21
I’m alone again in Gabe’s house and take my place on the lakeview balcony to watch the sun go down. Since this morning, I’ve been feeling glum and can’t shift this heavy black cloud plaguing me. Memories I’ve done so well to block in the past 12 months are becoming fresher and more vivid as if they only occurred yesterday.
My natural reaction is to scratch my skin until I bleed, but I don’t have the desire to hurt myself anymore. Instead, the intensity of hurting the two men left on my list grows.
Blake has set up the scene for me to knock off the Crow, but there’s a large part of me that wants to end his life while he is looking at me in the eyes. I have questions that need answers, and I wonder if I threatened to kill him, would it compel him to speak the truth?
I enter his name into Google, and the first pic is of him in his Crows uniform, with black marks under his eyes, carrying his football helmet as he walks off the field. I pretend my fingers are a gun and pretend to shoot him, leaving a feeling of dissatisfaction. He doesn’t care about us girls caught in his web of trafficking and fetishes. He views us as throwaway commodities and second-class citizens to be used and abused at his whim.
It will be my pleasure to wipe him off the face of the earth and Blackadder when I get to him unless the police get to him first because, according to Gabe, all evidence will lead to him.
Huh. Gabe. Which reminds me. The saferoom.
Since I’m here alone, I may as well snoop about the saferoom in case an ‘unfriendly’ arrives and frightens me. Stepping back inside, I let my eyes adjust to the darker atmosphere before starting my search.
The house isn’t that big, but if I were going to have a saferoom, it would be downstairs, perhaps part of a basement. Yet, the many times I walked about down here, I’ve never encountered the saferoom. The living room and kitchen don’t have an extra door, but I pause at the cupboard under the stairs and open that. I was disappointed to find that it was just a cupboard, so I shut it, then swung it open again to check the back wall.
“Found it,” I whisper, finding the moving panel and pushing it open. Behind the panel is a door with a touchpad requiring a code to be entered. I don't know the code, so I don’t bother trying. When Gabe gets home, I’ll ask him. But while the cat’s away, I might snoop in his bedroom.
Flying up the stairs, the adrenaline surged through me, being somewhere I shouldn’t be, but he didn’t seem too upset when he found me in his bed. I come to his door at the end of the hall with my heart hammering against my ribcage and turn the handle.
Damn, he’s locked it. Okay, so he wants to keep me out. Or does he not want me to see what’s in there? I didn’t check his closet thoroughly when I was here last time, so maybe something is hidden there.
Turning away from his door disappointed, my phone beeps in my hand, and I jump in fright. Blake is right. If I’m going to wield a dangerous weapon such as an AK47, then I need to keep calm and in control of my nerves.
It’s a message from Z. Shit, I’ve neglected her since moving into Gabe’s place, and let’s not forget all the man's attention I’ve been getting.
Z: Smiler’s got another mess 4 us to clean. Pick u up in 40mins. Please give me ur address. Unless u don’t want the work.
Me: Wow. It’s not sundown yet. I thought the Smiler clan preferred to work after dark.
Z: R us keen?
Me: Yes. See u soon.
I messaged Z Gabe’s address because we always go together in her van. It contains all the cleaning equipment and an extra vehicle that makes Smiler’s lackeys nervous. I return to my bedroom, strip off my shorts and T-shirt, and replace them with an old pair of sweatpants and a scruffy T-shirt I wear specifically for this job.
She’ll be here in an hour, so I head out to my car and grab the house plants I stashed on the floor in the back. A shiver travels down my spine as I bend to grab the plants like someone is watching me.
Discreetly, I peer over the roof of my silver car to see if anyone is watching me or a car parked down the road, but I can’t see anything. I face the house and notice the cameras hitched in three places along the front: by the living room window, the front door, and the garage. That’s why I feel like I’m being watched; I am but by my allies, not enemies.
I wave to the camera, knowing it’s highly unlikely that a physical person is watching me live; then, just for fun, I chuck a few twerks. Gabe will be surprised when he goes over the day’s footage.
I took four house plants from the glasshouse at uni that we propagated and placed them in the formal living room, informal living room, and dining room, which leads out onto the balcony. There are also potted miniature fruit trees in the glasshouse that need homes, so I’ll bring an orange and maybe a plum home. They would enjoy the sun and add color, life, and food.
I hope Gabe doesn’t mind that I’m tackling the interior of his house, but I’m home more than he is, so I’m making myself at home. I’ll remove them if he doesn’t want them here, but I can’t see why he’d protest.
I potter about with my herbarium, which isn’t completed yet. I still have two samples to retrieve and press; if I don’t do that soon, they won’t be adequately dried and pressed when I hand them to my botany tutor.
When I spot the old white van coming down the road, I run out to greet her. As usual, she’s got a cigarette sticking out of her mouth, a half-empty bottle of Coke on the passenger seat, and an offensive punk T-shirt.
“Been so long since I’ve seen ya?” she cries out, pointing to Gabe’s house. “Dat place is flash.”
“Yeah, I know,” I answer. “I’m rattling around alone most of the time.”
She grunts scathingly as she puts her old beast into gear, and the scent of hospital-grade cleaning products hits my senses. “I thought you moved here so they can protect you after your apartment was broken into?”
“I did,” I clam up, wondering if I should say more, and she turns to me, expecting me to expand on it. “The house has surveillance,” she says.
