Ungoverned

by Shawn Raiford

  “But why kill cops?” Mitch asked. “That’s very stupid.”

  Henry figured it out first. “Carter comes here, and sees that Art had spoken to the cops. Then there’s a hit taken out on the two cops on the dead girl’s case. It’s to hurt the case if it ever goes to trial.” Is it possible for White and Carter to get to him in his room?”

  “No, there’s a guard on the door.”

  “Art’s not talking to us, but ….” Mitch smiled wickedly at me, and I understood why.

  “I could go talk to Art? I’m sure he will tell me how to find White, I can be persuasive when I want to be.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mentally Unstable

  Henry, the typical government lackey, didn’t want me talking to Art.

  After some cajoling, Henry relented. Mitch told Henry, “We can’t do shit with what we have at the moment Henry. We need to have more.”

  I told them it would be better if I spoke to Art alone. Mitch persuaded Henry to let me talk to Art by myself. Henry told me I couldn’t hurt Art. I agreed, they called the uniform sitting outside of Art’s room to give him a head’s up that I was coming to speak to the suspect.

  Mitch and Henry were hungry so they went to the cafeteria, and I rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. The officer sat in a chair outside the room. After I told him my name, he let me enter the room.

  He was encased all in white.

  I closed the door. “Hello, Art.”

  He grinned. “Well, Hello, beautiful. You come to give me a sponge bath?”

  “I hope you’re up to answering a few questions.”

  “You a cop? I told those other cops to stop trying.” Art turned his attention towards the TV.

  “I’m not a cop. My name is Rose.”

  Art smiled. “Hi Rose.”

  Knowing I had his attention, I winked at him. “I heard that you don’t have long to live.”

  “How would you know that? Have the cops told you? You’re a cop.” Art waved me off. “See you later, honey.”

  I moved in close to Art, leaning over. “I’m going to let you in on something, Art.”

  His eyes darted from side to side. “Okay.”

  “Let me be blunt, I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Uh, Okay.”

  I pulled out my blade. “I’m a contract killer, I kill people for money, but I would kill you for free, you piece of shit. I know what you do for a living. Do you rape little girls too?”

  The question didn’t register. Art eyeballed my blade, breathing heavy. “Uh, I uh…”

  “I have also been called, mentally unstable, a lunatic, homicidal psychopath, etc, etc. Pfft! What the fuck do doctors know? Am I right?” I asked, smiling, patting his shoulder lightly.

  He opened his mouth, but closed it without saying a word.

  “Art, did you know rats eat almost anything when they are starving? They love human flesh. They’ll go for the soft tissue first, like the eyes and genitals. Those are the tastiest body parts.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I was offered a contract, a contract to kill two cops, and I need your help.”

  Art shook his head. “So, what? I’m dying, I’m dead in a few weeks, I don’t care! Just leave me alone.”

  “Art, I bet your mother is still alive, correct?” Mitch told me how Art mentioned his mother.

  “Yeah, what does she have to do with this?”

  “If you don’t help me, I will let rats feed on her feet first, then her hands, and send you a video of my time with her.”

  “That’s sick! How could you do that?”.

  “Your boss put a hit out on my brother.”

  “Hold on! You can’t possibly know who I work for!”

  “You work for Mr. White and his blond assistant, Carter. They run a child-sex trafficking ring. They met with a man who I work for, and put hits out on two cops. My brother and his partner. Then I was offered the job. Art, they wanted me to kill my brother!”

  His eyes became the size of lemons. “Who’s your brother?”

  “The cop you spoke to earlier, his name is Henry Creed. Him and his partner are the targets.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand why my boss would put a hit out on them.”

  “You mean you don’t understand why he doesn’t want the two cops, who arrested him, and put them in jail, dead?” I wanted to tell him I thought White intended to kill him, but I needed Art focused, and besides he probably didn’t care one way or the other who wanted him dead. He was dead already.

  His eyes dropped. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I wanted the girl to be buried properly by a church.”

  I stood up straight. “Where can I find your boss?”

  “I don’t know where he lives. I can’t even call him, I don’t have his phone number,” he said.

  “Art, your mother is going to suffer a great deal if you don’t give me something.”

  He shrugged, as if he didn’t give a shit. “Seriously, I would help you if I could, I don’t know anything, I promise.”

  “What about the guy that you helped with the dead body? The dead girl? Your boss knows him, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Well?”

  “Carter only gave me the client’s initials.”

  Moving in real close, my face was within inches of his face.

  “What are his initials and where does he live?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grand Scheme Of Things

  One of Stan’s men drove Lukas to the funeral home.

  Lukas knew the owner, Ned Collins. “Neddy, I need your help here. I found my son, dead in his car,” he said without emotion.

  Ned was terrified of him, and Lukas knew it. He inspected the body, and nodded. “I can help you Lukas, of course, not a problem.”

  “Thanks, Neddy, if you have any questions talk to my man here. Please, Ned, clean him up, make my boy look good,” Lukas said, caressing his dead son’s face.

