Hell's Door

by DeLuca, Sandy

  “Enjoying yourselves?”

  “Very much,” Lacey told her.

  “Good.” Her eyes held Lacey. “Hope you’re coming back…soon.”

  “I…we will,” Lacey told her.

  They made their way to the door, lingering for a moment and watching as a man wearing dark clothes and a hood over his head approached Ramsay. They exchanged a few words, and then the man made his way to the chambers.

  “Wonder who that is.” Lacey noted the man had a slight limp.

  “Not sure, but it’s evident she’s sweet on you.” John’s voice was somber.

  At that moment Lacey’s cell vibrated. She retrieved it, and then flipped it open, quickly reading a text message.

  “Come on.” She slipped the phone back into her purse, grabbed her partner’s elbow and they made their way through a maze of dancers, through thick smoke, and then into pounding rain.

  Demmings tucked his hands in his pocket, liner smudged, damp hair speckled with crystal raindrops. “Bad news?”

  She sucked in her breath. “Yeah. Another body. By the river.” She looked over her shoulder, and through the window. Ramsay sat at the bar, surrounded by a motley crew of customers, pointing to the new painting she’d strung over the bar, downing shots of whiskey, oblivious to what went down outside Hell’s Door. Now a young man wearing a leather vest, donning tattooed arms, stood next to Ramsay. He turned, and his eyes met Lacey’s. His stare was cold and unflinching, and then an unsettling feeling filled Lacey.

  “You think it could be somebody else? I mean—” John followed Lacey’s gaze.

  “She’s a major person of interest, if nothing else. Seems her girls either go missing or get murdered. Gino told me some stories, too.”

  “The missing. That’s another story.” John’s voice was drowned out by a gang of queens chattering loudly by the door.

  “Working girls come and go.” Lacey shrugged.

  “Consensus is she might not be working alone. I mean, you’ve got to be fucking strong to…” John grabbed Lacey’s elbow, leading her away from queens, standing beneath the awning, and away from music wafting onto the walk.

  They walked in silence, boots kicking up rain from the cement, heads bowed. Lacey silently prayed it would end soon, but she’d learned years before that prayers go unanswered…and so do cries for mercy in the night.

  9

  Lacey and John arrived at the scene, and then made their way down puddled walks, remaining silent as cars with flashing lights sped by.

  John stopped to speak with some boys in blue, and Lacey left his side, moving closer to the crime scene.

  “Detective.” Charlie Izzi—one of the force’s youngest detectives—greeted her. His pudgy round face and twinkling blue eyes reminded Lacey of a Christmas elf. Albeit, one of the nicest guys she’d met since coming to Providence, seemingly hardworking and eager to get ahead, but rumor had it that he’d had a meltdown at another crime scene—where the body of a young girl had been discovered in the back room of a bar. The girl had been raped and beaten by her bartender boyfriend, left to die amid empty liquor boxes and broken beer bottles.

  And on that night Charlie seemed edgy, speaking hurriedly, with hands waving. “Boys in blue discovered the body while searching for homeless squatting in deserted buildings on the shore.”

  Charlie’s partner, Al Baxter, chimed in. He was a seasoned detective, and he’d covered the kid’s ass on numerous occasions. “Hands have been severed, mounted on the victim’s chest, and the right hand has a telltale stamp—Hell’s Door. More evidence pointing to Ramsay.”

  “None that will stick,” Lacey sighed.

  Discouragement filled Al’s voice. “She’s too slick…I…”

  “She’s not the smartest one of all, Al.” Lacey turned when two other detectives greeted her—a Spanish guy named Rosario Minex, and his partner, a black guy named Chuck Greene. They escorted her to yellow tape stretched around a rocky area where wind sloshed water, past a group of gloved men collecting trace evidence, and then to the headless corpse. “All yours, Powers,” whispered Al, and then he backed away.

  She nodded when a woman with wild gray hair and a hook nose approached, speaking with an angry voice. “Bastard chewed off her nipples and raped her with a wooden stake.” Lacey watched as Dr. Lucy Barnes, the ME, checked over the body, plastic gloves streaked with vermillion, her eyes solemn.

