Bitter Angel (23 page)

In an instant, he lets go and walks away.

I could easily sink into the ground right now. Quit. Pretend I never saw him. Pretend none of this happened.

I knew this would happen, though. This guy’s a pro. There was only about a two percent chance he’d believe me and an even lower chance he’d call tonight off.

I expected this, and this time I’m prepared.

With an eagle eye, I follow his every step as he exits the park and crosses the street. I take speedy, concentrated steps in his direction. At the corner near the exit is a cab—that second call I made.

I get in and point. “Follow him.”

Okay, a yellow taxicab might not be the stealthiest car to tail someone in, so it’s a good thing I called one of those red ones with a yellow stripe down the middle…Yeah, no better, but I had no other choice. It’s the cab or the bus. Thanks to the four-dollar day pass the city offers, I still have thirty-one dollars and fifty cents. It might not get me far, but this is my last shot.

I hate to say it, but I don’t trust Trigger. He’ll do what he needs to do to keep his career and his life. Who can blame him? And Jay will…well, he’ll probably risk his life if he has to as long as I’m not in the mix, which is why I’m here, directly inserting myself into the nucleus of this mother.

I’m the gap filler. I’m the missing link. I was last night, and I am now. My money is on Jay and Trigger tailing H and Brandon and containing them somehow. If Jay had left me my phone, I’d know for sure, but he didn’t.

My luck so far is good as I watch Alpha hoof it around a corner and down the street. He slides into a black sports car and pulls out of his curb spot. I quickly jot down the plate number with the pen and paper the cab driver so unhappily bequeathed to me.

Then I slide my hand through the neck strap of the camera. I left it in here while I was in the park. I turn it on, ready it on the auto
setting, and tense my fingers around the black plastic body. With one eye in the viewfinder, I take a couple test shots.
Blurry.
I fiddle with the sophisticated zoom until the picture looks clear and take a couple more.
Blurrier.

“Damn it!”

My driver is a middle-aged man. He doesn’t seem thrilled to be on stalker duty, especially while following a car that could definitely go from zero to sixty in ten seconds.

“Still want me to follow him?” he asks with a frown.

“Yeah.”

I ignore his surly attitude. I’m too engrossed in getting this piece of shit camera to work. The thing acts like it wants me to buy it a steak dinner. I growl a sigh and put my attention back on Alpha. If he gets away, I’m screwed.

So far, he’s taken all side roads, no freeway yet. We drive for about ten minutes, careful to stay at least one or two cars behind him.

After inching the lens left and right several hundred times, I’ve finally gotten what looks like a clear shot in the digital screen.
Thank God!
I throw my head against the gray vinyl seat with a fraction of relief when I notice the meter is already up to sixteen dollars. Small sweat drops bead on my forehead.

Alpha stops in a Wendy’s parking lot. He leans against his car’s exterior, arms folded. My cab idles farther down a side road where he can’t see us, but I have a clear view. I balance the camera in front of my face. I’m so ready.

A giant black SUV pulls up next to him, and my heart slams against my rib cage because I’m sure it’s H and/or Brandon getting out, with possibly Jay and/or Trigger with them. But it’s no one I recognize. Some tall dude, by himself. There’s an awkward handshake, which I surmise to be an exchange.
Money? Drugs?
I can’t tell.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.
The camera takes pictures faster than I sweet-talked that nerd at Starbucks earlier. I just might buy this thing a steak dinner.

Before I have any real time to appreciate it or breathe, Alpha is back in his car, and he’s in a hurry. The cabbie just sits there.

From the backseat, I pound the passenger side headrest with my fists. “Go, go, go!” I’m tempted to knock the guy upside the head. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

Begrudgingly, he lead-foots the gas and gets us a car length away from the black sports car. “This isn’t Matlock, lady,” he yells. It sounds more like a whine to me though. “I’m no cop. This isn’t my job.”

“Your job is to drive, so
drive
.”

He shakes his head, annoyed.

Maybe I will whack him. I could knock him out, steal the cab, and
—

Quit it, Lil. Stick to the abiding side of the law.

Damn conscience.

We drive for another few minutes, heading farther outside the city. The landscape changes from skyscrapers to not skyscrapers to plazas. Everything now is shopping centers and fast food restaurants, all interspersed with random houses, businesses, and apartments. The farther we go though, the shittier everything looks.

I purposely don’t glance at the meter. If I have to, I will jump ship. My moral compass isn’t exactly pointing due north right now. I’m doing a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do.

Thank goodness this driver doesn’t know I only have a little over thirty bucks in my pocket. He’d pull over and kick my ass out.

Please,
I plead to no one really, just to whoever might be listening.
Please let me stop this.

I get another adrenaline jolt when Alpha pulls up to a slum apartment building.
Clickclickclickclickclick.
I look out both windows. No corners say Harrison Road. I’m not confident enough in my memory to know if it’s the same building.

He’s at the curb, parking behind a shiny red car. I can’t tell what it is, but it looks expensive. Alpha gets out, and two guys exit the red car. They’re young, good-looking, and they hand him…money.

Shit. These are the clients.
I know it. I’m going to be sick, but my index finger takes no breaks from documenting this.

Alpha pockets the money, hands them a paper, and they leave. Alpha goes inside.

