Chasing Shadow Demons

by John Moore

  When I arrived at the center, I was almost attacked by the women, asking me if Susan was responsible for Tiffany’s death. I tried my best to reassure them, but I had to be careful. I didn’t have any real facts. I hoped that telling them everything was going to be OK would get them through the night.

  Some of the new girls expressed their skepticism. “Are we going to be OK here? Are the police coming back to question us? Is this place safe for our children?”

  I looked over the room at the scared faces before I spoke. “Please, everyone just calm down. This shelter is a sanctuary for all of you. You are safe here. I will stay as long as needed to make certain you are all taken care of. This is a time to pull together for the benefit of each other and your children. Why don’t we have a pizza night? I’ll spring for pizza for everyone.” I barely got the words out before the kids shouted in agreement. This seemed to calm the room. Good old pizza therapy. Always worked for me.

  Most of the ladies talked to me one on one. A couple of the newcomers expressed their concern about staying at the center but decided to hang in there with us. I was relieved we didn’t have a mass exodus. The newspaper would have pounced on a story like that, and it would have been devastating to the center’s future. As it was I was going to have to deal with the neighbors’ cries to relocate. I didn’t need any sensationalized stories with headlines like “Murder Causes Battered Women to Flee.” My damage control seemed to be working.

  I walked into Susan’s office and shut the door behind me. I needed to think about the situation I’d placed myself in. Now I was committed to staying at the center while Susan was away. How would I be able to look for Piper and take care of the center at the same time? I was feeling overwhelmed, like the world was crashing down on me. Why did I take on all of these responsibilities? I asked myself. I had reached my dream life. I was a successful journalist with a hot boyfriend and a steady income. What led me to become a makeshift mother to a young girl and a caretaker of a facility for battered women? What did I do to myself? Well, Alexandra, that’s not what you do. That’s who you are. You were raised with a loving family who showed you unconditional love. Your mother gave the last years of her life to allow you to go to college. Your father showed you as much tenderness, caring, and love as was possible, considering dementia was controlling his mind. You have created the twenty-first-century version of a modern family. Tom and Piper are your nuclear family. Susan and the center’s residents are your extended family. “You are a family woman!” I said out loud.

  I looked around the room, and for some reason saying it out loud made me look at the world differently. My family was under attack. I needed to fight to protect them. That feeling boiled inside me. I felt anger stream through my thoughts as I clenched my teeth. I asked myself, How do you fight the ones trying to hurt your family? The answer was completely clear. I had to go after them. I had to seek them out, force them from the shadows and eradicate them. Sure they were dangerous, but so was I.

  I surfed the web for the telephone number of the Marriott Hotel in Baton Rouge. I entered the hotel’s digits in my phone and pressed Send. I pushed so hard I nearly broke the glass.

  “Thank you for calling the Marriott. How may I assist you?”

  Through clenched teeth, I said, “Please give me Victor Ivanovich’s room.”

  “My pleasure,” the operator said.

  As the phone rang the room, I felt my stomach churning. I was afraid for sure, but I wanted to confront this demon.

  “Hello, this is Victor.”

  “Victor, this is Alexandra Lee. When can we meet?”

  “Oh, hi, Alexandra. So nice to talk to you. I’d love to see you. Let’s have lunch tomorrow at Gino’s Restaurant in Baton Rouge. Can you meet me there at noon?”

  Of course I knew all about Gino’s Restaurant. Everybody who’d ever been in Baton Rouge knew it. It was the finest Italian food in the city. “I’ll be there,” I said, and hung up.

  Chapter Nineteen:

  Lion’s Den

  I was awakened by the sound of my phone. It was Detective Baker. He’d finally arranged for me to visit Susan at central lockup. Holy shit, it was eight o’clock in the morning. I’d slept late a second time. Baker had arranged for me to meet Susan at nine, so I had to get a move on to make it in time.

