Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3) (34 page)

“I don’t like name calling.” She kept her voice even. “Especially not when I’m here trying to help.”

Aqua blue eyes rolled. “Jesus, how many times we have to tell you missionaries we know where you are. We want help, we’ll come find you.”

She had to snort at that. A missionary? That would make Black what, a priest? That was scary. “Not quite.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Someone’s been carving up some of your coworkers. Another one just last night.”

“Joey” backed away, fear sucking the color from his angular cheeks and full lips under the shiny pink gloss. “I don’t know anything.”

She followed, raising her phone to show him the young man not older than this one. “Did you know him?”

He kept retreating. “I don’t know anything.”

“He died.”

Joey stopped. “Davey’s dead?”

“His name was Davey?” Becca confirmed softly. She let that name stand for a brief moment, a moment of silence of sorts. He’d been John Doe until now. Every victim was a person, deserved to be remembered.

“Yeah, we don’t do last names around here, but he went by Davey.” He turned to the other men, not quite working since the night was done, but not leaving just yet should there be any last stragglers. Or maybe there would be a skeleton crew during the day? She wasn’t sure how staffing went around here. “Davey died, you guys.”

The men closed in, a few rather aggressively.

“Don’t kill the messenger, gentlemen.”

“She’s cool,” Joey held up his hands begging peace. “She’s gonna get the guy who did it.” Turning, he stared at her, challenging and asking with an audience wanting the same brand of justice.

Tight lipped she nodded. “That’s right
.“
Can you help me find him? Maybe you’ve seen this guy? He works with him.” Fingers slid and tapped, she held up the snap of Isaac’s ID.

The men huddled around, stretching necks and grabbing to turn her phone this way and that for a better view. She had to hand it to them, they were really looking, not just offering empty promises to keep an eye out.

One, a darker skinned latino with shaved short black hair and tons of silver in his ears flicked a pink tongue over the hoop in his lower lip, nerves. “I seen him.”

The others backed off, letting him come forward. Shaky grin at one of them, another touched his shoulder. Street family, Becca had seen it aplenty. Strays packed up no matter the species. These men had each other out here, they protected each other, mourned their loss together.

“He’s the guy who comes in and picks them up, after the other one’s done.”

With physical effort, Becca held her reaction in check. “You’ve seen them both? The one who’s doing this too?”

He nodded. Another did as well, Joey. Their eyes met.

“You’ve seen him too?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” The answer was quiet, the haunted expression screamed in panic and pain.

“Can you describe him? Know how he gets here, does he drive or walk?
”
Don’t be too eager
.
They were skittish enough she didn’t need to overwhelm and drive them off.

“He gets dropped off. There.” The latino pointed up the block, the top of the small rise before the road curved in toward the water.

“Could you tell what kind of vehicle?”

He shook his head. “A black SUV, like all the other fancy suits who come down here to get their freak on.”

We know he’s got clout so that gives us nothing
.
“What else? How does he dress? Any sort of distinctive features?”

“Always a dark blue suit,” Joey replied. “Wears sunglasses, even at night. Like he thinks we’d know which one’s a Democrat from Maryland or a Republican from Texas. They’re all the same down here, come to roll in the dirt before they go back up there to vote on ways to sweep it up.”

“Does he always get violent? Has anyone survived him?” Hard questions but how to pussy foot around? Best just to ask.

“He’s a ghost.” One of the other men spoke up. “We hear about the guy who comes around, wants a pretty one, young. Likes it particular.”

“How do you know that?” Joey asked.

The young man shrugged. Becca noted he was heavier featured than the others, sported bigger muscles. He wouldn’t be Almohad’s type.

“Did you proposition him? He said no?” Becca asked, matter of fact. “He likes them smaller than you, doesn’t he?”

A nod. Not offended. There were plenty of shoppers, apparently there wasn’t much competitive animosity around here. “Yes, ma’am. He barely looked at me, went right past me to Davey.”

“You saw him last night?” Becca’s heart flipped in her chest.

Another nod. “Yes, ma’am. He went past Davey too but he made sure to give him a good long look. So Davey saw it. Then he went up there.” He pointed where the road cut back, turned into an industrial alleyway. Narrow alleys off old narrow streets meant few people drove down them, mostly it was delivery trucks and nobody would be delivering late at night. Good spot for a few minutes of privacy.

“Who found him? Did anyone hear him?”

No police tape or crime scene meant no cop involvement at the scene. They were of course called at the hospital due to the nature of the injuries. Someone saw something else.

“We heard him,” Joey spoke low. Becca had to lean in to hear. One of the other men shuddered, all huddled closer, seeking comfort from the evil they’d seen take one of their own this night. “We heard him yell.”

“What happened? Did anybody help him?”

Guilty looks.

“A yell or two is sorta common.” The latino blushed. Surely not of embarrassment, shame? “Some of ‘em don’t get to do what they want often so they ask for stuff they aren’t prepared for.”

