by K. S. Adkins
I needed names to go with the faces I remembered. So, I used the resources I had from watching my dad work undercover all of my life, and I perfected that art, too. This job required me to be where the crime was, so I made all the wrong friends, and hung out in all the wrong places. I watched, listened, and waited.
As was my intention, no one saw me as a threat.
On a Friday night, about two years later, I was given an opportunity. DJ Lethal drew a steady crowd here at Lush, but his drug use was affecting his work, and I knew it. He had liked me right away, I became a regular, and he let me spin sometimes. So when he didn’t show? Max, the owner, asked me to fill in. For one night only, of course, because technically I was still a minor, and didn’t turn twenty one for five more months.
I was an instant hit, you could say. It turns out, men really enjoy female DJs, and my age didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t look twenty, or act twenty, anyway. I grew into my adult body, which wasn’t any taller, sadly, but Macy tells me I’m stacked. Whatever that means. Oh, and I also didn’t play pussy music.
I started drawing my own crowd immediately. Women wanted to be seen here, and men wanted to be where the women were. The men also wanted me, which disgusted me, but I put on one hell of a show despite it. Drugs were already heavy on the scene here, but that didn’t affect me. I don’t drink or do drugs. I need to be in control of myself at all times. I knew it was just a matter of time before the men I was looking for showed. They wouldn’t remember the seventeen year old they’d abused and discarded; I’d made sure of that. But I remembered them.
They did show, eventually, and both wanted me. For weeks, I flirted, played the game and even acted interested. The bouncers were very protective, as was my close friend Tony, which helped me to hold it together, knowing they couldn’t get near me until I allowed it. During that time, I heard things that made my vision turn red and my stomach bottom out, but I stayed true.
No emotion. Biding my time. I could taste their deaths on my tongue like a strong latte; this made the wait worth it.
I was a mini celebrity here. Because, well, I was different. And I kind of liked to fight, a lot. I constantly got offered bigger jobs in better clubs outside of the city, but I wasn’t leaving. I needed to be in the trenches, I needed to be where the criminals were. The owner approved of my loyalty, and though Max skirts the law, he doesn’t seek out breaking it. Max replaced Gary in my life, you could say. So as the club grew, so did my name, and so did my admirers. Criminals you’d think wouldn’t trust easily, but they have this thing about loyalty. So if they trust you? You hear everything. You’re privy to it all. I’ve never betrayed that trust.
Not even that night when I avenged my family by slitting the throats of Donnie ‘British’ Carna and Benjamin ‘Benny Boy’ Russo in the alley behind the club, without breaking a sweat or shedding a tear. I slowly slit their throats, because if you’re going to end someone’s life, that’s the most intimate way to do it. Before the life left their eyes for good, I told them that I had never forgotten. When realization dawned for them, I smiled. When they choked on their own blood, I smiled. When they died reaching for me, I smiled then, too.
That’s when it happened. That’s when I realized: I was born for this, and I would never stop.
So there you have it.
That was almost seven years ago that I had my first taste of vengeance. I’m twenty seven now, a successful DJ, and I do what the police can’t or won’t. I know things they don’t. I see the things they don’t see. Don’t get me wrong, the DPD has come a long way since my family’s deaths. The Captain really cleaned house. But they still can’t be everywhere, and since I have many different resources at my disposal? It would be a shame not to use them. I don’t go after anyone who doesn’t deserve it, and I only take a life when that life isn’t worth making a call over. Trust me; some people are better off dead.
Murderers, rapists, traffickers, big time abusers, drug lords, you name it. I track them, rough them up a bit, and get them ready for pick up, I may even kill a few, if the situation calls for it. I’m like a civil servant; only I’m not always very civil about it.
Yeah, you’re welcome.
Months of searching and six perps later, we have finally caught a break. Three days ago, I found several strands of hair at the scene of Briggs' pick up – female hair – I was right, surprise, surprise.
