Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  Dozens of families probably crowd into this kitchen at dinnertime. Kate would cook most nights, but I’d take over on the weekends. I can make Italian food. With years of experience, I might even have been half decent at it. We’d have our own special spot on this table at the end, and we’d laugh if someone else accidently took our place for a dinner. Life would have been full, good maybe.

  As the image takes hold, I see my mother among the crowd. She’s sitting with Caesar at the end of the table; he wraps his arm around her shoulders and winks at me. The illusion breaks.

  Who am I kidding? That type of life would never have worked for me.

  Tina forces Kate to shovel in a few bites of oatmeal. Four other sleepy people join us in the kitchen with coffee mugs in hand. They smile pleasantly at Tina and Kate, then cast a suspicious look my way. They know Tina and Kate and must be wondering what I’m doing with them—am I a friend or an unwanted visitor? Perhaps I’m a family member here to mooch off Kate, or maybe an old friend running from the government.

  Kate looks up from her coffee mug and smiles at me. “Welcome to communal living. It sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “If you run out of sugar, you don’t have to go anywhere to ask your neighbor for some.”

  “True. I used to worry that one of my neighbors might be dangerous for Megan. There’s no way to know who’s living on the same floor and we live so close together. Now—”

  “Now, nothing,” Tina interrupts. She glances at the others in the kitchen and lowers her voice. “We’re making progress. We have a name.”

  Kate frowns and the sadness in her eyes makes me look away. “But that Frankie’s a monster.”

  I bend the metal spoon in my hand. “Well, let’s pay him a visit then. He’ll learn what a real monster can do.”

  We finish the coffee and clean up after ourselves. Back at Kate’s apartment, we dress for the day. I stuff my backpack with an assortment of weapons and gadgets that might come in handy once I get my hands on Frankie. Afterward, I hide my duffel in Megan’s closet. I don’t want it out in the open just in case someone breaks into Kate’s apartment.

  We need a car, so we borrow a beaten-up white Ford sedan. Duct tape holds down the trunk and secures a side mirror to the door. It’s perfect for District 11, battered and well worn. We pass a checkpoint and park on the opposite side of the street to Frankie’s apartment building: a white, plaster, five-story walk-up with no doorman or fancy security. It’s not in bad shape and looks better than the others on the block.

  I face Kate and Tina. “Okay. I’m going to pick the front lock and sneak into Frankie’s apartment. Hopefully, he’s home and then I’ll get answers out of him. If not, we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  “I’m coming with you,” says Kate.

  Not to be outdone, Tina adds, “I’m not waiting in the car, if that’s what you think.”

  They mean well, but things will go better without them. They won’t intentionally do anything to hinder me, but just their presence will constrain me. I don’t want any restrictions when meeting this guy, and they shouldn’t have to see what I plan to do. The nightmares will keep them awake at night.

  “Don’t even think about going without me. Megan’s my daughter.” Kate won’t back down. We’ve been down this road before, and it’s long and nasty. We don’t have time for another trip. I need to be smarter than I was when we were young, so I try to make a deal and avoid another all-consuming death match between us.

  “Okay, Kate comes with me. I can use an extra set of eyes, but if I say you have to leave, you leave. Deal?”

  She relents. “Fine.”

  “What about me?” says Tina. “I want to come too.”

  “Absolutely not. You’ve got to stay in the car. We don’t have eyes on Frankie yet. He might not be in the apartment. Maybe he’s out, and we can’t have him surprise us if he returns to the apartment. You know what he looks like. If you see him, send us a message right away.” And then I speak slowly and loudly, so Tina knows I’m serious. “Don’t confront him.”

  Tina would like to force her way into the apartment, but she understands the logic behind the plan. “I’ll play lookout, but don’t fuck this up like you did with Brad, Stevo.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Kate and I cross the street. The ancient lock on the front door is a twenty-year-old pin and tumbler – easy. I grab my lock picking tools from the backpack, size-up the best ones and go to work. In thirty seconds, the lock clicks and we’re inside.

