Pieces of Ivy

by Dean Covin

  “Actually you asked for directions.” She took a wary sip of the thick brew, wincing. “I figured it’d be a good idea to get her crossed off your list early. With people’s opinions of her in this town, I can see how easy it’d be to look Sky’s way. But let’s be honest. Half the damage done to Ivy’s body, that poor girl, was too excessive to be seriously considered ritualistic. The hate that it took to desecrate her body so badly would’ve never come from a woman’s hand—no matter how satanic people might believe Sky is.”

  “Women can hate women.”

  “Not like that. That’s a man’s domain.”

  Hank’s years of extensive experience with brutality couldn’t argue with that.

  “Regardless I didn’t want her to distract you from finding Ivy’s killer.” Rose leaned in, letting her heavy bosoms rest on the table, exposing the deep crevasse of her cleavage—fetching the quick glance she was hoping for. “And I know how distracting she can be.”

  Hank chuckled. “I think you’re the one humpin’ the wrong leg now.”

  “I never hump the wrong anything, Agent Dashel.” She clucked her tongue as if to count this banter volley as point, game and match. “Have you and Agent Starr been working together long?”

  “First case together.”

  “Surprising, you seem so close.” She smiled at the astonished look on his face.

  He realized she was being sarcastic, and that point stung. He knew there had been tension from the start of their partnership, but it was hard to know how outwardly this had been expressed between them. He did feel that now they were working better together than he had anticipated—maybe not quite as well as he had fantasized.

  He was surprised when Rose took his hand into her warm grasp and sank her gaze deep into his eyes.

  “I get it, Hank—she’s a beautiful, talented woman. What’s wrong with desiring that?”

  “I never—”

  “Don’t be coy—there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done nothing wrong. Christ, my husband practically jizzes his jeans at the sight of her. In my books you’re a goddamn saint.” She squeezed his hand tighter as her eyes softened. “Just don’t let her rejections tip you deeper into the bottle.”

  Hank froze. “What are you—”

  “Please, Hank. It’s okay. I can see it in your face. Don’t worry. It’s not obvious.” She touched a free hand to her breast. “Thirty years watching my father drink himself to death, I know drink far too intimately to deny it. But you—you’re gonna be okay, Hank, believe me. You’re on the right side of the cusp. Just, please, don’t let her get to you.”

  He felt in her voice the unaccustomed warmth of a mother he had too long been without. “It’s harder than I expected it to be,” he admitted, stunning himself.

  She nodded, understanding.

  He didn’t feel the need to delve into it any further with her. Opening the door enough to let him admit those words meant more to him than a week’s worth of high-priced therapy. He looked upon this beautiful, gracious woman in the new light of a dear friend and savior rather than a possible fantasy fuck to jerk off to later. Amazing what can happen over a single cup of coffee.

  Rose motioned for a refill. “She’s a good agent, isn’t she?”

  Hank nodded. “One of the best.”

  “Starr is a superstar—how poetic.”

  “Top of her class, magna cum laude, in criminal justice. Bypassed her colleagues on a near monthly basis. And while rumors claim her relationships with the powers-that-be—beyond her silver spoon—helped her jump to the top, no one can argue her track record as a federal agent.” He looked at the woman across from him for a moment, and she allowed it. “I had agreed with the rumors.”

  “But now you’re not so convinced.”

  He shook his head. “She’s on the fast-track. In fact, for her, the track is heavily greased. She’s earned her accolades—I can see that now.”

  “You said this was your first case together, so you didn’t know each other before.”

  Something shifted in his face. “Not really, no.”

  Rose looked at him. “What does not really mean, exactly? Do you know each other from before this case?”

  Hank stared across the busy street. “Let’s just say, I know her.”

  “You’re protective of her, aren’t you? I mean in a greater sense than the protectiveness between partners—or even chivalry.”

  There was something about this woman. Hank should feel under threat around Rose, especially since he was at such odds with her husband. How could he have so much genuine respect for a woman who was madly in love with a total dink? Yet, he sensed a comfortable confidence in her eyes, a soft presence that made him feel safe to share anything with her. He also had the sudden urge to make love to the woman right here and now—the deli be damned.

  Part of him played on the fear that having a jealous husband with a gun, and a license to use it, was not a good avenue to pursue no matter how attractive Rose was in her own way. But another part equally feared that her pervert husband would join in. Hank physically shuddered.

  “You okay, sweetie?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded at her smile, then sighed. “A case was storming through the office my first week on the job. A little girl had been missing for thirty-six hours, and it was all hands on deck. I was tasked with doing background checks and investigating the child’s past. I remember staring at the beautiful young girl on the action board and being completely terrified for her. My first week and already I was faced with the darkest of all fears—a child-stranger abduction.”

  His face went pink. “Later that night, when no one was looking, I actually got down on the office floor and prayed—prayed to anyone, or anything, that would listen. You have to understand, at that point in my life, I was a devout atheist, so I have no idea what got into me.”

  “Desperation,” she said.

  He accepted that. “I just pleaded for the little girl’s safe return. I felt so stupid, but I also felt so helpless. What else could I do? Who knew what every wasted minute meant for that little girl’s hell—if she was even still alive.”

