Blind Spot, page 7
“We?”
“Yeah, Azrael doesn’t want you doing anything stupid that will get you dead,” he told her.
“Isn’t that area out of your jurisdiction?”
“I took the week off. I go back to work when we find your cousin. Let’s move,” he said, pulling out his wallet and dropping a few bills on the table. “We’re taking your vehicle. I took a shuttle over.”
“And where did you come from, Trooper Todd? That is not a Michigan Trooper uniform; it’s the same color, but not the same state,” she said, not standing to join him.
“I am a State Trooper in Oregon,” he said, looking at her. “I am a tracker. You can call me Mustang.”
Cherry’s eyebrows shot up. This was the work of Mr. Slow. He’d called in reinforcements to help her find Shenita. Slow knew the Great Lakes crew had lost their tracker, Second Banana, and there was no way Mr. Stop could make it from Missouri. Mustang came from the Western Crew of the Horses.
“The one and only Mustang, in the flesh; well the pleasure is all mine,” she said, extending her hand. “What are you doing in this part of the world and in uniform?”
“Don’t get too happy. I’ve had a long travel day to get here, so I’m tired and a bit cranky. I’m going to sleep while you drive,” he said, yawning wide. “I’m in town for a conference on crime.”
“May I ask, why you, and not one of the Trees from the Northeast?” she inquired.
“I grew up in Michigan,” Mustang told her. “I know the state better than the state I adopted as my new home in Oregon. Where we’re headed, it’s going to be rough going. This guy, The Collector...it’s not good, but as far as it goes, he’s not a killer.”
“Killing would be merciful, Mustang,” she said softly. “There are so many things worse than dying.”
Chapter 7- Jack & The Beanstalk
Shenita felt like dying. Her entire body ached, her back throbbed and her hands were numb from the shackles around her wrists. To make matters worse, she was cold because the fool had left her bare-chested with just her underpants on. She made a mental check of her body, noticing with much regret that her body had been tampered with by him.
This was no time to cry. She wouldn’t cry. Never cry.
Sitting up was a struggle. As she uprighted herself, Shenita heard the locks on the deadbolt turn. Warm air rushed into the cold room as he entered, carrying a light-able log of firewood. The pot-bellied stove she hadn’t noticed before would be a welcome companion.
“I don’t want you sick,” he said under the mask which covered his face.
“I’d rather die than let you touch me,” she spat back.
“When are you going to learn to hold your sassy tongue in your mouth?” he grunted, shoving the wood log into the belly of the stove. The Collector used one hand to strike a match and toss it into the tight cavern. The paper wrapper sparked, sending a sulfur laced scent into the room as the fire crept into a blaze. The heat caressed her skin like the comfort of a mother’s touch.
He left the room, leaving the door open. Shenita struggled, trying to get to her feet, but they too were numb. She tried standing, only to fall back onto the bed where she’d been lying atop the covers. All of it felt wrong, disgusting, and yucky. Then he was back.
The Collector stood in the doorway holding a bucket of water and a sponge. The front of his pants indicated excitement, and for a second, he spotted Shenita’s fear. The sponge in his right hand went to his crotch, rubbing gently across the erection as he licked his lips behind the mask.
“You need to be taught who is in charge here,” he told her. “Here’s a hint. It ain’t you.”
“Oh God, would you just kill me already so I don’t have to deal with you? I don’t suffer fools well at all, and you are a damned fool,” she said, trying to rattle him.
It was her second lesson in learning to keep her mouth shut.
The shackles on her feet were loosened just enough to allow the blood to circulate again, sending pain through her legs. She winced at the pumping of blood into her toes, which made them ache. Shenita closed her eyes as the sensations coursed through the veins giving life to the numb appendages.
When she thought it could get no worse, she opened her eyes to see he’d removed his pants. The navy boxer briefs were two sizes too small, giving his penis the appearance of being too big for his britches. Fear rushed into her chest, causing her heartbeat to become erratic. The Collector sat on the floor in front of Shenita, his skinny legs bent like a frog. He took hold of her free foot, dipping it into the bucket of water. The smell of bleach wafted from the bucket.
