Nine

  We both stand up.

  “What if I just take a picture of that kid eating an ice cream? There’s nothing really emotional about that,” I say.

  “What are you talking about? Getting ice cream used to be like the highlight of my day as a child. It’s a memory, and a happy one at that. When that ice cream man came around my neighborhood, playing that stupid song through the intercom on his white beat up van, my brother and me would lose our minds. People remember these things.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not something I can relate to. We barely had food in the fridge when I was little. My parents smoked it all up. I never bought ice cream off of a van. Can’t say I know how it feels.”

  “Well, let’s go pop your ice cream van cherry now. No one should go through life without the experience.”

  “Any recommendations?” I smile.

  “Mega Missile or a King Cone is pretty safe to try. If you’re feeling adventurous you could even get one of the Pop Ups.”

  “Those all sound like vibrators.”

  He turns and gives me an ugly look.

  “What?”

  “Stop being nasty. We’re talking about childhood memories.”

  “Mine was pretty messed up, so I get a pass.”

  He drags me over to a dingy white ice cream van and points to all the pictures on the side of it.

  “Choose,” he says.

  I let my eyes bounce around to all the different photos. There’s at least fifteen ice creams available, and I can’t decide. This is too much pressure. Kids are lining up behind me and shoving through to look at the pictures too. The man inside the van stares at me with irritation, and it just makes me stress out more.

  “King Cone,” I finally say.

  “Malt Cup,” Trig adds.

  The man turns, opens up a freezer, and slowly pulls our picks out. I find myself wishing he would move a little faster. I can hear the groans from the children behind me, and if he doesn’t hurry up, they may just start a riot. Finally, he walks back over and hands us our ice cream with a spoon as well. Trig slides him some money and we make our way through the little hellions. I start unwrapping my cone.

  “That was intense.”

  “It’s just ice cream,” Trig says.

  “It’s the hardest decision I’ve made all day. What are you talking about?”

  Trig pops the lid off his Malt Cup, and digs in. I put the cone up to my mouth and take a big bite.

  “Oh my god. You’re right. This is really good,” I mumble

  Trig nods.

  “Cherry popped, girl!”

  “It actually wasn’t that bad. I might even describe my experience as a little fun.”

  “Maybe later I’ll take you to Chuck E. Cheese’s and let you hug a giant mouse.”

  “You’re hilarious,” I say with a thick amount of sarcasm.

  He puckers up his lips to hold in his ice cream as he laughs. I elbow him in the side. We continue to walk down the street and the camera is swinging from my arm.

  “You should probably hurry up and eat that,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “That camera isn’t going to take pictures by itself.”

  I frown and then put the cone up to my mouth; I slowly lick at it while I make eye contact with Trig. My tongue is working small circles now, and he seems to be entertained.

  “Are you teasing me?”

  “I’m just eating my ice cream.” I shrug and take another slow lick, but this time I moan.

  “Liar. You’re trying to seduce me with that tongue of yours, and it’s not working. If you think you’re going to get out of taking pictures and that we’re going to go back to the hotel and have dirty, nasty, sweaty sex then you’re wrong.” He pauses. “You’re going to go shoot pictures first, and then we’re going to go back to the hotel to have dirty, nasty, sweaty sex. Get your priorities in order.”

  I grin.

  “I’m not getting out of this today, am I?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “I’m about to make you into one of the world’s best photographers. Don’t miss this train. Jump on it and ride it out with me. We got this, babe.”

  I playfully squint my eyes at him.

  “What is it about you that makes me do things out of my comfort zone?”

  “I took you to buy ice cream. Things like that have a heavy impact on girls. You never had a chance.” He then gives me an evil laugh.

  “The ice cream is good, but not that damn good.”

  We both finish eating just as we stumble upon a skate park.

  “Oh look. Bodies in motion.” He makes a funny face and points to the skaters. “Isn’t that crazy timing?”

  I sigh, knit my eyebrows together, and then I pull the camera up from my arm

  “Go on, my little angry squirrel. I want to see some bad-ass pictures, and we’re not leaving here until we get some.”

  This is going to be the longest day of my life. Look at Trig standing there smiling like a fool.

  Chapter 11. Trig

  She calls me, breathing hard. Immediately my breath locks within my chest. I haven’t heard her sound like this since we left Las Vegas several months ago. She’s been happy, almost like a new woman. The panic attacks she used to have are gone, and she doesn’t cry anymore over Jenny. Nine has been in a really good place up until now. Something is seriously wrong. She’s crying and talking fast and I can’t hear her over the music in the background.

  “Baby, I can’t understand you. Repeat it again,” I say, as I place one hand over my ear.

  “He’s here,” she yells. “He’s here, and he’s sitting four tables away from me.”

  Her voice is shaky.

  “Who is he?”

  For a moment, I don’t hear her. The noise in the background becomes muffled, and it sounds like she’s dragging the phone across her chest.

  “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” I hear her say.

  “Who is he?” I repeat.

  “My uncle,” she shouts.

