“When I declined, Mary warned me I couldn’t get into the sorority if I didn’t. I was a little upset and cold because of all the hazing.” Jane’s voice trailed off, she was looking at Jackson’s disbelieving face.
“Okay, so I was very upset. Mortified. Angry. Hysterical.” Jane conceded with down turned eyes. She sighed and then continued. “So I told her I didn’t want to join, that I was only researching a paper, that I thought their behavior was disgusting. Stupid me. Mary flipped out. No matter how many times I assured her no names would be used, she wouldn’t calm down. Anne Marsden and a few others, they got Mary to go back to the other pledges. As they walked toward the AKA house, I could see flashes.”
Hansom shook her head, her eyes watering. “Members of some frat were taking pictures of the girls.”
“If you weren’t going to give names, why was Wellington so upset?”
Hansom gave another bitter smile. “Alpha Kappa Alpha has a certain reputation among the students and faculty. If the report was truthful, people would know which sorority it was about. And I would tell the truth, people should know what’s going on. I prayed about it and I knew I had to write my paper,” Hansom said. “Plus, it was way too late to choose another topic for my paper and presentation.”
“Did you finish the paper?”
“Yep, 65 pages all together, then my laptop was stolen.”
Jackson made sure to keep his expression blank at her statement.
Hansom gave a real smile, “Mary was too late, though, I had already emailed a copy of it to my friend for an edit. All I had to do was get into my email at the library and save a copy of it. I handed in a draft of it this—err,” Hansom turned to her clock. “Yesterday morning to my professor. I give my presentation on Monday.”
Jackson smirked. His delay in giving the laptop to Wellington had helped Hansom. “So, by Monday, Wellington and the sorority should be in trouble with the university. No doubt attracting the attention of Wellington’s father.”
Hansom stood up straight. “That explains a lot.” She smiled. Jackson raised his eyebrow in question.
Hansom’s smile widened. “Girls gossip. While pledging, I was told that Mary was, umm, not a respectable girl. Over the years, she’s been kicked out by several prestigious boarding schools. It was only her father’s money that got her into any Ivy League schools. She still managed to raise hell. One of the other pledges told me Mary’s dad was getting sick of all the trouble she caused. MSU was her last chance at freedom before her dad had her committed.”
“To rehab or a mental institution?”
Hansom shrugged. “I don’t know, probably in a wing of one of the family’s mansions or something.”
Jackson smiled. “Thank you for your time, Miss Hansom, sorry to wake you. Be careful for the next day or so. Just until Mr. Wellington takes Mary out of East Lansing. Everything should be fine. I’m watching Mary.”
“Umm, should I call the police? I’ve already told them about my laptop and how it was probably Mary, but they may want to know about this.”
Jackson tried not to cringe. He hated cops. He’d had way too many bad dealings with the E.L. police in the past few years. When they wanted a man, they’d accuse him of anything. Jackson knew that first hand. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was his name mentioned in one of their reports, especially if they tied him to a bigwig family like the Wellingtons.
A brief image of a probably long dead police detective flashed through Jackson’s mind. Red faced, out of breath, overweight Police Detective Garrett Davis had been the first man to arrest Jackson.
“At this time, I don’t think that should be necessary, especially if you already gave them Wellington’s name in relation to your missing laptop. Plus, it’s not in my client’s interest for Wellington to be involved in any further confrontation.” It was true, but Marsden’s case was far from the front of his mind. Wellington had corrupted enough of the world. She didn’t need to drag down a smart innocent kid like Hansom with her.
The girl nodded. “I have faith this will work out for the best.” Jackson held back a snort and left.
THE NEXT DAY, with nothing better to do, Jackson decided to spend his Saturday in his office, not too unusual for him. He held a mental debate. He could sit back and wait for Monday. Wellington would be in trouble by then. Or, he could make a call. Bring the girl’s downfall a day or two sooner. After all, she’d been the one to get him involved in her mess. Jackson may as well help with clean up; he was good at it. Not to mention, he’d get some revenge. He wouldn’t leave ends untied, not now. After some research online, Jackson made a call to Paris. He’d hate his next phone bill. After going through several secretaries, he finally spoke with Mr. Wellington.
