Night Blind (The Technicians #11)

Chapter 7 - Sight

Indianapolis, Indiana (The Collector)

This was not enough. Shenita left him and he missed her. He obsessed over her, and often returned to the home where she’d lived, hoping she’d come back to the bed where he’d slept, so he could sneak in on her, sharing an encounter one more time. The taste of her in his mouth left him on rock for hours, and not one of his Dolls could take away the ache. Oh, they made the desire go down, but the taste of Shenita lingered in his mouth and returned later in the evening when he belched, making him long to be inside of her again.

The obsession was harmful. He came to the home where she’d lived, smelling the scent of her on the sheets, making him moan like a whore as the scent of her on the pillows made him hornier than he’d ever been. Unable to contain the force of the feeling hitting him, he yanked down his pants, rubbing one out as he thought about his Chocolate Queen. The tightness of her around his thick member made his member jump in the loose-fitted jeans. The way she’d reacted to the shock of him made her cum so hard and also made him long for her.

He'd made her squirt. Shenita came so hard she squirted, and the look on her face said she’d never done that before.

“I bet she was also surprised how big my cock is,” he said, sitting in the shrubbery and watching the house.

A sign sat in the yard.

An ugly sign.

A disgusting sign which advertised the house had been sold. A sold red banner across the sign meant she wasn’t coming back. The house wasn’t in her name, but someone named Abigail Barnes, who had miraculously dropped off the radar along with his Chocolate Queen. He searched for Abigail Barnes and kept hitting dead ends.

“Bitches,” he mumbled, getting to his feet, turning, and bumping into something.

He looked up to see a man.

A large man.

A muscled black man.

“Oh fuck,” he yelled, lunging forward and knocking the man off balance enough for him to break free of the grasp.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him away from the home of his Chocolate Queen. He ambled his way down the dark slope of the water run-off, through the wet grass, and up the other side of the sunken area to where he’d parked his truck. Shaking hands started the vehicle as he pressed his foot down hard on the gas, praying, desperate to get away. His eyes went back and forth to the rear-view mirror, trying to see if he was being followed. Halfway up Highway 31, aiming for South Bend, then on to Elkhart, driving at a clip to I-69 to Flint, he drove at a steady pace connecting to I-75 to take him into Cheboygan. He could be home by midnight if he pushed.

“That was close,” he said, checking the rearview once more. He was pushing his luck longing for her the way he did. “Her man was watching the house. I recognize that big fucker. He is touching my girl. He’s touching my Chocolate Queen. I’ll fix him. I’ll show them all, and she will, at the end of all of this nonsense, be mine again. This I vow. This I promise.”

In his anger, his muddled mind no longer thought clearly. The Collector, always the hunter, never realized the rabbit now had the gun. Mustang, who’d come home to Michigan for a law enforcement conference, was called in to aid Cherry in finding her cousin. A friend, and former Army Ranger, Ricky Collins was on the job with the force in Michigan with the State Troopers. Collins, making a few calls to the powers that be, managed to get Mustang attached to liaison with the Michigan State Troopers to apprehend The Collector. Thus far, all of his hunches had proven accurate. The man was obsessed with Shenita and couldn’t let go. All he had to do was park and wait. The Collector didn’t disappoint.

Mustang spotted the man when he arrived at the home. He backtracked his steps to locate the vehicle he’d driven, placing two trackers on the vehicle in different locations. He fully expected The Collector to realize, more than likely, first thing in the morning why Mustang didn’t follow him, and locate the tracking device under the rear of the truck. Tracker one would be easy for him to find.

It was the second tracker that would bring his Chocolate Queen to his door. She would not come to him to return to his bed or to his ever-watchful care. Shenita would come as the avenging angel of death to end his existence. In the morning, he would realize that as well.

As far as Mustang was concerned, they all needed to be prepared. He climbed in his rented vehicle, aiming the nose towards Kentucky. A visit was required to his old childhood friend, the Technician called Slow.

****

Evansville, Indiana

It was slow-moving. Karlton Manford went into the building to sell his dirty little secrets and get his wick damp. Men like him always played both sides of the long game, inadvertently coming up short in the game of life. Today would be his last day on the board as Cherry arrived to end his reign of nonsense.

Karlton wasn’t a smart man or even a clever thief. He was the worst kind of criminal, a man favored by luck. No matter what came his way, luckily, he managed to skirt the consequences, moving on to the next home to infest it like a vagabond roach with a one-legged girlfriend.

