by Katy Rose
George nods his head slowly, even while sending Kora a look of pure loathing. “You will let me live if I tell you what I know.”
“Possibly. I can’t decide if I want to. Now, question one. Who else was involved in your little rape club? Besides the lacrosse team and Lucas, oh and Drake. Wow. We have been killing people off left, and right so much I lose count.” Chuckling Kora leans back.
“Brendan knew about it as well, and Collin. Neither did anything to stop it.” George stutters through. We already knew that, but we wanted to make sure there were no silent partners.
“What about your father and President Walker? Do you know what they do?” Kora asks. At the mention of his father George turns white. He knows. Time is ten twenty-eight. Calling out to Kora the time she waves me off. Walking into the front of George's legs, she lifts one booted foot and slams it down hard on his crotch. Digging her heel into what I assume are his balls based on the screams. “I asked you a question. Answer me.”
“Yes! Yes. Ok? Yeah, I know what he does. I don’t agree with it, but what am I supposed to do about it?!” George calls out in anguish. Tears are rolling freely down his cheeks. I am sure it does hurt.
“Good. Now, does your mother know what he does?” Kora asks. When George doesn’t answer her right away, Kora takes the umbrella and stabs the ferrule into George's ribs. He screams out in pain as she digs it into his side. “ANSWER ME!”
“Yes! Yes, my mother knows what my father does. He sells orphaned kids into the circuit. They fight about money all the time. She wants him to get more because of the risk.”
“She doesn’t care that he is selling kids into the sex slave scene?” He looks completely stricken.
“No, she said they would mostly grow up to be poor hookers anyway. They need to hone their skills.” George looks away at Kora’s accusing tone, but he makes no move to apologize or denounce their behavior. Who knows that small act of kindness could have saved his pathetic life, as it stands, I can tell by the look in Kora’s eyes that he is a dead man?
“That is a different level of messed up,” Kora says, her bores tone gives nothing away.
“Where do you fit into all this George? What have you done?” I ask while grabbing Kora's arm and pulling her back and away from the train tracks. You can hear the train whistle coming.
“The train is coming. Cut me loose. I swear I won’t tell anyone. I swear it! I won’t tell anyone.” He keeps repeating this over and over.
The train whistle is growing louder, so I yell to be heard over the sound. “What was your role in all this Georgie Boy. Confess now. There are four tracks here. So, you have a twenty-five percent chance of it hitting you. That is seventy-five percent good luck.”
“I was the messenger. You can’t text message that you have kids for sale. Someone had to be the go-between, and I was it. I didn’t participate in the rape club! I swear. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He begins crying, and I think he pisses himself as he watches the light from the train come around the curve ahead and toward us. “You said you would cut me loose! I told you what I knew!”
Shrugging Kora leans in again. “You are so right. Here. Catch!” She throws my stiletto pocketknife at him. It hits his head and bounces down to the ground. “Oh shit, I forgot. Whoops,” Kora laughs as she bends down and grabs the knife. She tosses it to me, and I slide it back into my pocket while shaking my head.
The train rolls down the tracks and whistles again within yards of us. Standing above George, we both shake with silent laughter as the train takes the track above George's head. It comes within feet of him. Just enough to make him piss his pants if he hadn’t at that point.
The second train comes full force upon us. There was no train whistle, no warning for George at all, the glimmer of the metal was the only possible clue, a clue he missed. Backing up a few steps, Kora opens her umbrella and holds it in front of us. Kora and I watch as the train runs over George's body. Severing his legs at the tibia and ripping an arm off. It doesn’t, however, kill him. His screams are loud and urgent. He tries to pull attention and get up.
“Well that was a letdown, wasn’t it?” I ask. Kora drops the umbrella down and looks over at George's mangled body. She makes a face at it before looking at me and then down to where my holster is protruding out a little. I look down too. Walking over I kick him over and pin him down. Shooting him in the head, I put him out of his misery. Walking back to the car, I see Kora still standing there looking down George's body. “What are you doing?”