Jackson told the older man everything he’d witnessed since he first met Mary and what Hansom had told him. “I thought you should know. It’s likely that news of your daughter’s involvement in the sorority’s hazing will begin to spread by Monday.”
Jackson heard Mr. Wellington sigh into the phone. Gotta hurt, knowing your daughter’s a soul eating demon. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Jackson. What is your usual payment for such deeds?”
“No payment is necessary.” Knowing that he had contributed to Mary getting shipped off was all the retribution that Jackson needed. Plus, he wanted to wash his hands of the whole situation, let it be another memory that could drift to the back of his mind.
“I’m thankful that this call didn’t come from a dean or university president for once.” Wellington continued, “It’s rather embarrassing. I will have some men move my daughter out tomorrow morning.”
“Alright.” Jackson said, hanging up. Only one thing left to do.
THAT NIGHT, JACKSON WATCHED as people flocked to the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority house for what appeared to be a typical Saturday night orgy. Once the party was in full swing, no one noticed him sneak in, find Wellington’s room and take a small silver laptop. As he drove away, he looked back at the sorority. Light cascaded out of the windows, but darkness surrounded the rest of the building. He hoped never to have to see it again.
HOWEVER, HE DID. The next morning, by the light of day, he returned to the sorority. He watched as two vans and a car pulled up in front of the house. Five men entered the sorority and cleared out the stylish belongings of Mary Wellington in only six trips to the vans. Then they brought out Wellington. Her shell of perfection had shattered, her hair fell in chunks around her face, she wore no makeup, and her expression looked like that of a hung-over and lost eight-year-old. The smell of smoke and alcohol wafted all the way over to Jackson across the street. The girl leaned on the men as they escorted her to the car, looking broken, sick. She wasn’t alone. Jackson looked around him at the browning grass and polluted land that was beside the campus.
THAT AFTERNOON, JACKSON DROVE through the college campus. Without a cloud in the sky, the sun shined down. Several men cut the green grass, scaring away the birds and chipmunks, as Jackson, squinting in the light, drove the route that took him from Mason Hall to the Student Union. He once again watched as Jane Hansom locked her bike to a stand and entered the student union. Jackson sat in his car a few minutes, looking at Beaumont Tower and the well-kept grassy patches that surrounded it. Students milled about, some studying, others talking or throwing Frisbees.
As he climbed out of his car, Jackson picked up the laptop that sat on his car’s passenger seat. Thankfully it was Sunday; the MSU traffic department wouldn’t get a single dime. He entered the Union, then Beaners. He ordered a cup of black coffee, noticed that a cup of tea, Hansom’s backpack and other possessions sat unattended on one of the tables. He set the laptop with her things, holding back a smirk at her unwavering innocence. He exited the café, almost bumping into Hansom who was entering. She looked at him with surprise and, after a moment, recognition. Jackson smiled, nodded and continued to walk, coffee in hand. He didn’t look back.
AMERICAN ANGEL
MICHAEL MEDINA
Antioch City, second decade of the 21st century . . .
Lucas Sullivan cut through alleyways, knocking over trash cans, huffing, puffing, gasping for breath, always looking over his shoulder as he ran. This guy’s relentless, he thought to himself. He had to lose him somehow.
He wasn’t going down over that dirty slut. All because he had had a few too many drinks and she wanted to get smart with him. All he did was lay down the law, keep her in line. For crying out loud, she wouldn’t even need stitches!
Plus, she knew that he was on parole. She was trying to get him to mess up. Stupid whore set him up.
Lucas found himself darting down an open sidewalk now. Not good. He had to hide.
