Wicked Girl (THE FIRE Book 1)

by Mcebo Michael Metfula

  I peeked at the driver. “Please wait for me. I won’t be long.”

  “No problem,” he said.

  I opened the door and headed to the hellish property. It was chilly but not windy. Pain and fear proceeded wrestling within me. The fear wasn’t about me. It was about Grace. I failed to picture her coming out of such a place alive and not raped. Gang rape suited the dilapidated property. I became numb as my heart beat even harder.

  Karen crossed my head and my heart beat much harder. I punched the air, hating that that fool and witch was cuddled on my lap a few minutes ago. I could even smell her perfume on my shirt.

  When I was about to finish what used to be a beautiful yard with a lawn and nice pavements leading to different sections of the building, I was approached by a group of young women in nice, fluffy, animal leather coats, rushing towards the road in high heels. They seemed to be running for my cab, thinking probably it would drive away any minute. But when they got close to me, their body language suggested the cab wasn’t their destination – I was. I was confused. I hoped probably they knew me from the television and newspapers, and they wanted to show me where Grace was kept.

  Almost simultaneously, the five of them stopped in front of me, blocking the pavement. I stopped and gazed at them, hopeful. When I opened my mouth to say something, two of them ripped their beautiful coats open.

  I jerked back a bit. I couldn’t understand what they were doing. It was like they were drawing pistols from the sides. But they were not taking out any guns; they were showing me what was under those huge coats. Even the other three did the same thing. “Jesus.” I shook my head, and I frowned at the half naked women, lifting their miniskirts, shoving their boobs.

  “Ladies. I –”

  “If you’re broke. I will give you a special, sweetheart. $30, two hours,” the one in the middle said, spinning her body.

  “$30! At this time of the year. She is expensive. Babe, my name is Sparkle. Have me for $20, two hours,” the tall one on my left said, drawing closer to me. Then she threw away her coat.

  When I inhaled her perfume, my eyes rose to hers, and I pushed her away. The four behind her moved away from the pavement. “I want no sex. I want my wife people.” I proceeded to the cursed building, sensing their eyes on my back.

  “Jerk,” one of them said.

  I didn’t blame them for I had pushed their friend badly. First of all, she was a Grace lookalike. Secondly, she wore the exact perfume Karen wore whilst cuddled on my lap. So the poor girl was a victim of misplaced aggression.

  “Wife! What animal is that?” One of them shouted. I stopped and looked back. They were all giggling, following me. “We are the wives of New York. We take care of every man here. Those who are married like you are our regulars.”

  The shortest one said, “CEOs, Pastors, Congressmen, you name them, all belong to us. Who do you think you are? You don’t even have a car, let alone a limo.”

  I proceeded to the main entrance. There was nothing I could talk with those girls. I thought they would have helped me with some information about Grace. But they were obviously high on drugs.

  7:35 PM

  Three of the men at the nasty and dim reception dropped their weapons when I mentioned Rodger, “Yeah, I’m here to see Rodger,” I repeated. The boss at the dim corner table nodded, and I knew I sounded cool and confident – like I didn’t mind the big guns aimed at my head and chest. I hoped they did not see my sweaty face and hands and my pounding chest.

  They glanced at each other.

  “You’re a serious guy,” one of them close to the boss said whilst lighting a cigarette with one of the candles on the table. “Let the moron go. We can’t keep Rodger waiting.”

  Those who blocked the way moved. I didn’t even bother asking about the elevator. I climbed the stairs trashed with empty beer cans and bottles, cigarette butts, condom wrappers, fast food packs, used needles… I overheard them making fun of the three guys who had blocked my way. They told them they did great by letting me go quickly lest they had both of their hands and feet cut off by Rodger. They went on to make fun of me saying I did not look like a wise guy, but some prick – a family man or a saint.

  The latter part didn’t register in my head. What captivated my mind and aroused my fears was the former joke about Rodger. Evidently, I was going to meet a monster unaware. I was no more scared for Grace only – but for the two of us. However, I didn’t run short of the courage to press on. Love for Grace pushed me relentlessly.