“You forget something.” Kora looks down at George and his now bleeding head. Kneeling, she fishes around on the ground looking for something. Her gloved hand and forearm come out covered in thick blood. In the center of her palm is a bullet shining silver in the moonlight.
“Ah, I didn’t forget. We are supposed to be starting to leave a breadcrumbs trail, remember?” I respond.
“Oh yeah. Do you want me to stick it back in his head?” She asks.
“Nah, we can worry about getting caught later. Right now, let's get his body picked up and buried. I will go get the shovel; you get the trash bags. We need to plan on how we will fuck with the Carmichaels. And President Walker.”
Kora and I start picking up pieces of George and throwing them in the trash bags. It takes six bags to get all the parts. I turn on my phone flashlight and look at the tracks making sure the blood is covered well enough. Lighting up a cigarette I search the area; I find the last piece of our puzzle in the wooded is off to the right. Grabbing the deer carcass, I throw it on the tracks and cover it with the two liters of blood before sighing.
“God Damn it!” Kora curses.
“What? Break a nail?” I joke while looking her over for injuries.
“That fucker got blood on my shoes! I liked these fucking shoes. They are real Italian suede.”
“That is your fault for wearing heeled boots on a killing trip. I thought you knew better.” I can’t resist. I roll my eyes. She seriously wore heels when she knew we were going to kill him! Un-fucking-believable. Only my sister.
“Well, it was a dance of seduction beforehand. Heels seemed appropriate.” She has an excuse for literally everything. I feel a migraine coming on.
“Just get rid of them when we get home. But make sure you wipe the blood off the bottoms, so you don’t track it in the car or house.” I light another cigarette and survey the land again. Finding the perfect spot, I start digging the hole for George's body.
Have you ever watched the smoke from a cigarette? It swirls and dances as it floats away. The smoke in my lungs begins to burn from being trapped too long. Releasing it slowly, I take another drag and look over at Kora. She is my other half, has been since the beginning, I would kill for her. In fact, I have. Several times over now. She looks down at the trash bags piled in front of her. Slowly her eyes look up to take me in, a small grin twisting her lavender lips.
“Well, get on with it. The hole won’t dig itself.” She can be quite the bossy little bitch when she wants to be.
“Oy fuck off Kora. Have you ever dug a six-foot hole in the ground in the middle of November? The fucking ground is frozen, okay?”
“Well no, that is why I have you, Kaleb. I do know that, that cigarette doesn’t help you dig any faster, though. You should really quit. It will kill you; you know?” She looks sad at the thought, and for a second, I almost buy into it. Almost.
“I am sure I will be killed in a much more interesting way than that dear sister, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I hope I get to torture you a little longer before it happens.” I grunt as I jump back down in the hole and continue to dig the lonesome grave another two feet down. Climbing out, I kick the trash bags into the hole and covering the contents in gasoline soon after. Striking a match, I light another cigarette and then flick the still-burning match in the hole.
The flames rush up and begin burning the garbage bags and the flesh hidden within. Kora and I stand there in the chilly November night air and
watch as the flames burn down. Gathering the lye, we took from the chemistry lab, we pour it on the bones and then cover them with the dirt. I make sure the dirt is nice and flat and then fill in the shallow holes nearby as well. If anyone were to look at the filled holes, they would think trees or seeds were planted.
In less than four hours, we are completely done. Body number twenty-four is disposed of.
Pulling a box of wet wipes out of the kill bag Kora wipes down her hands and arm. Throwing the wipes in the bag, she puts the bag in the trunk with the umbrella. Next up is Mrs. Carmichael. I drive us back to the brownstone and check the security footage on Mrs. Carmichael. She is home alone and looks to be drinking.
“Do you want to come along to the Carmichaels’ residence?” I ask Kora as I wash my hands.