  “Don’t worry, Lukas, I’ll make your boy look good.” Ned stood straight, pressing his lips together.

  Lukas owned some land, about an hour outside of Houston; it contained a small family cemetery. Most of his family rested there. His parents were there along with three uncles and their wives. Stan would be buried there too.

  Lukas really needed the money Norman offered, and transporting kids up north, who the fuck cared? In the grand scheme of things, it was small potatoes. It would happen regardless if they were involved or not. Why not get paid?

  To get paid, first he needed to find out more about these cops. This job was too important to give to any of his guys. He needed to understand the why. Lukas decided to check out these two cops, personally.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Worst Drug Ever

  “Hey!” Mitch stood up, and waved me over as I entered the cafeteria.

  His broad shoulders and narrow waist had me wondering, again, if he was any good in bed. Better not go there, he would only be another jaded lover.

  My stomach growled at me. As I pointed my finger to the food line, he gave me a thumbs up.

  I bought something that resembled a sandwich, walked over to Mitch and my brother who were sitting at a table, stuffing their faces, being men. Mitch offered me a chair, but I held up my hand, declining it.

  They would use whatever evidence or clues I gave them in their investigation, but I needed to be ahead of them so I could find the person who put the hit out. To do that, I couldn’t give them everything I knew.

  “I’m leaving. You might want to put on a vest, both of you.” I unwrapped the thing the hospital cafeteria called a turkey sandwich, and took a huge bite.

  If I wasn’t starving to death I would have spit it out. The sandwich had mayonnaise, which tasted like something that came out of a bird’s butt. The man-made, fowl feces wouldn’t kill me, so I swallowed, and took another bite.

  He held out his hands. “Come on
, don’t hold out on us. What did you find out?”

  Deciding to lie like a televangelist, I sniffed, attempting not to think of the taste. “Art works for Mr. White, that’s all I could get out of him.”

  Art gave me something before I left. I had the initials BM, and a description of his house. To find White, I needed to find this BM before Henry and Mitch.

  My brother wiped his mouth. “Where are you going?”

  Holding up a finger, I took another bite, knowing how a sidewalk under perched pigeons tasted.

  “I’m going to find this Mr. White.” And after I find and kill him, I will feed him to some hogs. I knew a guy in Baytown who had some hogs, and let me feed them.

  Didn’t care how it tasted, I took another bite and chewed.

  Somewhere, before his death, White would tell me his reason for putting a hit on my little brother. I couldn’t take the chance on leaving him alive even if he did cancel the hit.

  Henry stood up, fluffing his feathers like a game cock. “Uh, no you’re not Chloe.”

  We’ve had several arguments about the rule of law over the years. He was in favor of law and order, and I preferred something less stringent.

  “Chloe, you can’t. I understand you want help, but it’s our job to find him, not yours.” Sitting, he stuffed the last bite of food into his beak. “Mitch and I will handle it.”

  He believed law to be necessary to have order, but I didn’t. In reality, law was just words on a page, followed by people who wanted to be left alone to live their lives. The fundamental fact was, people could take care of themselves, without the help of Big Brother. Government was the worst drug ever created by man.

  “Sure, I can.”

  Henry looked up at me. “No, I know what you’ll do if you find him.”

  My left eye brow raised. “If?”

  Henry shook his head. “Chloe, it’s against the law to kill people, even criminals.”

  “Even pedophiles?” My brother hated pedophiles as much as I did.

  Henry sighed. “Yes, even pedophiles.”

  He was lying, for Mitch’s sake. Cops needed to be careful about what they said in public. Seriously, who would cry, much less arrest, a person who had killed a pedophile?

  “Regardless of how you feel, laws are what govern us all,” Henry answered.

  They don’t govern me! “No, you have it wrong, Little Brother. Governmental control is an illusion. Mama didn’t give birth to slaves. Only sheep accept the authority of others.”

  Henry scoffed, nothing he hadn’t heard before.

  “Guys, this was so much fun, but I got to go.” I began walking away.

  “Chloe come back!”

  I stopped, and finished the sandwich off with a last bite. I figured I would give them something else. But first, I needed to know something. “What does that guy Carter look like Henry? I mean, besides being blond.”

  “Mid-thirties, about six foot, an average build with blue eyes and very blond hair. He was nicely dressed.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Something was off about him, but I didn’t think of it at the time.”

  “What do you mean?” Mitch asked.

  “It was in the eyes. You know, the crazy, but calm stare. Looked as if he could kill me, and then could go grab a coffee with a doughnut afterwards. I pushed it aside, guess I was thinking about finding a girl’s dead body.”

  Henry probably saw the same crazy stare in my eyes at times.

  Mitch’s head shook like a bobble head.

  “Art worked for Carter.”

  Both of them blinked at me like a couple of parrots.

  “He told me that he was just a driver. He drove children and young women to clients and dropped them off. He did other odd cleanup jobs, if needed.”

  Mitch stood up, then Henry, their feathers had been ruffled. He looked up in the direction of Art’s room. “I’m going to stab that fucker in the eye, then I’m going to kill him!” Mitch yelled. “You should’ve let me stab him in his eye partner!”

