Scorn

PROLOGUE I don’t know how I got to this point. Standing over this auburn hair tramp. Her eyes intently focused on mine. Trying to read my thoughts. Trying to get some idea of what is going to happen next. But I think she knows. Her stare reflects horror. Beads of sweat mixed with dried blood dot her forehead. She seems defeated. Too bad. I like when my prey puts up a fight. Especially bitches like these. I know what got me to this here… my intense hatred for women like her. Loose. Immoral. Trifling. Women that think they can have everything and anything, regardless of who it hurts. Women that believe their p***y is the Holy Grail. Recalling memories that have inspired my work would not be good for her. I reach over to the stainless-steel table hidden in the dark corner. A drop of water falls from a rusted pipe above and glides down the blade of my knife. No, recalling memories would not be good for her. The sight of the knife prompts a will to live within her. She begins to wrestle against the ropes that have her tied to the bed within the basement. Her muffled cries can be heard only by the mice that scurry by my feet. A slight smile creeps over my face; I really do like it when they try to fight. Chapter 1 I wasn’t always like this. I used to be ordinary. Maria Davis, or Maggie, as I liked to be called, your everyday working mom and mother. At least on the outside. I had always been carrying around many secrets. But I kept them hidden under my perfectly styled blue-black hair, soft hazel eyes and charming personality. Secrets that could rock my family and shake them to the core. I grew up in a military family, being shuffled from state to state, country to country. Nothing out of the ordinary about that. I believe it was the adventures that each move brought that shaped me. The different people I met. Then it was my own family- our dysfunction that molded me even more into who I am now. What the hell am I really? Serial killer? Sounds too sinister and dark for me- even though sinister and dark describes the void within me. Serial killers seem to just kill for themselves, there seems to be no purpose. My work is purposeful. Each tramp is carefully chosen and thoroughly investigated. I only kill the guilty. I prefer to think of myself as a population regulator. Sounds official. “Mom?” “Mooom?” My thoughts are broken by my son Adam. “Yes.” “Are you still picking me up after school?” “Yes, I will be there promptly at 3:30 so my handsome son can have his chariot ride." He rolls his eyes. He really is handsome. His hair and eyes, reflective of mine, but with his father’s personality and physique. Since he turned fifteen the phone has not stopped ringing with different girls wanting to put their paws on him. Disgraceful, girls that young with no self respect. No doubt, some of them may become regulated by me in the future. “Stop with the chariot stuff. It’s so corny." Adam thinks I don’t know that he is sexually active. I found a note in his room and since then I have been secretly stocking his condom supply that is tucked away in a shoe box under his bed. I don’t want to be a grandmother, hell; I don’t really think I qualify to be a mom. He thinks his dad has been doing it, but that asshole is so self absorbed I wonder when Carson figured out he was a father. “Fine”, I say. “Go ‘head on, before you miss the bus. I love you." “I love you too, mom." I hear the door slam behind him and go back to my thoughts. Speaking of regulating, I got one b***h on my radar right now. Angelique, the sweet super mom from down the street paid me a visit three weeks ago. Normally so well put together, she was standing on my doorstep in a total disarray. Her eyes were swollen with tears and her authentic blonde hair looked knotty. She was draped in a t-shirt two sizes too large and torn gray sweat pants. I recognized the look on her face. I wore that same look four years ago, when my story began. I knew what was going to come next, but I let her tell me her story. I figured I could “help." “It’s Sam.” She said between tears and deep breaths. “I came home early from a client meeting and found his secretary with her face between his legs." “Unlucky b***h”, I said within my thoughts. “Got another one." But knowing she needed consoling I put my arms around her. I could feel her tears and snot soaking the right shoulder of my blouse. The nasty s**t we must go through to appear normal. We sat at my kitchen table for two hours, while Angelique spilled her story. The usual I could feel him drifting, I knew something was wrong; I tried to make him happy, blah, blah, and blah. Been there done that. Steering the conversation to my own intentions I asked, “So, it was his secretary?” “Yes, I knew something about that woman wasn’t right. Her eyes were always all over him.” I knew what she meant. I couldn’t say I was surprised by the situation with Sam. I picked up on the s****l tension between him and the secretary at a mixer Angelique had at her home. I saw the exchanges of hungry eyes and seemingly harmless flirty comments. But I guess they weren’t so harmless after all. So, from then, we go to now and I have work to do. I have been watching the secretary since Angelique appeared at my home. I learned the secretary’s name was Debra Cummings. How appropriate that the b***h’s last name had the word “c*m”. Sam’s little rendezvous didn’t last long and since it was his job or hers – you know which one he chose. Debra was now a secretary at a law firm. During the first week I was investigating her, it seemed like she had stopped her whoring ways. It was a boring week – Go to work, pick up takeout, go home and lay up all night with the cat. Somehow, I thought being a w***e was more exciting. I was happy to see some action by week three. Apparently one of lawyers at the