“What are you insinuating about the way they live?” Sparrow asked.
“They’re living in Naples, Florida.”
“Because everyone moves from the Midwest to Florida,” Mason said.
“Naples is an affluent area. Their money comes from investments and recurring deposits from a variety of shell companies.”
“A variety?” I said. “So the pastor and his wife are blackmailing more than one entity.”
“Roughly, fifteen different depositors from what I’ve found so far.”
Sparrow leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Smart on their part. You know who you pay and forget?” His question was rhetorical. “Someone who doesn’t ask for too much.”
“Can we trace the money?” I asked.
“I’m working on it,” Reid replied. “From what I read in the journals so far, Dr. Miller received his merchandise from multiple suppliers, even those from out of the city. He had a reputation for a fair price, meaning dealers would bring merchandise from across the country. One shipment from say, St. Louis, may have five or six individuals.”
My stomach turned with the reality that no longer was this quest abstract. My wife had been acquired merchandise.
“As we know, runaways were prime for the picking,” Reid added.
“Fuck, this is snowballing,” I said.
Sparrow nodded. “Any chance we already shut some of those fuckers down?”
“Shut them down,” Mason replied, “or moved their asses out of Chicago. I missed most of the cleaning you did after Allister’s demise and McFadden’s incarceration. However, looking at the money trails objectively, I believe some ran scared and others have found new markets.”
Sparrow stood and ran his hand over his hair. “Right now, we need to concentrate on Detroit and…” He looked my direction. “…get rid of the Ortizes.”
“Gladly,” I replied.
“I’ll go with Patrick in the morning,” Mason offered.
“You need to stay—”
Mason cut me off with a wide grin. “Oh, come on. I collected a hefty price for this in my day. I’m offering you Kader’s services for free.”
My eyes widened. “Kader.” It was the name he went by as a mercenary-for-hire in his recent past. “What do you have in mind?”
“How badly do you want them to suffer?”
“On a scale from one to ten,” I replied. “Fifty.”
Madeline
My slumber came in restless snippets between vivid dreams—or were they nightmares?—such as I hadn’t had in years. It was strange how reality took on another dimension in dreams. The scenery could change in the blink of an eye, or the passing through a doorway could transport the dreamer to another location. And yet as if a pawn on a board of chess, I was not in control. My dreams took me where they wanted.
I journeyed from the cell-house basement to rooms upstairs. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t avoid the hands or bodies of the men. Paralyzed and repulsed, I was again surrounded by their stench, comprised of stale cigarettes, perspiration, and alcohol. It was on their breath and oozed from their secretions, creating a nauseating concoction.
And then, such as a trained animal, I stood for inspection and awaited my reward. Brought to me such as one would feed a dog, a sandwich was dropped upon the dirty floor with orders to dress. My mouth dry yet relieved as the peanut butter’s protein and jelly’s sugar revived my livelihood, I followed Miss Warner down the narrow staircase back to the basement.
The door opened but not to the cell room.
No longer was I filthy but cleaned, my skin covered with lotions, and the soft scent of the most expensive perfumes lofted around me. The tattered dress I’d worn for four months was gone. I was adorned to perfection with my stomach no longer hungry.
The door opened wider. The dim cell filled with starving girls was gone. The numbers were fewer, yet their fate was determined.
Facing me were the eyes of the women in the room in Andros’s compound.
In reality, it didn’t make sense.
Did dreams ever make sense?
I was no longer the girl upon the concrete floor, but the madam preparing the women for their call to duty. All the while I longed to take their place, not out of some virtuous resolve. I wanted to spare them as no one had spared me. However, in the decision to not take their place, I’d willingly accepted their blood upon my hands. I wasn’t the one to harm them or ultimately kill them, but my role was intricately intertwined.
Standing in a dense fog, I lifted my hands, mesmerized by the way the thick red liquid dripped from my fingertips, leaving a sticky residue. I searched the vast emptiness, yet there was nothing for me to use to clean the crimson from my skin. Beyond my fingertips, it seeped down my wrists until it dripped from my elbows.
And then I saw my attire, my white dress.
Only once in my life had I worn a white dress.
Though through the years, white dresses appeared in my closets in the bratva, I never wore them, never removing their tags and always moving them to the back of the closet. Along with the consumption of peanut butter and jelly, a white dress was my hard limit. That reality brought a bubble of laughter from my chest as I smeared the blood over the white material.
“Good for you, Madeline,” I spoke into the fog. “You set your limits high. No white bread smeared with peanut butter and jelly and no white dress. Yet sex on command or standing nude in a crowded room were acceptable behaviors. How about cleaning, dressing, and preparing women for torturous rape?”
My head shook as rage flickered to life within my veins.
For years it had been present, a weak, dying ember barely receiving the elements necessary for its survival.
The fog disappeared.
I was back in the bathroom at Club Regal as the door opened.
Like a gust of wind to a dying spark, Patrick was before me, with his broad shoulders, blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. The man I’d married a lifetime ago. With the opening of that restroom door, he’d given me strength to fuel the fire and rekindle and strengthen my fury.
Anger that had been tempered grew as if I were now the Marvel character, the one who transformed from a mild-mannered man to a hulking green monster,
My eyes opened as my pulse thumped in my ears.
Side to side, I turned in the darkened room, registering where I was.
A hotel room during a tournament.
No.
I inhaled Patrick’s scent in the air and upon the sheets, his unique spicy cologne and clean, fresh aroma.
Sitting up, I fumbled with a lamp upon the bedside stand. A golden illumination filled the bedroom. Yet my dreams were too vivid; I lifted my hands with my fingers wide as I searched for the blood.
Visibly, they were clean, but I knew the truth. They weren’t.
The clock on the bedside stand read after one in the morning, yet I was alone.
When did Patrick leave?
Where did he go?
Pulling the blankets away, I peered at my own nakedness with disgust and repulsion. My stomach contorted as I recalled the many men who had touched my skin. I had to rid myself of their touch.
With hurried steps, I made my way to the attached bathroom. Sliding open the glass doors, I turned on the water, spinning the handle to the hottest setting. To my delight, I didn’t need to wait; steam began to build as the water fell. Without regard for my safety, I stepped under the spray and adjusted the temperature to the hottest I could tolerate.