by B. B. Hamel
I climbed out of my car and couldn’t shake the strange feeling I had. It was like someone was watching me, but when I looked around, I couldn’t spot a thing. I walked carefully, keeping my eye out for a tail, but I didn’t see a thing. Either someone skilled was on me or I was getting more and more paranoid.
I went into the gas station, pushing in the door. It was empty, and John the Rat was standing behind the counter. He looked up as I entered, and a look of fear crossed his face before being replaced by his normal sleazy smile.
“Brooks!” he exclaimed. “So good to see you.”
“No, it’s not,” I grunted. I leaned against the counter and let my jacket fall open so he could get a glance at the piece I had tucked into my pants.
“What can I do for you?” John asked after eyeing my piece.
“Got some questions for you, Rat.”
He made a face. “You know I hate that name.”
“It suits you, though. You’re a fucking rat, aren’t you?”
“You come here just to insult me?”
“Nah. I need information.”
“I don’t know nothin’, Brooks, so just leave me be and fuck off.”
I sighed. “Come on now, Rat, I haven’t even asked yet.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
“You heard all those gunshots last night, yeah?”
“I didn’t hear shit.”
I laughed. “The whole fucking city heard, Rat. I’m not some fucking cop.”
“Okay, fuck. Fine. I heard.”
“Did you see some girls come around here since then? Young, pretty, and thin. Clothes probably pretty dirty. Most of them wouldn’t speak English, just their leader.”
“I didn’t see no girls.”
“Rat, don’t make this fucking difficult,” I said, leaning toward him. “I know you have your little rat paws in everything around here. I know you heard something.”
He frowned. “I heard a rumor. That’s all.”
“What’s the rumor?”
“Bunch of half-naked chicks were running around all wild last night, knocking on doors, asking for help. But some guys in black masks ended up grabbing them and dragging them off.”
That wasn’t good. It sounded as though the Spiders had gotten to them already, and that was going to piss off Dante and Gian. Not that I had any control over it, though it was my fault they got away. Still, they didn’t know that.
“Who’d you hear this from?”
“That asshole beggar, what’s-his-face. Roger or something.”
“Ryan Green. I know the guy.”
“Panhandles down the street sometimes. Go ask him.”
“Thanks, Rat,” I said.
“What, no fucking reward?”
“Your reward is me not beating your fucking ass down, you dumb shit twat.”
He flipped me off as I walked away, smiling to myself.
Ryan Green set up shop down at the corner of the street where a major road crossed through. I spotted him perched up on a wall, holding his cardboard sign and looking out across traffic.
“Green,” I called out.
He looked down at me. “Brooks. I know you.”
“Yeah, you do. Can I ask you something?”
He shrugged. His sign said that he was a Vietnam vet, but unless he was ten years older than he looked, there was no way he had served in that war.
“I’ll make it worth your time,” I said.
He hopped down off the way. “What you need?”
“I heard you saw some girls last night.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Pretty girls. It was recycling night, you know, so the good cans and bottles were out. I was walkin’ around, diggin’ like usual, gettin’ the good stuff. Those girls came outta nowhere, runnin’ around like crazy, screamin’ and shit. Then some guys in big black vans came and hauled them off. I swear it.”
“Okay, Green,” I said. I handed him a twenty. “Anything else you remember?”
“Girls didn’t talk English good,” he said.
Damn. So it really was them.
“Thanks,” I said and walked off.
So the fucking girls got snatched by the Spiders after all, despite trying to let them get away. Fucking dumb girls should have run faster and sooner. They fucked themselves when they tried to get help in this damn neighborhood, but how could they have known? They weren’t from around here, and they had no clue that people didn’t fucking help other people and that they mind their own business.
I got back into my car and headed back downtown, crossing the city. I got a glance of Green sitting on his wall, looking like he was falling asleep in the bright afternoon light.
Emma’s place was a fifteen minute drive. I pulled up onto her block and parked at the opposite end, sitting in the car and waiting.
The place looked silent again, but I couldn’t be sure. There was no reason for the mafia to watch it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t. Dante was suspicious of me, and it would look pretty damn bad if he caught me coming back to this house.
But there was no movement, and I didn’t have much time to waste. I had to make this fast, and there was no reason to sit around all day wondering about it.
So I got my ass out of the car and hustled down the block. The neighborhood was quiet as usual, and I was able to get into the backyard without any issues.
As I moved across the yard, I suddenly had that feeling again. Someone was watching me, someone close. I stopped and crouched down, listening and watching, but there was nothing. I could hear only cars and birds and nothing else.
I was losing it.
I stood up and shook it off, heading toward the house. The back door was still open, so I slipped inside.
It smelled like fucking shit. It had smelled bad when we first went in, and again when I went back for her stuff, but now the smell had ripened. It was musty and dank, and I guessed there was a leaking pipe or the roof had a hole in it.
