Never Girl

by Ana Valen

  Chapter 11

  Claire drove south through the nighttime city. She headed towards Venice to meet Kovalenko’s contact. As she crossed into the city, nervousness seeped into her bones. This wasn’t only because she was about to meet a heartless killer.

  Venice couldn’t be drearier. The once popular beachside town had become a wasteland of poverty and drug addiction. There were still touristy areas along the shore, and they remained welcoming, but deeper inland, the grimy landscape was littered with hypodermic needles and scarred with graffiti.

  After heading down West Washington, she turned onto an empty street. Abandoned buildings lined either side, and she checked them for Ocean Wave—an out of business boat shop where the meeting would take place. But where was it?

  She checked her vehicle’s navigation screen. She was at the right address.

  She stopped and scanned the surrounding buildings once more. One of them had boat husks out front. That had to be it. The notion deepened after spotting an alleyway alongside. Kovalenko said to look for this.

  She turned off her lights and eased into the alley. Up ahead was a 1990s era sedan, maybe a Nissan. It was hard to tell given the darkness. She stopped by the vehicle and tried to make out a driver. She couldn’t. It was too dark for that too. This didn’t ease her tension.

  She placed her vehicle into park and sat there. Should she stay or go?

  The thumping in her chest told her to flee. But what other choice did she have? The police investigation wasn’t headed in a favorable direction, meaning she had to continue with this new plan. And maybe this situation wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed. After all, Kovalenko wouldn’t receive his payment until after this assignment ended. So if Kovalenko and the hitman wanted to collect, she needed to remain alive.

  She shut off the engine, disembarked, and softly closed the door. All around her, the stench of stagnant water hung in the air. She stepped through the unpleasantness while heading for the side entrance. After reaching the rusty metal door, she pulled it open. The hinges screeched like nails across a chalkboard. That didn’t help things.

  She entered what seemed like a factory floor, one devoid of equipment. The interior was dark, but overheard skylights let in some moonlight. That was at least something to be thankful for.

  While stepping along, she took additional stock of the factory. Workbenches and tables dotted the interior, all of them cracked and rusted. There were also grease stains on the floor, along with trash and drug paraphernalia. She slowed while stepping over the junkie detritus. The last thing she wanted was a needle poking through her shoe.

  “Hello?” she called out, her voice softer than intended.

  She needed to project some dominance, if only to not come across as an easy target.

  “Hello?” she called out once more, this time with added force.

  She stopped and looked down. Was that another grease stain or something else? She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. It almost seemed like a tarp. She stepped closer and got a better look. After recognizing the object, the dominance she mustered drained away.

  The object was a tarp. Or more specifically, a vinyl body bag.

  She quickly scanned the room, her heart slamming in her chest. Without warning, a gloved hand wrapped around her throat. She tried to scream but she couldn’t, not with the fingers clamped tight. The person ran her backwards and slammed her into the wall. Her head similarly banged against the partition, knocking off dust and rattling her senses.

  She again tried to scream. She only succeeded in gagging. With no other recourse, she lashed at her assailant, striking with fists and palms. She stopped when the assailant compressed his fingers. She reached towards his hand, desperately trying to create some space. The move didn’t work.

  With every passing second, she grew lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Then the man loosened his fingers.

  She took deep, desperate gulps of air. She also tried to make out her attacker. This was challenging with her hair having fallen over her face. She only spotted a shadowy figure, one with a black hood pulled over, and a black shawl covering his nose and mouth. But she could see his eyes. While focusing on them, he slammed her back once more.

  “Please,” she grunted, grimacing from the second blow. “I need your help. I’ll pay you. You’ll get paid.”

  The man didn’t answer. He simply kept her pinned against the wall.

  She refocused on her attacker, who kept looking at her. Or was he? He seemed to look beyond her, as if she wasn’t even there. Or was he not there? In a way, he seemed vacant, almost robotic. Whatever the reason, this was clearly her contact—the automaton who killed unconsciously. When Kovalenko mentioned this, she didn’t believe him. Now she did. But how was that possible? How could a human being—

  “No!” she cried out, as cold metal pressed against her temple. “No, no, no. Please, don’t shoot me.”

  Her pleas for mercy did nothing. The man kept his gun pressed against her head.

  She shut her eyes while her legs quivered. Would it hurt? Would she feel the bullet ripping into her skull and brain? Certainly not. But that didn’t alleviate her terror. On the contrary, her dread deepened. Then, like many times before, she recalled the magnitude of her mission.

  She opened her eyes. “If you’re going kill me,” she quaked, “what are you waiting for?”

  He stood there a moment longer, soft air working through his shawl. That was the only indictor that he was alive. Everything else was machinery. Finally, he lowered the weapon and released her throat.

  She needed to pace the room and shout curses. That was the only way to release the avalanche of built-up tension. She forced herself not to. Doing so would reveal just how frazzled nerves had become. Instead, she straightened her hair and smoothed her clothes.

  “What do you want?” the man calmly said.