  Rose watched the man’s eyes well up and squeezed his hand gently.

  “Four hours later she was found. The incredible ten-year-old had escaped all by herself. We were nowhere even close to suspecting the location where she was being held. If she hadn’t escaped on her own, we would’ve never found her alive.

  “She’d done everything she could to escape after watching another little girl—who had been reported missing in Texas—get burned alive in front of her.” At this his eyes fully released, but he didn’t care. “I was standing in the crowd, cheering with the rest of them, when she was brought in. I was so awestruck by the brave and beautiful little girl.”

  “So your prayer worked.”

  He shook his head. “There was no significance there. It just proved how desperate and completely useless I was—how useless we all were.”

  “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” She looked at him. “The little girl was Vicki, wasn’t she?”

  He nodded.

  “Does she know?”

  “Not a memory I want to risk touching on. She seems fine, spectacular even. I just don’t know where she’s at with it. It’s why I was so worried about her after the car attack—the gasoline.”

  “Just don’t make it something you’re hiding from her.”

  Like a startling revelation, Vicki’s smile appeared in the window beside them, her knuckle rapping on the glass.

  Thirty-five

  Vicki grinned, nudging Hank in the ribs. “Pretty ballsy, dating the sheriff’s wife.”

  “You know me.”

  “Her husband has a gun.”

  He grimaced. “It’s not his gun I’m worried about.
”

  Her laugh was cut short. A group of teens blocked their path as they approached.

  Everything in her stood alert as she forced herself to maintain her stride toward the group of young men, more menacing than their picture. She resented her hysterical heartbeat; she had a lethal weapon strapped within rapid reach, and still she was frightened—like the women of this town. She scanned the group as she kept her partner’s unrelenting pace.

  Vicki counted only twelve of the thirteen-member gang. Might one of these kids actually hold a job? She doubted it and forced away the shudder as her suspicious mind proposed that the Hoods might have a lookout watching from a distance.

  The group tightened between the antique bookstore and the parked cars, completely blocking the agents’ paths, refusing to budge. Hank stopped just short of crushing the first two.

  “Joe Blood, right?” Hank said, knowing the kid’s family name was Tanner. He turned to the Chinese boy. “And you’re Lee Blood.”

  The entire pack watched him, defiant, saying nothing.

  “Why Blood?” Hank didn’t care.

  On cue they raised the wide glistening scars across their palms as proof. Blood brothers.

  A bunch had more scars than others, likely the older brethren.

  The tallest of them spoke, nodding his chin at Vicki. “Who’s your sweet cunny?”

  The crew broke into a harsh chorus of whistles and howls, too similar to a ravenous wolf pack. They licked their chops, stepping closer. Hank opened his jacket. Their eyes registered zero fear.

  The closest boy looked up at the much-taller man and laughed. “That all you got?”

  Hank took an angry step forward. “It’s all I need.” Not one drew back.

  Vicki interrupted, flashing her badge to the unimpressed. “What do you know about Ivy Turner?”

  “She’s the only reason I ever showed up to that muthafuckin’ math class.”

  Ivy taught English and biology—these boys had no hope.

  “I’d imagine a pretty teacher like that would’ve roused all kinds of attention among you,” Hank said.

  “We noticed her, yeah. Without a doubt the finest strip of pink sirloin this side of your momma’s house.”

  Hank ignored it. “So you were pursuing her.”

  “Pursue?”

  If you could even choose the angriest-looking boy from the group, he was the one who spoke.

  “Maybe we already had her.” His young voice cooled. “Maybe we already had her too many times—wore the bitch out.”

  Vulgar opinions weaved through the gang.

  “No, man—can’t tap that ass too many times, bro.”

  “Fuck that, her tight little pink was all mine, you limp-dick-fag-fucker. You get her fucking nostril for your skinny dick.”

  “Go blow your dad, shit-face.”

  “Too bad she’s dead.”

  “I’d still fuck her.”

  “Yes, you would.”

  “Our bona fide best bukkake babe ever. She craved the ivory rain. Damn, so hot!”

  “Fuck yeah, bro! That pussy was bomb.”

  Hank struggled against their chorus of crass, offensive lies. Their hunger for hostile humiliation was extreme. He wanted to drive every jaw into the back of their worthless throats. “So which one of you owns a blowtorch?”

  Vicki watched their faces—not one of them flinched at the dropped clue.

  A tall, muscled blond with teary, bloodshot ice for eyes stuck out the rough stubble of his square chin. “Do I look like a motherfucking firebug, you prickless wonder?”

  Vicki spoke up. “Where were you Monday night?”

  “Gang-bangin’ your mom.” The short, stocky boy with a smoker’s cut in his voice flipped back his black hood exposing the tight military clip of his orange hair. A deep box-cutter scar coursed through the mash of harsh freckles up to his glass eye. “That’s when she told us we should try your sweet meat on for size.”

  A sharp-featured native, with long strands of greasy black hair pouring from his hood, interjected, “Bet you could take us all, bitch. I’d fuck your little cunt red.”