I needed to find a fucking photo album. I skipped digging through the piles of shit downstairs and went right up into her room. I pushed open the door and looked around.
Before this room had been just another room, but now it felt like something more. I felt like I was trespassing on her life. I moved slowly through her dresser, looking for a photo album. I found old receipts, loose pictures, books, socks, underwear, and the usual detritus of a person’s life.
She had lived in this room for so long. It was her only place, and I bet she had locked that door every night against her father. Probably didn’t stop him more often than not, and I felt good that I had put a fucking bullet in the bastard.
I went through her other dresser and found nothing. More underwear and clothes, but no album. I went into her closet and began to dig through the back.
Tucked into the back, underneath a stack of shoes, was a single box. I grabbed it and pulled it out, flipping the lid open.
Inside were small trinkets: a lighter, a notebook, and a photo album buried at the very bottom.
I dug it up and flipped it open.
The pictures were of people I didn’t recognize, but one woman appeared again and again. It must have been her mother when she was younger; I recognized some shared features.
I couldn’t help but flip through the whole thing, fascinated. It was Emma, but it wasn’t Emma. This woman seemed happy and normal, not at all the kind of person who would end up in a house like this. She had friends and was smiling in every picture, her teeth white and straight. She was beautiful, though not as beautiful as her daughter.
As I looked through it, I understood. If I’d had something like this of my mother when she was young and happy, I would have done anything to keep it. I understood why she was willing to risk herself for it, and probably why she wanted to do it herself.
She wasn’t the type of woman to rely on others for things. But she was going to have to rely on me if she was getting through this alive.
I tucked the album into my jacket and stood
up. I felt like I understood her a little bit better, like I had a glimpse into her private self. Yeah, this was a risk, but it was a good risk. It was an important risk.
She didn’t want to forget who she was.
I left her room and her past stuck back in that place, all the horror and sadness lingering in the corners. I hoped the album would bring a little light back into her days.
12
Emma
He was gone for a few hours and I had the apartment to myself. I was beginning to get used to the idea of staying in this apartment alone, starting to forget my past life.
Which was exactly why I wanted that photo album. It was the last thing I had that really connected me to my past. Once this was over, I was moving on and forgetting all about that nightmare.
My father was dead and rotting, and I was happy about it. But that didn’t mean I wanted to give up everything I was. I wanted to hold on to the parts I cared about and cut away all the rest.
The television was on loud, and I felt drowsy as I reclined on the couch. It was nice not having to worry about someone coming home and beating me up later.
And it was nice thinking about Brooks, about his body. I liked thinking about his lips against mine. His ripped muscles could easily press me down against the couch as he pushed himself deep inside me.
I shivered and knew I wanted it, but I couldn’t admit to it.
He was still a killer, still a dangerous man. But he was my dangerous killer. He was out there right now, putting himself in danger, just because I wanted a photo album.
I never asked for any of this.
I felt myself smiling as I pictured him stripping his shirt off. I thought about his hard face as he showed me the bruises along his body, his big cocky grin as he talked dirty to me.
I didn’t hear the door unlock. I should have, but I was too distracted daydreaming. I felt safe for the first time in a long time, and I was letting my guard down.
The door opened slowly. I didn’t notice until it was too late.
By the time I looked up, he had already shut and locked the door.
The other man from that night grinned at me. “Well, look at you. Much prettier when you’re all cleaned up.”
I sat up straight, terror lancing through my chest. “Where’s Brooks?”
“He’s out.” The man advanced toward me. “I’m Abram, in case you didn’t know. Do you remember me?”
I nodded, too afraid to speak.
“I was the man who helped kill your daddy. Remember your daddy? Me and Brooks put bullets in his body and watched him die on that filthy mattress.”
“I don’t care about that,” I said.
“No?” Abram stopped near me, looming over me with this strange smile. “You should care. He was your father.”
“He was a piece of shit who abused me.”
“Yeah. I can still see the shiner. Looks a lot better now, though.”
“What do you want?”
“I thought I’d check up on you. How’s Brooks treating you?”
I knew this was a trap. I knew he wasn’t here to check up on me. Abram was here to kill me, and then he was going to kill Brooks.
I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t know when Brooks was getting home, but I had to stall Abram for as long as possible.
“Help me,” I said suddenly, leaning toward him. “Please, you have to help me. That man said he’s going to murder me. He’s been doing horrible things to me.”
Abram looked surprised. “Has he now?”
“Please, please get me out of here,” I said, trying to lay it on thick.
He grunted. “He said he’s going to kill you?”
“Slowly. He’s sick. He likes hurting me.”
Abram slowly sat down on the couch next to me. “Okay, okay. It’s okay. I’m here now.”
“Please! We have to get out of here.”
He sighed, and then his hand shot out, slapping me hard across the face. “You stupid bitch,” he said as I recoiled from him. “Don’t fucking lie to me again.”