  “For starters, I want to see your face.”

  The man waited a moment. He then reached up and lowered his shawl.

  She furrowed her brow. To her surprise, this person was normal in every sense, at least from a visual perspective. He was Caucasian, probably upper twenties, clean-shaven, and without distinguishing features. She half expected a zombie. That wasn’t the case. Not that she was complaining.

  “What do you want?” he repeated.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Harlan.”

  She nodded. “Harlan, what’s the body bag for?”

  “For you. But that depends on how you answer my questions.”

  Damn. He wasn’t normal at all, at least not on the inside.

  “What questions?” she asked. “Didn’t Kovalenko update you on the situation? Didn’t he tell you about my brother?”

  “Only that your brother was killed, and that you want someone to investigate this.”

  “That’s right. I need you to figure out who killed him and how.”

  “To what end?”

  She glanced at the body bag and looked back. “I would rather not say.”

  “If you tell me, I’ll be in a better position to help you.”

  “I believe you. But my reasons are personnel.”

  Harlan let another moment pass. “Fine.”

  “So… you’ll do it?”

  “I will. But the moment I feel you leading me into a trap, I’ll shoot you. And I won’t tell you that I’m going to shoot you. I’ll just do it.”

  A lump grew in her throat. It wasn’t so much his threat that unnerved her, but his lack of emotion when delivering it. He truly was unfeeling. That was horribly unsettling.

  “Okay,” she followed. “I understand. But please know that I won’t alert the authorities. Actually, I fully intend to keep them ignorant about this.”

  “Then we’re in agreement. I’ll get started tomorrow. When I finish, I’ll let you know.” He turned and started walking.

  “Wait,” she said. “There’s something else.”

  He stopped and turned back.

&
nbsp; “I want to join you.”

  He stayed mute.

  “I don’t mean—” she glanced at his pistol and looked back up— “I don’t mean participate in your actions. But I want to be there while you uncover what happened.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t only want to hear about this. I want to understand it. That’ll happen if I’m with you.”

  He stayed quiet once more. Clearly, he hated talking.

  “It’s no risk to you,” she continued. “Like I said, I want to keep this from the cops. And I’m obviously no threat.” She again glanced at his weapon. “Not to you.”

  He took a breath and slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll text you the address to my apartment. Be there tomorrow at 10:00am.”

  He turned once more, continued to the body bag, and grabbed it from the floor. With the bag in his gloved hand, he dragged it through the side exit, leaving her standing there.

  She tilted her head back and ran her hands through her hair. Finally, she could release her buzzing tension. But the aggravation was worth it. Her plan was officially in motion.

  Chapter 12

  Inside his two-bedroom apartment, Harlan finished eating breakfast. He stood from his dining table, carried his dish and fork to the sink, and washed and dried both. He placed both in their respective slots, as with him, nothing could be out of place. While exiting the kitchen, he pulled his cellphone and dialed his LAPD contact.

  Harlan had known his contact for years. And after last night’s meeting with Claire, he reached out and updated him on the new assignment.

  “Hey,” Officer Ricky Martinez answered.

  “Hey. Did you copy the case file?”

  “Yup. I have the copies right here. When do you need them?”

  “Right now.”

  “That’s fine. Where should we meet?”

  “Same place as before.”

  “Cool. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Alright. I’ll be there at the same time. See you then.”

  Harlan disconnected, slipped the phone into his dark-brown jeans, and walked to his bedroom. He continued to his closet, activated his biometric gun safe, and grabbed his Sig Sauer 9mm. The Sig was a throwaway that doubled as his carry gun. He racked the slide, locked the Sig into his hip holster, and went back inside his closet. He grabbed a long-sleeve button up shirt and slipped it on. With the buttons fastened, he exited his room and headed for the door.

  Outside of the apartment, he locked up and walked down stairs. After entering his Maxima, he fired up the engine and got onto the road.

  The day was sunny and cool, but he wasn’t considering this. He considered last night’s meeting with Claire. That was unexpected, though not the meeting itself. It didn’t make sense that he accepted her request to tag along. He always worked alone. That was tactically advantageous, and he generally hated people. So why did he say yes? He didn’t know, and that was slightly concerning. But at least he had work. That would keep his mind busy. More importantly, it would keep the monsters from bothering him while he was trying to sleep.

  He drove up 20th Street and made a left on Wilshire. In another five minutes, he would arrive at Douglas Park, not twenty like he told his contact. The falsity was strategic. Now he could recon the area, not that he expected his contact to betray him. Still, he didn’t take chances.

  While nearing the park, he opened a secret compartment in the dashboard. He activated the police scanner and started making slow circles around the park. All the while, he observed the park and listened to the squawker.

  A few people strolled around the grass, all of them wearing workout clothes. Deeper inside, a small group performed exercises, while others walked their dogs. As for the police scanner, nothing noteworthy came over the net. Dispatchers called out random activity, while various officers radioed acknowledgements.