The opportunity presented itself as a small group of restaurant employees unloading a delivery truck. They stopped to stare as he hurriedly approached the open loading dock. At the first sign of their protests he drew a gun from his waistband and thrust it toward them, yelling a warning at them to back off. He passed quickly through the kitchen and then stopped. His first instinct was to find a back door into the alley, but that would be his pursuer’s first instinct as well. Retracing his steps, he eyed the freezer door sitting open. He rushed inside, slipping slightly on the glazed over concrete floor. It was dark. Cold and dark. He took care not to let the door close completely. He was smart. He had just seen that episode of I Love Lucy last night.
The irony, however, was lost on him at the moment.
Plus, even if this guy chasing him did think to look in the freezer, here in the darkness Lucas could get the drop on him before his eyes had time to adjust.
Damn, it’s cold.
But he waited patiently, calculating every possible scenario, every course of action, every possible means of escape. This guy would not get the best of him.
He checked his watch. Three-thirty-two p.m. If only he had made his
3:30 flight to Arkansas he could have hidden out at his brother’s house for a while.
Lucas let out a long, frosty breath. At some point he had wrapped his arms around himself. The gun was cold in his hand. He half believed that his tongue would stick to it if he suddenly developed the urge to lick it.
He had no such urge.
That guy had to be long gone by now. It had been, what, eight, ten minutes at least? He checked his watch in the shaft of light coming from the door’s circular window. Three-thirty-five.
Three minutes.
Hmmm. He would give it another two just to be sure.
With eyes constantly monitoring the window, he started rubbing his arms and hopping.
The door hinges squeaked softly. Click. Aw, damn.
He eased toward the door, step by step, once every five seconds. Slowly his eyes came to the window and shifted about. Nothing. He examined the door. Good, a push bar. He wasn’t locked in. He reached for it, then recoiled his hand. No, better wait. Just wait. He checked his watch again. Been roughly another minute and a half.
Good enough. He depressed the push bar, cringed as it clicked loudly, and pushed it open inch by inch, inch by inch, until he could ease his body halfway through. He glanced to the right, then to the left, clutching his gun.
He saw his pursuer for a quarter of a second, the man’s steel-toe boot kicking out, slamming against the door, which slammed against Lucas’ head, which slammed against the door jamb. Lucas dropped like a sack of quick-dry cement and blacked out.
Bounty Hunter James “Wolf-Man” Vega stepped out from behind the freezer door, kicking the gun out of his unconscious quarry’s hand. He stood over him for a few seconds. Finally, in a low, raspy voice he said, “Hey, sunshine.”
FEDERAL BOUNTY HUNTERS BUREAU: THE NEXT MORNING . . .
“Who’s the skip?” Vega asked, taking the cell phone that Cassius had slid across the desk to him.
“I don’t know—not his name anyway—but it’s high-profile. I know you don’t care much for the limelight but we’re hiring the best for this hunt. Stakes are high.” Cassius, Senior Executive of the Guild of Federal Bounty Hunters, leaned back in his leather chair, stretching out his hand to rest it on the massive oak desk in front of him as he sized up the man sitting at the other end.
James Samuel Vega. Cassius respected the guy. Didn’t know much about him, but he respected him all the same. Vega was quiet and reserved. Stoic. Hardboiled, but as humble as they came. He didn’t cut corners on the job. Didn’t go easy on himself when it came to the hunt. Vega always knew he could do better and was merciless with himself about it. With any other bounty hunter, Cassius would have said that such obsession with the hunt was driven by a lust for money. But Cassius had known Vega for a couple of years now and knew that Vega pushed himself to perfection because he wanted to protect the people of this lousy city. Forget that the city had long since been a lost cause, a cesspool of crime and travesty. Vega was no quitter. He’d still do his job.
A few seconds of silence had dragged on into nearly a minute as Cassius watched Vega skim the details of the hunt on the cell. Vega’s sloping eyebrows and square jaw of heavy five o’ clock shadow gave the man a look of perpetual anger. Finally, Vega said in that low, gravelly voice of his, “Guy sounds familiar.” He looked up and handed the cell back to Cassius.
“He should. It’s our very own Nighttime Candy-Man.” “Sounds like a porn-star.”
