Fixed Parts Page 14

  I sat in the chair and shivered, then switched the computer on. The glow of the green screen cast an eerie light across the office walls.

  The password request flashed on the screen. I stared at it as it blinked at me, mocking. I didn't bother trying his wife’s name nor his daughters. None were precious to him.

  With shaking fingers, I typed Rita’s name, remembering his leers, the salvia gathering in his mouth as he looked at her. I shuddered trying to shake the disgust from my body. With each click of the keyboard I felt the agony of her death, like stabbing her all over again. When my access was denied, I felt relief. As if somehow I had freed her from him.

  I searched the recess of my mind until another memory rose. My birthday, the single slice of cake while he purged on the rest of it.

  I typed, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as if they were afraid to catch on fire. With each letter, the taste of the cake rose in my throat; the cream souring, the chocolate rancid, the cherries tart and bitter.

  “BLACKFORREST”

  The computer sprang to life. I scanned the rows of files neatly stacked in cyberspace. I read each one, searching for anything that shouldn’t have been there. The files listed inventory and invoices, paycheques. On the surface it all looked like the computer of a working mechanic shop.

  And then I saw it, the file was titled “fun stuff”. I clicked on it and my screen exploded with thousands of pictures. Naked woman paraded their body parts in the most provocative of ways. Their beautiful curvy parts shown off. My cock twitched at the sight, throbbed at it. But I pushed it aside. This was where Tony hid his secrets, in the wide opening of these women’s legs. See I knew Tony’s deepest, darkest secret. I knew he didn’t like women—just girls and boys.

  I scrolled down hoping for a clue but found none. I started at the end. Tony flooded the file with so many women, no man would ever manage to go through them all. So, I knew it would be closer to the end. I started clicking on pictures. Tongues and teeth leered at me, nipples bounced in my face, and wet, glistening lips invited me in.

  My cock surged in my pants as I flicked through the images systematically. Relishing in the pictures while simultaneously hating them.

  I clicked on the image. She was a fiery redhead bent over a chair, her ass up in the air, showing off the curls on her glistening lips. Her piercing green eyes looked right at me, and she licked her fire-engine red lips. A silver halo hung over her head, and white angel wings clung to her naked shoulders.

  The screen turned blue. A single white bar with a blinking cursor stared at me. I sucked in a deep breath and typed in Judge Crabb’s file number, then pressed enter.

  The screen went black for a second and then a recording started to play. In the corner the time flashed 12.07 pm, Friday 23/05/1993.

  The camera was facing a bed. It was placed in a nearly barren room, the walls bare and ugly. The four-poster bed was made up in black sheets and red pillows. A set of handcuffs hung from each of the bed posts.

  The girl that walked in had far too much makeup on. Maybe it was in an attempt to seem older. She was dressed in a mini skirt and a short leopard print cardigan that hung open over a lacy, black bra. She seemed to totter in her high heels. George Crabb followed behind her; a big, greedy smile plastered on his face. She looked young, too young, not much older than I was at the time. My belly turned at the thought.

  The girl looked scared but was putting on a brave face, smiling and teasing. His Honour appraised her with his hungry eyes and sat on the edge of the bed licking his lips.

  “Take your clothes off. Slowly,” he cooed to her and bile rose in my throat as she danced, peeling off the few items she had on. He beckoned her closer with a finger and she approached him, taking tentative steps.

  “Closer darling, I won’t bite. Much.” He chuckled at his own joke and gripped her wrist, forcing her between his legs.

  When his lips touched her perky, pink nipple, she grimaced. He may have read it as a smile as he sucked harder and dug his fingers into her waist, pulling her ever closer. But I know what fear and disgust look like, and it painted her face like a grotesque artwork.

  He whispered sweet nothings to her as he grazed her skin with his mouth, exploring her youth. Then with a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her onto her knees and instructed her to pull off his pants and get his cock out. She obliged as he grunted with the effort.

