Night Blind (The Technicians #11)

Chapter 2 - Focus

The sound of the fax machine going off in the office made them all jump. It had been weeks since either Cherry or Slow had to go to work. The real question for all at the dinner table is who the fax was for and which machine was printing out an assignment. Cherry swallowed hard as she rose from the table.

“I will check it,” she said softly, leaning down to kiss the daughter she shared with Slow.

Naomi Ruth Neary, a precocious five-year-old, had recently celebrated her birthday. For now, her childcare was onsite at her father’s place of employment, but in the fall, she would enter Pre-K at a regular school. Unfortunately, Naomi didn’t do well with change. The sound of the machine in the other room meant change was coming, and one of her parents would leave in the middle of the night with a heavy sack and return looking very unhappy. She’d seen it with her Mommy, who would leave for days at a time, and she had seen it with her father as well, who returned looking sad around his eyes. She didn’t like the sound. The sound meant something bad her Mommy or Daddy had to go and do.

“Honeymoon is over,” Slow said, looking down at the meatloaf Helen had offered to cook. He’d decided once he tasted the meat that Helen’s cooking privileges would be revoked, and she could make her slop for some other unsuspecting sap. He wasn’t ever eating her cooking again. The fax machine was a saving grace. “No, let me.”

He volunteered, using the departure as an excuse to toss out the meatloaf and later grab an apple or prunes to rid his body of the greasy meat covered in thick, floating tomato sauce, which also tasted greasy. Second thoughts entered his head as he put down the apple, thinking maybe too much of a good thing would work in the opposite direction, clearing his body of everything in his system.

In the office, he checked his fax. It was empty, meaning the work order on the line was for his wife. He sighed deeply, touching his chest and trying to get a grip on his emotions before returning to the other room. In his head, he wanted to ask her to quit, but in reality, he’d fought for her to maintain her position as she now resided in Kentucky with him but covered the state of Indiana as their Technician. Cherry’s role as a sniper meant she did her job from a distance. It wasn’t often she needed to get up close and personal, and in his mind, it was also a saving grace that his wife was very good at her job. Bragging wasn’t his thing, but he knew she could pluck the brain stem from a body at 1,500 yards without blinking an eye. Sighing again, he called out.

“Baby, it’s for you,” he said, returning to the dining area.

In the last few months, his home had undergone a transformation. There were doll babies in his home office and crayons on the coffee table, and recently, he’d found a lacy tiny sock in his briefcase when he went to work. The desk in his office, which had once held an empty picture frame, currently held a family photo of him, his parents, and his sister, along with Cherry, Helen, and his daughter Naomi. A second frame held a photo of his beautiful wife, holding their daughter, and a third frame was of him doing story time with Naomi, which was taken when he wasn’t looking, but captured a feeling he appreciated, so he gave it a place of honor on his desk away from home. One additional photo sat on his desk of Cherry and him in a pile of leaves in the backyard. This photo was taken by Helen.

“Perhaps a tracker?” he said to himself, thinking of what job he’d train her to do. She must have overheard him talking aloud as she approached him silently. The oil used in her hair gave off a distinct odor, and he always knew where she was, even if he couldn’t physically see the body.

“May I ask a question?” Helen asked.

“Of course,” he replied.

“The fax machine…I never looked before because she told me not to,” Helen started, “so I didn’t, but can you help me understand?”

“The fax machine sends over work orders,” he told her. “They arrive on special paper, printed with ink used by the government which disappears from the paper in ten minutes.”

“Wait, what if the fax comes through when you’re not home?”

“Faxes only arrive when they know you’re home and close by the machine,” he explained. “The device I gave you serves more than one function. Don’t use it until instructed to do so.”

“The phone tracks me. What if I lose the phone?”

He lowered his voice, “When your training is complete and you’re awarded a designation, you get a brand with a chip in it.”

Slow turned, opening his collar. At the base of his neck was a branded cross. In the center of the cross sat a raised medallion. He pointed to the medallion.

“My handler monitors the chip when I am working,” he said.

Her eyes were wide as she began to realize several things. “Will you be my handler?”

“I am your mentor,” he told her. “My job is to teach and train you. If the training takes, then you shall be assigned to a handler.”