  “Body temp and rigor suggest she’s been gone about six hours.” Lucy’s voice was stoic, hard from years of experience, but her tone became mournful when she continued her litany. “Just a kid. I’ll know more once we get her to the lab. No fucking head. What does the bitch do with the damn heads?” She sighed deeply, and then moved into a barrage of boys in blue.

  Lacey checked out the slight body more closely, and then clothing the team retrieved a few feet away—skinny jeans, a low-cut black tee, pointed high heels and a raincoat. She chatted with a few more members of the team, and then moved off to the side, where John now wrote notes on a small pocket pad.

  She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, and then she spoke quickly. “She must have gone to Hell’s Door early…before we arrived. According to Minex and Greene, they found fake IDs in her pocket, along with an expired New Jersey driver’s license. Name was Belinda Montesanto. Missing since last summer. Just fucking eighteen.” She clenched her fists. “I could kill Ramsay myself…I…”

  “We’ll catch her. Guys combing the riverbank found fiber and—”

  “Probably nothing we can use.”

  “Don’t be so optimistic.”

  “Sometimes I think we’re so close, but then everything falls apart.”

  “You need a drink. We can…”

  “No,” she told him softly. “We’re friends…partners…things could go wrong, put a strain on our work and…”

  “I’m a gambler. Happens all the time. We’ll set limits.”

  “You just don’t know what I…”

  “Look, don’t get caught up in the job. There’s more to life.”

  “There’s evil out there, John. It’s our job to stop it.”

  “You’ve got to live your life, too…and give me a chance. I…”

  “We’ll talk someday.”

  She left him standing there, and then she moved to the edge of the river. Cigarette butts and candy wrappers tumbled and smashed against the barrier, and rain made concentric circles when it struck black water. Peace filled her momentarily—until John was beside her once more, his eyes flaring with anger and his hands trembling.

  “Old brownstone on Terrace Street—a few blocks away. Super says he’s been seeing pros going in late at night. Heard a lot of screaming. Not the first time, but this time he called it in because he’s spooked about the murders.”

  “Can we get a warrant? Might be a bit shaky.”

  “Super said it sounded like somebody was getting killed, so the DA got on it right away. Izzi, Baxter, Minez and Greene will back us up.”

  They left the headless body of Belinda Montesanto to a faithful team, laboring in fog and rain…searching for something elusive and vile.

  10

  Tanny needed to make another hundred, so after another job or two she’d pick up a six-pack and a grinder from the Italian place on the corner, and then head back to her basement apartment, beneath the pizza parlor on Thomas Street. She’d give half of her earnings to her boyfriend Miguel, so he could fix his broken-down Chevy, and she’d save the rest. It felt good knowing that before long she could buy a ticket back home—away from Miguel and street life.

  She stood outside a vacant building in downtown Providence—her usual spot since Ramsay Wolfe pushed her out of the Federal Hill area, where a girl could sip whiskey at restaurant bars, and wear pretty clothes without worrying about rain and filth. She missed listening to music at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel, Roxy Providence and Metropolis, but Ramsay had long ago claimed those venues as her territory. The clientele tended to be classier and safer, with
more money to spend, and more time to waste, but Ramsay owned the streets—forcing freelancers to hide out in the most dangerous parts of town—fearing Ramsay wouldn’t find out—fearing the worst.

  Tanny grew angry thinking about Ramsay—so haughty and greedy—but fear slowly replaced rage. She’d heard about girls Ramsay had beaten and threatened, and rumor had it that Ramsay was involved with deeper and darker things—maybe murder. Tanny shivered, thinking of what had happened to other street walkers…and how they’d died.

  She was soaked from head to foot, spindles from her umbrella had pulled away from the cheap vinyl, yet she still held it above her head, cussing as the wind inflicted more damage. Her stomach growled and her muscles ached.

