Blind Side, page 5
As Lizzie was clearing the dishes for the maid to take care of the next day, Karen found her in the kitchen. Once Lizzie bent over, Karen ran her hand up her skirt. Lizzie was appalled, and as she turned to give the woman a piece of her mind, Karen kissed her! Trey walked in on it and completely misread what he was seeing. His body did not misread it, and Lizzie saw a spark in his eyes as well as the excitement in his pants. Karen was drunk and Lizzie wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing, but she eyed Trey with amusement as the woman began to paw at her blouse. She knew she should put a stop to it but when Joe rounded the corner to see what had transfixed Trey, he froze in his tracks. Lizzie reached to grip Karen by the shoulder to push her away but Karen moved, leaving Lizzie’s hands to fall short off the shoulder bones and land on her breast. That is when she noticed the change in Joe.
His arousal was so prominent in his pants that she found herself turned on by the sheer size. She looked to Trey to help her out, but Trey had backed out of the room and taken a seat. She noticed that Joe was now touching himself and she became even more turned on when he uncoiled the python that was about to break his zipper. She wanted to feel it. She wanted to taste it. She wanted it inside of her.
She led Karen to the couch. Lizzie had never been with a woman and had no interest in her now, but she wanted Joe, and this would bring him and his python to her. She kicked off her sandals and lay back on the couch. She did not know what Karen was doing but figured she would do the obvious. Trey had moved closer and Joe made his way to the couch. He was careful and very political to only touch his girlfriend. Karen had no interest in him joining the party; she wanted Lizzie. Lizzie wanted Joe, and Trey just wanted to watch.
Lizzie maneuvered herself in the pile to slowly be touched by Joe. She shifted her position on the couch so that her backside had grazed his manhood. That was all it took. The rest of the exercise on how to cuckold your best friend played itself out. Joe began asking questions about how well Trey did some of the things he was doing. In all honesty, Trey did none of these things. She may be acting as a wanton whore, but she was not going to verbalize being one. That was just classless.
She was coming undone as the big man plowed into her while Karen kissed and touched her. Lizzie had never felt so alive. She had never felt so sexual. She had never experienced an orgasm like this before. It seemed to go on forever and Joe continued to do his work. Afterward, the three lay in a heap on the couch, and Trey walked over and kissed her, taking her by the hand and leading her to the loveseat. He made quick work of his need, but she found that she had again had an orgasm and had never felt closer to her man.
The next time Joe came for a visit, it was without Karen. Trey just watched the two of them in their bed. The third time Joe came over, Trey was not home. She should not have let him in the house, but she thought she was in control. She had him hooked; she just needed him to take her away from Trey. It never happened. Joe never came back. The last time she saw Joe was on that fateful night at the country club three years later when he walked in with Big Jim and her little sister.
The police found him six months later. The officer said he was, “deader than shit on a sidewalk in summer.” His mighty python had been sliced from his body and laid out like frozen Sushi slices in front of him as he exsanguinated from the open wound. The police report did state that the killer had set a bucket underneath him to collect the quarts of blood. The FBI said it was a ritualistic killing because the container of blood had been removed and no traces could be found.
The FBI had been called in because traces of blood from one Joseph Leonard Duggins had been found at the crime scene of Harold “Harry” Birdwell, both of Savannah, Georgia. Duggins’ body had been found at the family cabin in Gatlinburg. The body parts of Harry Birdwell had been found in several locations. His arms were located in a section of the Chattahoochee National Forest in Georgia. His legs had been located at Nantahala National Forest in North Carolina. There was a note on his legs that said his torso could be found in Apalachicola National Forest by mile marker 22 in Florida. It was a fitting death for both.