  He cupped her face in his hands and lowered her mouth to his cock, compelling her to suck. Delicate, unpractised movements at first. He groaned at her touch, his body shivering with ecstasy till he could wait no more. He fisted a clump of her hair and forced her down on his shaft; she gagged and flailed but still he pushed and pulled her until he jerked and shook, releasing himself into her mouth.

  “Mm mm,” he purred, “You are such a good girl.” He placed his fingers under her chin, “Now get on the bed. “

  Her face was red and tears pooled in her eyes. He slapped her ass as she climbed on the bed beside him.

  “On your belly, sugar.” She obliged as he rolled above her, clasping each of her wrists securing them with the cuffs.

  He slapped her ass again and she flinched at the sting. He chuckled, enjoying her struggle.

  “Now darling, I want to see that exquisite ass of yours. I want it up in the air.” She tucked her knees below her belly, and the judge gasped in appreciation.

  He began her spanking. She flinched at first and then squirmed. Her moans turning into cries while his palm met the soft flesh of her ass, until tears ran from her face and her ass burned redder than the pillows.

  “Yes, sweetheart. You have no idea how beautiful you are from this angle.” Without warning, the judge ploughed into her arse and she howled in pain.

  It was brutal and savage, and I could see his joy as he destroyed this beautiful, delicate thing. The only comfort I took away was that it ended quickly. But for her, not quickly enough.

  When he was done, he fell on top of her crumpled body and sucked in long satisfied breaths while a single teardrop tumbled from her eye. It traveled along her nose and dropped onto the cushion, the blot spreading like ink in water, seeming to stain the cushion.

  The time stamp of the tape showed that it continued on for 45 minutes more. I didn't watch the rest; I saw all I needed to see. Her face will haunt me like those in the photographs. Just another lost soul, another broken, fractured spirit, scared and tormented. I clenched my jaw as I vowed to get her some peace.

  I exited the video and returned to the blinking white bar. Each number was a file, each held the worst graphic secrets of these vile human beings, and I almost had possession of them all. I wouldn’t be able to walk out with Tony’s computer without being hounded. I needed the originals.

  I went back to the women. They all stared at me, leered at me, tempted me. I was running out of time, and eventually Joe’s men would get tired of waiting for the cops and the charade would be over.

  Tick, tock.

  I scrolled through the women till I found the one I was looking for. The red-haired woman sat on a Victorian parlour chair. It was plush and velvety red. Her long hair cascaded across her shoulders and her pink nipples peeked from among the strands. She sat back, legs spread open, inviting, enticing, and saturated. Her lips burned around her sharp teeth. The two devil horns poked above her head to complete the look. I clicked.

  A list of real estate buildings appeared on the screen. Property after property. I checked through them all and made note of the only three I was unaware of. I memorised them and retraced my steps, deleting all my searches and histories. I logged off and snuck out as undetected as when I arrived.

  Back at the car wash, I paced the length of my room like a caged animal, my heart pounded and my palms felt clammy as my mind reeled with all I had discovered. My mind felt blurred and my body heavy, the last three days catching up to me like a freight train without breaks. My mind was hurled with too much information like it was peppered with bullets. I fell onto the
bed, sinking under the darkness.

  Rough hands shook me awake. Salvatore’s broken face looked down on me as I bolted up. I’ve never had a problem waking up. Alice made sure of that when she let us squat in illegal places, or when she brought men home with wandering hands.

  The room was black. Silver moonlight and yellow street lights collided against my walls. I studied the man who loomed above me. His lip was sliced open, his cheeks swollen and bruised. His knuckles scraped and broken.

  “Let’s go.”

  I was already dressed, having fallen asleep with my shoes on. My body felt worn and tired as if I hadn’t slept at all, like I hadn’t slept in years. I was falling apart at the seams, but I had to be strong—for Rita, for those kids, for that prostitute who cried on the bed. I had to finish it, to finish them.