It’s now or never,
I tell myself. I can’t wait for him to come out. If this is the building, he might never leave. I must have a serious death wish. I wait for two seconds, debating. Warning bells, fire truck sirens, and Jay’s voice are all competing in my brain for top billing, but I cut them off simultaneously. There’s no way I’m not going in there after him. I have to do this. This is my shot.

With shallow breaths, I pull my money from my pocket, loose change and all. Alpha’s been in the building for four seconds.

Now or never, chicken shit!

I clench my jaw and toss the money at the driver. “Here. Thanks.” I make a break for it. I’m certain that it’s not enough.

By the time I reach the dilapidated building door made of thick wood with worn paint chipping off its edges, I hear a far off, “Hey, lady!”

I ignore it. He can come after me if he wants to. The more, the merrier.

Inside, I’m taken aback by the dimness and the smell.
Ugh.
It’s an awful recipe of rotting food, mildew, and pet urine. Hopefully, only pet urine.
Totally rank.

Similar to the room I was in last night, the walls are peeling and stained, like they survived a hurricane and lived to tell about it. The floors are white tiles, cracked and disintegrated to powder in some corners. At least I think they used to be white. The hall I’m in is narrow. There’s a staircase to my right. A light flickering several feet away is the only sign that this place isn’t vacant. The owner wouldn’t pay an electric bill for an empty building, right?

Stifling my inner germaphobe, I flatten myself to the wall to remain inconspicuous. I pinch my nose though the smell is sinking into my pores anyway, and I tune my ears to the muted surroundings.

I hear footsteps on the stairs. I dash up on light feet, careful not to make a sound. When I come to the first floor, I peer around with one eye. Nothing.

A slamming door has me jumping backward, down three steps, and I’m barely able to catch myself from plummeting to the bottom.
That was close.
On my feet again, two men pass me mid-flight. They’re big guys, eyeballing me and chuckling to each other in another language. Russian maybe?
What kind of stuff goes on here?
This is freaking Tennessee. Yeah, they have cities, but it’s mostly the back hills, mountains.
Not the New York City mafia!
Well, I don’t really know where the mafia lives, but I’m positive it’s not in Bumpkinville, Tennessee. Not that my judgment is sound seeing as twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea that a gang of rapists were loitering here either.

With only one backward glance, I shoot up to the second floor and peer in. Nothing.

Third floor. Nada.

Fourth floor—

Shit!
I hear those footsteps again, which means I’m getting close. They’re heavy, distinct, unrushed. The sound is up another floor, maybe two. I don’t hear anything else though. I wonder how many people live in this building.

I slow my pace and follow the footsteps, keeping my body slightly crouched and prepared for flight. Alpha’s a tricky son of a bitch. He might already know that I followed him. He could be perched around any one of these corners, waiting to take me out.

I think all of my organs must be crammed into my throat because I’m having a hard time catching my breath. My legs are burning, unaccustomed to climbing stairs with bent knees. My mind is like a Dr. Seuss book, speaking a different language, and I’m having difficulties communicating with it.

What do I do when I find him?
You’re not going to find him. You’re going to figure out where he’s going and get the hell out of here.

Right.
I just need to find the apartment and make sure this is the place. Then I’ll leave.
I’ll be fine. I will.
Convincing myself isn’t working, and I’m starting to wonder if Jay’s efforts will be wasted after all. I can’t really blame him for my own choices, though. I could’ve stayed back. I should’ve.

No. Don’t think like that. You’re saving lives here!
E
nough with the self-pity.

By the sixth floor, my footsteps are a muffled murmur as I ready for the sight of him. I do the one-eye thing again, and—
oh, oh
—there he is. He slides a key into a lock about halfway down the hall. He twists the knob. The door swings open, and he disappears from view. I’m breathlessly silent.

The door stays open.

This is it.

I tiptoe over, pressing my back to the wall just outside the door as I listen. I hear water running and bags crinkling.

I swallow hard while my fingers scratch and dig into the wall behind me until it hurts. Chips of paint cut the soft skin beneath my fingernails. I squeeze my eyes shut. I think I feel a tear slide down my face. Maybe it’s my imagination.

Hell, I’m scared. I’m a shit-ton more scared than last night. Before, I was fighting for my life. Now I’m just being reckless, pressing Death’s knife to my own throat.

Dewdrops of sweat tingle down my scalp. My finger cramps against the shutter release of the camera, dying to press it like it’s the trigger of a gun, like it can really save me in this moment. I don’t know what I need to take pictures of in here, but I’m prepped and ready.

Suddenly, that word
trigger
slams against a vacant wall in my brain, stirring a fast and vicious laugh that I have to literally bite my lips against. I’ll never see or hear that word again without thinking of Trigger, the man. Well, he’s sort of a man. More of a man-boy. Either way, that word is forever going to be mislabeled in my vocabulary, and I fully realize that this is only a glimpse of my future.

My whole body stiffens only a millisecond after it goes slack. I do not
have time for this. I’m on a mission. That’s right. Cue the freaking James Bond theme song.

With bravery I didn’t even know I possessed, I listen for one more breath. He’s deep in the apartment somewhere, I think. I want to snap a picture, but I don’t dare. All I need is a peek. And that’s exactly what I get before I’m back down the hall, stuffing myself into a corner of the stairwell a half-flight down on a landing with a window. If he goes up, I’m good. If he goes down, I’m not screwed as long as I hear him coming.