For Joe, he was always sticking his Johnson where it did not belong, thinking every woman wanted a piece of him. Now there were several pieces available of his famous love schlong. Harry, well, that jackass was always all over the place, in life, in bed, and now in death. She had saved some of Trey’s blood from the open cuts she had made on his torso and had swabbed Harry’s face with it. She wanted to keep the agents busy so she threw a little bit of Big Jim in the mix. She thought his pinkie toe would be sufficient to stir up a fuss. It was enough to keep several law enforcement teams busy while she plotted her next move.
She was now stuck in Augusta and just waiting to get her hands on that Dacks.
WILLIE JONES WAS A young captain in the United States Army stationed at Fort Gordon in Augusta. He was bright, quick-witted, and for a techie, pretty down-to-Earth. He served as a perfect cover while Lizzie plotted ways to rid the earth of “Big Dacks” McCorkle.
Captain Jones wined and dined Lizzie and took her to all the best places in Augusta. By Lizzie’s count, there were only three. The good Captain was pleased with himself and felt he made a power play that night at the PI Grill, warding off potential suitors while she finished her Sprite. He came back the following Friday, and she allowed him to share her table, and he took that to mean they were now some form of a couple and now he was able to take her on a date.
The date consisted of her sitting through the most boring movie on the planet; this was Willie’s idea of a great first date. He held her hand as they strolled along the Riverwalk and fed the ducks. She played coy over desserts at the Boll Weevil as he held her hand while telling her how her beauty aroused his senses. She knew his senses weren’t the only thing that was rising. She was bored with the whole charade. She wanted to kill somebody. The only Dacks she wanted to come in contact with was the one who was running for Mayor.
At the end of two weeks, she allowed him to kiss her. They fell into a companionable pattern over the next three months and she moved in with him on month four. It worked out in her favor because she was running out of money and her anger was starting to come to life during their Wednesday night lovemaking. Willie foolishly believed it was him that was driving her aggression in bed, and she found him in the mirror checking his chest hairs. Men are all the same. Feed 'em, fuck 'em, and stroke their egos, and you will have a happy life. Willie was so happy; he bought her a nice little used VW Jetta. Great, at least when she left the boring soldier boy, she would have something to drive.
At the end of month five, she began to notice an increase in security around Dacks. The bodies of Joseph Duggins and Harry Birdwell had been located. Thanks to her desire to let someone know those two McAllisters were no longer breathing, the cases were now connected. The days of not being recognized for her hard work were over.
She even reached out and made a connection with one of Trey’s former constituents who was always respectful enough to never touch her. She remembered the one time he asked, “Why don’t you just kill these scumbags for how they treat you?” She had sent him a text three weeks ago letting him know that she had.
In turn, he had secured her a special assignment of a few other unsavory characters that needed to be removed. Over a secure line, she sent him pictures of Joe and Harry with the promise that Dacks was next, adding a note that the last body required some finesse.
He sent her an advance of five grand.
It mattered little to her; once you had fucked for money, killing for it seemed a rather simple career progression. If she did well, he would have more work for her that included travel. The five grand would go for setup for a new base. When the job was done, she would use the balance to start a new life, but first, she needed to close out this one in Georgia.
Time to spend some time with Dacks.
THE DAY SEEMED FAR longer than her patience with men. Time had been a cruel friend, often forcing her to believe in the impossible when she should have been courting a relational reality with the improbable. Adjusting the skirt that was hell-bent on riding up her thighs served as a reminder of why she was here, while the heat of the August day reminded her that a pair of shorts would have been more comfortable for a midafternoon murder in Georgia.
Comfort was no companion when the back pocket of your outfit provided little concealment for a Smith & Wesson. Sweating bullets took on a new meaning as she searched for the perfect spot to wait, sulk, and mull trajectory angles, all the while waiting to eventually take his life. As far as she was concerned, he had not put it to good use and therefore it became her responsibility to end his wastefulness. Further, since there was nothing of consequence mulling around in that gigantic head of his, she felt it would be the perfect home for a nice shiny bullet.