His face was twisted into a disgusting sneer. He’d gone from creepy but not unpleasant to terrifying in only a few seconds. My face stung where he slapped me.
“What do you want?” I asked him again.
He laughed. “You keep asking me that. I want Brooks to follow the rules. I want you to be dead and gone.” He stood up again. “But it doesn’t look like I’m getting what I want.”
“Why do you care what Brooks does?”
“Because we work for an organization,” he hissed, suddenly angry. “Because that organization exists only because we all follow the fucking rules. Brooks isn’t above that.”
He came at me again, and I tried to run. I got up and tried to dash past him, but he laughed and shoved my side, sending me careening against the couch. I rebounded and got back to my feet, but he was on me already.
He grabbed me by the arm and flung me down to the ground. I hit with a thud and gasped as he kicked me in the side. I curled up into a ball, knowing that if I fought, it would only be worse.
This was what my father used to do to me. I’d thought I was past this, but apparently not. Maybe I’d be doomed to find the worst men everywhere I went, men who wanted to hurt me just because they could.
He stood over me, laughing.
“What’s the matter, Emma dear? Are you upset?” He kicked me again, and I gasped, pain flooding my body. “Does this bother you, getting hit? I thought you’d be used to it by now.”
Anger flooded through me. I grabbed onto his leg and tried to punch him, but he kicked me away again, laughing.
“You sick bastard. Are you here to kill me or are you going to just hurt me?”
“Why would I kill you? No, I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to force Brooks to kill you. Then I’m going to kill him. Would you like to watch that?”
He laughed this sick, twisted laugh as he grabbed me by the legs and pulled me into the kitchen. He pushed me onto a chair.
“Stay,” he said.
He left the room. I waited a second before making a dash for the door.
I felt him on me before I could even touch the handle. He threw me to the ground and loomed over me. “I told you to stay. This is going to be worse for you now.” He kicked me again and again before dragging me back to the chair.
He used a length of rope to bind my hands and my feet. Once he was done, he sat down and sighed, smiling at me.
“Now the boring part,” he said. “We wait for poor Brooks to get home. I bet he’ll be very surprised to see you this way.”
“Sick bastard,” I said.
He smiled hugely. “Keep it up and I’m going to scar that pretty face.”
I kept my mouth shut, and inwardly I was flooded with fear. This man was sick, a violent and abusive bastard. I couldn’t believe that Brooks worked with him. They were nothing like each other. Brooks didn’t enjoy hurting people, and definitely didn’t hurt women, while this bastard seemed to enjoy every moment of my captivity.
He got up and went into the kitchen. He came back a second later with a dishrag, which he shoved into my mouth. He used a roll of duct tape to tape my mouth closed.
“Can’t have you ruining the surprise, can we?” Abram said.
I struggled against the knots, but I knew it was useless. I had to hope that Brooks could somehow save us.
I was in his hands again, my life his to save.
13
Brooks
I was looking forward to seeing her as I parked my car.
I wanted to see the look on her face when I gave her the album. Maybe finally she’d start listening to me, finally begin to trust me a little bit.
I had a strange feeling in my gut as I opened the apartment door and started walking upstairs. It was part excitement and part something else, something like worry. I was excited to see her, excited in a way I hadn’t felt in a long, long time, but I was also worried, unable to shake that feeling that I had been being
watched back there.
I put my key in the lock and turned it. As I opened the door, I heard a strange sound, like chair legs scraping against the floor. Something toppled to the ground with a thud.
I kicked the door open and was in the apartment in a flash, my gun up and ready.
Abram stood in the kitchen, grinning his creepy smile at me. “Hey there, Brooks. Lower the gun or I splatter this bitch’s skull on your apartment floor.”
He was standing above Emma, who was tied to a chair. She clearly had tipped it over as I’d unlocked the door, which was what I had heard. Abram was pointing his gun at her head casually, his finger on the trigger.
I slowly lowered my gun. “I’m surprised to see you, Abram,” I said.
“Toss the gun down.”
I did as he said.
“Shut the door.”
I turned and closed it.
“Kick the gun to me.”
I kicked it and the gun slid halfway toward him.
“Very good.” Abram smiled again. “Welcome home, Brooks.”
“You were following me earlier, weren’t you?”
“Impressive,” he said. “You saw me?”
“No,” I admitted. “Gut feeling.”
“Well your gut is right.”
“Why?”
“Dante sent me,” he said. His gun hand was steady as he pointed it at Emma’s head. “He had his own gut feeling about you. Looks like his gut was right, too.”
Fucking bastard. I never would have guessed that Dante would put someone like Abram on my tail. Even for a hit man, Abram was unstable, a little insane. I didn’t enjoy working with him, but he was a professional and did his job well.
But in this case, I had no clue what to expect from him. He didn’t have a partner with him, which meant he wasn’t bound by any of our usual safeguards and rules. No, this was just one psychotic killer in my apartment, holding a gun against Emma’s head.