Blind Spot, page 6
“Don’t work there. I was in town visiting a friend,” she said, watching his body language at her words. He stiffened, and she played on it. “My cousin...I was taking home dinner.”
It was a lie. The driving distance between Indianapolis and Detroit was nearly five hours. She’d come to Detroit to see a concert and had detoured like an idiot on her lonesome for some damned fried chicken in the middle of the night. Everything her cousin Cherry told her not to do, she did, and now, she was going to be raped and tortured by a weirdo in a mask who enjoyed eating soul food.
“Stop lying,” he told her. “You live in Indianapolis. You were in town for a concert. All of the details of your life are in that purse. I was testing you to see if you’d lie to me.”
“Truth, lie, or otherwise, either way, my cousin is going to come for me, and when she finds you, she’s going to kill you dead,” Shenita said.
“Kill me dead, isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“No, it is a figure of speech, you moron, because there are all kinds of dead,” she told him. “My cousin is the kind of person who will shoot in a not-so-obvious place so you can feel the bullet pierce your skin. The bullet will sink into your flesh, creating a gaping hole, allowing all of the life-juice in you to trickle out until your body engine runs low on oil and the system seizes up. You will feel yourself dying. It is going to hurt. I am going to watch. I’m going to watch her kill you dead.”
He stood still, watching her in feigned amusement. He admired the spunk and was happy he’d chosen well. She would prove to be a challenge. He liked a challenge.
“You are very dark in your spirit,” he said to her. “When I do fuck you, you’re going to fight me, and that is only going to make my cock harder, which means I’m going to fuck you harder. Even now, it is throbbing and I want to shove it in your mouth until you gag. I can’t wait to break you.”
Shenita tried to focus. Her eyes went to where she heard his voice, homing in to where she thought his mouth could be. She scoffed at him, almost laughing as she stared in his direction.
Speaking slowly, she said to him, “So you’re white, which means your five inches probably couldn’t choke a chicken. Even if you did consider yourself fucking me hard, I’m accustomed to real men with nine inches or more. But if it makes you happy, I will pretend to be hurt while you do it.”
His footsteps were heavy and moved across the room. Shenita braced herself for what came next. The blow was open-handed and not a fist.
The fist she was used to receiving from an abusive father. Later, as an adult fancying herself in love, Shenita shared a bed with an abuser of her own. Through both experiences, she learned to fight, but more importantly, she learned to survive. This man had taken the wrong woman and he didn’t know it yet.
“You smell like gingerbread,” she told him. “I’m going to call you the Gingerbread Man.”
“No, the fuck you’re not,” he said, raising his voice. “I am The Collector. You are one of my dolls and I shall place you in a cage just as soon as you wash the filth of your nasty habits away, including your sharp-tongued black mouth.”
“And then what...I get the honor of this amazing fuck you promised?”
“Don’t sass me!”
“Sass you? Good grief, what is that Appalachian region, Southern hill folks? Am I your first black woman?”
“Shenita Nelson, I will kill you just to shut you up. I will dump your body in a crevice where your mama, cousin, or daddy will never find your remains. Baiting me, trying to play tough is not only going to get you hurt but there are four other women here whom I will punish to make you fall in line,” he threatened.
Shenita wasn’t playing his game “I don’t know them bitches! This is about my life. My survival. You can try to kill me, but you’re going to know you’ve been in a fight.”
Pain pierced her neck. Her bound hands were cinched behind her back. She could feel her body slumping. He’d given her another sedative. Before she blacked out, Shenita knew he took off her shoes.
He was undressing her and she was helpless to stop him.
Chapter 6- The Three Little Pigs
Slow made a quick dinner of spaghetti with ground turkey, using pasta sauce from a jar, tomatoes from a can, and salad from a bag. Until now, he’d only cooked for himself. Tonight, his father was joining him for dinner, along with his daughter. Naomi set the table with three plates and paper towel napkins, and she took her time to add a fork and spoon beside each plate.