Dacks was a poor choice of a nickname for a man who was phallically challenged and enjoyed abusing women. It was not a misnomer for his personality, which often preceded his persona, overstayed his welcome, and left little room for a second invitation for a return visit. Her time spent in his presence had left a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that would only stop throbbing once his heart did as well. Absent-minded hands rubbed her stomach as if in an attempt to soothe the churning acids that remembered the hurling sensations from the smell of his fecal matter on her face. Remembering the smell of his fetid material in her hair also served as a harsh reminder of the others who had watched Dacks lower his pants and scrunch his face while unloading the byproduct of the day’s blue plate special. A small prayer was offered to Eshŭ that she had been unconscious for most of the assault by his constituents, especially Dacks.
Dacks was not a nice man. He not only unloaded the body waste from his rear, but also from his genitals in two separate liquid forms. She hated Dacks. She was going to first chop off, then up, and finally, violently molest Dacks. His death was going to be painful, drawn out, and very unpleasant. Rubbing her tummy once more, the rumbling meant the time was rapidly approaching Dacks’s death as well as her body’s disagreement with the Mexican food she had eaten.
Ah, here comes Dacks strolling merrily along. That smug smile upon his face is about to end permanently and his shit-eating grin will now become synonymous with his death. Say goodnight, Dacks.
AGENT MAX LUSTIG HAD been assigned to the case. Lizzie called him from Dacks’s phone. It didn’t take him long to realize that Dacks McCorkle had not made the call, considering he had been dead for almost a week. He was found tied to a tree in the backyard of his hunting cabin by Lake Yonah. The agents were creeped out by his weird smile that was smothered in human excretion and quickly deduced that the man had not died happy.
Agent Lustig was onto something. He knew the four cases were tied together but didn’t know how. Whoever had done this made a point of keeping the killings in some form of order. Technically, the ruthless maniac had killed Joe, Tom, Dacks, and Harry and was leading him on a chase to find the McAllisters. Agent Lustig needed some help. He called in his cousin Massey James, Jr, the bounty hunter, for some backup on this case.
In the meantime, someone had mentioned a pretty lady named Lizzie that was seen in town with a young army officer. This lady matched the description of the Lizzie that was missing. She also fit the description of the missing Elizabeth Perkins that used to be with Trey McAllister.
Lizzie was now a person of interest, but first, the agency needed to have a quick chat with the young soldier named Willie she’d been dating who purchased her a used Volkswagen.
“WHO THE FUCK IS ELIZABETH?” Willie asked the very amped-up agent holding the nine-millimeter in a fixed position between his eyes, which were now crossed from staring down the barrel of the weapon. He asked again, only to have a picture of his girlfriend, Sophia shoved into his mouth.
“That’s not Elizabeth whoever you say,” he tried to remain as calm as possible in the situation, “That is my girlfriend, Sophia Rose!”
A head honcho type walked into the room and nodded his head a few times, which released the gun from his face. With the second nod, someone helped him up from the floor, and on the third nod, he was offered something to drink. What Willie wanted and needed more than anything was some answers.
“I am Special Agent in Charge Kevin Charles, and I need your help, Willie,” he sat in front of Willie with his arms resting on his knees as if he were about to talk about the one that got away, “Can I call you Willie?”
“No,” Willie answered with some dismay, “but you can call me a lawyer.”
Agent Charles smiled at the man’s quick wit, but he was uncertain if this guy was just another one of Elizabeth Perkin’s pawns or if he truly knew more than he let on. Either way, the longer he sat trying to make headway with Lizzie’s lover boy, the colder the femme fatale’s trail would get. Agent Charles was honest with Willie and let him in on everything he knew about the woman that Willie called Sophia Rose. To this man, she was the love of his life. To the FBI, she was now a person of interest.
After he stopped throwing up, Willie took the rest of the news well, that his beautiful Sophie Rose was wanted for questioning in a string of brutal murders. No one understood why she was so angry and what these men had done to hurt her, but whatever it was, she was unleashing her vengeance upon those who had wronged her.
