by S I Taylor
She looked around, confused, unable to decipher why that had happened to her. “Can you tell me how the men were found?”
“Umm, I have to warn you, you invoked your rights, so anything you say that implicates yourself or anything about this case will be used against you. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” he asked.
She thought about his words, but the gnawing feeling that she’d lost control was greater than what she knew would come if she somehow was involved.
She nodded. “I need to know,” she said.
He looked through his notes and without showing her the photographs again he began to explain.
“Unknown male subject one was found with three stab wounds to his abdomen and his throat was slit from left to right. Unknown male subject two was found sitting against the wall, slumped over with a stab wound in his spine close to his neck. Nicholas Trivaldi Junior was male subject three. He was found with his genitals shoved down his throat and his internal organs lying next to his body.”
He paused to look at her and she was stunned at the revelations, as if she remembered something. But he continued with his explanation.
“Subject one and two were probably local drug dealers because no one wanted to identify them. Junior is the only reason why I’m assigned to this case. He’s the son of Nicholas Trivaldi Senior, who has built his wealth and empire from money trafficking and drugs, but he’s a businessman, a philanthropist, and a well-known member of his community who can explain all his spending and wealth. We’re still working on his case and I think I said too much to you in that regard. However, this case became high-profile because of Senior wanting to get his son’s killer captured.”
He looked intently at her, trying to read her, but her expression was still and stoic.
“Doesn’t he have other children?” she finally asked.
“That seems a little insensitive. I don’t have any children but I bet regardless of how many I have, another child won’t replace the one I’ve lost. But to answer your thoughtless question, yes he does, but he wanted his son to take over the family business.”
She was ashamed of her question and he was right. She thought about Reagan—her butterfly—and even though Reagan wasn’t her daughter she loved her as if she were. And if anyone were to hurt Reagan, Barbara would demand justice or better yet she would take matters into her own hands. “That’s not what I meant. It came out wrong. And you’re right, that comment was highly insensitive of me to say. What I meant to ask was what about his other children, aren’t they involved in the family dealings?”
He paused for a second before answering. He looked annoyed at first but then his features softened. “Trivaldi Senior has been training Junior for years. Besides, his daughters have no interest in those sorts of deals.”
He watched her as she got up from the couch and began to pace the room. She moved slowly, but it was mostly because of the heavy boot on her sprained ankle.
“I remember that night,” she told him with a worried look on her face.
“What happened?”
“I was…”
Barbara was at Iggy’s shop trying to see if there was another job that he could give her. She waited for him by the register as she normally did. There’s never anyone in this shop, she thought. The shop had never been closed or officially open for body shop work since the neighborhood dynamics changed when she was in high school, and this shop had changed along with it.
The sound of Iggy’s footsteps dragged across the floor from the back room. When he finally arrived toward Barbara, he had news for her.
“Barbara, there’s this job I want you for. It’s a simple job. All you gotta do is get yo’self a small sexy outfit and be a date for this young fellow from uptown.”
“What he needs me for? Don’t they have their share of girls for that?” she asked him.
“Yeah, but he’s gotta deal and he wants extra protection, including from his date.” He looked at her surveying her body.
“Hey, stop doing that.”
“I’m not doing anything. Just trying to make sure you fit the profile.” He said scratching his head as he nodded.
That’s if I accept, she thought.
Considering that she needed the extra cash she was curious. “When is it?” she asked.
“It’s tomorrow night. You seem interested.”
“I might be. What are the specifics and how much is it going to be?”
“It’s seven hundred dollars with two hundred up front and the rest after the job. I don’t know the details but if you want the job, I’ll tell you where and what time to meet him.”
After several seconds of thinking about his proposition she agreed. “Fine. Where?”
“Meet him at the alley behind Chevino’s Latin Grill at seven in the evening and he’ll give you the next set of instructions.”
“Okay, you sure about the payout?” she asked.
“Yes, It’s a couple of hundred now and the rest after the job,” he reassured her.
“You know I hate wearing anything other than jeans.”
“I know, but this requires you to act the role. Do you want it or not?” he asked again to make sure.
She hesitated. She wanted the money, even though she’d have to wear something out of her comfort zone. “I’m in. I need the advance to look the part though.”
“If you do good, we can land another job with them. And it’s a free meal, a limo ride, and being a girl for once,” he added.
“If the next job involves me wearing anything other than jeans, I’m out. Make the deposit into my account, Iggy.”
“Got you,” he shouted as she walked outside.
She caught a cab to the outlet mall and entered the first fashion store that grabbed her attention. She decided to mimic the mannequin on display since it fit the part that she was going for.
She searched for the same outfit on display and when she found it, she grabbed the cobalt blue miniskirt, the white silk blouse, a pair of red heels, and silver accessories displayed on the checkout counter, and paid for her items.
She was bad at shopping but was content with her choice. It had been a long time since she’d gone shopping for clothes since she’d worn the same ensemble for years.