I’m apprehensive and excited to find out who she is, finally. She’s managed to take down two perps with heavy mob ties, including attempted trafficking, drug trafficking, and known gang activity. One perp was known for beating the local girls, and one well known officer who was beating his girlfriend and damn near killed her.
Jesus, Briggs was one of us. Turns out, with the phone conveniently left in his pocket, he was a sick son of a bitch, too. If the situation wasn’t so critical being- she’s a female-and no one will turn on her if they knew her identity anyway, I’d haul her in myself. Now I’m chasing a ghost and I have cells full of criminals as proof. She’s also making the DPD look like a bunch of rookies on a permanent donut break. Bitch of it is, most of us do want to make a difference. There’s always dirty cops, but that’s not the majority. The public blames us for every bad thing that happens here. I’d be everywhere if I could, but I’m not fucking Superman. I’m a detective who makes pennies, but works 70+ hours a week. If someone has a solution my fucking ears are open.
I head into my office, with the knowledge that no one will disturb me. I scare the shit out of my co-workers, and that’s just fine with me. Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke, I always say. Except I don’t joke. I rarely even speak to the people I work with. I have a job to do. I’m not here to make friends. The only friend I have is my partner, Jonas Rafe, and that’s only because the fucker does not know when to quit.
I have no family; I was raised in the system. The parents I was born to were hooked on drugs, and did whatever it took to get them, including pawning me. I don’t remember much of my time with them, but the few memories I do have ain’t good. Foster care? Fuck that, life was easier on the streets, versus hoping the family that got stuck with you wasn’t violent, crazy or just took you in for the pay check. At an early age, I had to fight to stay alive, so that’s what I did. Those parents of mine? Dead, last time I heard, good riddance. When we’re not working, Rafe does whatever Rafe does. As for me? I’m usually always working. I got shit else to do.
I don’t date. I’ve seen the worst of what this city has to offer. I don’t have much faith in humanity on a good day; no need to make matters worse by associating with anyone else. Growing up on the streets, with no authority figure or discipline, I figured out quick that I need rules and order in my life. Right after graduation, I went into the academy, became a cop and never looked back. I wanted to make a difference, and I do make a difference. I helped to clean up the streets, made some sizable busts, and was promoted to Detective within five years. I take what I do seriously. Which is why it pisses me off that I spend so much time thinking about a woman I’ve never met. Women are not even on my radar.
I’m an ugly son of a bitch. Bigger than most men. Meaner than ‘em, too. Women don’t run to me, they usually run away from me. Females want good looking men, who like to talk and shit. I’m not good looking, and talking is a waste of time. I won’t pay for a fuck, so I don’t bother. Rafe brags all the time about all the pussy he gets, and he looks fucking miserable most days so it’s not much of a loss in my book. Besides, time spent fucking is time that could be spent finding criminals. So now it’s time to find out who this mystery woman is, so I can move the fuck on with my life.
“Knock knock, motherfucker,” Rafe says, walking right in with perfect timing, as always…not.
“I’m working, fuck off,” I growl.
“I know, but I want to see who the mystery crime stopper is, so open that file up.”Rafe demands reaching for the file.
“This ain’t no group effort here, so get the fuck out,” I snap, snat
ching the file before Rafe can read it.
“Open it, or I’ll break your jaw and open it for you.” Rafe smiles. “Cap wants this person found and brought in ASAP.”
I rip open the file and see a face, the face of the woman who I can’t get out of my head, staring at an older man; her father, probably. God damn, she’s the most perfect female I have ever seen. She’s tiny and fragile – not yet a woman. This is not a rogue. It’s not possible. This was taken about ten years ago, so she had to be a teenager. The man she’s staring at with adoration looks familiar, but I can’t place him. Fucking Rafe keeps yappin’ while I’m trying to concentrate, and it’s pissing me off.
“…fucking listening to me right now man?” spits Rafe
“What?” I say, totally not following
“I said, hand over the file, man. What’s the name on it again?” he asks me. Name? Whose name? Oh right, hers.