She spotted him going inside the building. Careful canvassing of the neighborhood didn’t leave many high buildings or vantage points to perch, set up, and take her shot. Cherry was a long-range sniper and preferred not to do up close and personal. Besides, the work order specified it needed to look like a hit. She was good at that.

“Damn it,” she scoffed, looking around and finding the only vantage point to get a good clean shot and not be seen would be from a tree.

In her early Army days, her spotter grew up in a family of arborists. During a war game exercise at Ft. Wainright, he’d convinced her to gear up and perch herself high in a tree. No one would expect it, and he’d been correct. She looked around, spotting several. A copse of Eastern Red Cedars lined the street. Cherry exited the vehicle, walked slowly down the street, and arrived at the small set of trees lining the dark road. The trees were surrounded by shrubbery as well, which would hide any other materials she would need after making the shot and scampering into the brush. The center tree Cherry chose would be perfect.

Easing her way to her shop, a black Ford F-150, she took out her weapon and a bit of rope and went to the chosen tree. The McMillan TAC-50, her weapon of choice, dissembled in a small carrying bag, appeared as nothing more than a cheap handbag. Rope in hand, she tossed it over the lowest branch, creating a climbing winch, and hoisted her weight on the lower branch. From here, she wiggled her way through the dense foliage of the tree, climbing nearly six feet up and finding the perfect branch. The rope hung loosely around her waist, as she assembled her weapon, seated a round in the chamber, and secured it to the branch. She worried about the recoil at this height, and for a moment, second-guessed herself. The ammo pack around her waist carried her Technician phone and a few extra rounds, which she never used. Cherry always got the target on the first shot.

Movement on her left startled her as she turned, coming face to face with an angry Waxwing, who felt Cherry was entirely too close to its nest. The small bird charged, coming at her face. Cherry attempted to fight it off, and too late realized she wasn’t anchored in the tree. She tumbled down, hitting branches as she went and landing at an awkward angle on her right foot.

“Shit,” she said, trying to stand, but the foot couldn’t bear her weight. It also hurt like hell. The Cherry on Top was down. Even worse, her phone was in the tree. The pain was entirely too intense, making her heart race, and the best she could do at this point was crawl into the shrubbery. The tears threatened to take over as she crawled, dragging the foot and making it to the bushes. In the dark, she could feel the swelling. She touched her ankle and felt bone protruding. “Fuck! Not good Cherry. Not good.”

She leaned into the bushes and waited. This was going to cost her not only a paycheck, but she would lose points for missing the target. Today, Karlton Manford got lucky again.

****

Bowling Green, Kentucky

The job was done and Slow packed up to head home. A deep puncture left in the thigh of Candace Gay would ensure a tiring, methodical death. The blood would leave her body with each pump of her heart until her body was left with nothing more than trickles of red life oil. Hurting women was not his thing, but the job was the job. Candace was a thief who committed treason. The court system took too long, and sometimes the good ole Gub’ment of the USA likes to make an example of people. Candace was today’s example of what not to do when working with highly classified documents.

He’d reached his truck when the call came in.

“Slow’s Down,” he said into the line.

“So is the Cherry on Top,” the voice said. It wasn’t his handler, The Archangel. This voice belonged to a woman.

“Azreal?”

“Sending GPS coordinates to you,” the voice said.

His heart was racing. Bile rose in his throat. He had questions and wanted to ask, but he didn’t. All he could ask was what he posed, “Status?”

“Don’t know,” the voice replied. “You’re closest to the Cherry. Get moving.”

“Slow’s Down,” he said, ending the call.

His phone pinged with the coordinates of a downed Technician. He’d been given this task once or twice before. More recently, he received a call to find Mrs. Hump. Now, he received the call to get to the Cherry on Top. Fear filled him as he moved with precision, following the voice on the navigation, making haste to get to Cherry. He was an hour and forty-three minutes away. He needed to get there faster.

He made it to where the GPS said she was and all he spotted was a bunch of shrubbery. Slow didn’t see her shop. He parked on the back side of the shrub, crouching low and following the red dot. It stopped at a bush. He reached his hand inside the shrub and felt an arm.

The body attached to the arm jumped.

“It’s me,” he said, reaching into the bushes and pulling her out slowly. “Where are you hurt?”

“My right foot. Compound fracture,” she told him.

Slow lifted her into his arms, carrying her close to his chest, sighing in relief she was alive and not bleeding out or worse. It was simply a broken foot.

