry they were and tried to keep positive about the ongoing search for Rodney. I was trying not to lose hope but didn't show it in front of them. One thing about being a cop, we learn to mask our true feelings when necessary.
This was one of those times.
I drove through the falling snowflakes and made it to an old Irish pub called Carroll's Spot. It was truly the place where everyone knew your name if you were a regular. The decor was splattered with vintage photos of Mr. Carroll and his family lineage from an old town in Ireland all the way to Oswego. He has since retired, but his son owned and ran the place. There were only a few people inside, two of them playing pool, one with his back turned at a table. I pulled up a seat at the empty bar and ordered a Whiskey Sour from my favorite bartender, Ms. Lily. She placed the drink in front of me.
"Rough isn't it?" Ms. Lily asked me. I nodded, feeling tears stinging my eyes.
She sighed. "I know what you mean, baby. When we lost our son to the streets, all we could do was be vigilant and pray. Finally he showed up, but his mind wasn't right," she said, thumping her index finger against her temple. "When you get your boy back, make sure to check his mind. Clean him up. Detox all the way. He is young so he will be fine," Ms. Lily suggested kindly.
I took a sip of my drink. "Thank you Ms. Lily. That is so sweet of you. I am glad you have faith that Rodney will make it home. What do you think happened? For the first time I'm lost," I admitted.
She wiped her hands on her apron and moved closer over to me from behind the bar. "I think Rodney could be in something you may not have known about. What, I don't know. However, there is but so much one can get into out here. True there's the drugs and drinking, but that's about it. He wouldn't have run off for that, that's petty," she said with a small wave of her hand.
"True, I just don't know what. We've searched his computer, talked to his few friends and nothing. His father is on his way here to help search for him. We have a search crew looking for him, too," I added.
"Yes, and Mr. Lance writing those articles on him will definitely perk someone's ears up to help bring him home. We like Lance, he's a nice guy Nina," Ms. Lily sang out, smiling warmly.
I let out a small laugh. "Yeah, he's been a huge help. Between you, Mr. Harris and him, you guys are the only ones really helping out here. We went to Watertown and found out Rodney was hanging out at this club," I whispered, showing her the picture him at Johnston's now shutdown club from my phone.
She took a good look at it and handed it back to me. "Yeah, these kids get into all kinds of things. You know, one thing I did leave out about Rodney was the day I did catch him drinking behind a store one day during school hours. I had to tell him to leave. He was still respectful, but he said he hated the school and didn't want to go back."
I tensed up listening to her. "Why you didn't mention this when I came to your house? When was this?" I asked, trying not to sound to aggravated.
"It was around the time when he first arrived here. I didn't think it had anything to do with him being missing, that's why I didn't mention it. Besides, I didn't want the old man to hear it and start interrogating Davion. Davion was at a doctor's appointment that day, but he still would've found a way to include him. I'm sorry Nina. I should've told you," she added sincerely.
I nodded my head. "No problem Ms. Lily, I understand. I've already caught him drinking and smoking, so that has nothing to do with this. Something deeper is going on and I will find out, trust and believe that," I said, downing my drink.
"Yeah, I know you will. If anyone can do this, it's you. Another thing, Davion told me this morning that a lot of kids from the school are talking about Rodney's disappearance on social media. Perhaps you can check with them?" she asked.
"Yes, we've done that, too. Most of them are just gossiping, they don't really know Rodney like that," I said solemnly.
"Understood," she sighed again. "Well, I'll talk to Davion again. He knew about Jessica and her little friend. I'm sure they know something else," she said in a low tone, placing her hand on my arm. "You look tired Nina. You need some rest."
"You're right," I said, peeling a few bills out of my wallet which was in my purse. I placed them in her hand. She gave it back to me.
"Nah, it's on the house," she beamed.
I smiled. "Thank you Ms. Lily. I'll definitely keep you up-to-date about everything. And if Davion does mention anything, do let me know. I need to know as much as possible to bring this boy home."
"Sure, you know I will. I get off soon, can't wait until this shift is over in an hour. I'll call you if I come up with anything else. Drive safely out there!" she called out as I reached the door. I turned to her and waved leaving out of the store.
During the time I was in the bar, I noticed the tall bald man sitting at the table, kept staring at me through the mirror in front of him. As Ms. Lily was talking, I stole a few glances at him from the mirror behind the bar. I couldn't make out his face, but I'd never seen him before. Weird vibe.
