by Stacy Green
“Take this off.”
I obeyed, tossing the garment onto the bed. In only the lacy, beige bra and my tight jeans, I waited for his next order. I felt the skin on my chest burning, the sensation sliding up my throat. Even the roots of my hair tingled. Whether the cause was embarrassment or anticipation, the results served their purpose.
“Damn, I love you fair-skinned girls.” Preacher’s voice turned husky. He ran his hands from my collarbone down to my breasts and roughly squeezed.
I let him touch me, his hands wandering from my breast, over my stomach, down to my behind. He moved to the front of my pants. I gritted my teeth to keep from jerking away.
“Yeah,” he said. His voice was rough now, his breathing growing heavy. “You want it. They always do. Good girls are the best kind of whores.” He grabbed my neck, angling my face to his, and roughly kissed me. Firm lips, benign breath, altogether not a bad kisser. His other arm snaked around me and brought me flush against him.
He was hard against my stomach, his movements faster and with purpose. He wanted me, and he was at his weakest point.
I returned the kiss with as much passion as I could dig up, my hands flush against his chest, and then pushed him down on the bed. My aim was perfect. He landed on the right side, near the edge. Too turned on to noticed, he hit the mattress with a satisfied moan, his mouth moving down my neck and his hands slipping inside the back of my jeans.
Arching my back, I shifted to my left, gasping as if I enjoyed his touch. He didn’t notice my hand slipping over the side of the bed, where my fingers dug underneath the mattress. His only response to my change of position was to yank down the bra cup of my right breast and latch his mouth onto the nipple.
Shame and shock froze me for a brief second. And then I retrieved the syringe, gracefully pulled myself up and away from his mouth, before planting my lips firmly against his. Grinding my hips over his erection gave me the distraction I needed.
I opened my eyes first. His were closed, his face sweating. He had long lashes. A dribble of acne on his nose. A tiny scar on his forehead.
Completely clueless.
I jammed the needle into his bicep and waited.
His eyes shot open. “The fuck?”
“I just want you to have extra fun,” I whispered against his mouth. “This will make it so good.”
Ketamine acts very quickly, and the dose I gave him was strong. It would hit in two minutes or less, and I’d have at least thirty minutes with him at my command. Letting the syringe fall to the floor, I rocked my hips against his. He stared at me, fear and lust dueling in his eyes. His erection grew and then began to fade. His body stopped writhing, his breathing slowed. He went slack, his eyes still wide and staring.
“What’d you do to me, girl?”
I felt the first stirrings of sexual arousal. “Showing you who’s really in control, Roderick.”
26
With Preacher lying motionless, I took the time to discard the wig and put my shirt back on. My hair was pulled back in a tight knot, and I resisted the urge to torment him by letting it fall around my shoulders. Just more evidence to clean up.
“Liar.” Preacher spoke slowly. After a few minutes, he was probably already experiencing the floating feeling the drug brings. Users claim it’s as if the mind and body have been pulled apart, with some likening the sensation to a near-death experience. Entering the K-Hole, as recreational users call it, makes a person compliant, but the longer the trip, the more likely he was to start having hallucinations.
“No more than you.” I took out the scalpel. I’d prefer not to use it, but tonight had to be a success.
“I feel big,” he slurred. “As big as the universe.”
“You’re just an invisible speck in the mass of darkness.” Let him chew on that for a while. Sitting down next to his head, I shoved one of his heavy arms out of my way. “Tell me who you work for.”
“Myself.”
“No. Sarah explained this all to me. You’re the captain. Who’s really in charge?”
“I don’t know his name.”
He might be lying. But the drug should make him compliant. Was the big boss really that secretive? I tried another tract.
“Why did you kill Sarah Jones?”
“I didn’t kill that bitch. Glad someone did though.”
“Why?”
With his body effectively paralyzed, only Preacher’s eyes moved. They flickered rapidly around the room, staring at the water-stained ceiling, the walls, and finally, my face. “You’re that red-headed bitch who figured out our business.”
I smiled. “Good job.”
His eyes rolled back in his head before focusing on me again. “Why you doing this to me? I thought we were going to have a good time.”
“Because someone is telling the police I killed Sarah. I don’t know his name, but I know he’s got a lot of pull over the police and the district attorney. His wife was a client at the salon. He, on the other hand, likes the little kids you guys provided. He knows I took the phone Sarah stored her information in, and he’s trying to protect himself by making sure I get the hook for murder.”
His mouth fell open revealing two dull, silver fillings. A huffing sound rolled out of him. For a second I worried he was having a bad reaction, and then I realized he was trying to laugh. “None of our clients got balls enough to do that. They’re all scared men who want to hide behind…” he trailed off, eyes popping wider. “I think the ceiling is changing colors. What did you give me?”
“It doesn’t matter. While you enjoy your trip, you can give me some more information. You said none of your clients would do this? Someone is, and I’m going to clear my name.”
A moment of clarity brightened his dull gaze. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Not if you tell me what I want to know.” Did he believe me? I hoped so. It would make later all the more satisfying. “Sarah had one hell of a coding system in that phone. I didn’t find anything else. So you tell me who you think would be trying to hide information.”