law firm had his eyes on Ms. c*m. And that wasn’t all he wanted on her. A little research on this lawyer and I found out he too was married. So, Ms. c*m is a serial w***e. I watched them go to several dinners, movies and it all ended the same way – at the Biltmore Hotel. I thought it was a little upscale for a beat piece, but hey. Curious about Ms. c*m’s past, I did a little digging into her employment and found that she didn’t last long at most of her jobs. Five months was the longest. Maybe it was because it was Victoria’s Secret Store and there were no men working there to f**k. One thing about women, we love to throw one another under the bus. I cozied up with a few of Ms. c*m’s former co-workers and discovered that all her jobs had stories and rumors about her having s*x with several male employees. Of course, they were all married. Familiar with Ms. c*m’s routine, I knew she would go jogging every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I guess she had to keep that body tight for all those late-night f*****g sprees. I waited until that Monday, threw on my pink and gray sweats and headed to the park where I knew Ms. c*m would be doing her early morning run. With my IPod strapped to my wrist I bopped down the sidewalk with Raekwon’s Rainy Dayz playing in my ears. Something about that song always gave me a little extra push—whenever I go went stalking mode. Women don’t invoke a sense of alarm in most people, so when I jogged up to Ms. c*m she didn’t seem fazed. I slowed up my pace, so I could follow her path along the park and see which parts she liked to run through. I followed her through most of the park, glad that I was in shape because this run would have taken down anyone that wasn’t. Making note of what I had learned I walked back to my car. Several autumn toned leaves had scattered across the windshield. And that’s when I saw it. A note. Neatly folded among the leaves. I looked around, curious because no one knew I was there. I slowly opened it and it read, “I know what you do, and I need your help. Meet me at the Tourbine Café this evening at six." Signed, G. Who the hell was “G” and what exactly did he or she know I did? The note really shook me, so I quickly got in the car and sped off. Ms. c*m would have to wait. I showed up at the Tourbine Café ten till six. I hadn’t been able to think of anything besides the note all day. “Who is this G?” I kept thinking to myself. I figured if I showed up a little early I could scope the place out and see if I could spot this “G” before he or she spotted me. I sat myself in the corner where I could view everyone as they walked in and out of the café. The Tourbine Café was once a family owned bookstore and it still had its vintage charm. Now instead of the smell of old books and literary knick knacks, the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries permeated the air. The crowd at the café was an interesting mix of young college students and older adults with a sprinkle of hippie poetry 30 something’s. They reminded me of the books that once graced the shelves that are still adorning the walls. I adjusted my turquoise turtle neck and ran my hands back to adjust my chignon. It felt as if the heat was rising, although I knew it was only my nerves. At that moment I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and gazed into the saddest mahogany eyes I have ever seen. “Hello Ms. Davis. I am Garrett Carmichael”, my guest said as he sat in the chair in front of me. So, this is “G” I thought to myself. He was actually quite lovely to look at. We were about the same age, late thirties. His skin was toffee brown and his mouth had the lines of someone who had once laughed often, but his eyes revealed a deep sadness. “Well, Mr. Carmichael,” I began, "how can I help you? Are you in need of private investigator services?” At that moment he leaned forward and held my gaze. “No”, he quietly spoke. “I am in need of your…. other services." “What other services are you referring to…?” “I saw you… at the home… the abandoned one on 31st and Lennox….” He looked around to make sure no one could hear him. “I knew there were a couple of safe houses for junkies in that area. I was looking for my brother and I saw you hauling some things into the house. I was going to show you a picture of my brother to see if you had seen him, but then I noticed that whatever you were carrying moved. I stopped and waited for you to go inside. I snuck around the back and the door was left unlocked. I came in and heard the noise coming from the basement. I didn’t see anything, but I know what you did. I know you killed that woman.” “f**k me”, that was the only thought going through my mind, “f**k, f**k, Fuck." He must have sensed my inner disappointment and he placed his hand over mine. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to blackmail you or get you in trouble. I heard what you said to the woman before you killed her, how she ruined marriages by sleeping with married men. I became intrigued with you and followed you for a few weeks. I learned of your private investigator business and saw you were… on the prowl again. I knew you were going after the girl from the law firm and left that note on your windshield this morning. I’m sorry if I worried you, but I really need your help.” “So, you just go around sneaking into houses and then stalking people? What is it that you need Mr. Carmichael?” “Please call me Garrett. Well… I have a situation of my own and I would like to hire you to… handle it." “Handle it? Look, Garrett, I am not an assassin for hire, ok, I just right a few wrongs now and then. And the fact that you supposebly know what I did and you’re not thinking about turning me in or shocked about it, worries me.” “You are the only one that can help me,” he reached out and held