“My weapon. The job,” she said.

“Not my concern,” he said.

“We have to finish the job,” she told him.

“Not my job to finish,” he added, placing her inside of his shop.

“My weapon.”

“Your handler will send someone to retrieve it.”

“My shop.”

“Listen, my job was to retrieve you,” he said, buckling her in and looking at the foot. “As the Technician sent to do the task, I am completing the task. As your man, I am so full of emotions right now that I don’t know what to say. In the interest of not saying something stupid and overtly alpha male, I’m going to focus on the task assigned to the Technician. When I get you to safety and the foot taken care of, we will have a conversation with me in the role of your man.”

She was ready to hit him with something heavy, “The role of my man? I missed completing an assignment. I fell out of a fucking tree after being attacked by a goddamn bird! My weapon is still in the tree along with my Technician’s phone. The shop is a mile down the road, and you want to talk about being an alpha male?”

“Abigail,” he said, after walking around the truck to the driver's side. He held his tongue and focused on the drive. They started down the road, knowing it would be two hours before they arrived home. The doctor would be there waiting for them, but in four hours, a lot could go wrong with her foot.

He took a pause, measuring his words before speaking. “I got a call that you were down. I had to put all of my emotions to the side to get here and not shake the shit out of you for being careless,” he told her. “Yes, your man. I am also your husband and the father to our child, and the idea of you no longer breathing when I arrived or being near death is fucking with my calm, so sit over there and please shut the hell up. My heart is about to burst out of my chest with joy at seeing it’s just a broken foot. If…I can’t think about the rest. I can’t think about waking up tomorrow and you no longer being at my side. So, give me a moment to deal with what I’m feeling, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, looking at the profile. Then she felt it. All of the pain, the anguish, the emotions she couldn’t express before living a life that didn’t appreciate her talents and ability, hit her in the guts. An entire life of being strong for herself, for Helen, for Naomi, never left her room to cry or be vulnerable. The sob left her throat in a wail, and she cried out in sheer relief at not having to spend the next month trying to figure out how to live. He came for her. She didn’t have to call him, beg, or even explain what happened, her husband had shown up.

“I have never been happier to see anyone in my life, Michael. Thank you for coming for me.”

“I will come for you every time, Abigail. I love you,” he said, aiming the vehicle towards home.

****

Cheboygan, Michigan

The darkness of the garage is what made him notice the green glow on the ground. He’d barely gotten out of the truck when he noticed the light. Moving with haste, he dropped to the ground, looking underneath the truck to spot the device. It was a tracker. The big bastard had placed a tracker on his vehicle.

“Don’t panic. Don’t panic,” he said, getting inside the vehicle, cranking it, and opening the garage door. “This is an easy fix.”

He drove towards the Mackinac Bridge going through the Hiawatha National Forest to the Village of Newberry, a quaint little place where the biggest employer was the Department of Corrections. The Village Council was going to be shocked when the FBI and others descended upon the town. He smiled a wicked smile as he dropped the tracker just outside of the prison gate and headed home.

“You have to get up earlier than that, you muscle-bound moron, to get one over on

me. I am The Collector! You don’t collect me, you knot-headed bastard,” he screamed at the rear-view mirror.

He was emotional.

He didn’t do emotional.

She was making him emotional and why? He only had her for a week, and this is what she’d done to him. She didn’t understand love and didn’t deserve a man like him as her own.

“By why do I want you so much, Shenita?”

Now, it wasn’t about simply finding his Chocolate Queen to punish her for causing him so much dismay, but it had become a matter of artistic pride. He could no longer shop for pretty dolls with Kurtzwilde’s Company. He was going to find her, or maybe let her come to him and set a trap.

“I like that, let her come to me…,” he said smiling into the same rear-view mirror. “I shall return home to prepare your new room. A place for us to love. A place for us to call home.”

Chapter 8 - Drill

Home. They arrived home a little after one a.m. and he, in all honesty, was more tired than he’d ever been in his life. It truly had been a hell of a long day that started on a high note with the family playing a bit of paintball, which would lead to a cookout of burgers and sausage dogs on the grill. His mother was making her yummy sour cream pound cake and Rebecca his sister made the most killer baked beans with green peppers, sausage, and ground beef. The saliva in his mouth began to water as he sat in his shop staring at the place they called home.