“What the hell are you doing, you stupid weirdo?”
“The more you talk, the longer I’m going to take,” he said, watching her through the mask which covered the top half of his head and face. The mouth portion was uncovered. His beady eyes focused on her feet as he gently washed each toe with the sponge. The sponge went in between each toe, cleaning, scrubbing, and massaging the nail bed. “Nice pedicure. I like feet.”
Shenita opened her mouth to give a smart retort, but his hand went into his underwear. Her eyes grew wide, concerned with what was coming next. Never in her life could she have imagined a man pleasuring himself as he sucked on her toes.
His small pink lips encased her big toe. He slurped and sucked on her toe while he rubbed himself feverishly. He’d positioned her on the bed at an odd angle through the slatted opening in the foot of the bed where the movement of her legs was restricted but he could have full access to her feet.
“You are so fucking hot,” he said, closing his eyes. “I can’t wait until you’re cleansed so we can be together here in your bed. Tell me you’re excited about our upcoming time together.”
She did not speak. Saliva rolled down her big toe. The sound of his hand flapping against his dry skin made her shudder. He moaned loudly, jumping to his feet and standing over her for his big finish, which shot onto her stomach.
Shenita gagged.
“Don’t gag yet, baby,” he told her. “The next time, it’s your hands, then your mouth.”
She turned her head away to face the wall. Like a father changing an infant’s diaper, The Collector changed her undergarments and everything in them. He washed her intimately with the sponge, using the same bleach water from when he’d cleaned her feet.
“Be nice, and I will be nice. Be a bitch, and I will let you lie here in filth while I come in and jack off on you three or four times a day,” he said in that soft menacing voice. “I’m in control. You eat when I say eat; you piss when I say piss. You can only shit if I feed you enough to eat. I’m the boss, got it?”
Shenita said nothing.
“I am Jack and this is my beanstalk and my fucking castle,” he said, pulling onto her body a fresh pair of panties that were not her own. “I have a golden singing harp and a pretty fancy egg-laying goose. Be a good girl and I’ll allow you to cook our meals. When it’s your day, you get to spend the night with Jack.”
She had no words.
The humiliation was palpable.
She was his prisoner.
Or at least until her cousin arrived. Cherry was going to kill him. She was going to kill him dead. And Shenita planned to help.
Chapter 8- Picky Prince
Naomi wanted to help. Her assistance was going to make him late for work. However, her idea was much better than his when it came to her hair. She left the house with two ponytails and a Shazam lightning bolt part down the middle with two colorful pom-poms on each side of her head. Admittedly, she looked adorable in a blue romper with a pair of blue, green, and purple polka-dotted leggings.
In the vehicle, he located a kid’s radio channel on his satellite audio service to play kid-friendly tunes. Together they sang the songs she’d learned in the last few days. If anyone were to ask, or if anyone happened to notice the change in his demeanor when he arrived at work, it was not commented upon. Mr. Slow did find himself in a far better mood when he carried his little lady inside the building.
“Morning, Mr. Neary,” a security guard called out. “Hello there, Ms. Neary.”
Naomi threw up her bunny-eared two-finger salute to the man as her father carried her down the tiled hallway to her new “school.” She was anxious to get out of his arms to be with her friends, hanging up her coat on her designated hook and placing her scarf and gloves in the bin labeled with her name.
Makayla, the girl whom Naomi told her father was her new best friend, greeted her at the round table.
“Hey, Girl,” Naomi replied, taking a seat like an old woman. “What we doing today?”
Slow stood watching the interaction, confused, amused, and perplexed. “She’s like a little old lady reincarnated,” he said to the teacher Ms. Stewart.
“I thought about her last night, wondering if she was more like you or her mother,” Ms. Stewart said, trying to get information on his relationship status with Naomi’s mother.