I glance at the name and see Venessa Cross. What the fuck am I missing? Cross. Cross.
“Venessa Cross,” I say handing over the file to Rafe
“Oh, fuck you,” Rafe mumbles
“What am I missing, man?” I ask. He’s pulling out his phone and dialing someone “Who the fuck is Venessa Cross?” I demand, hating to be ignored.
“Yes, sir, it’s a positive ID, we’re on our way now,” he says then disconnects. Looking at me in disbelief he says, “Venessa Cross doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“No, should it?”
“Venessa Cross is Brent Cross’ daughter,” explains Rafe, and when that doesn’t register he continues. “Detective Brent Cross? Cross brought down the Russo’s drug ring ten years ago. His son, Benny, was rumored to have wiped out the whole family leaving Venessa as the only survivor. Oddly enough, Benny Russo and Donnie British were found dead outside of the club ‘Lush’ a few years back and the killer was never found.”
Holy fuck, that’s why the name was familiar! Brent Cross was a fucking legend – a hero – my thoughts stopped when Rafe signaled me to pay attention, so I looked up and realized shit was about to go from bad to worse.
“You still don’t fucking get it do you?” he asks, frustrated
“I’m still piecing it together, man. We were taught this case at the academy, remember?”
“Yeah, I do. But shit just got real man. That club Lush? Yeah, well, I’ve been there. People come from all over to hear the DJ, and that DJ is Venessa Cross,” he says, waiting for me to pick up what he’s trying to say.
“Venessa Cross is a DJ?” I ask, feeling stupid because I hate bars, and wouldn’t know this. That’s what happens when you’re the job. That, and I don’t see her as a DJ.
“Listen to me, man! Venessa Cross isn’t just any DJ…she’s fucking Kharma.”
“Fuck.” I may not go to clubs, but everyone knows who Kharma is.
“Fuck is right,” he says.
Shit just got real.
My extra-curriculars are catching up with me. For months, the feeling of something being ‘there’ will not go away. I can’t explain it, I’m not afraid of it, but I’m not comfortable with it, either. Problem is, when I’m feeling ‘off’ like this, it makes me edgier than normal. So, needless to say, I’ve been very busy when I’m not at the club. When Macy told me what Briggs had done, I went nuts. That very next day, man down.
Looking back on it, should I have thought it through more. Strategized? Called one of my contacts for help? Then I snap out of it and remind myself, nope, all's well that ends well. When she told me she called the police several times anonymously and was ignored, I lost it. And even with Briggs being one of theirs she was ignored too. He got away with this because he was a cop? So I did it my way; no phone calls, just a valuable lesson instead. But, I think it may have put me on their radar, too.
Random thoughts aside, things in my life are shifting, I can feel it. Some things you can fight head on, like the bad guys, but it’s the things you don’t see coming that trip you up. A few guys from the street have made it clear I’m getting carried away, that I need to dial it down, but I can’t. They said the need for vengeance is getting the best of me. I don’t disagree, but what they don’t know is that need for vengeance is the best of me. I wouldn’t ask them to defy their nature any more than I can mine. I know they are looking out for me, I appreciate that, but trust me, what I do out here? Benefits everyone.
From the back, I can hear the noise. It’s insane and it has me pacing. Friday nights are huge here at Lush, and it’s barely ten o'clock. The line is around the block; for some reason people just love coming to the slums. Taking a walk on the wild side, I guess. Idiots. We have a lot of VIPs tonight, and even some professional athletes. Don’t ask me their names, I don’t follow sports. I follow criminals, remember?
Before I get ready for my first set, I want to give Macy a call to see how she’s holding up since Briggs’ unfortunate incident.
I dial her number while I finagle these fucking tights. God, they are really tight!
“Chellooo?” answers Macy
“Okay, this is a new one. What language are we using tonight?”
“I really don’t know. I heard one of the patients' kids answer the phone like that today, it kind of stuck. So I’m giving it a test run. How’d I do?”