  After my shower I looked in my closet, completely perplexed about what to wear. Should I dress for central lockup or for Gino’s and Victor? I opted for the dressier look. It might sound odd that I’d be thinking of my appearance. But the reason was simple: all day I would be representing my family, who were in danger. I didn’t want to be treated as a lesser person by the police or by the criminal. Dressing well was my way of declaring I was important and should be treated with respect.

  The New Orleans Central Lockup was a miserable place. The battleship gray walls and bars were cold, hard reminders of the world away from the world I was entering. I felt like I was going to a secret place where society hid its trash so the tourists wouldn’t see that part of the city. It was clean yet smelled dirty. It was quiet except for the blare of police radios and the clanking of bars. As I entered a holding area, I heard the loud metal against metal of the steel bars closing behind me. It felt final, and I felt like I’d entered a world where I was no longer a person. I was a numbered unit to be guided to my assigned spot and then processed out again.

  As I was escorted to a small room with a table and a few chairs, I heard a deputy say, “McAllister, walk this way.”

  Susan walked into the room. Her makeup-free face was pale, much like Tiffany’s except Susan was upright not on a gurney. Color had abandoned her cheeks, and her eyelashes were brownish gray, her pallor matching the walls. She walked zombie fashion as if she had been hypnotized. I stood to hug her tight, but before we embraced, the guard stepped between us, instructing me not to have physical contact with the inmate.

  “Susan, I am so sorry this has happened to you. How are you feeling?”

  She sat across the table looking at me with hollow eyes. “Alexandra, I didn’t hurt anyone. They say I murdered Tiffany. Why would I hurt Tiffany? I love all of those girls. Tell them. Tell them, Alexandra. I love those girls.”

  Tears ran freely down her face and dripped on the metal table where she’d rested her arms. Her chest heaved, drawing in a deep breath, which created a rattling sound as she exhaled. She wiped her eyes with her limp hands but couldn’t stop the unbridled flow.

  “Do you have a lawyer?” I asked.

  “Lawyer? No, I don’t have a lawyer. I never had any need for one. The center has been my whole life. All I have to my name is about $1,000 in a checking account. I don’t think that’s enough to hire a lawyer. Some of the other ladies in here tell me the court will appoint a lawyer for me.”

  “No way,” I said. “I will get you a lawyer tomorrow. Don’t worry, Susan, I’ll find a way to get you out of here. Do you have any idea how the bottle with the poison got in your car?”

  “No. I only use my car for errands and to take the girls to the medical center. I keep it locked when I’m not in it. I have no idea how the bottle got in my car. Thank you, Alexandra, for helping me. I don’t know what to do. I feel so lost. I am scared I’ll be put in jail for a long time even though I didn’t do anything. Who’ll take care of the center?”

  “Susan, don’t worry about the center. I will stay there till we get this cleared up. I have to leave now. I’ll have a lawyer contact you tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.”

  “Thank you, Alexandra. Thank you for your strength. It’s been a long time since I felt this kind of fear.”

  Oh, my God, Susan was totally out of it. She was lost in that place. I didn’t know how long she could remain sane in there. I felt so bad, believing I’d brought this down on her. Now I had to go see that bastard Victor in Baton Rouge. What could he want with me? If he wanted to meet me, he didn’t have
Piper yet.

  I guessed that was the good news.

  The drive to Baton Rouge was beautiful. It was a lovely summer day. When I crossed Lake Ponchartrain, I saw a ten-foot alligator searching for lunch. Funny. Was this some type of omen? Was Victor the gator looking for me to lunch on? Or maybe it was the gator from my dream and I should invite it to come with me.

  I had news for Mr. Ivanovich. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s victim. I reached down and patted my ankle holster. I felt better for a second; then my thoughts wandered to Tom. Was he OK? I knew he was in Southern Mexico. Maybe he didn’t have cell reception in that part of the country. Thank God Sophia was in New Orleans with her Interpol and other law enforcement contacts, I felt confident she would be able to find Tom no matter where he was.