In the yard were still the vehicle his parents had driven over earlier in the day, or rather yesterday, with his sister in the back seat. His cousin Zeke, his pregnant wife Tameka, and his daughter Michelle were also inside the home. However, in his driveway were three additional vehicles, the first an unmarked white cargo van. The vehicle belonged to Doctor Elden Thomas, the medical professional assigned to the Southeast Directions. He must have been in the area to make it to Louisville so quickly.

The second vehicle he also recognized. The black Ford F-150 was similar to his own and the one driven by his wife, but this truck had one major difference. On the tailgate were iridescent angel wings, open and spanning the width of the tailgate. It was a symbol for law enforcement that the driver of said vehicle was an Archangel. The iridescent wings of this angel were green, meaning the vehicle belonged to Azreal, the Archangel who oversaw the group of Technicians called the Fruits of the Great Lakes of which his wife was a member.

When an agent was compromised, as Cherry had been on her last assignment, the rule was to maintain radio silence and go to ground. The rally point was where aid would converge to determine the next steps. In this situation, the ground point for convergence was his home, previously a secretive place that very few people were aware of, well, at least until now.

The final car he didn’t know, but he had an idea who it was based on the style of vehicle and the person knowing where he lived. Slow sat still in the truck, saying nothing, knowing he needed to get Cherry inside to have the Doc assess her, but he was just plumb tired. The past week had been a great deal with his job and his daughter wanting to have conversations about her vagina, in conjunction with having to train an onboarding Technician whom he feared was entirely too perfect for the job and would end up enjoying the work. In his professional assessment as a criminologist, no one should enjoy the work they did, no matter how much of a necessity it was in the overall scheme of the universe.

Cherry was also quiet, sitting and staring at the home. Her foot throbbed like a son of a bitch in heat, her wrist panged her, and the tummy which growled loudly reminded her of the need for food, plus, she had to poop. She noticed the extra vehicles in the yard and absently turned to Slow. “I don’t think we have enough toilet paper,” she announced.

Slow turned his head slowly to look at her. “That’s where your mind went?”

“Well, yeah. I bought a twelve-pack of family-sized rolls, but then I gave four rolls to Helen, but that’s a lot of butts. I don’t think we have enough if they are planning to stay another day,” she told him. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“Pound cake,” he said. “I was thinking when we left to go to work, Ma was pulling out that yummy pound cake, and I hope they saved me some. Also, I didn’t eat a lot before we left, you know, didn’t want to be sluggish, so I’m hungry. I hope there are some burgers left or even a sausage dog.”

“You are a sociopath, you know that?”

“Says the woman who fell out of a tree, broke her ankle, left her weapon in the same tree, and is now worried about the amount of shit paper in the house,” he said, cutting the engine. “There is a stash of paper products in the shed, along with soaps, canned goods, and other end-of-the-world supply shit.”

She sighed deeply as he opened the door to his shop. On the ride home, they had both remained silent, not talking but needing to say more. One of the things she loved about him was lots of words were not needed for an understanding. Currently, they have an understanding. Her boss was in the house to assess her status, determine the next steps for the assignment she’d failed, and possibly fire her as a failed Technician.

“Let’s face it head-on and together,” he said, coming around the truck. He opened the door and lifted Cherry in his arms, being aware of the foot, but also noticing that she was wincing and had bruising on her face. “Yeah, you hurt more than just your foot.”

He climbed the stairs of the front porch and reached for the handle to find his father standing there, the door wide. His eyes were on Cherry. His eyes went to his son. Questions rose in his expression, and then there was a look of relief. Instinctually, Mark Neary embraced them both, squeezing Cherry between them, and providing a fatherly kiss on her cheek.

“Dad,” Slow said, moving around his father but pausing to hear the words his dad had been holding until his arrival.

“Hey, people started arriving. I knew something was wrong when the Doc came through the door followed by the very scary lady,” Mark said.

“Azreal.”

“Oh, just fucking dandy, the Angel of Death—why does that not surprise me in the least,” Mark said with his eyes wide. “She nearly scared the truck nuts off of me. Then the Doc, and that wife of his…wow, those two, I have questions.”

“Wife?” Slow said, turning his body with Cherry still in his arms to spot Mrs. Hump, the former femme fatale of their team. “Hmmph.”

He carried Cherry to the sofa where the Doctor came over to check her status. Small feet were heard running down the hall, and Slow sighed deeply. He was tired, too tired tonight to handle what would come from his daughter’s tiny mouth, plus he was hungry. He spotted the boy child. The child was holding one of the trucks given to Naomi by the people in his office. Michelle followed behind the boy holding a doll in her hand. His own daughter stood silently, looking at all the people in her home. Her little face showed relief at seeing her parents had returned.