“I like it. It makes you sound sophisticated.”
“I am sophisticated. It’s you who needs lessons.” She is the sophisticated one, and I won’t argue the point.
“True. I’m just getting ready to go on, but I wanted to check on you first. How are you holding up?”
“I’m good, I swear. I keep waiting for him to show up and piss me off, but he doesn’t, so that’s progress yeah? I just need to let it soak in that he isn’t coming back.”
“Hell yeah, that’s progress,” I say. “I’m here til close, but my cell is on if you need me, okay?”
“I’m pulling a double, so I’ll text you tomorrow and we’ll make some plans, cool?”
“Don’t text me before noon, because you know I need my beauty rest. Love you, Macy, and I mean it,” I say
“Not before noon, got it. Love you back, Venessa, and I mean it,” she says.
We give our goodbyes and disconnect while I glance in the mirror. I look good, but not great. These long nights are taking a toll on me. That, and these F me pumps I’m wearing; great for the calves, but hell on the feet. I squish my breasts into my corset, put a little extra spray into the hair, do ten squats to get in my exercise, and when I clear those doors I’m no longer Venessa Cross. I am Kharma.
I do the usual meet and greet, taking the time to pretend I’m interested in these people. It takes me about thirty minutes to get to my platform, because the crowd is hyped. I like that, it gets me hyped, too. I don’t have to set up because Max hired two tech wizards who do it for me. Cory and Blu handle all the technical stuff for me, including my killer light show, and smoke machine. In return, they bar back for Max, and I let them do some spinning toward the end of my last set. They’re good kids. It may be a club, but better in here than out there.
Friday nights cater to those who want to dance specifically: hardcore hip-hop, techno, and absolutely no fucking disco or pop music. Saturdays are metal based, and I keep it dark and painfully loud. Mosh pits are encouraged and so is fighting, which happens a lot. I love that shit. I love aggression like some girls love appletinis.
I relieve the boys of their duties, and they head back to the bar. I quickly prepare myself mentally for the first set. I tap the mic to get the crowd’s attention and yell, “Detroit sure does look fucking sexy tonight! How are my lovelies doing?”
With all the screaming and clapping I can’t make out a thing and that means it’s live in here.
“Welcome to Lush, the D’s dirty little secret. I’m Kharma, but you can just say ‘bitch’ and I’ll answer to that, too. I don’t take requests, but I do take offense, so don’t offend me by sitting down, standing still or leaving, alright? Hook your servers up, and stay away from the b
ouncers, yeah? They’re some mean motherfuckers! Now get your sexy asses on the floor or a table if you fancy, and move that mutha fuckin’ ass!”
I go right into “Dance all night” by Poison Clan, and the place goes flat out insane. Smiling to myself, I do some of my signature moves and get a little nasty with the masses. It’s the only time I let go. The music allows me to be the me I should have been, instead of the me I turned out to be. It’s a small reprieve, but I’ll take it.
I never let a track play long, I don’t care how hot it is. Keep them wanting more, is what I do. I start to do a little spinning, really putting on a show. I fucking love the bass, the screaming, the pheromones all coming together. I start to mix in Eminem’s ’Bezerk’ to keep them revved up. After that? A little Danny Brown, with a heavy dose of Kendrick Lamar and A$ap Rocky. I’m spinning, dancing and lost in the moment; truly feeling young for a minute when I notice two very large men approach the platform, with security looking really pissed off.
I ignore them because they’re probably just trying to get to the bar, when both men push security out of the way and they flank me. I look from left to right, not understanding the situation. I also see Max and Anthony Gallo in a dead run to get to me. Why is security just fucking standing there? Uh oh, this can’t be good.
“Venessa Cross, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder. Spread your legs, and put your hands behind your back,” says the officer. The crowd hears it via the mic, then all hell breaks loose.
“What?” I yell. “I can’t spread my legs! Have you seen my skirt?”
“Hands behind your back and you’ll walk out of here peacefully,” says officer number two.