“Sure. What are you going to do there?” She asks.
“I think the wife will drink herself to death,” I state as I roll up my sleeves.
“That could work. Are you going to forge a suicide note?” She has already washed her arm and is pulling out her sketch pad. She will most likely stay home or possibly sit in the car.
“Nah, I think it will be an accident. She was depressed and took one too many Xanax. But, put their security cameras on a loop to cover my tracks.” Popping my neck, I grab the kill bag, disposing of the bloody wipes and unpacking it since I won't need it tonight. She has everything at her house that I will need for an assisted suicide.
We get in the Phantom and drive to the suburb of Hewlett Park. The Carmichaels live in a very posh white house with more bedrooms than they could possibly need. Kora pulls out her laptop and hacks the security cameras. She has live screen and the recorded footage in a split-screen. Setting the computer up on the dash, she pulls out her sketch pad and begins working on the latest portrait. One of a rhino. “I will be watching.” She says as I check my reflection before getting out of the car. I lean down and talk to her through the window.
“Kora lock the doors. You never know what weirdos are out here.” She snorts and shakes her head before hitting the lock on the door. Chuckling I leave her in the car as I make my way up to the house.
Kaleb saunters up to the house like he doesn’t have a care in the world. That should be a killer rule in the rule book. Always act like you own the place. People rarely question confident people. Maybe they should, though. Then all the sick pedophiles and rapists wouldn’t fly under the radar. I should write a book. I pull my sketch out. I’m in the middle of sketching a baby elephant. I am glad the windows on this car are tinted. I don’t have to duck down or worry about someone staring in at me.
Looking down at the computer screen, I see the recorded feed that shows Mrs. Carmichael taking a shower and then sleeping. On the live feed, I see Kaleb go in and start talking to her. He grabs a bottle of vodka and her prescription pills. He talks to her for a few minutes before giving her two pills and filling her glass. She takes the pills and swallows the glass in one shot. After about twenty minutes she starts slurring, and I turn the volume up to hear their conversation.
“Mrs. Carmichael, ma’am, can I ask you a question.” Kaleb uses his best manners on her. Classic Mrs. Robinson style seduction.
“How many times do I have to tell you, call me Carla.” She tries to lean across the kitchen island while opening her robe a little. She must be past intoxicated because she slips and almost falls. Kaleb grabs her arm and helps her over to the couch. Handing over two more pills, he refills her cup.
“What did you want to ask me, Kaleb.” Swallowing the second round of pills, she drinks her glass dry and holds it out again for a refill.
Leaning over her he must whisper since I can’t actually hear, but I see his lips move when he asks her “Do you know your husband sells kids to sex traffickers and your son is in a rape club.”
Mrs. Carmichael shakes her head vehemently, but it is no avail. Kaleb grabs her by the chin forcefully stopping her. Bending down to his knee, he looks at her with a mixture of pity and hatred. “Yes. I have proof. A lot of proof.”
“What do you want? Huh? Money? Greg will have you killed; you know?! He is connected!” She spits her threats like a poisonous spitting snake.
“He is connected, is he? To whom? The DelPrete family? Mine? No one wants to be associated with people like him. He is a disgusting disgrace of a man. Tell me, Carla, did you even love him? Or was the money enough to make you stay in a loveless marriage? Was he able to distract you with all the pretty shiny trinkets he bought you to shut you up?” She must have some sort of reaction because he laughs out loud, a deep belly laugh that echoes off the living room walls. “That is, it, isn’t it? You have always known his sick habit, and the money kept you silent. But you are not a complete robot, and after a while, that guilt begins to eat you alive. You take the pills and the vodka to numb the guilt and help you carry on as if you aren’t married to a monster.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are to judge me, Kaleb Volpe? You know nothing of what it takes to survive. You were born with a golden tit in your mouth. You can judge others, but I did what I had to.” She begins to stand, and I feel the anger burn through me, so I know my brother is about to explode. And then, he does.