He simply replied with, “Hmmph.”
For a split second, Naomi remembered he was in the room and pushed back from the table to run over to him, “Daddy, did you forget?”
“Forget what?” he asked, trying to remember if he picked up his lunch bag and briefcase.
Naomi crooked her tiny finger for him to bend down. His knees silently protested as he squatted down to her level. Her eyes stared into his, reminding him of the conversation they’d had before bed.
Slow opened his arms wide and she stepped into them, embracing his neck. He planted three small kisses on her temple. “I love you, Bunny. Have a good day.”
Naomi in return gave him three wet kisses on his cheek and replied, “I love you too, Daddy. Be good at your school today.”
“Will do,” he said, releasing her and rising to his full six-foot-one-inch frame. “If you have any trouble, you have Ms. Stewart call me. Okay? Now, what’s my name?”
Both she and Ms. Stewart said it at the same time, “Michael Isaac Neary.”
“Darn tootin’,” he said with a wink.
The subtle scent of soap, maleness, and whatever product he used in the thick black hair hung in the air after his departure. The admin Renee Wilcox was also standing close by, shaking her head and watching him walk away. The wide muscular shoulders, the straight back, and the confidence in his steps made them both sigh.
“I think my uterus just requested an egg from my right ovary for that man to fertilize,” Renee confessed.
“Hell, I think the smell of him just got me pregnant,” Ms. Stewart said. “Lord, what a man.”
“Did you find out anything about the girl’s mother?”
“No, did you?”
“Whoever Abigail Barnes is, she’s not on social media,” Renee whispered. “I could get into the boss’s office during lunch and check the federal database. He seems like such a bad ass. The little girl is a tough cookie too. I suspect her mother is a former Marine or some shit like that.”
Ms. Stewart whispered back, “If that’s the case, the last thing you need is to search that database for the child’s mother and trip the red flags, especially not from him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you want on your bad side.”
“No, he’s the kind of guy you wait your turn to be under,” Renee said in hushed tones. “What? A man like that, I’d share.”
AT THE END OF MICHAEL Isaac Neary’s day, he was simply a man. At times, he was a lonely man with too much time on his hands to build weird objects in his backyard or a specialized hitman for the government, trained in interrogation techniques but preferring to make a few bad people dead. He had a gift. Three of the right cuts and a man could bleed out real slow onto the floor. Personally, he didn’t care for mess and often traveled with the necessary accouterments for such specialized work.
However, when he was not in the office toiling over paperwork and proper techniques for training agents to handle trafficking cases, he was a son, a big brother, and a cousin who didn’t talk a great deal. Truthfully, he didn’t like people that much, which was why he lived remotely on his land, hunting what he needed and staying out of the way. Every now and then, the way stayed with him or waited on his front porch until the man came home from work.
“Great,” he mumbled, seeing the woman on his front stoop.
The truck came to a stop and Naomi unfastened her seat belt, moving between the seat to stare over her father’s shoulder. She too spotted the woman. Immediately, he noticed from the rear-view mirror the squint in her eyes, staring at the woman, dare he say, mutherfuckingly.
“Daddy, who is dat woman?”
“That is your Aunt Rebekah,” he said, sighing.
“Is she a problem, Daddy? She’s not a kisser, is she? Is she staying for dinner too? I have a doll to share but I can’t keep giving away my toys,” Naomi said.
“Just calm down, Bunny; let’s see what she wants,” he told his daughter.
Since she’d climbed out of the car seat, he opened the driver’s door, stepped out into the late afternoon air, and reached inside for Naomi. He carried her in his arm to the porch, staring at his sister. She’d brought food, which was always a good start.
“Rebekah.”
“Big Brother.”
He stepped around her, opening the door and disarming the system. The interior of the house was cooler today, and a fire would need to be started to warm up the place before preparing Naomi for bed. She sat on the couch, watching the woman her Daddy said was her Aunt.