  He parked on Chelsea Ave. and shut off the engine. While sitting there, his looked back towards the park. He focused on a mother and father, both young, and with their toddler son. The mother stood behind the toddler, holding him upright by his outstretched arms. The toddler took uneasy steps, caution and determination on his cherubic face. The father stood before them capturing the moment with his cellphone. Mom and dad smiled wide. Then the toddler, having successfully taken some steps, likewise beamed. Harlan kept watching without expression.

  His own upbringing was similar to that child. He had a loving mother and father, both of whom were interested in his wellbeing. They had the videos to prove it, only they recorded these videos on outdated camcorders.

  It seemed so long ago—his childhood. It even seemed like it happened to someone else. His memories began in his late teens. Everything prior was a hazy recollection of images. Could he ever revive his old self? Not likely. He would never be able to overcome—

  Someone knocked on his passenger window. He looked over and spotted Ricky Martinez, who as expected, wore a patrol uniform. Harlan unlocked the passenger door. He also pursed his lips. Damn. Nobody every snuck up on him.

  Martinez opened the door and climbed in. Harlan reached forward and clicked off the scanner,.

  “Hey,” Martinez said.

  “Hey.”

  Martinez handed over a manila folder. “Here you go.”

  Harlan took the slim offering. “There isn’t much here.”

  “That’s all they had. But that figures. The investigation is still getting underway. And from what I hear, the detectives haven’t had much success.” Martinez gestured towards the folder. “Most of that isn’t even from them. Its field reports from other officers.”

  Harlan opened the folder and started thumbing through the black and white printouts. The degraded quality made them out as copies. “Can you tell me anything about the detectives?”

  “One male and one female. Detective David Adams and Stacey Raven. I wouldn’t worry about Adams. That guy is thorough, but you can see him coming a mile away. You’ll need to watch out for Raven, though. She’s unpredictable and willing to bend the rules.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. And the murder book?”

  “They’re still putting it together. The crime scene photos are ready, but not the autopsy reports, ballistic reports—stuff like that. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Let me know when it’s done. I’ll tell you if I need it.”

  “I’ll just assume you need it and make a copy. It won’t be hard.”

  “I don’t want you to run unnecessary risks.”

  Martinez chuckled. “You’ve always been so caring.”

  Harlan didn’t respond. He kept looking through the documents.

  “Well,” Martinez continued, “that should help you get started. The documents are recent, too. They include yesterday’s interview with the victim’s girlfriend.”

  “Good to know. And thanks for this.”

  “You got it. And how are you doing?”

  Harlan paused while turning a page. “Fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know, if you’re not feeling well, there are people who can help.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “I thought the same thing.” Martinez paused. “Nichols.”

  Harlan looked to him.

  “I thought the same thing. Next thing I know, I’m waking up with bloody knuckles, smelling like alcohol, and not remembering what happened.”

  “I don’t drink or use drugs. You know that.”

  “True. But that’s not my point. My point is that the shit we experienced will come out irrespective of what we do. And it usually comes out through anger.”

  “Do I look angry?”

  “I don’t know what you look like. That alone is concerning.”

  Harlan refocused on the family in the park. All three of them sat on the grass, with the toddler in the mother’s lap. The father sat beside the mother, and they reviewed their video footage. Like before, they both smiled. But their smiles were
no longer excited. They were contented. As for the toddler, he busied himself by yanking up strands of grass.

  “Thanks for the files,” Harlan said.

  “No problem. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  Harlan nodded, and Martinez extended his hand. Harlan reached over and shook. All the while, he kept his eyes on the family.

  “Nichols,” Martinez said, still holding on.

  Harlan again looked to him.

  “If you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

  “I will. The same applies to you.”

  Martinez pumped his hand and let go. He then opened the door and exited. As Martinez walked back towards his cruiser, Harlan tracked him through the rearview. Harlan again pursed his lips. Martinez had parked his cruiser directly behind the Nissan. How did he not notice this?

  Harlan looked back towards the family. All three of them were on their feet, with the father brushing grass off the toddler. The mother brushed off herself. With everyone cleaned, the father lifted the toddler into a one-handed embrace. He then took the mother’s palm and they started walking. A moment later, mom and dad interlaced their fingers.

  Harlan looked down at his manila folder. Yes, he couldn’t be more grateful for this assignment. Without this work, he might wake up with bloody knuckles, while unable to remember what happened. And that’s if he were lucky. More than likely, he wouldn’t wake up at all.

  Chapter 13

  Claire checked her Acura’s navigation screen. She was a mile from Harlan’s apartment, and on time for their 10:00am meeting. Good. When it came to Harlan, she should stick to their arrangements.

  She pulled up to the apartment complex and surveyed the structure. The building was nicer than expected. She anticipated a rundown slum with shady people hanging around. That wasn’t the case, and she was fine with that.

  She parked in the guest lot, exited, and started for the building. While approaching, she searched for room 2A. She spotted the unit on the second story. She headed upstairs, approached the door, and knocked.