  Mary’s file listed Frankie’s apartment as 307, so we march up the stairs. “Kate, stay behind me until we’ve cleared the apartment. Don’t try to be a hero. Leave the physical stuff to me.”

  “Yes, dear.” Kate says, which partially ticks me off, but I know better than to get into it with her now. She’s too fired up about Frankie. One spark and she’ll explode. I get it.

  We enter the third floor. It’s still early, so no one’s in the hallway. I could kick in the door and make a big, loud show of it to scare the shit out of this creep. The more scared he is, the better chance he’ll cooperate right away. But that would be noisy, and one of the neighbors might react. We don’t need a neighbor to get in the way. The lock to his apartment is the same type as the one on the front door. I slip the two metal picks from my pocket and twist.

  The lock opens. I replace the picks in my pocket, remove the Smith and Wesson from my holster, and switch off the safety. I place my finger to my lips to tell Kate we’re going in quietly.

  When she nods, I open the door to a short hallway that leads to a living room. The living room is a mess: children’s toys are scattered about, a dress and a blouse are tossed on a chair, a bra hangs from the end of the couch, and a pizza box sits on a metal cocktail table. A newish holographic projector hangs on the wall. It’s on standby mode, so an image of a roll of parchment that’s meant to be the Constitution, with the words “Originalists for a Greater America” underneath it floats in the air, revolving slowly. I carefully work my way around the room, avoiding anything that might squeak or crunch under my feet. Luckily, there’s no sign of a dog.

  A pass-through kitchen is on the left. Dishes are piled up in the sink, and the kitchen smells rank, like the garbage should have been taken out a day or two earlier. No sign of life yet. We pass the kitchen and enter a hallway to the right that leads to two bedrooms.

  Kate nervously stalks behind me and shrugs her shoulders.

  I don’t like what I’m seeing. A few photos are hung in the hallway, of an attractive woman and a toddler with brown hair and big eyes. Unless Frankie cross-dresses none of the clothes are his, and I can’t find any signs that he lives here. In a messy apartment like this one, I should see some of his clothes or at least a picture or two.

  I creep down the hallway and slowly nudge open one of the bedroom doors with the barrel of my gun. A little girl is sleeping in a bed, half a dozen stuffed animals scattered around her. On her dresser sits a picture of Frankie in fatigues. The first sign of her father.

  “Fuck,” I whisper to myself and turn to face the master bedroom. I twist the doorknob. More chaos in the form of mess: clothes and dishes, an empty bottle of cheap white wine on the bedside table.

  Only one person sleeps in the bed: Frankie’s wife, Darleen. She’s curled her leg around the blanket and hugs a pillow. She’s nude.

  I move like a shadow and check out the attached bathroom. No one else is home. Only one toothbrush sits on the sink. No shaving stuff or anything that might belong to a man.

  I motion for Kate to shut the bedroom door. She does, and Darleen stirs. I move to the side of her bed and nudge her ass with the barrel of the gun.

  She twists on her back and says, “Go back to sleep, Cindy.”

  “I’m not Cindy.”

  She bolts upward and pulls her blanket over her chest. A feral look frightens her eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

  I keep the gun traine
d on her face. “We’re looking for Frankie.”

  “You’ve come to the wrong place. That impotent, limp dick isn’t here.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “Beats me. What’s that prick done now?” Darleen looks at Kate for the first time. “Did that good-for-nothing ass-wipe assault you?”

  Kate shakes her head.

  “I didn’t think so. No offense, honey, you’re not his type.”

  “He’s taken my daughter,” Kate says.

  Darleen frowns. “Oh shit, that sounds right.”

  I lower the gun and sit on the edge of her bed. “How do you contact Frankie? We’d like to chat with him.”

  “Contact Frankie,” she huffs. “Why would I do that? We’re better off without him.”