  As I entered the city limits of Baton Rouge, I remembered how different it was from New Orleans. I attended LSU to get my journalism degree what seem like a hundred years ago. Baton Rouge was much more conservative than New Orleans. Then again, anywhere in America was more conservative than New Orleans. But by national personal behavior standards, Baton Rouge was liberal. There were more bars—as well as places that masqueraded as restaurants, selling more alcohol than food—than in any other capital city. Drive-by daiquiri shops, hard liquor in every store including pharmacies, and festivals galore with vendors selling beer to all old enough to buy it enchanted the Baton Rouge landscape. Residents were conservative in their political views but not in their partying habits. LSU football game day merriment rivaled Carnival in Rio. Food, fun, and football summed up this river city.

  I was greeted at Gino’s by a stunning hostess. She scanned me in an instant and said, “You must be Alexandra. Let me show you to Victor’s table.”

  Impressive, I thought. Victor’s table was situated in a private room in the rear of the restaurant, complete with white tablecloth and candle. Victor was on the telephone, and he immediately terminated the call and stood to greet me as I entered the room. He was more strikingly handsome than I’d remembered from my two brief sightings of him in New Orleans, and he moved like a jungle animal. His powerful shoulders were discernible under his sports coat. His thick black eyebrows framed the clearest iridescent green eyes I’d ever seen. He smiled, exposing a perfect set of teeth contrasted by his naturally tan skin, partially covered by a scruffy shadow beard. Just like I thought the first day I saw him, I’d never seen a more handsome man in my life.

  “Alexandra, please sit down. Let me order you something to drink. Would you care for a vodka martini? I believe it’s your drink of choice.”

  Holy shit. He knew what I drank. His voice was smooth and hypnotic with a slight European accent. I almost wanted to drink with him, his cologne wafting my way. Subtle but alluring. I felt an attraction to this monster, forgetting what he really was. No wonder Piper’s mother, Sandy, fell for him. He was close to perfect.

  “No, I’ll just have water.”

  The Miss America look-alike hostess left us to retrieve the drinks. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to look over the menu,” Victor said.

  I’d eaten at Gino’s when I was at LSU. It served the finest Italian food I’d ever eaten. Mama Marino, an immigrant from Sicily now well into her eighties, still supervised the preparation of each of the authentic dishes. I settled on shrimp champagne described as fresh shrimp sautéed with butter, green onions, and the chef’s special champagne sauce with pasta. Victor ordered marinara pasta with homemade Italian sausage. This would be an enjoyable feast under different circumstances.

  “So, Alexandra, you were born in Silbee, Indiana, on a corn farm. You must find New Orleans much different from your hometown.”

  I stiffened, startled that he knew where I was born. “Yes, much different. But how did you know where I was born?”

  “I know a great deal about you, Alexandra. For example, you live in a condo and have a boyfriend named Tom. I also know Tom is out of the country, currently a guest of the Mexican government. I know you had a nasty run-in with a man named Bart Rogan and one of my other friends. But we’ll get to that later. I also know you are a very talented public relations expert and journalist. Words are weapons in your hands. You can be lethal if provoked. I want to be your friend and not your enemy.”

  “Friend? You must be kidding me. What you really want is Piper. You want to take her away from me and use her to further your criminal enterprises. She is just a young girl. She’s not your property. You can’t just send her to work for you in Russia or wherever you have your hacking farm. She is my family, and I’ll fight you to the death if I have to.”

  “Why so dramatic? Who filled your head with such nonsense? It’s true she is very talented on the computer, but she needs her education and her family. You say you are her family; well, so am I. I took Constance and her mother into my house and cared for them. Her mother became very important to me, and she misses her daughter. So you see, Alexandra, we each have a connection to Constance. We both need to do what’s best for her. I possess the resources to develop her God-given talents into something spectacular. You don’t have the resources to come close to that.