“She’s helpful,” Mark Neary said to his son.
“Her Mama trained her that way,” Slow replied.
“Do we, and I mean your Mama and me, know her mother?”
“No, you haven’t met her,” Slow answered, mixing meat sauce with the pasta and ladling it into a large bowl.
“Son, I have a lot of questions, and you’re just not that forthcoming,” Mark said softly.
“No, I’m not I guess,” Slow said, pulling out the chair for Naomi to take a seat.
Her small legs dangled from side to side as she watched her father and the man take a seat at the table. She cut her eyes at Mark Neary, as if she were silently asking her father who the man was at the table. He understood the unanswered question as he ladled out a child-sized serving of pasta.
“Naomi, this is my father, Mark Jacob Neary. He is your Grandfather,” he told her.
“Okay,” she said, looking at the crusty cheesy bread.
Slow spoke again, “He is my Daddy.”
“Do you have a Mommy?”
“I do; her name is Ruth Naomi Neary,” he said to her shocked face.
“Your Mommy has my name?”
“No, you have my Mommy’s name,” he said, looking at his father. “Let us pray.”
After a quick blessing over the food, the normally quiet child, who sat eating her dinner with no conversation, couldn’t seem to keep still in the chair. Fearing she would blurt out something awful like having to take a poop, Slow leaned forward, almost whispering to her.
“Bunny, are you okay?”
“No!”
“What’s wrong?”
“You said I could tell you about my day and you would tell me about yours. I want to tell you about my day,” she said, her bottom lip poked out. “Do I haveta wait till the man leaves?”
“I’m sorry, Bunny, I almost forgot, and the man is my Daddy and your Grandpa,” Slow said, a smile etching the corner of his lip. He looked at his father, took a deep sigh, leaned back, and posed the question. “Naomi, how did your first day at school turn out? Did you like it?”
“Daddy!” She said, raising her voice. “I had fun! I made two friends, Makayla and Jane. Oh, Timmy wanted to be friends too, but I told him no. You know him tried to kiss me two times. I told him no, and when he tried again, Daddy, I bopped him in the lips.”
“I know. I got a call about that,” he said softly.
“I’m sorry, but he kept trying to kiss me, and when I told him no, Daddy, him tried to kiss Jane too,” she said, pursing her lips in disgust. “I bopped him with my fist and told them to call you. I tolded that teacher lady, call my daddy. Him name Michael Isaac Neary!”
Naomi sat proudly, her tiny back straight, pleased with herself. “She called you too, but I was scared they said I had to go,” Naomi offered, her lip poked out again, “but you came and fixed it.”
“I fixed it,” Slow said, watching her face, animated, the cheeks rosy, the eyes dancing. It was a far cry from the previous two nights when she barely spoke at all.
“Daddy and Grandpa man, you know what else I did at the school?”
Mark Neary, totally invested in the transformation of the child as she spoke, wanted to know more. He too leaned forward as if the child were sharing the unknown secrets of the universe. She kept going.
“We did finger painting! I didn’t like that, Daddy. It was messy and it nearly got on my new dress,” she said, looking down at her sleeves. “We ate cookies with milk. They were the black cookies the kids turned and pulled apart with the white stuff inside. That was too much work to eat a cookie. I asked for a chocolate chip cookie that I could bite.”
Mark began to laugh. Naomi, in the throes of her story, wasn’t done. She had learned something else new today she was waiting to show off to her father. Climbing down from the table, she stood in the middle of the floor, ensuring both men were looking at her.
“Daddy, I learned to stand on one leg and hop like this, see,” she told him. “I can’t do the other one. I learned to hop. Hop. Hop. The teacher lady put on some music, and I danced, like this. Jane, she can’t dance. Timmy tried, but him was dancing like the pee-pee was about to come out.”
Slow burst into laughter. He praised his daughter for standing up for herself and her friends. He oohed and ahhed over her fancy one-footed moves, and when she finally took a seat, she looked at her father.