“Doc,” Slow said to the man. It was the handle the Technicians called him, who bent to check Cherry’s foot. No one knew what kind of doctor he was or if he in fact even held a medical license, but the Archangel found him, and The Company employed him, therefore he was their physician for the business.

Doc spoke, looking at Cherry’s foot. “Compound break, but I will need to X-ray it for chips, fractures, and the like. Are you pregnant or think you might be expecting?”

Everyone in the room turned to Cherry, staring at her. She blushed furiously at being put on the spot. She replied, “Not to my knowledge, but let’s play it safe, just in case.” She looked at her boss in embarrassment.

Naomi, hearing the p-word, stood in front of her parents, concerned at seeing her mother’s foot and also balked at seeing the blood. “Pregnant? Is Mommy pregnant like Michelle’s Mommy? Daddy! Did you put a baby in Mommy’s vagina?”

The boy stepped forward, and he looked at Slow. “Hey Mister, remember me? I am Bud. Bud Thomas. My daddy is the doctor, and you know what he told me? He told me that you have to place your penis in a vagina to make babies. I’m keeping my penis to myself. I don’t want to make any babies.”

“Dear Lord, be merciful with me,” he said, looking at the little boy mutherfuckingly before going to the dining table and taking a seat. He simply wanted food and sleep and for the day to come to a quiet close. “Good to see you, Bud.”

“I smell better too Mister, so you don’t have to give me a bath again,” Bud said to Slow.

Hump joined him at the table, followed by Naomi, who wanted to sit on his lap. Helen, figuring Slow would be hungry when he returned home, removed the plate she’d saved for him from the warming drawer of the oven and placed it in front of him on the table, along with a bottle of hand sanitizer. She also brought over a small bowl of coleslaw and a slice of pound cake. When the Doc finished with Cherry, she would feed her too.

“Thank you, Helen,” he said, saying a quick prayer, not looking up.

Hump was smiling at Slow, which made Naomi squint her eyes, staring at this new pretty woman mutherfuckingly. Hump didn’t miss the connection, saying, “Ah, she is your biological. A lot has changed since we last saw each other.”

“For you as well,” he said, nodding to her hand and the rock that glimmered on her left ring finger. Bud had come to the table to see what people were eating, and he wanted a moment of reassurance from his mother, Ms. Hump, who provided him a hug and a kiss.

“I never did get a chance to say thank you, for saving my life…for coming for me when I needed you most,” she told Slow.

“Hump, I knew you’d fight with everything you had in you, knowing I was coming. You knew I would come for you,” he said, looking at the plate of food he desperately needed to sustain himself.

“Doc, whom I did marry, as if you didn’t already know that, he told me, while I was down, you kept watch,” she said, blushing. “He also added, when speaking on my initial wounds and care, you never left me alone with him, not even to change my bandages. I appreciate that more than you know.”

“You were defenseless. I wouldn’t leave you to anyone’s mercy in that state,” he told her. “Not even him.”

Helen was always watching the interaction between Slow and Hump. Her cousin’s husband had a rapport with the woman, but there wasn’t any sexual tension between the two. She didn’t come across as a friend to Slow, however, there was something there. Cherry glanced at them several times as well, finally dismissing Hump as a threat to her happy family, focusing on the pain in her foot. Hump didn’t miss any of it.

She held up the hand, giving him a better view of the ring he nodded acknowledging, before asking him, “Are both of the ladies yours?”

“Just the one I carried inside,” he said. “The other one is her cousin.”

“Interesting,” Hump said, arching a brow. She instructed her son to either take a seat or return to the room to play. The boy, however, was fixed on Noami. He was not budging until the girl moved. Slow continued to eat, then answered Hump.

“Not interesting at all,” Slow said in a lowered tone. “When The Collector failed to acquire you, he stumbled upon her. It took nearly two weeks to find her.”

Naomi, also fixed on Bud, was now staring at the boy. “Why do you keep looking at me like that? If you try and kiss me, I will bop you in the mouth.”

Bud answered, “I don’t want to kiss you. I want to go and play in your room. I can’t just go and play in there without you. So, I’m waiting.”

Naomi eyeballed him, looking at Hump. “Is she your Mommy?”

“Yep,” Bud said.

“She’s pretty, but not as pretty as my mommy,” Naomi said.