“Woooo, they’re watching you,” she teases. “Don’t do anything illegal then while living under the roof of a pig.”
“Pig?” I’m taken aback. “He’s de…” I stop myself, dangerously close to stating the pig is dead. Still, I was thinking of Gavin, the ex-cop who wormed his slimy way into my family’s life, becoming a business partner with my brother and his sister in a relationship with my brother. But I quickly realized Z was talking about Gabe, the detective. “No, he’s nice.”
She shoots me a mischievous look. “I’m sure he is…just call me Gabe and his son. That should be a fun way to remove those cobwebs between your legs. Anyway, what’s been going on with Blake? I haven’t seen much of him lately. I figured he must have some big jobs on.”
“I assure you the cobwebs have most certainly been swept away,” I clarify, thinking about the numerous times I’ve had sex with Blake and Cormac in various places. “He comes over for dinner sometimes. Did you know Blake is childhood friends with Cormac, the detective’s son?”
“Small world,” she grunts, placing a cigarette between her lips without lighting it because it’s a fire hazard with the back loaded in flammable liquids. But going by the smell in the cab, she’s probably smoked on the way over with the window down, blowing smoke out.
“Yeah, I know.” I suspect that’s not a coincidence, but I have no evidence of the contrary, so it could be a weird synchronicity.
We fall silent as Z drives along the road that curves around the lake, but I bet she’s thinking about why Blake, the thief, would hang out in the detective’s house. She doesn’t say it aloud, and I can’t tell her anymore to protect my bestie.
“This is kinda early for a killing session,” I say as I gaze out at the lake as the sun drops below the horizon and stains the lake orange and pink.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I got the text. I remember another time before you moved back to Torres when we were summoned in the early evening. Lorette couldn’t make it because she started a new job, so I had to clean it up myself. So, I was pleased you moved back here so I could blackmail you to work with me,” she snorts at her joke.
“Pfft, blackmail? Nah. I needed the money,” I chuckle, even though driving nearer to the location makes me anxious.
It’s imperative that we never squeal about these clean-up sessions, as it’s far too risky for us. One day, we’ll meet Smiler head-on. Maybe we have already and haven’t noticed, but there’s a distinct vibe that we’re being watched while we’re at the house in the basement. And that’s nothing to be alarmed about since we’re being paid to do a job, and Smiler’s lackeys wait in the black SUV for us to show, then check our work before Z is paid. But it goes a little deeper than that for me. The single rose stem left in the kitchen, and they could trace us and track Z’s van, follow me to my apartment, and I would not know it was them because I hadn’t seen them in the flesh before.
“Contract killer money is sweeter,” her attempt at satire, “and goes further. A ten dollar of dirty money is like a hundred dollars of normal money.”
“If only my landlord agreed,” I say, enjoying the lighthearted conversation before we get to the heavy part – the blood and guts or whatever else has been gutted out of the poor man or men that were butchered.
We fall silent again as Z turns into the suburb of the rundown house where many of the murders take place as my apprehension grows. We’re probably being followed right now, although there’s no sign of the shiny, black SUV anywhere.
When Z turns down the street of decrepit houses, close to falling down, lines in evergreen trees and overgrown gardens spewing out from most properties, the light is dim, and the temperature has dropped.
Z exhales in a gush as if to offload the weight of the moment, “Right, you know the routine.”
Yep. First, we cover our bodies in PPE gear to avoid blood splatter, then carry the cleaning products inside. But something is missing, and it’s really bothering me.
“Z, the black SUV is normally here,” I point out, and she swivels her head around to the place on the road where the vehicle often parks.
“Maybe they got held up,” she tries to find a reason to justify their absence, but I can tell it bothers her too.
“The SUV is always here,” I murmur under my breath as Z opens the back of the van and finds the packets of PPE gear.
“Maybe they had someone else to kill,” she cracks a joke, but I can’t find it in myself to laugh.
We had already placed ourselves in great danger by doing this job, and I viewed the men in the SUV as our watchers and protectors. Even though I’ve never met them, being out here alone makes us extremely vulnerable.
“Maybe,” I reply, not wanting to turn this into a big deal, even though my instincts are screaming at me not to go into the house until the SUV arrives. “But to make sure, we should stay out here until Smiler’s men are here.”
She squirms, obviously conflicted, and hands me a fresh PPE packet to open. “I don’t know, Rae. They’re not people you want to piss off.”
“I know, but…” I have no argument apart from gut instincts to justify why I don’t want to go in there.
“Look, if it doesn’t feel right, you stay here,” she decides, ripping the PPE packet and unraveling the plastic gear.
“No, it’s fine,” I feel guilty about abandoning her and starting to rip open the packet. “I’ll come with you.”
Something catches Z’s eye past my shoulder, down the road. “Finally, they’re here,” she points, and I sigh in relief, which seems silly considering that they’re contract killers or whatever. “Are we good now?”
“Yes,” I smile, climbing into the PPE and following Z up the drive to the front of the house made of chipping paint and bora-filled wood. Usually, I avoid looking at the black SUV directly, but on this strange evening, I glance back, and that feeling of dread refuses to fade.
The SUV doesn’t park in its usual place; instead, it keeps on the same side of the road as us. Something about the SUV model seems different than normal. If I mention it to Z, she’ll think I’m being paranoid, so I remain quiet as she unlocks the house door.