  Hank’s move was so swift that every one of the brash boys froze.

  “Aaaah, fuck, fuck, fuck! You’re breaking my arm, asshole!”

  The others had their knives pulled but stayed back from the forty-caliber barrel of Vicki’s Glock 23. She appreciated being partnered with a rule-breaker more than she should have.

  “Apologize,” Hank said.

  “Ow, ow, ow, First Amendment, motherfucker!”

  “Manners, motherfucker.”

  Aware of the unsettling fact that none of these boys was crying police brutality, nor looked the least bit afraid, Hank tightened his grip and made his request relevant. “Tell me where you were Monday or your bros will need to jerk you off for the next six months.”

  “Como’s—we were at Como’s.”

  Hank knew the seedy pool hall on the south side of the city—cheap booze and topless dancers. “You’re not twenty-one.”

  “Sue me.”

  “I’ll arrest you.”

  “Don’t you have a murder to solve?” the redhead said.

  “You’re right.”

  “Who you callin’?”

  “Sheriff Roscoe—you’re his mess.”

  “Yeah, he’s a threat. You go ahead and do that.” None made any attempt to retreat. The sheriff held no sway over them.

  Hank turned his back on them to complete the call—a show of confidence that he didn’t have. Even with Vicki’s gun trained on them, he felt the wellspring of fear trickle up his spine—the sixty-second call feeling like an exposed eternity. He turned back to the boys as he hit End.

  “Word has it you favor snuff films.”

  They stared at Hank, denying nothing. A new voice sprung up. “Lookin’ to star in one, fuckhead?”

  Hank ignored the taunt. “Word also has it you have some fairly nefarious ties. Maybe know someone who would pay to watch something like Ivy Turner’s murder.”

  “Hey, we’re high-schoolers, man. We just go to school, get good grades, so we can go out and get good jobs—just like you.” He patted Hank on the chest and nearly lost a finger, whipping his hand away just in time. “Now, if you civil servants will excuse us—”

  “Oh, not so fast … I believe that’s your ride.” Hank pointed to the three patrol cars rounding the bend.

  “Oh, I get it.” He appeared to welcome the coming reception. “Not to worry, agent. You enjoy our fine town. We’ll be sure to see you around.”

  “Oh, yes, we will,” Vicki confirmed.

  He looked her up and down again, flashing his eyebrows with delight, his tongue brushing his lip.

  Hank waited patiently as the officers delighted in forcefully cramming the boys into the overcrowded backseats of their squad cars, after a rough and thorough search. Not entirely aboveboard, but a pleasure to watch.

  “I give ’em three years, and they’ll be off the streets one way or another—every last one of them.” He scowled—their revolving-door penal system booting any teeth from his threat.

  “Thoughts?” Vicki asked.

  “I think they could have—nothing redeemable in any of ’em. They’re sadistic time bombs teetering on the edge of boredom. Scares the shit out of me,” he admitted.

  She couldn’t agree more. “If there was ever a time to put puppies down—just a sec. It’s Roscoe.” Vicki put the phone to her ear and listened, then tucked it back into her pocket with a grimace. “Roscoe called a friend who said surveillance tapes verify that the entire crew was in the city and spent a lot of time—and a lot of money—at Como’s Monday night.”

  “Doesn’t mean much,” Hank said. “Como’s was caught messing with tape
dates for dealers three years ago—wait a minute—I called him. Why’d Roscoe call you back?” Hank already knew the answer.

  Vicki added her own thought. “Probably knows you’re dating his wife.”

  Thirty-six

  Vicki rolled down her jeans with her phone wedged against her shoulder and pulled her feet free, tossing the pants on her bed. She couldn’t believe her ears. The investigator part of her needed the information—the woman part wished she hadn’t ever heard it.

  Charlie had added more details to the unending list of torments endured by Ivy Turner. Vicki felt relief from the tone of his final word, and sleep came easier than she had feared—but it didn’t last.

  Vicki awoke, shaking. The memory still brought tears and tremors no matter how hard she fought it.

  Vicki had aced all the FBI’s psychological tests, washing away any perceptions that her past might impact her ability to perform. She worried that these new terrors leaking into her sleep might change that—rob her of the only family she could count on.

  She pulled her down comforter tight around her, craving companionship. After nearly two decades, being alone still troubled her. That fear was why she pushed her independence—to prove that there was nothing to be afraid of. More often than she would like to admit, it was why she shared her bed. Sex was great, but it wasn’t always the motive.

  Vicki had felt alone and unprotected from an early age. She remembered praying in the dark for her daddy to come and save her, trying to convince herself that he did love her—loved her enough to risk rescuing her from that scary monster.

  When he didn’t come, Vicki had had to save herself; and that would be the pattern of their relationship going forward.

  † † †

  Young Vicki grabbed his waist the moment she had seen her father at the hospital. “I’m safe, Daddy.”

  “I’m so happy, darling.” He had barely stroked her hair, instead, returning his angry attention to the officers, demanding to know if they had gotten the guy or not.

  He seemed more upset that this transgression was a trespass against the almighty him than by the ordeal experienced by his little girl.