Bud shrugged. “I think my Mommy is the most beautifuliest woman in the world. And she makes a good peach pie. Do you like peach pie?”

“I like peanut butter cookies,” Naomi said.

Slow, over all of it, “Can you guys go to Naomi’s room and play in there?”

“Okay Daddy,” she said, her gaze going back to Hump as if she were silently threatening her to not try any funny business. However, Naomi still hadn’t moved. Too much was happening and she didn’t want to miss anything. He bit into the burger, chewing as if he had all the time in the world. His focus returned to Hump, “I had to call in back up to help locate Helen, that’s my wife’s cousin, but the Collector got away. The tracker is still on the trail and hopefully, has some good news for me.”

“Okay, then it explains the mystery man in the bathroom,” Hump said as the sound of a toilet flushing echoed through the house.

The doctor, busy with Cherry’s foot, didn’t look up as Azreal wanted to know the extent of the damage. As she feared, the Cherry on Top was out of play. The day was coming anyway to the end of her reign as the team sniper, living with a man like Slow who would want a son to go along with the cute little daughter. The edge in Cherry wasn’t there anymore either; Azreal spotted that as well when he carried her through the door. Her mother-in-law was fussing over her, and the sister-in-law brought her food; Cherry was loving the attention and affection, leaving the angry bitter female tiger who blew out people’s brains for a living to morph into a now domesticated feline. Domesticated cats didn’t like to hunt. Now she had two problems – an unfulfilled contract and the loss of a prime piece of fruit in her salad bowl.

From the bathroom walked in a man with wide shoulders that carried so much of the weight of life; he entered the living space, nearly sucking the air out of the room. He didn’t say who he was but Mark and Ruth Neary knew him well, giving him access to the house. Cherry looked up, saw him, and smiled, and to Helen, he appeared to be a distant memory, fuzzy around the edges, but familiar.

“Mustang,” Slow said.

“Slow,” he replied.

“To what do I owe the honor?”

“Came to deliver some news,” Mustang said, looking at the cake on the neat saucer. “Hey, I didn’t get any of Mama Ruth’s pound cake!”

Slow squinted, staring at him with determination to get to the crux of the matter, “Will you focus, man?”

“No, I want some of Mama Ruth’s pound cake too,” he complained, and a slice on a saucer got shoved into his hand by Helen. “Thanks; good to see you’re doing well.”

Helen blinked several times. Her memory banks were overloaded as she searched her mind to remember the man, but a scent hit her. A woodsy, oaky smell, then it came back. He’d carried her. On the street where she collapsed, her eyes fluttering, feet bleeding, and nearly exhausted, he was with her cousin on the rescue. She nodded to him.

“Thank you for helping to save my life,” she said softly, “Have you located him? Do you know where he is?”

Now everyone was looking at Mustang. “Yes, I’ve located him and the women. I was coming to let you know as well as Azreal and was informed that all of you were in one place.”

Azreal stood up. She wasn’t an attractive woman by any means, but capable, skilled, and smarter than your average bear. Unfortunately, she had the features of one as well—an angry bear, fresh out of hibernation seeking food from an unsuspecting picnicker who would be shocked at her arrival.

“We have a pressing matter at hand,” she said, looking at Cherry. “The assignment needs to be closed. You left your shop with a great amount of equipment in it. Where is your weapon?”

“Still in the tree whose inhabitants objected to me being in the branches,” Cherry added, “along with my ammo belt and Tech phone.”

“Not good,” Azreal said. “Before we can think about The Collector, we have to close the job.”

Mustang spoke up, “I can’t do it since I’m assigned to Oregon. Who do you have closest who can pitch hit?”

“Bad Apple is too far away. We don’t have enough time for Passion Fruit to stage an accident, and Lemon is down with the flu,” Azreal explained.

A small voice spoke up, “I’ll take care of it.”

Everyone looked around to see who had spoken. The voice said again, “I’ll close the contract if I can get a second set of hands as a backup. I’ll close the contract, then go take care of The Collector and free those women. Besides, I told them I was coming back, and I promised him I’d be back to take care of him too.”

Mark stepped forward, about to speak, but Slow shook his head no to his father. Ruth wanted to speak, but Slow shook his head no to his mother. His eyes were on his wife. She looked at Helen.

“Melody, my favorite rifle is in the center tree. There are five trees. Melody is on branch 7 seven in tree three,” she said. “My shop is one mile down the road, west of the tree, and my cards for fuel and other identifications are in the secret compartment.”