“Meaning I have to leave here, my cousin, Naomi…you…your protection?” she asked, feeling emotionally overloaded.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he advised. “As a Technician, we are in control of our emotions at all times. We think, assess, monitor, and evaluate each situation before taking any action. The same philosophy is applied to our lives. Until recently, the lives of Technicians were solitary; however, it has been observed that we work better having something to come home to when the work is done.”

“When the work is done,” she scoffed. “You say it as if you’re going to rake the leaves in the yard when you go out and take lives.”

“Are you going to feel the same way when you are face to face with The Collector again, or are you going to end his existence and then go get a milkshake?”

“I’m going to get a slice of pie with a hot cup of coffee with the blood from his cut-off cock still on my hands,” she said, squinting.

“Yeah, we need to get started in the morning helping you focus that anger,” he said. “And that is dark. Very dark. Monsters are created in the dark. I will not train a monster, Helen.”

Her response was cut off by Cherry’s entrance, dressed in all black and carrying her work bag. On the floor in his office was a retractable door that housed their weaponry. Helen was able to see this in full for the first time as Cherry extracted her rifle, two knives, and her handgun with ammunition. She loaded her bag, passed out kisses, and left through the back door.

Helen looked at Slow. “You’re not going to say anything to her before she leaves?”

“And distract her from the focus required to handle the task she’s been given? No, I won’t. She knows we are here waiting for her return. Cherry has to go to work. you know the routine; you know the process,” he said.

“True, but I don’t like it, never have, and never will,” Helen added, “but we support with love.”

“We support with love,” he repeated.

*****

In his lap, as he sat on the couch, Naomi rested. He opened the book to begin reading a new series to her since they’d covered most of the fairy tales. Slow had moved up the nightly reading to a chapter book, wanting to increase the mental engagement of the words to imagery in the child’s mind. They were nearing bedtime as Helen prepared to head to her home.

“Good night,” Helen said, coming from Noami’s room after putting away laundry for the child. No one had asked her to take on the task, but it was a small thing she enjoyed doing for her little niece.

“Night-night, Aunt Nita,” Naomi said.

“Aunt Helen,” Slow corrected.

“Aunt Helen, good night,” Naomi parroted, waving small fingers at her Aunt. “Should we watch her get home, Daddy?”

“She’s fine, Naomi.”

“No, she’s not,” the child said. “She lives all alone in that big house. And why did she have to get a new name? I liked the old one. I don’t like the name Helen.”

“Helen is her new name to go with her new life,” Slow gently explained. “When I married your Mom, she got a new name. Her name is now Abigail Barnes Neary.”

“Are you going to marry Aunt Nita…I mean Aunt Helen too, to make her a Neary as well?”

“The state of Kentucky will not let me do that unless she is my cousin,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

“I like living in Ke-lucky ,” she said softly, snuggling into his chest. He wouldn’t correct her because he knew something else was coming from her tiny little mouth which would make him uncomfortable for the rest of his manly life. “Mommy is always sad when she comes back from work. You didn’t kiss her or tell her you loved her before she left. What if she doesn’t come back this time? How will she know you love her, Daddy?”

“Naomi, how do you know that I love you?”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and dancing. The smile came slowly as she looked him in the eyes she’d inherited from her father. Her small hand touched his cheek as she showed off her tiny teeth, one of which he noticed was loose.

“I know you love me when you look at me like you are now. I feel it inside my tummy. Not the funny feeling I get when I have to poop and my tummy feels icky, but a squishy feeling, like butterflies and fireflies are inside my belly, Daddy. That’s how I know you love me,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“Your Mom gets a similar feeling when I look at her, and she also knows that I love her and will be waiting for her to come home to us,” he said.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Bunny?” he replied, using the codename he’d given her based on the ears poking out of the side of her head. She’d earned those ears from her mother.

“How will Aunt Nita…I mean Aunt Helen know you love her? You don’t look at her that way. I watched you tonight at dinner. You don’t look at her like that, but you love her too?”

“I love Aunt Helen like I love your Aunt Rebecca,” he said, hoping to bring an end to the conversation.