“Sis, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? You brought food I see, so you’re staying for dinner?”
“I plan to stay the entire evening since I don’t drive well at night,” she told him as if he’d forgotten. “Also, Daddy said somebody had sex with you and created a little person. I wanted to see for myself if she was funny looking.”
Rebekah set the food down on the dining room table. She was shocked when she turned around to see both her brother’s and the child’s gazes boring into her with animosity. She held up her hands in defeat.
“Oh, you are so adorable,” Rebekah shouted at Naomi. “I’m your Aunt Rebekah. I’m so happy to meet you.”
Naomi wasn’t buying it. “You said I was funny looking. That’s not nice. Daddy, I don’t like her. Can I bop her in the lips?”
“Only if she tries to kiss you,” he replied. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“I thought you could use a hand or a break,” Rebekah said, “and I brought fried chicken from your favorite chicken joint.”
He could use a friendly face and a moment to have a conversation with an adult. He had concerns and worries, and much more than that, he could use a second opinion. He was actually happy to see her, which prompted him to give her a hug.
“Okay, let’s wash up and eat,” he said to a slow-moving Naomi, who watched the woman as if she were a threat.
Over dinner, as Naomi went over her day, Rebekah learned that her niece had learned to break the graham crackers on the dotted line, plus a new dance routine. She asked for music and showed her father what she’d learned, sparking a point of conversation from Rebekah.
“In the shopping plaza where my beauty shop is, there’s a small dance company. They work with kids,” she said. “The owner, Alain Lee, gets her nails done at my shop. Her feet look like monkey claws, but the parents at the school are always on time, and there is a recital coming up soon. You should enroll Naomi. She’s a pretty good dancer.”
“Humm, I don’t know how long she’s going to be here,” he said.
“You’re telling me that whenever her mother returns from whatever top-secret job she’s working, you’re going to let that child just walk out of your life?”
“It’s not what I want, but it’s complicated,” he said to his sister.
“Michael, it’s not complicated at all,” she told him. “Your blind spot has always been an unwavering desire for the fairy tale. Life gets so much easier if you look in the window of the cottage and see the bears aren’t home and move the hell on. No, you want to go inside, determine if the bears are good parents, and test the quality of the beds and chairs.”
He sighed as he helped Naomi from the table to pick out a book. Rebekah had often been his friend, companion, and the one person in the world who truly understood him. Listening to her now, he was uncertain in his assessment.
“I’m not trying to be the picky prince here, Sis, but why can’t the guy have the happily ever after?”
“In order for the prince to have the happily ever after that he truly wants, he’s going to have to do a great deal of planning, preparation, and thoughtfulness to make it work for all involved,” she told her little brother.
Years of working for Customs and Immigration had taught Rebekah Neary several things about the human spirit. She had learned that the spirit could be strong, but the human mind itself was a fragile thing. Seeing as much as she had, the pain inflicted upon women and seeing them treated as nothing more than cattle, had taken her to a breaking point. It had been nearly five years since she’d walked away from her job, opened a beauty salon, and started a business in pampering while attending beauty school.
“Okay, Sis, what are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to tell me what you’re not saying. I’m asking you to tell me what you don’t want Mom and Dad to know—why you haven’t brought Naomi over,” she said.
“Her mother...I don’t want Mom and Dad to get attached and her mother decides yeah, I’m not worth it.”
“Then make yourself worthy and worth it. She kept the child. You have the child while she’s gone, so she knows you’re worthy. I think the child’s mother is waiting for you to realize that you are in fact ready,” Rebekah said. “You seem to be ready. I spotted a Shazam part in the child’s hair. I know you did that.”
He chuckled a little as he explained seeing Zeke Neary’s wife use a bit of olive oil in their daughter’s Michelle hair. Laughing, he told his sister he needed something to tame the wild curls. He rubbed his chest and suddenly grew still. Slow stared at the wall.