Naomi asked, “Daddy, how was your day?”
He pushed back from the table and took to the middle of the floor. He balanced on one foot, still in dress pants and black oxfords, and began to tell her about his day.
“I went to a meeting where the men were trying to be mean to me,” he said and bounced to the next foot. “I ate my lunch in the cafeteria.”
“Daddy, did you eat lunch with your friends like I did?”
“No, Bunny, I ate alone.”
“You need to make some friends at your school, Daddy, so you won’t have to eat alone,” she said and her eyebrows shot up. “Did you have to eat alone because you were trying to kiss one of the girls at your school and got in the troubles?”
Mark again burst into laughter.
“No, I had to eat alone because all of my friends spent their lunch breaks to get all the toys you have. Those new toys are from my friends at my school. Now the toys are for you,” he explained.
Her eyebrows went up again. “Daddy, I like your friends.”
Slow took a seat, forking up another mouthful of pasta. Mark sat at the table, noticing both his son and granddaughter were staring at him. He assumed it was his turn. Laughing and pushing away from the table, he too took center stage and stood on one foot.
“I fired a man today,” he said, bouncing to the other foot. “I hired a woman, put a man in jail, and had a hamburger for lunch. My friends didn’t bring me any toys at my school and I’m mad! Pop. Pop. Hop.”
Mark sat down. Mr. Slow nodded his head in acknowledgment to his father for taking part in the share your day activity. He mouthed thank you, and his father waved his hand in dismissal.
“Grandpa man, don’t be sad,” Naomi told him, leaving the table. Naomi returned with a small truck one of Slow’s coworkers had given her. The box was unopened and she passed it to her Grandfather. “Now you can be happy too.”
Mark was surprised at the sudden emotion which hit him. He wanted to scoop her up and cover her little face with kisses, but he’d been socked in the mouth once. This time, he asked.
“Naomi, can I kiss your cheek for giving me this gift?”
“No, I don’t like that,” she said, frowning at him.
“I respect your feelings,” Mark said, looking at his watch. He didn’t want to leave but he needed to get home. “Son, you need to consider and respect your mother’s feelings as well.”
“Dad, I didn’t want to introduce her to you guys until I can work out making this house a permanent home for her,” he said.
“And the mother?’
“She was the one who kind of got away,” he said smiling, looking at his daughter, “kind of, not totally.”
“There’s a story there that I’d like to hear,” he said to his son, rising and cleaning off his plate.
“Yeah, but I’m not ready to tell it. I gotta figure this out,” he said to his dad, giving the man a hug. “Love you, Daddy.
“Love you too, son, but don’t wait too long to tell your Mother,” Mark cautioned, waving goodbye to Naomi and blowing the child a kiss. Had he not been looking, he would have missed her ducking behind the couch to avoid the air smooch. Mark only laughed again as he went to his vehicle, a squishy feeling in his chest.
Inside the home, it was time to settle in for the evening. Naomi needed a shower and bedtime story and he had files to review. A deep concern for Cherry crossed his mind as he thought of how they got together, why they got together, and the three days in Mexico that made them parents.
He still sat on the couch, staring at the wall, when a freshly showered and robed Naomi returned with a book in hand. Fatigue set into his lower back and all he wanted himself was a hot shower, a call from Cherry to know she was not in danger, and a good night’s rest.
“Ready for your bedtime story? I think tonight we have the three pigs,” he told her, reaching for the bound book of fairy tales.
“Three pigs, do pigs talk and make houses, Daddy?”
“No, this is a fairy tale which means it’s not real, but there is a lesson to be learned from the story, about how to act and how you should treat others,” he explained.
She sat quietly, listening to her father huff and puff as he read the story. Each page he turned brought them closer and closer to the big bad wolf. He reached the end, closing the book.
The quietness of the child made him wait before carrying her to bed. Fifteen minutes passed and she said nothing, prompting him to lift her into his arms to carry her to the bedroom. When he placed the child on her feet, she removed the robe and hung it on the small hook near her bed, and climbed in. Her eyes focused on his face as he tucked the covers in around the body.
