Gavin watched as she pulled the .22 from her purse and promptly shot him in the chest.
Chapter
-10
Siggie Ashcroft threw his black duffel bag on the worn couch of the dilapidated bedroom and stood silently, taking in his surroundings. Even the musty smell seemed liberating. He’d been confined to a six-by-eight cement
-
block cell, with color-coordinated steel bars, at the Jackson Correction Facility for the last five years
,
and th
at
made th
is
seem like the White House. But then again, what wouldn’t? There weren’t any rats waltzing around the stained windowsills and no turds sprinkled around the floor
or in the bed,
at least that he could see. That made this half
way
house apartment just that much better. Score one for him
and the bleeding
-
heart liberals
who
thought he deserved another chance
.
Still
, n
othing could compare to what he had six years ago, before those sleazy bitches took it away
: d
ecadent
salary, big house on Lansing’s Southside, SUVs
. . .
and a family, a family he would never see again. His
e
x-wife had made that abundantly clear. His young son and daughter would grow up not knowing who he was, what he had sacrificed to give them a leg up in life. Worse, the old lady didn’t
want
them to know. Stupid heifer.
So what if he liked getting it on
in
a different way? Those women knew what they were getting into. They had to. The way they’d all looked at him, showing their tits and all of that leg, begging him to take them
down a road
they’d never been. And let’s not forget those shoes. The ones that said do me, do me now. He
’d just done
what they had asked.
Where was the crime in that
?
His
jerk-off
attorney said he would be smart to plead guilty and get a reduced sentence. If not, he could go away for a very long time. Rape
on
multiple counts wasn’t funny. So he
had pleaded guilty
. But he and that faggot lawyer would talk again. Real close up.
“Rape
,
my ass,” he whispered.
The word caused his searing anger to burn even hotter. “Paybacks, bitches, paybacks.”
He kicked off his shoes and stretched his thin, wiry frame
,
then headed to the kitchen. There was supposed to be some food in the fridge and
a
few things in the cupboard to ti
d
e him over until he could go shopping.
M
inutes later, he realized he was going to have to go out. There wasn’t anything
in this shithole
that
he had a hankering for. He grinned. Nothing
the pantry or refrigerator could give him.
He needed something else
,
and he wasn’t going to wait.
Having playmates in prison wasn’t the same as having them on the outside, and he
more than
missed the ones out here. They were softer, more compliant. He loved compliant.
Ashcroft waited another two hours until the fall sun had almost vanished over the red Michigan horizon, slid into his brown loafers, flipped the hood over his head
,
and went out the door. He stood on his stoop, looked up and down the street, and realized how much freedom he had. There was no one around telling him what to do, what to say
,
or
even watching him take a piss. No more.
Ashcroft could no longer suppress what his appetite said he had to have, what he needed. This was going to be some lad
y’
s lucky night. What a country. He could hardly
contain himself
.
Chapter
-11
The woman in black watched Ashcroft shudder like he was gripping a downed power line, then grow still.
It was f
ascinating and eerie at the same time. She almost felt him leave this world and enter the next. But it wasn’t
h
eaven, or any other promised land filled with God’s mercy and presence. He went straight to
hell
, to the kingdom of eternal suffering. It’s what he deserved.
Her breathing began to settle as she rose from her knees and, once again
,
glanced down both sides of the dusk-shrouded street. They were off the beaten path, but it never hurt to be cautious. She had more work to do and getting caught wasn’t on the agenda.
It had
been
easier this time. Ash
croft
hadn’t needed much coaxing to get his pants off, not after she had promised him whatever he wanted. She had worked the hooker angle, and he drew to her like iron to a magnet.
Thinking
with his little head
had cost him his miserable life.
What a surprise.
After putting the bottle of acid back in her bag, she began wiping blood and
strands of
tissue from her face and legs with the moist towels she had brought. She peeled off the black hoodie, short skirt, and the four
-
inch stilettos, putting them in the thick garbage bag
. T
hen
she
put on jeans and a sweatshirt. She found the shell casings and put them in her pocket. Next, she removed the bloodied rag from his mouth. That had shut
up
the perverted
whiner
, b
ut she supposed most people were cooperative with their wrists adorned with
black leather straps
and a
.22 handgun massaging
their face.
At that moment, the mercury-filled streetlight flickered on, changing shadows to reality, and she jumped, grabbing her chest. In that brief millisecond, her mind
ran
the full gamut of what she had done, was doing
—
from
the shock and disdain
of
her family
, to spending the rest of her life in prison.