“Yeah, that’s right. A lot of ‘em just want a blow or to be on the giving end of the party, but a few want to go straight to the big time and they’re damn near virgins. A little yellin’ ain’t that unusual.”

An unconscious grimace wrinkled her face. “I can imagine.” Her virginity was lost in a rush, neither having a clue what they were doing. By the time the pain faded it was done.

Surprisingly, strained laughter ran through the crowd. She imagined a young woman asking about closet homosexual activities of the prostitutes in charge of fulfilling those forbidden desires in quick exchanges did present a strange picture and it had been a long night for them all. She smiled.

“Are any of his former partners here?”

“Nah,” a man who looked uncannily like Kenneth shook his caramel mop of kinks. “It ain’t like you thinkin’. He don’t come often, but when he does, he makes it worth it for a boy to try. The ones who make it, get the hell out.”

“So he doesn’t always kill? What do you mean they get out? They leave the area?”

“I hear he pays enough you can get out, start fresh if you want.”

That explained why he could still get takers. It was a gamble but worth it for some. It left an impression, and witnesses. The Unitarian, Almohad, believed by rewarding some he inspired maybe not loyalty, but at least silence. They talked, they lost the opportunity to play Almohad’s naked lotto. And if he had eyes on them he would see they’d been here, the admiral’s unit, interviewing witnesses. To say she had enough to identify him, link him to the murders, it would be believable. Besides, unlike police and prosecutors, they didn’t have to get enough evidence they just needed to lure him out and capture.

“Thank you for speaking with me,” she made eye contact with each one, surprised at the acceptance she saw there.

“Promise you’ll get him.” Joey’s flirtatious side a ghost, aqua eyes burned electric in his intensity.

“We will,” she vowed meaning it with every ounce of her being. “You be safe.” Almohad or no, these men were some of the highest risk members of DC society. In these few minutes she’d seen human beings using what they had to scratch out a living, willing to risk bodily harm, even death, on a nightly basis.

“Don’t you worry about us.” The latino grinned. “You worry about the suits, we might eat them up.” Big square white teeth snapped together. Several others, eager to shake off the somber mood, laughed and added their own thoughts on what they might do to a john should the mood strike.

Becca laughed, their ability to live in the now contagious. With a wave she took her leave, sliding the phone from her back pocket.

There was a text on it from Michael.

All will be fine soon. Watch your back, love.

Relief made her weak, knees buckling so she had to sit down on a black metal bench along the road. Spots sprung up behind her eyes, she felt faint.

Working with the others. We’re close.

Blinking to clear her vision, hopeful she’d see another message, know he was somewhere staring at his little glowing screen talking to her at the same time. Nothing. With a sigh she texted Ryan.

Got something. Meet?

A few seconds, then...

Us too. Jefferson in fifteen.

Oddly still faint, she looked around, getting her bearings. Jefferson’s monument wasn’t far at all as the crow flies. Shaking her head, Becca got to her feet
.
Whatever Michael was doing is wearing off. Here we go again
.
Her temporary euphoria at Michael’s resurfacing deflated, she started walking.

A hard bump from behind and she nearly went down on her face. “Hey...”

“Eyes forward. Walk.” Hard metal shoved into her ribs from behind. The smell of grease wafted on the breeze. Burger or brill cream, she couldn’t be sure, but this guy had taken a recent swim in oil of some sort recently.

“Fine,” she stepped forward on the path, bending at the waist to get the gun barrel off her ribcage where it was digging a hole. “But watch that thing, you’re gonna put a hole in my back.”

“That’s the idea,” he laughed in one harsh bark. “Walk up the hill, forget the path.”

She went where she was told. Hand in her pocket, she used her thumb to unlock her screen and stumbled.

“Get up,” he growled again, grabbing her arm and jerking her up.

With the other hand he hit the button she wanted, having gotten a chance to look when she was righting herself. The clock was ticking now, it wouldn’t last forever.

“Where are we going? That black SUV there at the curb?”

“Shut up,” he growled again. “You’re going where I tell you.”

“Who sent you, Almohad?”

The gun jammed hard into her spine, definitely going to bruise. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t say his name again.” By his hesitation and the temporary easing of the gun trying to grind its way through her bones, she imagined he was looking around. Paranoia or did Almohad really have eyes everywhere?

“You’re taking me to him.” She risked pushing him, needing to get something important across before her window closed.

Another sharp jab, she stumbled forward.

“Daddy!” An early morning touristing family was just coming down the small hill, a young boy in a backpack on Dad’s shoulders was pointing at something on the river. “Daddy! Daddy!” he squealed in delight.

Becca again leaned down, looked at the glow upside down and stretched her fingers to hit SEND
.
Please don’t go to voicemail.

Another shove, they crested the small rise and crossed sidewalk before soft grass muffled their steps again. The SUV at the curb, motor running, was manned by a stone faced driver eyes forward at the wheel. She was fairly certain if the gun toting pokester decided to put a fist sized hole in her body, old stone face wouldn’t so much as twitch.