  Her heartbeat quickened when a lone figure turned the corner, heavy boots sloshing through puddles, black hood pulled over its head, and breaking into a run. Fright plagued Tanny for a moment, wondering who else had ventured out in the storm. A car sped down Weybosset, bathing the figure in momentary light, and Tanny realized it was her friend Anna. The girl waved, and then approached Tanny, breathless, eyes darting to dark alleys and street corners.

  Anna hugged herself, and then put a finger to her lips. “Get off the street, Tanny. I spent the last few hours over at Ramsay’s pad. She was all cocky—claiming she’s in league with the devil—that anybody who defies her will die, saying she knows about everybody who’s working the backstreets—and she knows about you.”

  “I need to make a few bucks for myself—and I have to help Miguel. Got to take the chance. Anyway, I’m leaving once I got enough saved.”

  “Forget Miguel. He’s just using you. Go home now.”

  “My sister said I could live in her spare room, but I need to give her some dough before crashing there. She’s got three kids…and that bum boyfriend of hers took off. I—”

  “Just get off the street. I got a bad feeling.” Anna backed away, and then broke into a run, moving into torrents of rain and the pitch-black night.

  Tanny told herself she’d leave in a minute, feeling hungry, thirsty and missing Miguel. “Just a little while more,” she whispered.

  Fifteen more minutes passed. Traffic remained steady, but none slowed down for the waiflike girl standing alone in the rain. People heading to the theater, a concert, or to one of the city’s many bars, weren’t interested in what Tanny sold, and she figured it was time to head back to her place, when a battered Acura slowed down, and a rain-speckled window slowly opened.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Tanny waved, then felt relief. “Was wondering if one of my regulars would show up in this weather.”

  The trick leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Come on. Get out of the rain. My place and I’ll pay you extra.”

  “How much extra?”

  “Two hundred tonight.”

  “Why not?” Tanny ran to the car, shivering as the rain intensified.

  She slid inside the Acura, slammed the door shut, and then buckled the seat belt as the car pulled away. She stuffed her umbrella beneath the seat. “Got anything to eat at your place? I haven’t eaten since noon.” Being out of the rain felt good, and a sultry voice sang about lost love on the radio, reminding her of clubs back home.

  The trick nodded. “Fridge is full.”

  “Nice music,” Tanny said softly.

  “You sure about this?”

  “Yeah, I mean…how could I not trust you?”

  She had a rule about only doing tricks at the hotel around the corner, or in the backseat of a paying customer’s car, but she was tired and wet; and the trick was one she’d been with a couple times over the past few months.

  “Where’s your other ride?”

  “In the shop. This is a rental. Had a little fender bender.”

  There was silence as they eased through rain-slick streets, and as the steady movement of the windshield wipers cut through streaming water. The beat-up car moved out of a place where boarded-up shops and empty bars prevailed, down Westminster Street, to Broadway and onto Atwells Avenue, and then toward their destination—a place close to the river, an area where old brownstones from the turn of last century lined the street. Tanny imagined that once the well-to-do resided behind the darkened windows. She gazed upward, noticing stone gargoyles and angels, battered by decades of harsh weather and neglect. She unbuckled when the car pulled to the curb, and then gazed at the shabby building, with shaded windows, cracked stairs and worn iron railings.

  “Wait here. I have to park down the street.” The trick waved a gloved hand.

  Tanny exited the car, running toward the brownstone, and then up the stairs. An unpleasant stench wafted from beneath the door. Rain battered the old structure, rattling windows and streaming from gutters. The street was dark, deserted with thick fog, curling like spidery fingers.

  An unsettling feeling filled her, and then for a moment she thought about leaving, of simply disappearing into mist, and running home in the downpour. But the trick returned, raindrops shining on black clothes, eyes fiery and a mischievous smile painted on his lips. “Come on. Get out of the storm.”

  The door opened and the smell of decay assaulted Tanny. “You clean much?”

  “Not a permanent place. Rent’s paid until the end of the month. Giving it up then.”