She quickly envisioned herself
as
a shriveled old woman sentenced to a dirty, diseased
-
infested prison cell
,
where her best friend was another
decrepit
, forgotten
woman who hadn’t done anything wrong.
They were j
ust victim
s
of the system.
“We’re all victims of the system,” she whispered in
a
voice that didn’t sound like her. That
was
okay.
Her voice wasn’t the only part of her struggling with who she was
.
The streetlight bled Picasso patterns into the area behind the tall
,
silver maple
—just turning
colors, anticipating the cycle of life the four seasons dictated
—
where Ash
croft
la
y
. She tilted her head, curiosity outweighing revulsion
. His
crotch no longer
carried
the hard woody he so desperately wanted to relieve just a few moments earlier. He had thought he was going to get the blow job of his life
,
and in a real sense, he had. She grinned at that.
Her eyes moved to the three crimson holes ripped into his chest and the third eye staring up between the other two. The black powder residue bordered the wound like eye shadow,
and
the escaped gases from the
gun’s barrel
g
ave
it a more pronounced, jagged appearance. There also seemed to be more blood this time. A lot more. But she really hadn’t taken time to notice
the last time
. It had been darker
,
and she had been much more concerned (first
-
time jitters) with dragging Mitchell Morse away from her car and planting him at the dumpster. It had been farther than she thought. Maybe thirty yards, but adrenaline was an amazing ally.
Things you learn.
The air was cooling, the way Michigan fall
evenings
do, and she could smell the faint crispness of
autumn
riding
the breeze as she raised her face to the sky
.
But there was another scent, unpleasant, out of place
—
a stench really. One that threatened to spoil the jealous euphoria she had
c
r
eated
. It was him. She felt her blood pressure rise. He had to ruin the moment, didn’t he? The narcissistic degenerate couldn’t even die gracefully. But what did she expect? Zebras never changed their stripes.
The woman in black slid the
s
tilettos silently back over her feet and fastened the large silver buckles
. She
promptly kicked Ashcroft’s right ribs so viciously that she heard bones crack. She
kicked
again and felt the pointed tip go deeper. It was on. There were no thoughts of anything else, no other picture. Just red rage that spoke in a straight
-
line language she understood,
no need for an interpreter
.
When she finally stopped, she was breathing hard, sweat trickled down her temples, and her ankles hurt. She looked at him and noticed he was lying on his face, several bones
pressing against graying skin at weird angles
, n
ot breaking through his beaten
hide
, but close.
She had no real recollection of turning him over; but using him as a trampoline remained vivid. One last point to make.
Somewhere, a siren wailed, reverberating through the clear evening. Maybe someone saw or heard
. M
aybe not.
Had she screamed?
Perhaps
.
A
t any rate, it was t
ime to go
.
She picked
up
her bag and moved
in the direction of
the
grocery store
parking lot two blocks over. She pulled out of the lot just as a red sports car sped by, chased by an LPD cruiser
. They were b
oth driving like bats out of hell
with
each driver’s destiny at different ends of the justice spectrum
.
She smiled.
Chapter
-12
“So, geniuses, what’s a six
-
letter word for guardian or protector?”
Manny looked up from his book,
Devil
’s
Moon
,
by Rebecca
Stroud
.
Alex Downs was passing time on the flight to St. Thomas
working
crossword
s with his usual intensity
. He
sat
across the aisle of the FBI’s swanky, corporate-like, Gulfstream G-V
,
Sophie sitting to
the
left.
Alex’s
glasses rest
ed
on the bridge of his pointed nose
. He
look
ed like a serious, no-
nonsense judge from
the
1770s.
Sophie cocked her head to the right, pulled out one earphone, and turned the volume down on her pink
MP3 player
. “What did you say?”
“I said, what’s a six
-
letter word for guardian or protector?” repeated Alex.
She scrunched up her nose and looked up to the ceiling before suddenly clutching Alex’s chubby arm. Manny
placed
the bookmark in his book, closed it
,
and waited.
“Oh my gosh, I’ve got it. Condom, the word is condom.”
“What? Is that all you think about, woman? The word is not condom.”
“No? Are there any letters?”
“Yes, an N.”
“Where?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s
the
. . . ah . . .
third letter.”
“Do you have any other letters?”
Manny saw the exasperation forming on Alex’s face.
“No! I don’t have any more damn letters
,
yet.”