Standing by the door, I texted Lance letting him know what I had found out and that I was going home. Lance wrote me right back saying he would see me tomorrow. I pretended that I was looking for something and patted down my coat. That gave me a chance to turn around to look back at the guy. He was already gone though. Ms. Lily was wiping down the bar and some glasses while the other two patrons were wrapping up their game. Exiting the bar, I looked around the parking lot which was relatively empty because of the storm. He must've gone to the restroom then. No way he could've left here without passing me first. Or did he? No of course not. I was the only one standing by the door.
I really did need some rest. I glanced around my surroundings once more but saw nothing. A couple of other stores were closing down, too. Well, whoever the guy was, maybe he was j
ust here wallowing in self-pity or wanted to get laid. Whatever it was, he had the wrong one for both if that were his intentions. I cranked up my vehicle, let it warm for a bit and drove off into the storm.
Chapter Thirty-One
Then: Numbers
Years later, Numbers' father had a terrible stroke and his mother was in a catatonic state herself, unable to take care of him. That left Numbers. He had recently lost his career, just came home from jail doing a petty robbery after losing the job and had to spend some time in a halfway house. Doctors diagnosed him with bipolar disorder, severe anger issues, and the most dangerous of them all, narcissistic personality disorder. However, Numbers saves face whenever social services came to check on his parents. He knew how to mask his true personality very well.
"How are you doing Mr. Squires," the lady with the black kitten-heeled shoes and pink petticoat on would ask him.
He would dramatically toss his arm on his forehead and cry. "They're doing fine. I hate to see them like this, but we're all we've got. I love Mom and Dad!" Then he would cry a little more.
She would give him a pat on his back. "You're doing good with them," she would say, taking a glance at his father dressed in his favorite sweater and blue khakis while his mother wore a light purple jogging suit. Before she got sick, she called it periwinkle. Numbers called it lavender.
They allowed Numbers to keep them at home since they don't have money for a facility. Little did they know, Numbers took his father’s money from the sale of his business to start up his own. He felt he owed him that for all the hell he put him through.
Both of his parents have an extensive family, but they are unable to take his parents in. He grew frustrated when he called to ask if they can at least come to help him while he worked.
"Can't you get a home attendant for him Warren? I am sure the state will pay for it," his uncle Earl, his mother's twin, suggested, coughing up phlegm throughout their conversation. Numbers hung up on the old man. He dialed his aunt Diane who was away on business in Monte Carlo. "That stuck-up bourgeoise bitch probably pays someone to wipe her own wrinkly ass, so how will she do that for them?" He thought out loud, pacing back and forth.
Growing more and more aggravated that none of his extended family members were able to help him, he only sees one way out. To kill them both. First, he'll collect on their pensions and social security checks to help build his little empire. He also had a life insurance policy that he paid on time monthly.
That, along with the savings he took from his father should help get him started. "Patience Warren, patience," he told himself, as he forced a spoonful of cold porridge down his father's throat. His father spit it back out, some landing on Numbers' hands. Warren raised his hand to slap him, but his mother snapped to her normal state and called him out in a raspy whisper. "Warren Jr., no. You'll kill him." He gave her an evil glare. Her eyes went blank again.
"That's the plan," Numbers muttered to himself, placing the bowl on the table. He wheeled his father to his favorite window, wrapping him up in a blanket. He turned around to see if his mother was watching him. She wasn't so Warren slapped the back of his father's head hard. His father let out a low cry, then fell asleep with a tear coming out of his eye.
Frustrated that he doesn't have a job, a wife or anything, Numbers continued to treat his parents mean and cruel. He would leave his father outside for hours in the cold. His father can't talk or move his entire left side leaving him in a wheelchair. One day, his mother soiled in her diaper so bad, that he tied her up, leaving her in her own fecal matter for days. Numbers would go into fits of rage toward his parents, throwing things, yelling out about the past and beating them both on their bodies with his fists. Neither one of them fought back but always shed silent tears.
During the ordeal with his parents, Numbers went back to his roots of hacking which he picked up while he was in school. He knew he was good at it and decided to use it for evil. That was the only thing that would keep his mind off his worthless parents. That, working out, snorting lines and sex. He met so many females online and always took them to dingy hotels in seedy areas. Barely cost him a few bucks and a combo meal from Burger King. After he laid it on them, he would leave out. They would wake up to a coupon to a fast-food restaurant and five dollars. He labeled them his "five-dollar hoes".
One day, he contacted an old friend who he had met in the halfway-house asking if he wanted a job.