  “You married him and that’s his daughter in the other room.”

  “Worst mistake I ever made, that’s for sure.” She turns to Kate. “Listen, I’m real sorry about your girl. I’d help if I could, but I haven’t seen him in six months. I don’t have any way to contact him. He usually stops in on Christmas with a few presents for Cindy, but that’s all we see of him. And that’s too much, if you ask me.”

  “What’s he doing?” I ask. “Who’s he working for?”

  “After Frankie got his stupid ass discharged from the Army, he started working for the Red Dragons, selling drugs, doing bullshit crimes. He’d do a robbery now and then, and enforcement stuff for them. Some shop owner failed to make a payment and Frankie would crack a few skulls. All that stopped a little over a year ago. He hooked up with some new group and said he was getting religion.”

  Religion. “What did he call them?”

  “He didn’t use names. Said something about a farm. They have cows and shit. He cut his hair back to the way it was in the military and acted stuck up. Like he was holy and better than everyone else. Frankie didn’t know anything about religion, so it was weird to hear him talk about God and stuff.”

  “Did he say what he did for these people?” I ask.

  “Fuck if I know. Probably no good. What else can Frankie do? He’s not too bright.”

  She sounds sincere. Kate and I share a look and it’s obvious Kate believes her also. But the demons inside me growl. They’re not so certain, and then the door opens.

  Cindy wanders into the room, half asleep her footsteps tentative. She holds a pink stuffed rabbit by an ear and looks at us with sleepy eyes. “Mommy, who are these people?”

  She’s so close.

  Caesar barks in my mind, “Take her, numbnuts! Take the girl and the floozy in the bed will have no choice but to tell you everything. Don’t go soft on me. You’ll have to hurt the girl to show that you’re serious, but after that, the tramp will do whatever you say. Get it done! Your girlfriend will thank you later.”

  One of the Fates put Cindy in the doorway, but which one? The witch who controls her fate or mine? Whose tapestry is in play?

  Sweat trickles down Megan’s forehead and into her eyes. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and goes back to work, swinging a long wooden pole in a somewhat successful effort to capture the last few ripe apples from the highest branches in the trees. She traps about half of her attempts in the wicker basket at the end of the pole. The rest fall to the ground.

  The other Angels score a much better success rate. Under the circumstances, she should care less. But she’s competitive by nature and hates sucking at anything. Even though it’s mad-cow crazy, she’s still peeved at sucking. Her arms and shoulders ache from the effort, but the other Angels wield their poles with no sign of letting up, so she continues and tries to do better.

  An electric cart pulls up to the patch of trees and Frankie steps out. A cat-ate-the-canary grin stretches across the pervert’s face. “Spring, you’re to come with me. Mother wants to speak with you.”

  The cart is empty. She’ll be alone with Frankie, and he’s holding one of the electric prods. Another guard in a red jumpsuit wanders over in their direction. She could run, but she’ll never outrun them. Plus, the pendant swings around her neck like a noose. They’d know exactly where she is. She has no choice but to go with Frankie.

  At least she can act like she’s not afraid. She drops her pole, straightens her back, fixes a stoic expression on her face, and steps forward. Just as she takes her first step, behind her, someone screams.

  Petal topples to the ground, flings her apple-picking pole in the air, and holds her ankle, groaning. “I’ve twisted it on one of the fallen apples.”

  Frankie scowls at her. “Shake it off and go back to work.”

  Petal stands but she can’t put any weight on her injured ankle. She hops over to Megan and loops her arm over Megan’s shoulder. “Take me to the doctor. She’s on your way.”

  Frankie’s eyes darken. “I’m just supposed to take Spring.”

  May and Violet stop working and lean against their poles. “She’s hurt,” May says. “Take her with you.”

  The other two Angels with them stop and watch. The Angels have power. They won’t go back to work unless Frankie takes Petal. He has no real excuse to leave her behind, and he’ll have a hard time explaining why the entire group stopped working.