“Easy.” Drool rolled down his chin. His arm jerked with the effort to wipe it up but remained in place. “Dietz. The boyfriend.”
“Dietz?” I racked my memory. There were a lot of D’s in the phone, but her email had been protected.
“Big country attorney.”
My turn to still. United States Attorney Cameron Dietz, operating out of Philadelphia for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. A newsmaker, Dietz looked like a retired model and had the whitest teeth of any man I’d ever seen. He’d just won a big case against an organized crime family, and he’d reveled in giving interviews on the courthouse steps. The distinguished attorney always wore a tie bright enough to match his teeth. But who was his wife? I didn’t remember a Dietz coming into the salon. “What’s his wife’s name?”
“Feet.” Preacher’s eyes rolled back in his head.
I smacked his cheek, and slowly, like spoiled milk that’s curdled, the whites of his eyes rolled back down, and he focused on me. “No, U.S. Attorney Dietz. What’s his wife’s name?”
“She does feet.” His words were slurred. “Fat bitch too.”
Then I remembered. Amanda Rollins, Sarah’s client the night I stole the phone. Of course. Sarah must have freaked out and told her it was missing. “So what’s Attorney Dietz’s preference? Little girls or boys?”
“Sarah,” Preacher said. “Him and Sarah.”
“An affair?” So Sarah was making money off the wife and doing her husband at the same time, plus dealing little kids. Why did Sarah Jones deserve justice again?
Preacher closed his eyes, pursed his lips. His head jerked up and down. I took that for a nod. “Long time. His wife’s a bitch and has all the money. Big prenup.”
Anger coursed through me. I pressed the scalpel against the soft skin beneath his eye. “You’re lying. Sarah wouldn’t share this information with you.”
“Riley. She and Sarah buds. Riley told me, ’cause she m
y girl and she know her place.”
The scalpel trembled. A tiny droplet of blood oozed out of Preacher’s skin. I caught it before it hit the mattress.
“Is that why you took her friend’s little boy for your sick site?”
His mouth opened and closed, making me think of the trout that flopped against the bottom of the boat when Mac and I went fishing. I never could kill them. He had to take care of that messy deed. “That’s right. I found The Candy Market. Quite smart using obscure Philadelphia historical figures. A nice middle finger to the authorities unable to bring you down. And too smart for you to think of. Boss’s idea?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you take the little guy from Riley to punish her?”
“She felt bad. Wasn’t hard to do.”
I could probably slice through his carotid with this scalpel and let him bleed out. But that left evidence that was impossible to clean up, and I still needed information. Fighting for control, I pushed on. “So Dietz stood to lose money and his reputation. He thinks I know about his affair and figures this is the easiest way to get rid of me. But what if the charges don’t stick?”
“How should I know?” Preacher snapped. His shoulder jerked. “And I’m glad that bitch is dead. You know what she did? That night you tried to blackmail her, you naughty girl? She came to me at Ward 8 and said she wanted out. I had to take her back to the salon and show her I was boss.”
“You did kill her.”
He grimaced. I tightened my grip on the scalpel and checked my watch. Twenty minutes had passed. Ketamine trips could last anywhere from a half hour to hours, depending on the person. Preacher might be having a short ride.
“Nope. Just smacked her around until she understood how things was.” The corner of his mouth twitched up as he tried to smile. “Took that gold locket she loved. Begged my ass to give it back, said her mama gave it to her, and I said I would if she proved her loyalty to me. See, I knew she’d been visiting that Senator’s office. Told my boss that too. Just waiting to hear from him on how to handle her. But I put her in line, thought maybe she’d be good. But someone else didn’t.”
Sarah met with the Senator? That meant he recognized the name and hadn’t said a damned word. I didn’t have time to think about it right now–Preacher’s fingers were moving.
“She alive when I left her.”
“You think your boss killed her?”
This time, his laugh actually produced some noise. “Never gets his hands dirty.”
I straddled him, pressing the scalpel between his eyes. “What’s his name?”
“I told you I don’t know. We only communicate online, and he’s smart. Got himself protected. He’s the one who runs the website too. I don’t handle that shit. I’m a people guy.”
“You’re just a stupid street pimp who didn’t think to investigate,” I corrected him. “Don’t you know anything about manipulating people? Or are your skills limited to vulnerable girls?”
“What’d you mean?”
“You could have found out who he was, turned the tables, took control. Made my life easier.” He disappointed me. We weren’t as equal as I’d thought. He probably hadn’t even figured out I was really going to kill him yet. What a fool.
“Riley. Where can I find her?”
“This week got her in a place not too far away. Motel-North. She working right out of there. But she won’t betray me. Got that girl right where I want her.”
“If you were so mad at Sarah, why’d you go back the next day to pay her?”
“Because money talks, don’t it?” This time, his entire body twitched. I didn’t have any more time to waste.
I slid off him and grabbed the other syringe out of my bag.
“No more.” Both shoulders moved, his face looking strained.
