14. Messiah

Whoever this chick is – if it is even a chick – was the last person to speak to Holden. There haven't been any new messages since he was murdered and it makes me think this is the exact person I need to be talking to for answers. The question is whether or not they are going to take the bait.

I wait for a few seconds, sipping my beer as I stare at the chat screen. Holden had his phone linked to his computer, so all the messages he sent in the few minutes before he was killed are here on the computer. He had been looking for Kitty. But she didn't show up. Or did she? I am surprised as fuck when the bubbles appear at the bottom of the screen. I lean closer, waiting for the message to come through.

KITTYKATSKAT:

HEY, STRANGER. YOU HAVE BEEN HIDING. ARE YOU MAD AT ME?

My fingers twitch. How do I respond? I didn't think the person was going to actually answer. I had found some pictures of Kitty in the message history, but an easy internet search had revealed they were generic photos. For all I knew, Kitty was a brute even bigger than me who got off on the idea of age play or something.

HOLDENTHISDICK:

NAH, NOT MAD AT YOU. WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT?

KITTYKATSKAT:

I DIDN'T SHOW UP THE OTHER DAY :(. I GUESS I CHICKENED OUT.

My eyes narrow as I take a sip of beer. How to play this? I read through the message history with this person, but Holden was just enough of an idiot that pretending to be him takes some real effort on my end.

HOLDENTHISDICK:

WHY?

There is a pause before the bubbles appear. They start and stop a few times.

KITTYKATSKAT:

WHAT IF YOU DON'T LIKE ME?

HOLDENTHISDICK:

WHY WOULDN'T I LIKE YOU, KITTY KAT?

Before the person can respond, my phone starts ringing.

"Yeah."

"There is another body," Charles growls.

"Fuck. Where?"

"Aren't you the one supposed to be making sure this shit doesn't keep happening?"

"I was actually working on it when you called. I didn't know there was another one already. Where the fuck is it?"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" He snaps. "I'll text the location."

I roll my eyes as he hangs up on me. Snapping the laptop closed, I grab my gear and head out just as the address comes in.

There is a guy vomiting in the bushes, so I guess I am at the right place. I called Mark on my way over. I recognize the vomiting guy as Joe. I wonder if the bastard even knows he is on this psycho's hit list. I walk to the side of the run down house and am met with the reason for his upset stomach.

A flaccid, bloody dick is nailed to the door. I groan as I nearly walk into the thing. Even worse, it is nailed near the end where it was sliced off so the whole fucking thing wiggles when the door knocks into the wall behind it.

Weaving away from the dismembered . . . member, I walk into the room. The body is laying on the couch with one leg hanging over the side. The typical R is carved into his chest and there is a bloody puddle where his dick should have been. Blood is smeared on the walls and furniture. There is a trail of destruction out of the room and into the kitchen.

"Who was the last one to see him?" I ask.

Joe takes a deep breath to calm his stomach,but he doesn't walk inside. "I was."

"When was that?"

"Just this afternoon." He puts his hands on the top of his head and turns away. "Fuck."

"What were you doing?"

"Business man. The usual."

"What business goes on here?"

Charles was the one that alerted me to this mess. That means Joe was smart enough not to call the cops. That would be easier when it came to the clean up.

"It is his cousin's house. Dude works on the road doing runs," Joe tells me.

"So, what was your business here today?"

I can see him debating with himself. Does he think he is about to get in trouble? If he is skimming funds or drugs from the dealers, then I am obligated to report it to Charles. I am not getting a bullet in my head because of this idiot's greed.

"We do videos on the side, man," Joe admits. "We did a few films today. I left him when I dropped the chicks off at her house. We didn't see each other for a few hours, then I came back here and . . ." He glances at the dick nailed to the wall. "Fuck."

"What chick?"

As he speaks I am looking around the room, trying to see if there is anything amongst the chaos that might give me a clue. This fucker fought before he went down. Blood is smeared across the room where the body is laying and I can see traces of it in the kitchen and hallway. Either way, this place was a fucking wreck before all that. Does no one know what a fucking mop is?

"Just a chick. He brings over about two a week. They do the film and leave."

"How do you pay them?"

"Fuck, drugs. Money. Whatever they agree to. The one I drove home did it for three crack rocks."

I wince, fighting the snarl that is trying to twist my lip up. I get the world is hard and women have to find a way to make their way. Sometimes, those ways aren't the most glamorous. Case in point my sweet Angel being at the Gold Club.

"You think a skinny little chick did this?" I ask him.

"Fuck. I don't know man. We did the film, he went to get another girl, and I took the first one home. When I got back – Fuck."

I scope out the place. I feel disgusted just moving through the home. It is dirty and probably hasn't seen a cleaning in years. There is garbage on the floors. One room has a single mattress in the middle of the room and a trash can filled with old condoms. Old used condoms. I think I am going to vomit. That is when reality hits me. I saw Angel with this fuck. Did she . . .? There is a camera on the dresser and I grab it as I make my way back to the front room.

Charles's clean up crew has arrived and I see them pause at the door where the dick is still hanging.

"Have fun with this shit," I tell them, walking past them and taking in a deep breath of the cold night air.

My first order of business is to go to the club. I don't know if Angel is working, but I am praying she is.

I find her serving drinks near the back of the room and slide into a table. She sees me and comes over without even pretending to avoid me first. My sweet girl isn't even fighting this attraction anymore. Progress.

"Jack and coke?"

"A quick one."

"Out of ideas to torture me today?"

"I don't want to torture you, Sweetheart."

I am hurt that she said such a thing. I figured we were making better progress than this. We must be because her glare softens a bit as she eyes me for a moment. Turning toward the bar, I watch as she walks across the room. She is wearing her tight dress again, but she is looking thinner. I need to get her away from this place. I need to get her well.

She comes back and drops the drink on the table with a little less force than usual. She waits as I take a sip. She is wearing the red wig today. It isn't a good color on her.

"That is all?"

"No." I set the glass down. "I am on a break between jobs. I just . . . look don't get snarky with me. Okay?"

"What?" She crosses her arms over her chest. Fuck, I want to tie them behind her back.

"There was an incident over in Garfield this afternoon."

I can see the shock enter her face. She drops her arms and glances around to see how close the other customers are to us.

"And?"

"That prick you bought things from–," I say quietly. "He is dead. And I am not sure why, but I just . . . look don't go over there anymore okay."

"You can't tell me what to do."

There is my spicy girl.

"I can't," I agree. "But I just . . . look a lot of shit happens in this city. There are a lot of bad people. I just don't . . . I don't want anything to happen to you, okay. If you want drugs, I'll lead you somewhere less violent to get them. Just . . . don't go there."

"Thanks for the warning," she huffs. "But I don't need a babysitter."

"No, you need a daddy to spank your scrawny ass for not eating and having a mouth like that," I shoot back.

Her mouth falls open in shock. Well, it appears she does have things that can shut her up – other than my cock down her throat. God, I bet she would be beautiful choking on me. Arguing with her makes my dick too hard to stay here much longer. I have work to do. Picking up my glass, I down the last of my drink and take a slow breath as the whiskey burns my throat. She watches me as I stand and step around the table toward her.

"If I see you out there again, I am dragging you out. Understand me?"

"Whatever," she grumbles.

Before I can speak, she turns and stomps away.