  Megan can almost see the thoughts run through the rickety wheel in his demented head. He wants to be alone with her, but he doesn’t want to get in trouble either. He doesn’t want to lose another patch on his jumpsuit.

  Finally, the wheel stops. He slaps the prod against his hand and sighs. “Okay, both of you in the cart. I don’t have all day.”

  When Frankie turns around, Petal winks at Megan, and leans on her as they three-leg walk and hop to the cart. When they reach the cart, Megan scoots into the back first and Petal slides next to her.

  Frankie grumbles a few choice curse words involving a donkey and a sex act from the front and takes off.

  Petal leans in close and whispers, her breath brushing against Megan’s ear like soft bristles from a paintbrush. She smells like fresh apples. “You should be okay. There are always people around in the main courtyard. Run to Mother’s office as soon as possible.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble when the doctor realizes you haven’t really twisted your ankle.”

  “I’ll fake it. If she suspects anything, she’ll think I’m just being lazy, so she’ll make me do some extra chores. I’ll survive. Better than the alternative.” Petal nods toward Frankie in the front seat who drives aggressively, turning the cart roughly onto a dirt road that leads to the courtyard.

  Megan suspects Petal could get in substantially more trouble than she has let on. Petal is sacrificing herself for her even though they’re virtually strangers. Unsure what to say, she settles on a throaty, “Thank you.”

  The dark-skin girl leans in closer. “We have to stick together.” She brushes her lips against Megan’s cheek. They feel soft and warm.

  Petal laces her fingers between Megan’s, and Megan squeezes her back.

  A few minutes later, Frankie pulls the cart in front of the medical building next to Mother’s office. He grabs Petal by the shoulders and yanks her roughly out of the cart.

  “You had better be careful or that clumsiness will get you in trouble.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine,” she says and then she turns to Megan and points to the next building. “Mother’s office is in that building. You can be on your way.”

  Megan bolts out of the cart and runs for the door. Frankie races after her, but he’s too late to grab her. She opens the door to the building two steps in front of him. Once inside, she knocks on the first door to the left, the same one Buck knocked on the other day.

  Ivy calls from inside the office for her to enter.

  She opens the door and breathes deeply. Thanks to Petal, she’s escaped Frankie, at least for now.

  Ivy stands by the windows, wearing the same multi-colored jumpsuit she wore yesterday. It shimmers in the early afternoon light.

  She smiles at Megan. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
/>   “Did I have a choice?”

  “No, I guess not.” Ivy turns to Frankie who steps into the room behind Megan and dismisses him.

  When Frankie leaves and shuts the door, Ivy says, “I saw you run from the cart. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  Megan’s instinct tells her to stay quiet about Frankie. She doesn’t know how Ivy will react, and she assumes anything she tells Ivy will get back to Frankie and that will only make the situation worse. Plus, Petal warned her against telling. She said Ivy would suspect the Devil was involved and that would be bad.

  “Nothing. I was just anxious to see you.”

  “Right,” says Ivy. “I’m taking over your education personally. We start now.”

  Ivy strolls past Megan and through the doorway. “Well, come on. God is waiting.”

  Megan feels like she’s about to take a test in a class she hasn’t attended. A pit the size of a watermelon grows in her stomach. What does Ivy’s cryptic statement mean, and does she really want to find out?

  She hesitates. “I think you’re wasting your time with me. God doesn’t want to talk to me. Just send me home, and you can work with some more deserving girls.”

  Ivy smirks. “A fine idea, but none are more deserving than you. You just don’t know it yet. Come with me. Otherwise, I’ll call Frankie, and he’ll help you join me. And we don’t want to involve him in our little discussions, do we?”

  Ivy leaves the office and Megan follows after her helplessly. She certainly doesn’t want to see Frankie again. Not now. Not ever.