"Any job you got must be off the books, so tell me about it," Brennan said evenly, a crooked smile forming on his lips. He turned to look at the cold warehouse he was at. He was growing tired of working labor work through this temp agency anyway. He placed the push broom against the wall and went to a corner to talk discreetly to Warren.
Numbers chuckled. "You know it, man. But first, I'll need your help," he said excitedly.
Weeks later, after the social worker's ten-minute visit, Numbers received a knock on the door. He opened it.
"Brennan Hill. My man, come inside," he said, imitating his British accent. He drew him in a manly hug.
Brennan chuckled. "Okay, I want to get started. Where're my tools?"
Numbers led Brennan around back to the yard. Brennan whistled, taking in the view.
"Wow, this is your old man's property? All of it?" he asked in amazement.
Numbers shrugged. "Yeah, all forty-eight acres of it, yes. Inherited it from his father. To be honest, I wish he were alive instead of my father. He treated me nice. Taught me how to fish, throw a ball, cut my hair. Then when he died, I didn't get that treatment anymore," he said, giving Brennan a sideways glance. He took out a blunt from his coat pocket, lit it and offered it to Brennan.
"Here you go B, take a toke of this before we get started," Numbers said passing the smoke. Brennan looked at Numbers, took the blunt and dragged on it. He coughed uncontrollably for a bit, passing it back to Numbers who was laughing crazily.
"Man, you should see the look on your face!" Numbers teased.
"Ha, funny man. I don't have time to smoke I guess," Brennan said dryly, still coughing.
"Okay, let's go," Numbers said, his eyes suddenly going dark.
What he was about to do, Numbers could really care less. He was a narcissistic callous, cold, calculating sociopath. The medicine he was prescribed meant nothing. Weed, sex and working out were his cures.
And soon making money would be, too.
Numbers planned to take his revenge on his parents, especially his father. He recruited Brennan to help him, too. They went further up the property near a small hill and dug up two deep holes. The snow, ice, and seclusion will keep the dirty deed hidden.
After an hour, Numbers marched back to the house where his parents were located. Taking his father's prized Remington 22 shotgun out of his case, he rubbed over the shiny brown covering. The same shotgun Numbers' father would take with him whenever he went hunting. Numbers counted two times that they went together. He stopped taking him because Numbers kept missing the animals to shoot. Shaking off the bad memory, Numbers lined them up, placed his mother's hand in his father's and stood back.
"Here, hold his hand, since you always valued him so much over me anyway," he seethed. His father's eyes widened, lips trembled and he tried to pick up his hand to point to something. Numbers retorted to laughter as he watched his father struggle to say something. His father raised his hand and with a strained voice he slurred, "See you in hell son." His lips drew into a tight line.
"With pleasure, Dad," Numbers said through gritted teeth. Standing back, he killed them both by shooting them with one shot in the torso. Mother first, father second.
Brennan stood by without saying a word. He didn't care one way or the other. In his thought process, his parents were the same and deserved the same. He wheeled them both out of the house and to the holes they had dug up. Dumping them in, he tossed in their wheelchairs as well. He covered both holes with the dirt and packed the top layer with snow and ice. Numbers st
ood by with his head held high, watching without saying anything. He was glad to be rid of the two people he thought would care for him.
After a few weeks, Numbers told the family about their unfortunate deaths. Not that they cared either way. That next day, both him and Brennan went worked on the hacking business right away.
He didn't have an empathetic bone in his body about what he did. To him, the sky was the limit from here on out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I was still driving when I got a call from James. He sounded so tired.
"What's up Sis? Anything new? Do I need to give my son a hug or a punch or both?" he asked, jokingly.
I made a turn into a slosh of a mess on a corner onto another street snow skidding underneath my tires. I read the temperature on my mirror, and it read twenty-nine degrees. Welcome to New York.
"Well, let's save that enthusiasm for when we do get here. Nothing yet, but we're working on it," I said sadly.
He took a deep sigh. "Okay. Okay, let's not get nervous here. I would've been there sooner, but I had some work to do at a base in Virginia. This was the only flight I could catch out to New York. Have you heard from Mom? Dad? Hell, even Matt?"
"No, not since earlier to Mom and Dad. As for Matt, I haven't talked to him since last month when he needed to use me as a reference for a job," I explained. I kept my eye on the road ahead. Other cars were driving slow on the other side of me.
James scoffed. "Job? Reference? Really Nina? You gave it to him?" he asked sarcastically.
I wrinkled my brow. "Of course I did. He is still our brother James. I will always love him no matter what. He is truly trying," I said, trying not to whine. I hated getting in between the middle of my brothers. It was bad enough I was the middle child.
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