  I covered my nose and mouth with my coat. The stairs and hallways stunk terribly. Besides being musty, the urine and dead stuff were suffocating. However, I preferred that odor than the heavy atmosphere created by the marijuana they smoked in the reception area.

  I heard what I assumed was a giant snake rattling in the ragged holes on the walls and ran up the stairs. I only slowed down when I met other prostitutes relaxed, advertising. I concluded they must have been rats or they wouldn’t be there, relaxed.

  When I made it to the third floor, I was stunned. It was squeaky clean, like a five-star hotel floor. The atmosphere was fresh. The corridors even had real lights, not candles or lamps like the other floors or stairs where I had to use my cell phone to see the way and of course, unintended sights of addicts knocked off by drugs on the floor or other prostitutes advertising themselves.

  I took a deep breath and walked up the bright hallway. I sweated when I recalled that the guys mentioned the entire third floor was Rodger’s paradise. And evidently, it was respected by all. There wasn’t even a single soul in the corridor. No pimps or prostitutes. Just nobody. It was nice, quiet and well connected to twenty-first century civilization like electricity. I peeked at the address in my cell and learned I was two doors away from his door since I was passing 313. I swallowed some saliva even though my mouth was sticky. 314. My stomach became hot and hard at the same time. 315. My heart pounded and was way out of control.

  I stood in front of the yellow door, not knowing what to do, but clearly realizing the mess I put myself into. Here I was standing at the door of a very dangerous, crazy hitman feared by other dangerous thugs, but without a gun. Not even a bread knife. I thought of running away. But the love I had for Grace begged me not to. Somewhere in my heart, I did feel a very small, robust part of my heart that clearly told me if it called for death, so be it, as long as it was for Grace.

  7:49 PM

  After knocking for about a minute without any response, I decided to open the door. Of course, it was dangerous. He could easily plant uncountable bullets in my chest, and it would be all over for me and Grace. But I had no choice but to risk. I wouldn’t go away just because nobody said to come in.

  I pushed the door with a shivering hand. There was nobody in the extravagant living, dining, and sleeping area. I sighed.

  The yellowish bed at the far end was well made with nice green, red, white cushions written Love, God, Life, Death, Money.

  The apartment resembled a five-star hotel suite or a decent penthouse suite. It was extremely welcoming and calming, but my heart did not slow down.

  I sneaked cautiously into the living room area, suspecting I had forgotten some detail and landed at the wrong address. I expected a nasty place, not a home away from home with a marble floor, an opulent fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows, a bar, expensive artwork and classy furniture. My feet even sunk when I stepped on the white, plush carpet. The white flat screen mounted on the wall was as tall as me. On the black and white leather couches, there were red and green cushions written GOD. HATES. EVIL. I took the one written GOD and shook my head. Amazing!

  The flowers in almost every corner made the atmosphere sweet and fresh such that the fried fish aroma was nothing but a cherry on the cake. I even salivated. Of course, I’m lost.

  “You move, you’re dead,” someone said behind me.

  My hands instantly became feeble and the cushion fell on the carpet. I almost wet my trousers. The only thing that stopped me was th
at it was a young woman who uttered the firm command. But even then, I could not just relax because probably, Rodger was next to her.

  “Hands up!” she screamed more harshly. “Put your hands up!”

  I lifted them.

  She drew close and searched me with one hand.

  “What do you want here? Death?” She screamed.

  “I have to talk to Rodger,” I said.

  “You know that if he finds you here, you’re a dead man?”

  “Oh, God! But maybe you… May I turn and look at you, please. I’m not a dangerous man.”

  “Sit on that couch behind you. Don’t turn.”

  I sat down. She walked slowly and sat on the couch opposite me with the gun still ready to penetrate my chest and end my life. I gazed at her and was surprised to see a beautiful, young woman dressed so modestly, like a president’s wife: black pencil skirt, white blouse, a black jacket and blue high heels. I thought I was lost, but I wasn’t because the lady knew Rodger.