Helen didn’t flinch. “You’re set up in the tree, is the weapon fixed on the entry or the exit?”

“One and the same,” Cherry replied. “He entered to make the deal, and being as rapacious as he is, he’ll be back tonight to sample the merchandise he’s going to deliver.”

Helen said, “I didn’t see the data; is it supposed to look like a hit from a rival, or is the shot meant to send a message based on the caliber of the bullet?”

“Send the message,” Cherry said.

“I need to get to your vehicle to make it happen,” Helen said, looking at Mustang. “Will you ride with me to close the assignment?”

Mustang’s eyes were wide. The same woman he helped rescue a few months prior was now going out to take an assignment missed by the Cherry on Top. His facial expression said everything his mouth didn’t. Helen didn’t want to hear his alpha male bullshit on her abilities to pull a trigger or any got-damned thing else. She was fed up with men trying to dictate how she’d exist in this world.

“People have underestimated me my entire life,” Helen said. “I’m still standing. I’m still here, and I am a much better shot than my cousin. Azreal, make the call.”

Azrael frowned, a thing she should never do, which made Naomi recoil, gripping her father’s arms. Azreal’s deep husky voice spoke, “Shit, at this point, I don’t have much of a choice other than to take it myself, and I’m not climbing any trees.”

“Then we have it,” Helen said. “Let’s get everyone settled in for the night. I have two bedrooms and a pull-out couch at my place. Mustang, take the couch here with Slow. Zeke and Tameka you can take the second bedroom at my place, Doc and the pretty lady may have the other. Logically, the boy can stay here with the girls, Bunny has a trundle mattress under her bed that can hold the boy, and Michelle can share her bed. Azreal, you can take my couch. Rebecca, there is a fold-up bed in the closet to the right which can be rolled into the bedroom with your parents. Mustang, you and I can rest up and head out in the afternoon and return your rental once I retrieve the shop and complete the assignment. You lead me to The Collector, and I can handle that and get the women safe, which I hope Azreal can provide backup with law enforcement and social services, then I will get you on your way.”

Mark didn’t like how calm Helen was sounding. It worried him. “Hold on a cotton-picking minute. You are making this entire operation sound simply cleaner than duck nuts, and it’s not. You’re talking about ending not one life but two here, young lady.”

Helen’s demeanor changed. She ushered the kids into Naomi’s room where they didn’t need to hear what she had to say next. She quickly helped the kids return to Naomi’s room to get settled by Tameka. Zeke was also paying close attention to the woman who said little, but when she spoke, she dropped a mouthful.

She returned with a cold steely stare aimed at Mark Neary. “Sir, with all due respect, things are sometimes simple. We have to eat. Your son has taken on a great deal, and my cousin and I can carry our own weight. We need the money, and that mutherfucker who took me and those women needs to die.”

“Yes but…,” Mark started.

“He gave each of us a name, Sir,” she said. “I was his Chocolate Queen, and he snatched me so I could cook him soul food. He still has with him, or at least I pray they are alive, Irish, Italy, China, and Mexicali. The last one talked too much and gave him too much lip in English and in Spanish, and he cut out her tongue. He washed me from head to toe with bleach water telling me I was unclean. We had dinner with me chained to a table and when I challenged him? he took me, on the floor in front of those women, like I was nothing more than cattle to be bred. I’m not going to even start to say what he did before cutting up my feet and my breasts before letting me go. Therefore, you have no right to mansplain to me the need for the life choices of these filthy men who prey upon women.”

“Helen, I’m sorry for what happened to you by that man,” Mark said.

“Mr. Neary, please stop,” she said, sounding aggravated. “You have no idea the number of women in your life or whom you work with or know who have fallen victim to some creep and never speak on it. Yes, you’re aware of what has happened to each of us in this room, but The Collector and the ass rash from the assignment are indicative of a mental rot of manhood in this country. I’m not killing him out of vengeance. I’m killing him out of necessity. I’m going to sleep fine. And just so we are clear, a man from my childhood who left me barren is the demon that haunts my sleep. I am going to slay both of those dragons and learn to sleep well.”

“You’re right, I can’t understand or prevent you from doing what you feel is right or necessary, but you are loved, Helen,” Mark said. “You’re building a life here with our family, your family.”

“Will the family still be here after I put a few well-placed bullets in a son of a bitch?” She asked, moving closer to the back door, “Yeah. Thought so. Good night, family,” she offered, pointing to Tameka who’d returned to the communal space after settling in the children, her pregnancy in full second trimester making the woman appear to be out of balance.