  Both men pranced around like a couple of angry birds.

  “Is that all he told you?” Henry asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Thanks for talking to him. How did you get him to talk to you?”

  “I threatened to kill his mother slowly, and painfully.”

  Mitch’s eyebrow moved up. “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  Mitch winced. “Come on, I find it hard to believe that’s all that piece of shit had to tell you.”

  I nodded. “Art did tell me something else.”

  “What?”

  “Art told me he didn’t remember where he retrieved the girl’s body, but he did remember the guy’s initials.”

  They looked at each other and smiled.

  “What are his initials?”

  “‘B.M.’”

  Henry pulled out his notepad and scribbled in it, and then stuffed it back into his jacket pocket. “That’s great! We got something now.”

  “Good, glad I could be of assistance gentlemen, but I’m leaving now.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to save you, Little Brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  At Ben Taub

  If Archie hadn’t seen what Rose did to Stan with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  This was going to create all kinds of problems now. Lukas was so angry he almost shot Archie for allowing Rose to kill his son.

  “You should’ve stopped her!” Lukas screamed.

  He was glad he told Louie to wait outside before Rose got there. He was going to drive Archie home to check up on his wife, Martha, and his youngest son, Christopher. They had been sick for a few days.

  As soon as Rose left, he pulled out his phone, and called Louie. Archie told Louie to tail her, but not to let her know he was following her. Louie tailed her to Ben Taub Hospital.

  Archie parked in Parking Garage 4, on the first floor in a handicapped spot next to Louie. As they both lowered their window, Archie asked, “So, where is she?”

  Louie pointed with his chin. “He walked into the hospital. I don’t know where she went, but I figure she has to come back sooner or later, and when she does, she’ll have to come back this way for her car.”

  “What floor did she park on?”

  “I didn’t see what floor, but she has to come through here to get to the elevator. It’s the only way to the cars from other floors.”

  “What is she driving?”

  “Ah, an old four-door Honda Civic, light blue, tinted windows. A piece of shit.”

  Archie smirked. That’s exactly what Rose wanted Louie to think. In fact, Archie would bet his bottom dollar that her car had reinforced doors, bullet proof everything, and the engine was modified.

  He thought about it this location. It didn’t matter why she was here, so he didn’t think about it. This was Ben Taub. HPD had a twenty-four seven presence here. So, even if he got out and found her in there, what could he do?

  He and Louie would wait until she came out to the parking garage, and that’s when they would grab her.

  “Nah, that car isn’t a piece of shit. It will outrun your car.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It's Chicken

  Highway 59 Heading North Towards Houston, Texas

  The ugly man told them that while they were asleep last night, they crossed over into Texas.

  Texas?

  She didn’t understand why they were in Texas. She wanted to cry because she knew she was far from home now.

  Bernice, tired and hungry, perked up when they pulled into a McDonald’s.

  She and the boy smiled at each other. He whispered, “Vamos a comer!”

  The McDonald’s in Zamora (a town about an hour from Los Reyes) was the only one she had ever seen before. This would be her first time eating there. Her mama never allowed her to eat that food, because it wasn’t real food.

  The bes
t food was from the ground.

  The driver told Bernice and the boy he would buy the meal that came with toys. This made them smile.

  Bernice wanted to go play with the other children for a few minutes, but the ugly man wouldn’t let her or the boy leave this horrible, ugly van. She sat with the boy, peering out the front windshield, and watched as other children were playing.

  This made Bernice relax a little.

  She had a lot of friends, Mari, Yasmin, and Paola. They always wanted to play with dolls and dress-up.

  The driver came back, and gave her a bag of her own with a cola. She opened the bag and didn’t understand what it was.

  The boy whispered that he needed to use the bathroom. “Can we go to the bathroom?”

  The ugly man turned to face her. “First you eat, then I will take you inside to use the bathroom. You give me any trouble, scream or anything inside, and I will hurt you, making you throw-up your food, and you won’t eat for three days! You understand?”

  They nodded.

  “Now eat, it’s good!”

  Bernice swallowed. “Excuse me?”

  He turned to face her. “What?”

  She gave her best puppy dog eyes. “What is this?”

  The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “It’s chicken.”

  Bernice had never seen chicken like this. This looked funny.

  “Chicken? It doesn’t look like chicken.” Bernice watched the boy making a face.

  “Well, that’s chicken. Just eat it,” he ordered.

  She peeked inside the bag and moved some things around, seeing a toy, but couldn’t find what she was wanted. “There isn’t any salsa in my bag?”

  The ugly man chuckled like a retarded pig. He looked at the driver, pointing his thumb in her direction.

  The driver answered. “This is Texas, not Mexico. They don’t eat salsa as much as you people in Michoacan. There’s probably ketchup in there, use that.”

  Bernice noticed that he had a Mexico City accent. Bernice knew that people from DF, the Federal District, were called Chilangos. This was the only Chilango she had ever met. He was bad, but nicer than the ugly man.