  “Are you from a meeting or something?” I said.

  She quickly raised the barrel of the gun to my head. “Are you crazy?” She said, her eyes fixed on mine. “I don’t know you. You walk into my house to ask me if I’m from a meeting.” She paused as her chest beat hard. “I told you, Rodger finds you here – you’re dead. Please, spare me the trouble of cleaning your brain and blood from the floor. I love my house when it’s nice and clean like this. You found it clean, leave it that way.”

  “Okay. I’m looking for my wife. I got some information Rodger was hired to kill her.”

  “So you’re a cop playing dumb.” She pushed the gun forward like she was pulling the trigger. “I will shoot you myself; I won’t even wait for him.”

  Hastily, I raised my hands. “I’m not. I –”

  “But why are you asking this rubbish? Let’s say I tell you he killed your wife. What next besides arresting him and putting him on the death-row? Then who will take care of me and the kids.”

  I took a deep breath. “No. It’s not like that. I came here hoping I could stop Rodger before he does the job by giving him more than what his client paid.”

  She laughed and dropped the gun to aim at my stomach. “I can see you have never met Rodger. You completely do not know him. That man is very professional. He even attends the funerals of his victims to pay his last respects. He gives them time to pray before shooting them. He is a professional. So just forget he could agree to play his client like that. He is so professional. That’s why he doesn’t even use other people to do the job for him. He does everything alone. ”

  I snorted. “Okay, please help me. You know the man’s mind. You know exactly what I should do to get Grace. Please help me. You are a super, beautiful woman. I have no doubt your heart is as beautiful. Please help me.”

  She smiled and blinked several times. “You know your biggest problem? You seem to be sure your lady is still alive. Rodger does all his jobs as soon as the client pays. Yes, I have not attended her funeral yet, but you can’t be so sure.” She placed the gun on the couch next to her and stared at me for a long time.

  The silence was broken by someone at the door fumbling for a key in his pocket.

  She picked the gun and jerked to her feet. “You are a dead man,” she whispered.

  8:15 PM

  It was snowing outside but I sweated under the panel bed. It wasn’t because Rodger was back. He had not even seen me or suspected his wife had hidden a man under their bed. But the bed was close to the hydronic heater that made the entire apartment warm, yet I had to avoid movements at all costs. Making noise meant death – obviously. For me and Grace. Even the young lady who hid me. He would be convinced she was cheating. So I suspended all natural processes like coughing and clearing my throat. The only one I couldn’t do away with was breathing heavily. I had no way to make my heart beat slower. But Rodger’s wife did her best in creating noises in the apartment. She spoke aloud and more frequently. I even became worried since she acted and sounded weird. If Rodger was smart, he would tell she was hiding something. She even woke the kids. I was surprised they had them. The youngest one cried a lot whilst the older one asked a lot of questions about where they were going. His mother told him they will spend the night at Aunt Cynthia’s apartment.

  I stopped breathing when Rodger suddenly walked towards the bed. His expensive perfume made it clear I was a punch away from him. I sweated, shivered, and stopped breathing.

  I only let out a breath when he sat on the bed.

  Even his wife sighed and tapped the couch she was standing close to. “Babe. I guess we have to hit the road. I’m ready. The kids are ready.”

  “We’re right on time. The memorial service starts at nine and the cremation will be done in the morning,” Rodger said with a simple voice as if he was an ordinary person like a salesman or a lawyer. I expected a gravel voice coming from a beefy, ugly man, but he was an average sized man like a tennis player, with a calm impression. Nothing at all screamed “killer,” “killer.” Even his face could make him win Mr. New York title, probably not Mr. America, but he could take New York.

  “Guys, let’s go. Let’s go,” his wife shouted to the kids in the kitchen. “How can you eat ice cream you two? It’s cold outside. Put it back. Let’s go.” Rodger stood up and my stomach became rock solid. I only breathed through my nose, carefully.

  However, he walked towards the right side of the bed and pushed it. I almost wet my trousers. I rolled under the bed as it moved.