my hands in his. “Look, I’m not proud about having to come to you and ask you to kill” … his voice trailed off and got lower “my wife.” “Your wife?”, surprised I took back my hands and sat them in my lap. “Your wife?”, I whispered again. “Yes”, he lowered his gaze in shame and contempt. “I found out about a year ago that she had been having an affair with my brother. When his wife, who happened to be her best friend found out, she committed suicide.” I felt as though as I had lost my breath. “Committed suicide?” “Yes, my brother was devastated. I left my wife and she cast my brother aside and moved on to someone else. Another married man. I haven’t seen my brother in 9 months. After everything went down he got heavily involved in drugs. I tracked him down to a crack house on Lenoir Street and tried to get him clean. But when I woke up in the morning he was gone, along with my wallet and my laptop. I haven’t seen him since. And my wife, Erika, from what I have heard has just been living life with no remorse for what her actions have done. I love my wife, Ms. Davis. He paused to wipe developing tears in his eyes, “but I cannot stand by and let her destroy the lives of people for her pleasures.” My conversation from the night before with G played over and over in my head. I wanted to help him, but I’ve never been “hired” to take care of someone before. But I knew one thing was certain, I definitely had to be more careful. If Garrett saw me, anyone could have. And leave the door unlocked? That was some rookie s**t I knew I couldn’t have done. He must have opened that door himself. And why didn’t he call the police? Who the f**k is Garrett Carmichael really? Lying in bed staring at the ceiling wasn’t going to clear my head. Carson lay peacefully beside me. A stark contrast to the turmoil that was going on inside me. I just want to punch him in the back of the head. I remember when I loved him. When his high yellow skin and perfect smile gave me fever for days. Its funny how quickly emotions shift and relationships change.However, I still thought that the outline of his body under the sheets was sexy. Impulses aside, I pulled the sheets back and grabbed my robe that was draped on the end of the bed. I quietly walked down the hallway to my office. I wanted to check G out. I really didn’t know anything about him. For all I knew he could be trying to set me up. I love Google. There is not a thing you can’t find out about someone. I googled G’s name and found him and his wife’s engagement announcement. Wow, they had only been married three years. She was pretty. She had jet black hair that was perfectly styled into a French roll, light brown skin and eyes to match. She looked like the kind of woman that would be the First Lady of a church, but her behavior was far from that. G was smiling in the photo. He looked very different from the spiritually destroyed man he appeared to be the other night. I ran a background check on G and his wife. No criminal records on either of them, but Mrs. Erika Carmichael had an interesting past. It seems that her marriage to G was her second marriage. Her first husband had died under suspicious circumstances. Erika claimed it was an accidental fall. She was questioned, but Erika was never arrested. I wonder if G knows about this. He probably does, he strikes me as the “Captain save a hoe” type. I closed my laptop and headed back to my bedroom. The quiet of the house made me pause for a moment. I had a feeling my life would not be this still for a while. Chapter 2 His meeting with Maggie had left G unsettled. He tried the breathing techniques his therapist suggested. He had started seeing Dr. Barnett after the mess with his wife had gone down. His sessions weren’t going well. His mind was an emotional mess and he didn’t dare tell Dr. Barnett that he wanted his wife dead. He only went to the sessions because Captain Fowler strongly recommended it and he wanted to keep his job. “f**k this breathing s**t”, he muttered. “This ain’t working." He felt guilty about asking someone to kill his wife, but at the same time he felt relieved. Still, his stomach was in knots and he couldn’t figure out how to ease himself. He struggled to get comfortable on the couch and accidentally knocked his glass of Hennessey onto the floor. “s**t!” He took a deep sigh. “Ok, Garrett, you haven’t done anything wrong.” He tried to convince himself. “Erika deserves this shit.” Even though he said it, he didn’t mean it. He actually still loved his wife, even after everything that had happened. He couldn’t control the way he felt about her, when he thought of her and remembered the way she smelled when she laid across his chest or the way she used to dance in the kitchen when she cooked. She wasn’t all bad. But at the same time, he couldn’t forgive her for what she had done. She had taken his brother from him. The only family he had left in the world. And he was sure she was out there doing it to someone else. He just wished he hadn’t asked Erika to coffee that day he met her at the station. She had lost her husband and she looked so devastated that it almost broke his heart. He had no idea that in three years time she actually would. “Damn, Erika”. “How the hell did we get here?” He said it, half hoping she would show up and answer the question, but only the silence responded back. He sighed and got up from the couch to clean up the spill. The cold tile of the kitchen greeted his feet as he stepped in to grab some paper towels. He could still envision her standing at the stove, smiling back at him while he sat at the kitchen table. A brief smile crossed his face. No, he couldn’t allow her control over his heart anymore. Her betrayal hurt him, but not more than the feeling of loss over his brother. She had to pay, something had to be done, should