“Aunt Rebecca smells funny,” she said, nodding her head. “Aunt Helen is Mommy’s Sister. Aunt Rebecca is your sister. Are you and Mommy going to make me a sister or a brother? It would be nice if you gave Mommy a baby. I think it would be nice if you gave Aunt Helen a baby too, so she would have her own child and wouldn’t need to live alone, but I don’t think she can have babies, Daddy.”

His ears were alert, learning information that would be critical in training a new Technician. He wanted to know what his daughter had learned just by observation. She was an astute child who picked up on small details most kids wouldn’t pay much attention to on a normal day.

“How do you know she can’t have babies, Bunny?”

“In the bathroom under the sink, she never had any panty napkins like my Mommy,” Naomi stated. “When Aunt…I’m just going to call her Auntie; the Helen…Nita thing confuses me. Wait, what was I saying? Okay, I remember; when Auntie buys panty napkins for Mommy from the store, she never buys any for herself. Daddy, when I become a woman, am I going to need to wear panty napkins? I don’t think I’d like that very much.”

“Good grief,” he said, blowing out the loud whoosh of air he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Mommy said when she no longer needed to buy napkins to put in her panties, it would mean she was going to have a baby. I asked if Auntie was going to have a baby since she didn’t need any napkins for her panties, and Mommy said no. She said Auntie couldn’t have babies, and it made me sad,” she told him.

Slow had nothing to say on the matter. He held his words out of sheer fear of what his daughter would say next. Growing up with a sister, he’d learned a lot of things about girls becoming women, and dating in high school and college he’d learned even more. However, nothing in his life had prepared him to be a Girl Dad, and his daughter was slowly traumatizing him on a cellular level.

“Daddy, did you know that panty napkins are to soak up the blood that comes out of Mommy’s vagina? I hope my vagina doesn’t bleed like that. I won’t like that either,” she told him.

“I have died and gone to Dad Hell, and my soul is still sitting here crying out for help,” he said under his breath. “Bunny, can we please finish the story?”

“Sure Daddy, but if I have stuff that starts coming out of my vagina, I will tell you, okay?”

“Tell your mother or your aunts first, okay?”

“You don’t want to know, Daddy?”

“Sweetheart, these conversations should be had…,” Slow stopped himself. “You can feel free to talk to me about anything on your mind, Bunny. Daddy will listen.”

“You are the best Daddy ever!”

“Thank you. Now, let’s finish up Chapter 2,” he said, opening the book, collecting the bookmark, and trying to focus on the page. Once he finished the story, he would find a quiet place to lick his wounds, possibly cry, and pray for all the wrongs he’d ever done in his life. “Chapter 2: Focus.”

****

Naomi, resting peacefully in her room, left him alone with his thoughts. He’d learned an important bit of information. If Helen couldn’t have children, training her to rescue them could backfire or make her far more emotional than she needed to be. The position of tracker in recovering lost children would be out of the range for an assignment although he would teach her the basics to cover the skillset.

The job of femme fatale, like Mrs. Hump who needed to be replaced, was still open, but Helen’s experience with The Collector meant she would shrink from the touch of a man. The Southeast crew still needed a cleaner, who also hadn’t been replaced since losing Wrong Way. He’d seen Wrong Way cut up and dissolve a body into one of those barrels in the back of her van. It took him months to recover mentally from witnessing such a task. Although he hunted for his meat, seeing blood didn’t bother him as much, especially since his handle was based on him watching a person bleed out nice and slow but cutting them up like a side of beef, freaked him out.

Tomorrow, they would hunt to see how she did with blood.

Blood was always a telltale sign of a good Technician. A tech who didn’t balk at the sight of it, especially if the blood was by their hand, was a red flag. However, a tech who vomited when they saw large amounts was also not a person who needed a weapon in hand.

“A retrieval agent, maybe? No blood, no weapons, no cleaning, just get the materials and return it to the owner,” he said, aloud, ending his night. “Good night, Cherry; come home to me in one piece.”

****

Wendell Edward Langdon Pierce, street name Welp, was a nasty piece of work, a low-level street pharmacist by trade who had leveled up during the pandemic to home deliveries, which morphed into home invasions. A prison sentence of five years working in the hospital wing introduced the welp of a man to a new business venture, tissue harvesting. For inmates with no relatives to claim the bodies, Pierce had found a means to work out deals with the funeral homes who collected to remains.