The night was warm and still but her hands rubbed through her arms repeatedly calming the protruding goosebumps that formed there. Her hands moved in a pattern from rubbing her arms to pulling her skirt down. She felt naked and exposed wearing the skimpy outfit, standing in an alley like a hooker looking for her next customer. She looked around, watching her surroundings, being careful not to get mugged. She hated that her gun was too big to fit in her purse and her pocketknife was the only protection she had for the night.
A stretch limo appeared, and a driver got out and opened the door. She slid inside and looked around the limo, inspecting the three men that were sitting inside drinking that gold amber liquid that most men enjoyed.
The youngest one spoke to her. He was wearing a light gray blazer over a white collared shirt. He had a clear glass half full of liquor in one hand and the other raked his mousse-infused black hair. “You the other security my dad hired?” he said. He took a sip of his drink.
The top three buttons of his shirt were undone and each time he raised his arm the dark hair on his chest peeked out. She wasn’t grossed out by the scene but rather more at them all in unison. He looked at Barbara, then winked and smirked at her. “At least she looks better than these two brutes,” he added.
His greasy hands snaked up her bare thighs and she instinctively shoved her elbow toward his ribcage. “Don’t fucking touch me. I’m not your play toy. I’m here to work,” she told him. She thought about taking her knife out and threatening him with it but she was there to work for him, not against him, and besides he hadn’t done anything that warranted her knife to make an appearance.
He let out a small grunt. “You’re lucky my drink didn’t spill on me.” She thought he would’ve been upset but
his smirk remained on his face and after he took a sip of his drink he looked at Barbara. “I like my girls to be obedient and you’re not the one. He dug in his pocket and flipped the handle of a pocketknife between both of his palms. Her eyes followed the glimmering blade jutting out from the black matte handle.
“It’s a SOG Sideswipe pocketknife. The aluminum handle gives comfort in the grip. And with a push of a button, the knife closes and opens with ease, you can feel its quality and robustness,” the kid said, admiring the knife.
He looked at it and then at Barbara. “Put your palms out.” He didn’t ask, he demanded.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing, stop being paranoid. My father is not paying you to be paranoid. You’ll need this for protection.” He snapped the pocketknife closed and placed it in her hands and his hands lingered on hers for a second. “You’ll need this in case something goes wrong inside.”
She removed her hand as she grabbed the knife, pressed the button, and ran her fingers through the clip point edge, but it wasn’t better than her Homefront drop point tactical knife, she thought. She quickly pressed the button to snap it closed. She squinted and furrowed her brows in confusion, trying to figure out why he gave her a knife when she just assaulted him, but she shoved it in her purse before he changed his mind.
“Why not give me a gun?” she asked.
“Because they will search us, and weapons are not allowed, but hookers having knives in their handbag is permissible as they only use it for protection against their paid date and not toward others. Besides, it helps to blend in with the other dumb shits where we’re going,” he added. He slid toward the others as they continued to chat, drink, and laugh at their childish jokes. The same “you’re so ugly” and “your momma so fat” jokes she and her best friend Sam used to tell each other.
She looked at him and at the other men in the limo as they drove to their destination. She didn’t say anything, but she was studying them just in case she encountered them in the future. She had two knives now but she’d rather have double protection than none.
“Take a sip of this drink. You have to smell of alcohol once we get out of this door. We need to make things look believable and casual. We are not in our turf so stay vigilant,” the young kid said.
“You want me to stay vigilant and you hand me a drink to get somewhat tipsy? That’s contradictory,” she said.
“Look, bitch, my dad hired you to do a job. This is part of the description. Looking the part is in the deal. Either you give me back the advance you got or you fucking shove this drink down your throat.”
She’d already spent part of the cash on the ridiculous outfit she was wearing, which meant she would owe him money if she quit. She was sure he wouldn’t let her leave without the entire payment upfront with penalties and interest. That was how it was in this line of work—crime. When you thought you worked for yourself, in reality, you were always a puppet to someone else.
She looked at him and without breaking eye contact grabbed the glass and gulped the liquid. The sting it left behind was terrible, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how horrendous it was.
“See, it wasn’t that bad,” he said, as the other two assholes laughed.
They arrived at a five-star elaborately decorated restaurant. They were patted down vigorously.
The big security guard huffed when he looked in her purse.
“Good call, miss,” he said, as he looked at her with an approving nod.
She stared back at him and nodded in return as they were led to a private room on the second floor where four men were sitting in front of a large rectangular table being served finger foods and amber drinks.
They sat, filling the empty seats. She was too preoccupied studying her surroundings to worry about food or any more drinks.
Later that night she learned that the four men in attendance were Crusher, Lucas James, Dorian Devita, and a representative of Mr. X.
She had to act like a clueless companion, which was not a role she acted too well. But she guessed that they were buying it because they didn’t suspect her at all.