  We climbed into his car and he cocked his head towards another vehicle parked across the road. I was being watched as closely as he was. The engine roared to life and Salvatore pulled away casually, as if he hadn’t a worry in the world, as if his association to me hasn’t been discovered, and his face wasn’t broken and his ego bruised.

  In the mirrors I could see our tail. They followed at a good distance and parked three cars away in the parking lot of a well-lit bar.

  The alcohol and cigarettes were the first thing I smelt; they crawled up my nose like well known acquaintances and lingered. The air was heavy with smoke and alcohol infused laughter. But, beneath the smells and the sounds I could almost feel the desperation, the loneliness of the patrons. It leached into their seats and stained the floors. The poor and the pathetic found a home, a place to feel as if they belonged. Once I could have almost been one of them. Almost.

  The bar stretched over the length of the back wall and around it gathered the usual animals. Tables were scattered around the dimly lit room. I followed Salvatore to the bar. The wood sticky and worn.

  The barman slapped two beers in front of us, the heads were too big, and they fizzed in the hot air, the glass sticky with spilled alcohol and clammy with condensation.

  “How much do they know?” I sipped the warm beer and regretted it instantly.

  Salvatore’s mouth tipped at the edge, “Not enough to kill you yet, but just enough to come after everything. After tonight you’ll have one, maybe two nights tops. Then you need to find a place to disappear.”

  I nodded, staring at the beer I wasn’t going to drink and wondered how much of the content was beer and how much was piss. Salvatore didn’t touch his drink, instead offering it to the inebriated man on his left. The man cheered to his health as Salvatore picked up the empty glass and placed it in front of him. After a while he repeated the process with mine.

  Despite the warmth of the bar, I felt a cold spear of fear as it stabbed through me again and again. It spread around my body in waves as we sat for an hour talking about nothing. Keeping up appearances.

  We waited.

  A tall brunette walked into the bar, her top lip pierced and the side of her head shaved. It was dyed black. Everything about her felt artificial. She eyed Salvatore and gave him a long familiar smile as if they shared a secret. He tipped his head and her smile broadened.

  “Hi, handsome.”

  “Roxy,” he cocked his head and she licked her bottom lip at the sight of his roguish smile, “Been a long time.”

  “Too long.” She purred across the bar.

  “You busy?”

  She scanned the bar, her eyes flicking over half drank beers and slumped over patrons. “Not at all,” Roxy winked at him, “Bring your friend.” A roar of laughter and whistles followed us as we rose from our chair and followed the woman behind the bar.

  “Come on Roxy, when are you going to invite me upstairs too?” Leered one of the other men. Salvatore spun on his heels and glared at the man who quickly retreated into his drink.

  Roxy led us through a narrow corridor. It was lined with empty beer crates and boxes of bar snacks.

  “Hurry up, this way.” She led us to a door which opened up to a back alley. It reeked of piss and garbage, fermented food and stomach contents. My own stomach heaved at the smell.

  “Thanks Rox, I owe you one.” Salvatore’s tone was smooth and honeyed, one I had never heard before.

  “Come back later this week and pay me back.” She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him down, her lips nipping his.

  He bit his lower lip as she slipped him a bunch of keys, then turned back inside and locked the door behind us. When his gaze swung back to my face, his warned me to keep my mouth shut. I smirked, then followed him to the waiting car.

  The car needed a wash, black grease decorated the bonnet and oily hand prints stained the windows.

  Salvatore slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Despite its dilapidated exterior, the interior was clean and well looked after. I lay low in my seat so that my body remained hidden. I could feel the car shift and turn, the sensation lurching through my stomach.

  The radio played some classic tunes as a long silence stretched between us. We rounded a few more corners and put more distance between us and the bar before Salvatore told me I could sit up. When I did, we were on the highway, flashing lights sped by us in neon and yellows.