Finally, unable to handle the silence, he asked, “Naomi, is there something on your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to share it with me?”
She shrugged her shoulders. He didn’t want to pry but pulled up a chair and sat at her bedside. A fatherly smile was offered while he waited for her to either muster up the courage or let it go. Naomi found her courage.
“Daddy, I heard the Grandpa man tolded you that he loved you,” she said.
“Yes, my Daddy and my Mom love me very much. I have a sister, and she kind of likes me too,” he said with a smile.
“You told the Grandpa man that you loved him too,” she said, watching his face.
“I did because I love my Daddy a lot. He is a good Daddy and hopefully, one day when you get to know him better, and you feel comfortable, you can give him bunny kisses on his cheek,” he told her, “but there is no rush.”
“But I only gave you bunny kisses on your cheeks the one time for the cool room I sleep in, Daddy! Do I need to give you more?”
“True, but when you’re ready, you can give me all the bunny kisses you want,” he told her, still waiting on her 4-year-old brain to connect the pieces.
“Do you love me too, Daddy?”
“I do, Bunny.”
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you that I love you?”
“Yes, Daddy, because when you tell me that you love me, then I can tell you that I love you. I can tell you that I love my school and my room and my bunny slippers. I don’t love Timmy or the Grandpa man,” she explained as her definition was followed by a yawn.
“Please forgive me, Naomi Ruth Neary, for taking too long. I love you,” he told her. “I love you with everything in me, to infinity and beyond.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” she said, reaching for him.
Slow leaned forward, her arms going about his neck as she planted tiny bunny kisses on his cheek. Naomi snuggled into the pillow, getting comfortable. He had nothing more to say as he gathered his things, struggling against the squishy feeling in his tummy then heading to his room.
His life once so empty was now so full, and there were decisions to be made. First, he needed a new plan. He needed to up his sexy game to woo a woman into being his wife so she and his daughter could have a life here with him.
“Yeah, I need to make some plans,” he said, scratching his head. He leaned back on his bed and before long, he was out.
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
Cherry was out of luck. She sat silently praying, needing a break. She needed a clue, a lead, or something to point her in the right direction. All she had was a bit of false hope that maybe, someone, somehow, some way, would walk through the door and tell her something. A good-looking man, large in size, big on attitude wearing a Trooper uniform came through the door.
“Hey, are you Cherry?”
“Yeah,” she said, looking up at the six-foot-tall State Trooper.
“Azrael sent me. I got some info for you. I got word that the vehicle you’re looking for headed West three days ago,” Trooper Todd informed her.
Azrael was an Archangel, the leader of Fruits of the Great Lakes. Her stable was smaller, with only six technicians, the leader included, highly skilled and specialized. Unlike the Southeast Crew of the Directions, which was ten-strong, Azrael preferred a smaller team. She felt it brought less drama.
“What’d she send for me?” Cherry asked, suddenly feeling hopeful.
“She got some big wig to pull camera footage in and around the last location where your cousin’s phone pinged,” he told her, pointing at the seat. She nodded for him to sit, and the waitress brought over a cup and a fresh pot of hot coffee. “Azreal got the make and model of the vehicle and tagged the GPS. The driver headed North towards Saginaw County, then west. The last stop was in Mason County.”
The look on his face read as bad news. Cherry wanted all the facts—bad, ugly, fatal— she needed to know. Swallowing hard, her eyes went to the Trooper, waiting with bated breath for him to deliver the gut-punching blow. If Shenita’s body was found, she wasn’t prepared.
“That area, up around Ludington, has Hamlin Lake. It is over 5,000 acres of recreation area for hunting, fishing, and camping. There are hundreds of people through the area during this time of year,” he said, “and once the snow starts to fall, then...well, if we’re gonna find her, we need to get moving. It is nearly five hours from here.”