Naomi, who’d been sent to bed, returned. Too much was happening in the house and she wasn’t sleepy. She popped under her father’s arm, climbing into his lap. Suddenly, her small eyes roamed the room, landing on Tameka’s belly, fully understanding a baby was growing inside of Michelle’s mommy’s tummy, and she’d heard it was a little boy. What she hadn’t thought about she suddenly reasoned as she looked at the belly, then at Zeke, and back to Tameka’s belly now protruding from under her top.

“Daddy,” she said softly, “how is that baby getting out of there?”

“Huh?” he asked, not wanting to hear anything else from his daughter.

“Daddy, she has a baby in her tummy. How does that baby get out of there? Is that baby gonna come out of her vagina?”

Before he could answer, Naomi began to bawl at the top of her lungs. “Daddy, I don’t want to be a girl. I don’t want any stuff coming out of my vagina but pee!”

Mrs. Hump covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Mustang’s eyes grew wide at the small confession from the child. Cherry, in obvious pain, closed her eyes as the Doc snapped the bones into place for the resetting. Slow was at the end of his rope. He got to his feet, passed his daughter to his mother, and gave a small salute. It was late, he was tired, his belly was full, and his heart was in flux.

His wife was benched.

His best friend had returned and was taking his sister-in-law on a killing assignment.

His daughter was obsessed with her vagina.

All he needed was sleep.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, leaving the room and entering his bedroom. He didn’t bother to undress, but simply flung himself on the bed and closed his eyes. The one man in the world he trusted more than his father was Mustang. He knew the rules, he knew the drill, and they would get the job done, one way or another. “Good enough.”

****

The rooms emptied with family members dispersing to bedrooms and a blanket and pillow appeared for Mustang to get comfortable. Helen was standing near the couch after having silently returned from her home where she’d gotten the Doc and his wife settled, along with Azreal and Zeke with his wife. Ruth and Mark were in bed along with the children. He knew she was there as he’d heard the creak of the hinges on the back door. The lotion she wore smelled of almonds.

“You’re using Jergens lotion on your skin,” he said, “I can smell you a mile away.” He removed his boots, as he accepted the pillow and blanket.

“You and Slow must go back a long way,” Helen said to Mustang. “He acknowledged you being here and you called Ruth ‘Mama.’ There is a story there. Maybe I can hear it in between me climbing out of a tree and driving to Michigan.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning over to unfasten his boots.

“Fair enough,” she replied, only needing one answer to know his entire story. Therefore, she asked, “How did you like working as a camp counselor with Reverend Johnson in the summers?”

Mustang’s head snapped around to look at her fully. She wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. Helen wasn’t a timid mouse who needed protecting. The woman was astute and sharp. It didn’t escape his notice how she managed everyone in the room. The timid mouse had silenced Mark Neary, shutting him down. She fascinated Mustang in a way he didn’t understand, but he was interested to see how the two upcoming situations would be handled.

“Hmmph,” he replied, “get some rest; we have a lot to discuss tomorrow.”

“No, we don’t actually. The less we talk about it, the better. Let it unfold esoterically. You stay close on my heels, let me get it done, and offer aid when I ask or am about to mess up,” she whispered.

“So, you’re dragging me along as your bitch?”

“No, I need you to be my shadow and keep me safe,” she told him. “Slow trusts you, therefore, I trust you. I remember the feeling of safety when you lifted me in your arms, carrying me away from the ugliness. Keep me alive and get us both back here safely. Can you do that for us all?”

“Us all?”

“Yes Mustang, for our family?”

He nodded, feeling overwhelmed by emotion. She saw through him as if all of his years of wandering had brought him back here. Mustang came through the door to be hugged and kissed on his temple by Mark Neary as he always did when he walked0 through the door. The terrible parents God had given him were replaced when he was 13 by Mark and Ruth Neary. He’d grown up in the house with Rebecca and Michael. At the age of 15, during a swimming incident at summer camp, Rebecca nearly drowned. He was closest to the Neary girl and brought her from the water, breathing life into the slumped form, and resuscitating her body. Mustang, at 16 years old, when asked if he wanted to file to become emancipated, opted instead for a request to be adopted.

Mark and Ruth Neary saw no issue with the request, nor did their two children. He was adopted, and by his own request renamed Jairus Paul Neary. Mustang was a Neary, and Helen was correct, he would do what was necessary for the family.