  My heart skips a beat and then I shoot up from the bed. The poor girl went down to get ready for her very first photo shoot. A couple hired us for their anniversary. I should have gone with her, but she was so excited that she wanted to go down really early and prepare. She insisted I meet up with her later. I’m a big girl. I can do this. Those were her exact words. Stay calm, I tell myself.

  “Honey, listen to me. I need you to come back to the room, okay.”

  She ignores me.

  “He’s just sitting there looking at little children as they pass.”

  “You need to come back to the room, now,” I demand.

  She ignores me again. It’s almost as if she can’t even hear me.

  “I was just a little girl. He had no right. He can’t get away with it.”

  The tone in her voice scares the hell out of me. It’s cold and empty.

  “God damn it, Nine. Get your ass back up here, now!” I yell.

  I’m hoping that will shake her, but it doesn’t. Instead, the phone goes dead. I reach underneath the mattress and pull out my gun. Nine has no idea I picked this up a few weeks ago, but I feel like I need it. It’s not for me. It’s for her. I wasn’t able to protect and save my brother, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let something happen to my woman. I stuff the gun behind my back, grab my keys, and run for the door. I’m running down the hallway toward Ricky’s restaurant, which is in the same hotel as ours. The place is packed. People are coming in and out. I’m searching around as bodies bump into me. Finally, I spot her. She’s on the other side of the room. I stop and stare. She picks up a serrated knife from a carving station and then she follows a heavy-set man through the exit doors.

  “Excuse me,” I say, roughly pushing through more people.

  By the time I catch up to where I saw her, she’s out of sight. I run outside and look around. I see her just crossing the street.

  “Nine,” I yell.

  She doesn’
t turn around. I look farther up ahead of her and spot the heavy-set man from the restaurant. He’s headed for a cheap motel and Nine is right behind him. I cross the street just in time to see her climbing stairs. I run over and throw myself up each step as if they would melt away. My heart is thumping, and then I see her again. I try to control my breathing so I can talk to her. She’s standing outside a hotel room door. Her body is up against the wall. Her eyes are red from crying, and from the look on her face, I know nothing good can come from this. She’s holding something behind her back. In my mind, I know it’s the knife. I tell myself to approach her with caution.

  “What are you doing, Nine?”

  She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she points to the hotel room door.

  “He’s in there.”

  From behind her back, she pulls out the knife. Shit’s about to get real.

  “Baby, you don’t have to do this,” I say.

  “Don’t you know what he did to me? Don’t you fucking care?”

  She moves closer to his door. I step forward.

  “Give me the knife. What do you want? Revenge? Justice?” I ask.

  She nods.

  I’m afraid that at any minute now the whole police department will be surrounding us.

  “Nine, I know how you feel. I know how angry you are, but, baby, it’s not worth it.”

  She puts her hand on the doorknob.

  “He doesn’t get to do this to another child. I want him dead.”

  “How do you know that’s him? It could be someone that looks similar.”

  “He came into my room every night. I know that face. It’s him.”

  I creep closer. My hands are out where she can see them.

  “It doesn’t make it go away. My brother’s gone, and I got my justice on Victor. It doesn’t take away the pain. It’s still there.” I tap my hand against my chest.

  The doorknob starts to jiggle from within. He’s coming outside and in that split second I tackle her, tossing her up against the wall. The knife falls. I kick it back, pushing it off the landing and downstairs.

  “No.” She bangs on my chest. Her head falls on my shoulder as I grip her tight. She’s sobbing, and just as he’s about to come outside, I swing her around so she can’t see him. She’s fucking lost it and this asshole strolls out and gives me a dirty stare. He has no idea I just saved his life. I’m holding her tightly as she thrashes around in my arms. I keep my eye on him, because I know this isn’t over. As soon as he’s out of sight, I slowly release Nine.

  “Look at me,” I shout.

  She’s spaced out like a zombie. I grab her face in both of my hands.

  “You’re going to go fix yourself up, and get your ass back to that photo shoot. None of this shit happened. You weren’t here. You never saw him. Hear me?”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I’ll handle it. Now go.” I point her towards the opposite way of where her Uncle walked.

  She pulls away from me. The realization sets in of what I’m telling her. She starts to furiously shake her head.

  “Trig. No.”

  “Get the fuck out of here, Nine. Now!” I yell.

  She backs up. I can see wet mascara stains on her cheek. She runs away, and I pray that the two of them don’t cross paths in the meantime. I breathe out slowly to calm my nerves, as I look over the balcony. The sharp knife is laying on the ground below.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe out.

  She was this close to killing him. I let that sink in. I run both of my hands down my face. She was ten fucking years old when he molested her. I stand there wondering if I should have let her do it. No. I tell myself. She would never be the same.

  I know I wasn’t the same after I committed my first murder. I start thinking back to the day that I did it. I remember so badly that I didn’t want to carry it out. The Savior forced me to. The guy was laying there on the floor with his hands and legs bound. The Savior told me that once I got over my fear, there was nothing to it. I refused, at first. I shoved the gun back at him, and then he reminded me of my sister and how killing her kids would be child’s play. I hated him. He placed the gun in my hand and told me this would be my amateur killing and that if I didn’t do it he’d place one call and blow up my sister’s house. I walked over and the man on the floor began to whimper. He was begging me not to do it. I was sick to my stomach.