“Did what you had to do? Really? No, I don’t fucking think so! You didn’t have to take your husband’s hush money; you do not NEED a new Marc Jacobs purse every other week. You do not need any of this shit that you have wasted millions on. But those girls, those kids needed you. All you had to fucking do was say something, anything to tip-off police and get the operation shut down!” Picking up the nearest vase he chucks it across the room, shattering it into a family picture. Damn, I need some popcorn. Opening the middle console, I grab a Twix and bite into the chocolaty goodness.
“You could have stopped this whole fucking thing a long time ago, couldn’t you? A long time ago!” Kaleb knocks the pictures off the mantle in one swoop. Glass shatters and falls all over the floor. Mrs. Carmichael looks scared; she should.
“I didn’t know where to go; he has connections all over. I have no idea who I can trust! Do you know Kaleb? Who you can trust?” She leans forward on the couch, but she can’t muster the strength to actually make contact with Kaleb's leg when he is standing a few feet in front of her. He leans down and puts two more pills in her hand, refilling her glass yet again.
“I don’t trust anyone but Kora. Everyone else can burn in Hell. No one has ever been there for me without having ulterior motives, none but her. So yeah, I know who to trust. You knew you could get out, yet you still stayed. That is all on you. Your excuse falls flat. Now be a good girl and take your pills. You have six more to take” Kaleb is snarky if he shows any emotion at all.
“That could kill me.” Mrs. Carmichael says even as she puts the pills in her mouth.
“You will want to after I tell you I killed George. I had him run over by a train.” Kaleb announces to her as he takes a seat on the coffee table.
“Why?” Mrs. Carmichael barely gets out the word around her mouth full of vodka. She looks like she really cares. Tears shine bright in her eyes when she turns toward the camera.
“Because like you, he had a choice. He chose wrong. He chose the easy route. Let the rapists keep finding new victims. He kept letting his dad harm innocent kids. He got what he deserved. You will get what you deserve, as well. But before you go to sleep one last time, I want to know where Preston Walker has his playground. Where do they go?” Kaleb asks softly.
“They have a loft in my husband’s building. It is down in the Bronx, it looks like a regular warehouse, but it has been soundproofed and updated on the inside. That is where they go. I feel like I am going to be sick.” Leaning over, she goes to throw up, but her body's reaction is slower than normal. She ends up choking on her own vomit as Kaleb stands above her, doing nothing to help. It takes four minutes. Four agonizingly slow minutes. Her eyes budge, and her body spasms. The sound of gargled pleas growing fainter with every tick of the clock.
Kaleb walks over to her purse. Taking it, he gets her lipstick out and writes a note on the mirror. “with all the money you made from selling kids, you should have bought a clue.” When he is done, he pockets the tube and walks out just as casually as when he walked in. He strolls over to the car and gets in. Looking down at my sketch pad.
Grinning, he starts the car as he says, “I thought it was a rhinoceros.”
“You are such a pretentious twit. A rhinoceros? Who says that? Rhino. And no, it is a baby elephant. I don’t suppose you know what they are called, do you?” I smirk at his choice of words. Only Kaleb would use the full name of rhinoceros.
“Actually, they are called punks. So, it makes sense you were drawing a self-portrait.” He knocks his arm into mine, and I can’t help but laugh out loud.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, noticing we are headed into the Bronx.
“I want to go down here and see where this building is. It will make the next few steps easier.” He says distractedly while watching the buildings.
“The next step is what exactly?” Sitting up, I notice one warehouse on my side that has lights on. Pointing, he cruises over to the side of the road and parks.
“We are going to up the stakes. Make an example of Carmichael and Walker. First thing, we torture them, then they die.” Getting out he walks over to the west side of the building knocking over a tower of crates. Climbing them like a monkey, he looks into the top vent window. “Give me your phone K. This shit is insane.”