“I have to take care of you. And you’ll never know what happened. Painless. That’s more than I can say for some.”
Understanding ricocheted across his face. My pulse kicked up at the fear brimming in his eyes. “You’re really going to kill me?”
“You’re a bad person. How many kids have you pimped out over the last few years?”
“They’re willing!”
I had to drop the scalpel, or I would have stabbed him. “Really? The ones you bring in from other states? The boys? That sweet little boy Riley was babysitting? Is he willing? What about his mother? Did you dope her up until she didn’t care if you took him or not? And the girls you prey on and beat down until they’re broken? They’re willing?”
“You’re too pretty to be a killer, you won’t do this.” Even facing death, the pimp tried to worm his way into my good graces. Sad thing was, he probably believed he could do it.
I started laughing. “Oh honey, if you only knew. This isn’t my first time.”
Sheer terror, his body dumbly thrashing, trying to get his arms and legs to move and defend himself. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Your boss? That’s the only thing that will keep you alive.”
“Don’t know his name, but I know how he works. He knew I had girls. He contacted me, said he had access to people who wanted more than just street hookers, and how’d I like to make some real money? So we set up our business. All on the Internet–you saw it! We got people who bring in boys and girls from Ohio and New York, mostly. Sarah’s phone had all them clients.”
“Do you keep records?”
Tears sprang into his eyes. “Only of who I pay.”
“I want the boss. And the johns. How did Sarah get involved?” What a waste of space this guy was. All bluster and no brawn at the end. How could he get involved in this whole mess with no inside information in case he needed it? He wasn’t even worthy of being a captain. Preacher was just a grunt.
“The boss found her. Said she was perfect for what we were doing. Needed a lot of money, and she couldn’t turn us down. He sent me to her.”
“It was more than just money he had on her, wasn’t it? What was it?”
“He didn’t tell me much. Just to drop the name Sam, so I did. And she bent right over and started dealing.”
“So,” I climbed back on top of him, unbuckling his belt. I grazed his flaccid penis, and his choking breaths eased. As if he thought I was going to reward him. I worked his pants down to his knees. He’d dribbled urine on his red underwear. “We’ve got Sarah having an affair with U.S. Attorney Dietz. Dietz has a lot to lose if that’s found out. Did he know about Sarah’s involvement with you?”
“No. I don’t know, Riley might know.”
“And it was just your partner, you, and Sarah?”
“Yeah. No one else.”
“So small staff, wide operation. How many working kids you have?”
He tried to grind his hips into my hands, as if that would suddenly change his fate. Disgusting. “About thirty right now, not counting my girls. They mine. Boss don’t care about them. Don’t make enough money to keep him happy.”
“Where are the kids I saw on your website?”
“Lots of places. Motels in North Philly. Couple at a project. I’ll show you.”
“No, you won’t. As soon as you get full function back, you’ll try to beat me like your other girls. But you see,” I leaned forward, letting the tip of the needle graze the big muscle of his thigh. “I’m not like the other girls. I’m the one who will fight back. Who’s smarter than you. And the last face you’ll ever see.” I stuck the needle into the muscle, pushed down the plunger.
“Please…” The begging trailed off as the next dose took over. With the other shot still in his system, Preacher was so far gone he could no longer speak. For a moment I thought he’d lost consciousness, but his bloodshot eyes darted from side to side.
I could leave him like this. Ketamine destroys the memory, and chances are he would have little recollection of the episode. But I couldn’t take the risk.
And he was an enabling piece of trash.
I reached for the pillow. His eyes fol
lowed my movement. He knew.
My lips brushed his immobile mouth. “This is for Riley. And the little boy you stole from her friend. And every child whose life you helped steal away.”
I pressed the pillow over his face and lay on top of it. He couldn’t struggle. His chest was the only thing that moved, gasping and sucking for air. I pressed harder. My heart pounded and sweat beaded on my temple. My cheeks hurt. I realized I was smiling. Gripping the pillow more tightly, I folded over the sides of his head, clamping the material over his ears.
It took him seventy-two seconds to die.
I sat the pillow aside and called Chris.
27
“You said you might not kill him.” Chris stood at the foot of the bed staring at Preacher’s body. He fiddled with the latex gloves I’d made him put on before he touched anything.
“It didn’t work out that way,” I said.
“Was it the ketamine?”
I nodded. Easier for him to believe the lie.
He rubbed the back of his hair and then stopped. “Jesus, I probably just left evidence.”
“No one is going to come looking for him,” I said. “He set himself up. Used a fake name. Who knows if he told anyone. But this hotel doesn’t keep records–they didn’t even take my identification. And they definitely don’t want the cops around. We just have to get rid of him before he makes a mess.”
The hardness in my voice surprised me. I’d never disposed of a body before. Until today, Brian Harrison was the only victim whose death I witnessed. I made my escape before the others could die. But I saw Brian take his last breath, and I thought the reality of my actions scarred me. Instead, the wound had healed incorrectly, leaving an infectious tissue that seemed hell-bent on making me a mindless predator.
“How’d you luck out and get the room closest to the fire escape?”