Upon his release, the adventurous entrepreneur turned from reselling the tissue of the deceased to creating his own supply chain. Once he hit the radar of The Company and was notified to cease and desist, for a moment, Pierce had backed down. It would have been a win-win situation, but being the man that he was, Welp found a new source of materials. He began targeting parents with sick children and large medical bills who could not afford to pay for burial services. He formed a small company that donated bodies for scientific experiments, which Wendell used as a cover to continue his business of preying upon the less fortunate for profit.

Tonight, his time was up. On a rooftop in downtown Indianapolis, Cherry sat with her high-powered rifle, complete with muzzle and flash suppressor, aimed at the doorway. Wendell stepped into the night, flanked by two goons and a woman who appeared to have given up on life. Through the scope of her rifle, Cherry could see the dried tears on the woman’s cheeks. The woman was shaking her head no as the goons attempted to pressure her into the back seat of the vehicle.

Cherry inhaled deeply, holding the breath, her finger on the trigger, and then she pulled. A red splotch hit the white brick of the hotel entry, and Wendell stood for a second then dropped. By the time his body fully crumpled to the floor, Cherry’s weapon was slung across her back, and she was down the fire escape. Her vehicle was parked in the back of a dark alley, and she opened the door, sliding in the weapon and silently re-engaging the alarm. Screams were heard as feet ran left and right away from Wendell’s body.

With the collar of her shirt up, the dress coat she wore cinched at the waist, and the nice boots she liked to wear when doing jobs in the city, she made her way to the scene. Like others, she wanted to see and worked her way through the crowd. In the confusion, Cherry called out, “Has anyone called 9-1-1?”

Goon Number One shook his head no as Cherry took out her phone. She aimed it at Wendell’s body, snapping a photo without a flash. Next, she hit the zero on the phone to call the operator, who answered immediately.

“I’d like to report a shooting on Lexington and Fifth,” she said to the operator. “It looks like a head wound.”

The operator responded, “Dispatching emergency services.”

“Thank you,” Cherry said, sending the image and terminating the call. “An ambulance is on the way.”

Stepping back from the crowd, her hand slipped into the woman’s who was with the three men. She pulled at her arm, taking her away from the crowd. In Cherry’s pocket were a few loose bills that she shoved in the woman’s hand. “Run now, and don’t look back.”

The woman accepted the money and took off down the street. Cherry slowly made her way down the alley and into her truck. With the headlights off, she backed out of the alley and onto a side street. Headlights on, she made her way to I-65 Southbound toward Louisville. At this time in the wee hours, she could be home in less than an hour and a half, resting peacefully next to her hunk of a husband. She sent him a text with an ETA.

In silence, she drove, lost in her thoughts knowing, that if things were to change, she couldn’t continue this as a profession. The money was good, but at times, it felt dirty. Her soul felt dirty. She was losing her taste for the work.

An hour and forty minutes later, she pulled her vehicle into the garage at the rear of the home. Her weapon in hand, the alarm disengaged, Cherry entered the home she shared with Slow and her daughter. In the bathroom, a bath had been drawn with a glass of wine beside the tub on a small table he’d purchased just to hold her goblet. She stripped down and soaked away the ick of ending the existence of Wendell Edward Langdon Pierce.

Thirty minutes later, in jammies, she slid into the bed next to her husband who stirred a little. Cherry snuggled up to him, wanting the ugly image in her mind to be gone and replaced with a new one. His large hand caressed her mid-section silently filling it with a son he’d name Luke. She offered a small kiss on his chest.

“How was the evening with Naomi; any issues?”

“Yes, she wanted to talk to me about her vagina and the possibilities of stuff coming out of it,” he whispered, snuggling closer. “I’m not okay. Hold me.”

Cherry chuckled, turning to face him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her face in his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he told her.

“Michael, tomorrow, would you like to talk about my vagina?”

“Only if the conversation centers around its relationship with my penis and the stuff coming out of it,” he chuckled again. “Now, go to sleep.”

That night, she slept. In the past, it had taken days to come down from a job. Michael Isaac Neary was good for her. He was good for Bunny. He was also good for Helen. She needed to be better for him.

He deserved that from them all.