  We drove in silence. It seemed to be this thing between us. We didn't need to talk to know what the other was thinking. There was just too much tension, too much raw pain, too much to get done to waste on words. We were both buried under clouds of thoughts and fear to worry about conversation.

  The storage unit facility looked like any other—heavy, corrugated doors sealing concrete vaults. We pushed the baseball caps low over our heads and left the car parked a few streets away.

  The security booth sat under a beam of light, it blazed like a bug zapper in a dark night. Insects flew above it in a delicate swarm. The echoes of TV laughter drifted from the wooden structure.

  I thought of Rita and that night in the car. My body remembered the tightness and exhilaration. In the darkness, the sensations were similar except that I knew the outcome would be totally different. There would be nothing soft and beautiful, only hatred and anger that had the potential to leave a lot of bodies behind.

  I pulled the cap lower on my face feeling the rush of blood as it pumped around my body in stormy waves. We approached the security booth.

  The guard was lost in the whatever show he was watching, his too white teeth glowed in the light of the TV screen. His hair was shaved and his uniform showed off a muscular physique. He could have been ex-military.

  Salvatore pulled out his Glock and set it behind his back as I knocked on the glass window, jerking the man out of the screen.

  He eyed us, his smile fading, “Can I help you?”

  “Yes hi, we are here to go look at locker seventy-three.”

  He flinched as if he had been bitten by a snake, “Seventy-three?”

  I clenched my jaw, my body tightening, “Yes.” I wondered who the locker belonged to.

  The guard shifted in his chair, “I’m going to have to see some ID, please.”

  He reached for his keyboard and Salvatore levelled the gun with his temple, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  The man froze, his eyes darted around like a trapped animal. He reminded me of Elise at her dining room table; the ingrained fear of the human spirit being extinguished loomed inside him.

  “Give me your wallet.”

  “I don’t have any cash man.”

  “Your wallet,” My tone was harsh and I extended my hand out.

  He jiggled in his chair, Salvatore scrutinising his every move. He shoved the wallet in Salvatore’s direction.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.,” I shook my head then cocked it at Salvatore.

  The guard’s eyes grew wide as the butt of Salvatore’s gun smashed across his face. He wailed at the pain, his hand shooting to the swelling bruise.

  “Let’s try that again. Give me your wallet.” He handed me the wallet, glaring at me.

/>   I pulled out his driver’s licence and threw the wallet back into his booth.

  “Now I have your address, Desmond.”

  The guard swallowed and said nothing, “Your wife is very beautiful.”

  His head spun backwards to the framed family photo on the desk; a glowing pregnant woman hugging a young boy.

  “What do you want?” His shoulders slumped, the fight seeping from his body.

  “The first thing you’re going to do is switch off all the cameras.”

  “I can’t d—”

  “I’ve never had my cock sucked by a pregnant woman, have you?” I spoke to Salvatore’s back.

  “Never too late to try new things.” He played along, his tone menacing.

  “Ok, ok, just leave my family out of it.” He reached for the keyboard and clicked a few commands, the bank of screens turned black, one monitor after another until only the sitcom remained, fake laughter pouring from the glowing TV.

  “Master key card, please.”

  “Please, I’m going to lose my job.”

  I held out my hand, “Not if tonight never happened.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Next time I have to ask for anything more than once, your wife will be delivering your baby on my cock.”

  The colour drained from his face, and he handed me a plastic card. I thanked him and ran.

  I knew we had limited time, and I knew that eventually the security guard will try to get brave and everything will be fucked; mostly for him, because Salvatore would have no qualms about putting a bullet in his head. But ghosts didn’t leave dead bodies behind.

  I opened lockers, slapping the key card against the readers; the locks clicking and the doors lifting a mere inch off the ground to indicate they have been released. I didn’t give a shit about those other lockers, I was just covering tracks. Once I was satisfied, I back tracked and returned to locker twenty three. Of course I lied to Desmond. I would never give away my only playing card.