Special Agent in Charge Kevin Charles was hot on her trail, and she was not going to get away from him. Guilty or innocent, he needed to talk to her and it was his job to bring her in. He knew the signs. There would be more bodies and soon there would be a bounty on her head.
Chapter Five – Fringe
August 2022, Charleston, WV
The room was spinning as weakened knees buckled underneath her. She was going down as the hat fell from her head. The smell was familiar but her vision was fuzzy. A million ideas floated through her head as she tried to gain control but was rapidly losing the battle.
In the corner of the room, she saw a flicker of a man who looked scary, dressed in all black with dark eyes and an imposing stare. Lizzie blinked, trying to remember the details of the room before it all went dark.
Time had no place in the hell where she rested. As she floated along on air-cushioned memories, small hands tended to the scrapes on her knees she’d gotten as she’d been dragged across the floor to her new confinement. Flat on her back, she rested in the pen, surrounded by other bodies in need of washing. The smell, which she hated more than anything in the world, snapped her from the fog, pulling her upwards towards the light.
She kicked as if she were swimming, reaching high, pulling at the shards of light as if they were ropes. Tugging hard, she gasped for air, bolting upright, panting, and adjusting her eyes to the darkness. A sour taste filled her mouth as she exhaled the bitterness of what she’d been given, praying she hadn’t been harmed in a way that would really mess with her calm.
“Hello,” she said softly.
The small hands were back, touching her face. In the dark, a little face appeared, placing his fingers to his lips, telling her to be quiet. Lizzie nodded, looking about.
In the pen were three other young people, a boy, and two teen girls. She wanted to ask questions but the pen began moving, sliding, and scraping across the floor. A forklift went under the rails, making Lizzie jump to her feet, but there was no room to stand. The metal grates which held them inside were secured with a lock that had seen better days.
“Oh shit,” Lizzie exclaimed as the forklift raised the pen, sliding it into the back of a truck.
“Oh, shit is correct,” the teen girl said, pointing to the rear of the vehicle. They were not the only pen being loaded inside of the vehicle. Before the rear door came down, Lizzie saw six more carts, all full, all with children, mostly young girls, and a smattering of boys from what she could see.
The smell was stomach curdling. The scent of unwashed bodies never left her brain, reminding her of countless scenarios where she’d gone in to save young men and women from the depravity of men. Currently, she didn’t see many ways out of this. The truck rumbled along, rocking from side to side, and Lizzie realized they were on unimproved roads.
She pulled a pin from her hair and the backup pin from her bra and set to work on the lock. It took several tries, but she managed to get it opened. The teen girl sat watching her, unimpressed.
“I know, we are in the back of the truck, but when the door opens and we are all free, we can bum rush the men,” she said to them.
The teen girl shook her head no.
“What do you mean no? Don’t you want to be free?” Lizzie asked.
“Never free,” the girl said. “We are never free.”
“Well, I plan to make a break for it,” she told the teen. She had no intention of staying in the back of the truck. Lizzie Perkins was nobody’s victim.
The boy, small for his age, stayed at her side. When Lizzie moved, he moved. She unlocked every cage, leaving the locks hanging as if the cages were still secure. Whispering in the dark, she asked, “Se habla inglés?”
The same teen girl replied, “Only one or two of us.”
“Tell me what happened to you and how you got here,” Lizzie asked as she worked to open all six of the locks.
“We move in the caravan. We are from Tegoose,” she told Lizzie which was the native speakers shortened label for Tegucigalpa. “We made it to Mexico and we were captured.”
“Captured by whom?”
Lizzie kept her talking as she went from one cage to another, the small boy at her side, clinging to her. She unlocked the next one, still talking to the girl.
“Men with snakes tattooed on their hands,” the girl said. “Bad men who have hurt some of the girls. One or two bad men have hurt the boys. Miguelito is alone with no family; he is beside you. I have been taking care of him. When we stop, the bad man wants him next.”