  My heart almost ripped my chest open. Even his wife stood behind him frozen. She couldn’t say a word. “You must have increased the temperature to the max. It’s too hot in here. We won’t sleep when we come back,” Rodger said, adjusting the temperature on the heater. I exhaled carefully. Then he walked to the other side of the bed. He pushed it back to its normal position with me rolling back underneath.

  Rodger’s wife wiped her face with some tissue and opened the door. “Sweety, it’s time we go. Remember we have to drive via Cynthia’s place to leave the kids. We won’t get some parking. Have you forgotten your victim…I mean our victim was a celebrity. Hip Hop has a lot of fans. Let’s go, babe.”

  Rodger walked to the door. They locked it and left. It took me some time to resume to my normal breathing. “Oh, God! My God!”

  But then the door flung open. I froze again. I was relieved when I heard high heels click-clacking towards the bed. She threw a piece of paper under the bed and said, “I tried. Sophie is my name.”

  8:41 PM

  As instructed by Sophie on the paper, I moved out from under the bed at exactly 8:41 and went straight to the kitchen. I pushed the giant silver fridge away and removed what resembled normal brown tiles. Then I saw the safe staring at me.

  I sighed, gearing myself up for accuracy for Sophie explained on the paper that one mistake would make the safe lock up until reset by Rodger himself. So no mistakes allowed.

  When punching the seventh digit of the twenty digits pin I realized my hands were still shaking. -3-5-7-9-r-2-3-8-4-s-1-6-4.

  The safe blinked and clicked open. I was relieved like I would find Grace inside. There was nothing much inside though. No money or guns. There were two piles of photos. My hands shook the more when I lifted Grace’s photo. She was smiling, happy. It came up as the fourth photo from the pile that wasn’t fastened with a rubber band like a stack of dollar notes.

  I kissed her. But I stopped as it didn’t make me feel any better or hopeful. It was just a waste of time, yet Sophie was clear I had to move out at exactly 8:50 – not after or before.

  At the back of the photo, there was nothing much except a telephone number. I took out my cell and was surprised there were three missed calls. Two from Karen, the witch, and one from the cabbie outside.

  “Jesus.” I saved the telephone number written on the back of Grace’s photo. Then I put the photo back in the safe and locked it.

  But I began punching the pin again. I had decided to take the phot
o so that Rodger could be delayed somehow. I stopped after punching the fifth number. Guilt made me stop because Sophie asked me in the note not to dare take the photo, but put it back in the safe and replace everything as if no one opened. She explained that if I took the photo, I would have to consider myself a murderer and a traitor because Rodger would kill her. She was the only one Rodger gave the pin to.

  However, it’s not like I was acting selfishly; I had forgotten the instruction. I recalled it when my eyes peeped at the note.

  I glanced at my cell phone. 8:49. Karen called. I ignored her and replaced everything as it was. I pushed back the refrigerator to its normal position at 8:50.

  I ran to the door before the watch turned 8:51. It had crossed my mind that probably she left an explosive. I strode up the corridor, feeling like I had just come back to life.

  The only thing buzzing in my head was getting a payphone and calling the number I got. I was a little happy there was a small measure of progress. I wished I could locate a payphone quickly. I hoped it wasn’t Karen’s secret number though, but a number that would lead me to a place where Grace was probably kidnapped. Karen’s number would be nothing but a dead end that would compel me to use force on her until she told me exactly where Grace was. There could be no other way but force. I would do anything for Grace. She believed in me when I was dead. The least I could do for her was to save her before she was killed.

  DAY 6

  ELIJAH

  Sunday, January 22, 2017

  6:58 AM

  Whatever the reason, my pulse remained high. And it wasn’t because I woke early and hastened to Vine Mall; it was high all night. I couldn’t even get a good sleep – I only did bits and pieces in between the tossing and turning. I suspected it was affected when I called the number I got from Rodger’s safe but no one picked up. My high hopes were thwarted. I hoped I would, at least, talk to someone. Unfortunately, Sophie didn’t explain whose number was usually written at the back of the victim’s photo.