  Tanny took in her surroundings. The furniture was old, but it reminded her of Grandma’s stuff back at her old house in Rochester. Grandma’s belongings could probably bring in some cash, but not this—not with the stains, tears and burn holes. The place needed painting and plastering, and newspapers, notebooks and empty takeout cartons were scattered everywhere.

  “You read all this stuff?” asked Tanny, pointing at piles of papers.

  The trick didn’t answer, just waved an arm so she’d follow. And she did, right into hell.

  “I can’t see a damn thing. Can’t you turn on a light?” Tanny asked, as the trick guided her into a pitch-black room, and then gently pushed her down on what felt like a soft mattress.

  “It’s nice in the dark—with the rain falling outside.” The trick’s voice was gravelly. And Tanny felt gloved hands lift her skirt, and then push down her panties.

  “Whatever you want.” Tanny thought about the two hundred dollars she’d be scoring, and she closed her eyes, spreading her legs, feeling fingers and tongue move inside her. She was soaked, squirming as pleasure filled her, and then something dripped onto her face. She figured it’d been water leaking from the roof.

  “Did you come?” whispered the trick.

  Tanny sighed. “I always do with you. I mean, you’re not my typical, but man I…”

  “Good, now I have a surprise.” Tanny felt the weight of the trick’s body shift, momentarily releasing her, and then a light switch clicked. Glaring light permeated the room, blinding her for a moment. Suddenly intense pressure crippled her, bony knees dug into her ribs, a hand held down her arms, and then images in the room became clearer—broken furniture, ripped curtains draping the windows and a maniacal face glaring at her.

  Tanny screamed as she looked upward—at bodies strung across the ceiling, and then at heads lining the windowsill, and then she heard somebody say, “I helped them all. Now I’ll help you.”

  “What?”

  “Surprise.”

  Blood poured from above, soaking the bedcovers, and smearing her lover’s face. “No.”

  Tanny felt the knife slice into her belly and she tried to scream again, but it was too late…and she died as the lights went out forever.

  * * *

  August 29, 2012

  I believe Sister is watching over me, helping me, and giving me the strength to go on with my work—telling me to keep going.

  Tanny was my favorite. Sometimes I felt as though I’d fallen in love with her. I’ve known her since I came here, since the day I saw her standing outside Mary’s Astrology Shop on Atwells. But tonight I realized I was only being selfish, that I’d have to let her go—keeping a part of her with me—knowing she’ll alwa
ys be in my heart—just like Sister.

  11

  Lacey and John stood beneath a bus stop awning, watching relentless showers pour down from a smoky gray sky, pooling into potholes and streaming into gutters. The street was devoid of life, but for a cab’s muffler, as it pulled next to the curb outside the aging brownstone. Windshield wipers cut through rain and steam curled from a rusted tailpipe. A door flew open and a brunette, donned in a beige raincoat, approached Lacey and John.

  John stepped forward, waiting for the woman to climb onto the curb. He offered his hand. “Got the warrant, Barbara? I assume it was easy.”

  She looked tired and annoyed. She scooped paper from her bag, handed it to him. “Yes and no. Judge Florio is pissed that I interrupted his card game.”

  John shoved the warrant in his pocket, then chuckled.

  Lacey shook her head. “Heard he couldn’t say no once he heard what was going down. Don’t tell me he’s still ticked off?”

  “He’s got attitude, you know that. Have to run. I’m due in court in a few hours—still need to prepare for a hearing. City’s full of bastards we need to get off the street.” She turned up her collar just as an unmarked patrol car turned the corner. Barbara didn’t say a word as she slid back into the waiting cab. Its engine roared, the muffler backfired and it swerved away.

  A police vehicle eased beside the curb, and then Izzi and Baxter made their way toward Lacey and John.

  “Detectives.” Charlie Izzi greeted them.

  “Charlie. Hey, man.” John patted the young man on the back.

  “This one might be bad. I heard—”

  “Keep your head, kid.” Al Baxter placed his hands on his hips, and then gazed at the brownstone. “Smells bad—like back in Afghanistan, when we used to find mass graves.” Baxter’s voice was monotone as his dark eyes scanned the building.