Crusher snapped his fingers and three large cases filled with several white bags which she presumed to be cocaine were placed on the table. The other three did the same and three more cases were brought to the table.
The young kid shoved Barbara to the side and dug a butter knife into one of the clear bags. He scooped up some and tasted a sample, spreading it across his teeth with his pinky finger and then doing the same with the rest of the other bags. Then he whispered something to one of his companions. Moments later he returned with five suitcases, two for Crusher and the rest for the others. They popped the cases open to reveal their contents.
Meanwhile, Barbara was sitting in the back feeling hot. She was sweating profusely. She knew she hadn’t eaten anything, but the others around seemed fine. What is happening to me? Everything was becoming a blurred haze. Her vision was coming and going. She was squirming in her seat. They’d forgotten that she was even in the room during the transaction. They were preoccupied with their dealings.
They were exchanging drugs for money. She was in the middle of a drug ring. She was worried, as this was not something she wanted to get involved with. She shook her head, trying to get her vision back, and that seemed to work momentarily.
Food, drinks, and drugs were being passed around like candy. She was feeling nauseated from watching them devour everything in front of them.
The kid got a call and he summoned the other two to grab the large cases and take them to the limo. She was relieved that she hadn’t had to do anything she would’ve had to shove into the back of her mind to forget. She was going to go home and figure out what was happening to her. She didn’t feel like herself and the more she tried to maintain her composure the more her body tried to succumb to the darkness in her mind.
Instead of being taken back to the alley, she was taken to the warehouse district. The limo driver took off, leaving Barbara and the three others outside.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“This is the afterparty.”
“I didn’t sign up for any party,” she told him as she reached for her knife in her handbag.
“Yes, you did, bitch,” the shortest guy said as his bony knuckles collided with her cheek bone. Bone against bone and her face contorted and twisted away from her body. She lost her balance and slammed against the floor as a metallic taste slowly crept into her mouth. His thick Italian accent kept ringing in her head.
She must have passed out, because she woke up dazed and disoriented on the floor inside of the warehouse. Her clothing was soaked from a red liquid that oozed from her side.
Barbara tried to get up, but her arms were pinned above her head by one of the big men. Her body was pressed against the cement floor as if her skin was glued to it. The kid unzipped his pants as the other ripped her skirt and tossed it in the far corner behind.
Her body flailed, trying to get away, and she managed to land a kick to the man who’d removed her skirt, lodging her heel in his throat and sending him unconscious to the ground. She crossed her legs, holding them tight together.
“You’re going to pay for that, Dominic was one of the best,” the kid snarled.
She spat her saliva at the kid, and when it landed on his face he didn’t bother to wipe it off. She was at their mercy. His hot hands pressed firmly against her thighs prying them apart like crowbars and spreading her legs. Barbara squirmed but with her hands bound above her and with her legs immobile she was to endure this agony. She watched as the kid thrust himself inside of her repeatedly. Her screams echoed from the pain until her throat was raw and her voice barely a whisper.
Barbara lay on the floor as she came in and out of consciousness. Her vision was doubled and the more she blinked the less she saw. She couldn’t focus and she felt as if her body was stiffened by something, as if she was paralyzed on the ground. She co
uld hear faint noises of screams as she lay on the ground. She couldn’t decipher if the screams were hers or not but her mind was going into the darkness. Her vision was blurred, and the silhouette of several figures moved in front of her and then fell a few inches away. That was the last image she remembered before her vision flickered on and off like a dying light bulb.
Barbara fought to keep her vision focused on her surroundings and on her assailant. I must have been drugged somehow, she thought. But she didn’t eat anything and the only she thing she remembered drinking was the Scotch in the limo. The kid spiked my drink, she thought. She captured the sight of the big guy above her as he let go of her arms, trying to unzip his pants. She forced her arms to her side and reached for the knife in her handbag still hanging at her side, but she couldn’t remember what she did with it or what happened to the man. Everything was happening so fast. One second, she had the knife the next second, her assailant was on the floor. Her vision went blank once more.
A forceful tug jolted her back to her reality, but her vision wasn’t focused. She felt hands that grabbed her and then blow after punch after kick to her abdomen. Pain washed over Barbara and she was sure this was the end for her. So she coasted on the wave of unconsciousness to dull the pain and rip herself from reality.
“Then when I woke up, I was bloody, in pain, naked and everything around me seemed like a blur. I didn’t look around for anything other than for my belongings, which coincidentally were all lying around me in the room,” Barbara said.
McKinley looked at Barbara, studying her, digesting the information he’d just heard, trying to decipher what to do.
She sensed his hesitation and continued. “I guess you can piece together everything from the photographs of the scene you have.”
McKinley paused as silence engulfed the room. He looked troubled. He closed his eyes and made continuous circles on his temple, trying to correlate the pictures to the story Barbara divulged. Trying to piece it together. He needed more time to decipher and process her story carefully.