“Indeed.”
“But for some reason he decided to become Antioch City’s most notorious kidnapper, child molester, and suspected head of his own child pornography cartel.”
“Maybe it was his lack of acting skills,” Cassius replied. “But why the news stations would glorify this guy with a nickname is beyond me.”
“I hate the press.”
“They made me look good in their piece on the Bureau two months ago.”
“Didn’t say I liked you, either,” Vega replied in that dry, humorless way that he joked without smiling. “So why is this federal?”
“Last kid to disappear was outside state lines.”
“That’s his first mistake.”
“Plus, local cops have enough on their plate, what with the Alpha Syndicate establishing an organized crime presence here. Pile that on top of the rise of the general crime rate and Antioch City has become quite the hellhole.”
Vega didn’t reply right away. Cassius watched him mull over a few details in his head. Finally, “This is the eighteenth kid to go missing.”
“Right. Seven boys, eleven girls.”
Vega said, “One boy escaped some months ago.”
“Didn’t give the authorities much. Cops raided the basement of some derelict apartment complex. Turned up nothing. Might have moved all the evidence—“
“Children.” “What?”
“Children. Not evidence.”
“Yes. He may have moved them, but who knows? Cops weren’t even sure it was the right place. The boy that escaped gave his best guess.” Cassius leaned forward, folding his hands and resting his elbows on the desk. “Thirty-five thousand. What do you say, Vega?”
“I’m on it. Just one thing: I want Jiana with me on this one.” Cassius sighed. “She’s just a kid.”
“She’s eighteen, and she’s sharp. Sharper than I was at her age.”
“She hasn’t done much hunting since she was hired on. Certainly not anything this big.”
“She’s gotta learn some time.” Vega leaned forward onto the desk. “But that’s not why you have a problem with her, is it?”
“I’m just looking out for her well being, Vega.”
“It was nearly a year ago. She’s doing better. I should know if she’s up for this.”
Cassius shrugged, “She’s your girlfriend.” “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Cassius rubbed his palms together slowly. “The two of you live together.” “Tech lives with us, too. Jiana has her own room.”
“You’re twenty-six years old. She moved in when she was seventeen. You have to understand what that looks like to other people.”
“The kid was living out of her car. In this neighborhood that’s a death wish.”
“And does she have any more . . . death wishes?” Cassius asked carefully. Vega’s jaws flexed visibly, holding back the anger of a touchy subject. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he replied, “No. She doesn’t.”
“It’s your call.” Cassius finished the meeting by standing up.
Vega handed his own cell to Cassius, who in turn dropped it into the dock, downloaded the official contract to it and handed it back. Vega tucked it into his coat pocket, stood, and headed toward the door. Cassius said, “Good luck, Vega.”
“There is no luck. Only God.”
JIANA LYMAN, CALL-SIGN “SLIDER,” was still dressed for the early morning in comfy gray sweats and sleeveless gray hoodie. She pulled her blonde hair up into a high ponytail and went to the kitchen to make lunch. She was the Bureau’s newest rookie bounty hunter. Two hunts, neither of them overly challenging. Neither got physical or abnormally dangerous. Vega had walked her through both of them, but at least they paid. Jiana was proud that she was finally able to carry her end of the rent. She didn’t want to disappoint Vega or seem an inconvenience after all of his hospitality. Up until she received her hunting certification, the best she had to offer was her knack for cooking.
In fact, that was exactly what she was doing at the moment: grilling some chicken breasts, swaying side to side to the arguably less-than-timeless oldie, Shake Your Booty, and doing so when prompted by the chorus. She bobbed her head rhythmically, causing a tap, tap, tapping of the two locks of colorful hair beads that dangled across her left cheek. She was sautéing onions when Vega came into the apartment. Her face brightened. “Hey. Expected you to be gone half the afternoon,” she greeted him, her not-too-thick southern accent sweet as sugar and soft as cotton. “Bounty was just too enticing,” Vega said.
MIdnight Diner 1: Jesus vs. Cthulhu Page 24