  “I have a proposition for you. Why don’t you and Constance both work for me? You can help me develop my spa chain into a nationwide enterprise, and I’ll make certain she gets the best education possible.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. He actually was trying to make me believe he was a legitimate businessman. He wanted me to do PR for his whorehouses disguised as spas. My blood boiled. I sneered at him across the table. I could reach down, draw my .38 revolver, and shoot him in the head just like Michael Corleone in The Godfather. Maybe it wasn’t a great idea, but it was tempting.

  “I don’t want anything to do with you and your criminal enterprises. You disgust me. You prey on vulnerable young girls with your good looks and smooth manner. You turn them into drug-addicted zombie whores, ruining their lives. No, I won’t work for you, but I will stop you. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I promise you, if you come near me or my family, I will send you back to hell.”

  My rant was interrupted by my phone ringing. I looked at the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. I let it go to voice mail. When I looked back up at Victor he had a broad smile on his face, perfectly straight white teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

  “You are exactly like my friend said you were. You met him in Colombia. They call him El Alacran. He and I are working together now. We are going into the import business in New Orleans. He is very excited to reunite with you. He said you and he have some unfinished business. I don’t think he’s a big fan of yours, but if we can find a way to work together, I’m sure he would let bygones be bygones.”

  Holy shit, these two assholes together could only mean trouble for anyone who crossed them. Still, scared as I was, I couldn’t hold back. “You can both go fuck yourselves,” I yelled as I stormed out of the restaurant.

  I was fuming mad as I left Baton Rouge in my rearview mirror. I knew I had serious trouble ahead. I could have taken the easy path and made some type of deal, but I remembered my mother warned me that the devil always collects. I wanted nothing to do with the devil’s protégé sitting at the table with me. I picked up my phone to call Sophia and saw I had a message. It was from a California area code. Maybe it was Piper’s mother.

  “Hi, Alexandra, it’s Piper. Don’t be mad at me. I ran away. I felt like I was putting you and Tom in danger. I wanted to find my mother, so I came to California. I am in Los Angeles. Call me back on this number. It is a burner cell phone. Don’t give this number to anyone.”

  Oh my God, she was in California. How the hell did she get to California? She must have had the same idea I had—that Victor would have punished her mother. I pulled off at the next exit to call her back. My hand trembled as I pressed the callback button.

  A little voice said, “Hello.”

  I couldn’t contain my em
otions. I burst out in tears. “Piper—” I cried some more, big bellowing sobs. “H-how are you? Are you OK? What happened? I was so worried!”

  “Yes, I’m OK,” she said, crying too. “I am so sorry that I left the way I did, but I thought Victor would hurt you or Tom if I stayed around.”

  I paused to take a breath. I was almost angry, but not angry, but should I be angry? No. She was a little girl.

  “It’s OK, sweetheart. I know you meant well. I’m booking a flight right away to come out there. How did you get to LA?”

  “My computer skills are a little better than I told you. I hacked yours and Tom’s phones to get all of the contacts from them. I Googled all of them and found Amanda’s blog. I chatted with her for many days and nights. We became close friends. I told her my mother was missing and I needed to go to California to find her. She helped me run away that night at the cemetery and paid for my bus ticket. Don’t be mad at her. She thought she was helping.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m just upset because I thought I lost you. I’m so relieved you are OK. I was so desperate to find you I went to Baton Rouge to meet with Victor.”

  “You met with Victor?” Piper asked.

  “I was meeting with him when you called and left the message.”

  “Oh no. You are going to have to get rid of your phone. If Victor got close to you, he cloned your phone. That means he can look at your texts, get all of your contacts, and even turn on the mic to listen to conversations. He’s already gotten the number of this burner phone for sure and is tracking my location. I have to go. Go online, book your flight and hotel. I’ll find you. I love you.”