  “Cock the gun, Trig. We don’t have all day. I have others I need you to take care of.”

  “I can’t,” I shout.

  The Savior picks up his phone.

  “Stop,” I say.

  I aim the gun at the man. He’s crying. I’ve never saw a grown man so scared before. I cock the gun and look at The Savior who seems to be barely grinning. It just makes me sicker.

  “Go on,” he encourages me. “The faster, the better.”

  It feels like I’m going to pass out. I can barely hold the gun straight. My teeth are chattering from nerves. I point the gun at the man’s head. He’s terrified. His eyes are big and he keeps begging. He won’t shut up. He’s saying whatever he can to make me lower the gun. From behind me, The Savior is yelling that time is running out, and I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I pull the trigger and then it’s over. Silence fills the room and I drop the gun. I collapse next to the body. I’m shaking and rocking back and forth. I start to hear a gurgle and look up to see the man is not dead yet.

  “You’ll have to finish him off, Trig,” The Savior says.

  “I’m not fucking doing that again,” I shout.

  I bend over and throw up. My nerves are fried and I don’t have it in me. The Savior bends down and hands me a napkin first. I wipe my mouth with it. He then hands me a knife. I refuse to take it.

  “Sooner or later, everything you touch will be used as a weapon. Get used to it.”

  “I did my job. I’m done,” I say.

  “The first kill is always hardest. I’ll do it this time, but after this one, you’re on your own. You finish everything you start. Understand?”

  He walks over and leans down next to the man. I watch in horror as he quickly draws the knife across his throat. The blood spills out and I can’t even breathe.

  “Knives are messy, but they always do the trick.”

  “You could have just shot him,” I say in anger.

  “You didn’t hit the right spot. This was done to teach you a lesson. The goal is to kill, not injure, and we don’t leave bodies around, so I’ll need you to move him.”

  “What? Hell no,”

  “It’s do or die time, Trig. Stop trying to be a hero. We all know people love the villain better. Now shut your face and move the body.”

  And that was it. That was my first kill. You never forget your first or your last one, because they both destroy you. I take out the box of cigs from my back pocket and pull one out. I light it and inhale. I can feel the stress leaving me a little at a time. I roll my neck around.

  “You know what? I just stepped into my car when I realized I left my wallet inside my room. I’ll have to get it and then I’ll meet you at the movies in about ten minutes,” I hear a man say.

  It’s him. The uncle. He’s walking back up the stairs. I continue to puff on my cig and look out over the balcony. I can see him walking my way, but I avoid eye contact. He’s still talking on his phone. He enters his room, but leaves the door open. I pull black gloves out of my pocket and slip my hands into them. I then turn and sneak inside behind him. I quietly close the door. I draw my gun and point it at him. He grabs his wallet off the counter, and then he turns around. His eyes widen and he jumps back. I place one finger up to my lips. He closes the phone.

  “Hand me the wallet,” I say.

  “Take it. Just don’t kill me.”

  I open it up and look at the name on his driver’s license.

  “Fred Barnaby from New Mexico.”

  The man remains quiet. I toss the wallet to the side. He looks confused.

  “Do you have a niece na
med Storm Wilson?” I ask.

  He clears his throat. I pray that he says no.

  “Storm? No. Yes. No,” he stammers.

  “I don’t like discrepancies. They make me nervous. Is it yes or no?”

  “She’s probably dead. I don’t know. No one’s seen her in years.”

  I squint my eyes at him.

  “She’s not dead, is she?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I walk around the room. He keeps his hands up as he watches me.

  “Nice laptop. Mind if I take a peek.”

  “I have personal information in there.” He starts to walk toward me.

  “Back up, fuckface.”

  I open it and start browsing through documents. Nothing out of the ordinary. I jump over to downloads and nothing interesting there either. I look over to Uncle Fred who looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

  “Tell me about Storm’s parents.”

  “Nothing much to tell. Her mom overdosed a few years ago, and my brother, her dad, is in jail for robbery and murder.”

  “And Storm? Tell me about her.”

  His body tenses up. I can see his throat turning red. He starts to look around the room and then little tiny beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

  “Sweet girl, that’s all I can remember,” he says. “She was very young the last time I saw her.”

  “I bet she was.” I force myself to remain calm. Inside, I’ve already killed him.

  I look back to the monitor. I scan over all the different folders until one catches my eye. It’s labeled tunnels and pipes. It seems off, next to all the other labels, such as 2015 Vacation to Korea or 2012 Office Party. I click on it and the screen instantly fills with child pornography. I slam down the screen.

  “You’re a pedophile. You disgusting piece of shit.”

  He backs up as I stand and march forward at him. I place the gun to his temple. He falls on the carpet to his knees.

  “Do you know she’s here?”

  “Who’s here?” he nervously says.

  “Storm! Of all the islands in the world, you bring your nasty ass here, fucking up her world.”