be done, will be done... He got the paper towels and wiped away the liquor and his feelings for Erika. The morning sun stung his eyes the next day. Garrett rolled over on the couch and put the blanket over his head. He hadn’t slept in the bed he shared with Erika since she left. There were too many memories there and no matter how many times he washed them, the sheets still smelled of her Victoria Secret Love Spell lotion. That’s what it felt like she had over him, a love spell. He got himself up and headed to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Is this the face of a killer?” he said to himself. He thought about Maggie. She definitely didn’t look like a killer. If he had randomly seen her in the street that would have been the last thing he would have thought about her. She was beautiful. She had dark hair and these mysterious eyes that could pierce through your existence. Not what you would think a killer would look like. They always show women killers on Snapped and they always look butch, unkempt or nerdy. Not Maggie, no she could grace the cover of a magazine easy. He had been around many killers and none looked like Maggie. After his shower, he got his files for work together. He opened the desk drawer and got his badge and gun out. He was still thinking of Maggie. “I wonder if she tried to check me out yet." Garrett’s undercover work allowed for his name to not be anywhere in any of the public law enforcement databases that could identify him as a police officer. He also made sure he left his occupation out of his wedding announcement with Erika. “If she’s any kind of private investigator, she’ll find out soon enough,” he said to himself. When he got to the station Garrett’s partner greeted him at his desk. Lina and Garrett had only been partners for a few months, but she idolized him. She never said it, but Garrett knew. Lina had just made detective and being paired with a seasoned officer like Garrett had been a blessing to Lina. She had a crush on him and her subtle attempts of flirting with him had not gone unnoticed. Garrett had just simply chosen not to entertain her. Many of the other officers found Lina attractive, which she was. Her hair was cut in a perfectly styled light brown bob and her eyes were the truest blue. She had one of those crest smiles and two dimples that were deep enough to hold water. And unlike the other women detectives, Lina always wore sexy form fitting suits. The officers thought Garrett was so lucky to be assigned with Lina, but Garrett felt burdened. Lina was single, but her attempts reminded him of Erika. “Good morning, partner.” Lina coyly smiled at him as she handed him his coffee. “Just like you like it, two sugars, and one cream.” "Thanks”, Garrett half smiled back at her and sat at his cluttered desk. “What’s eating you this morning?” Lina asked. “I’m having my wife killed”, Garrett thought to himself. “Nothing”, he responded back to Lina. Lina was worried about Garrett. She knew about the situation with his wife. He never talked about it, but there were rumors around the station. She hoped that he would get over it soon and notice her. She wore her best suits and flirted with him constantly, but he never seemed to notice. It was as if he was in his own world, with Lina looking in. Garrett’s voice broke her thoughts, “Any news on the Jasmine Morales case?” “No, they thought they had a credible lead, but it turned out to be a dead end,” Lina answered. Garrett was on the Jasmine Morales case but relieved himself from the case, so he could deal with his personal issues. Jasmine was a 7-year-old girl who had been abducted on her way home from school and murdered. Her body had been dumped at a neighborhood park. They had no suspects and no witnesses. The little girl was found with a red New York Yankees cap, a detail that had never been released to the media. The cap held no clues though; it was free from any fingerprints or hair. “Mrs. Morales calls here at least twice a week asking if we have any new leads”, Lina said. “It breaks my heart to tell her we don’t have anything new to tell her.” “Mine too, admitted Garrett. “Mine too.” “But we’re not on that case, so let’s focus on the Marino case”, said Garrett as he gathered up the manila folders on his desk. He made real careful to tuck the folder he had on Maggie between the Marino case files. The information he had wasn’t on Maggie herself, her name was not even mentioned. What he did have was information on a slew of missing women dating back four years. He hadn’t connected the dots until he came across Maggie the night he saw her kill that woman. He started researching missing person’s cases and was able to narrow down a few who were involved in affairs. Twelve to be exact. One had even been involved with Maggie’s own husband. “Maggie, Maggie Maggie, what have we gotten ourselves into,” he thought to himself. Chapter 3 I got to my office at 9 am. Marcus was already there. Marcus had been my assistant since I opened my business and I don’t know what I would do without him. He was on time, efficient and understood when I wanted to be left alone. He also gave the best make up advice ever, I guess since he’s about as straight as a circle. His fluorescent purple top greeted me before he opened his mouth. “Good morning Maggie”, he grinned and sashayed over to me. His 4-inch heels leading the way. “Marina Mathis called for you this morning. I left the message on your desk. Also, Trina called and wanted to know if you were still on for lunch”. “All right, I’ll give them both a call back." “Maggie is everything ok?” Marcus asked. “I’m fine, you know the usual stuff, Carson doesn’t talk to me much and Adam complains that I don’t let him hang out with his friends." “Well, like my grandma used to say, Walk in the pastures long enough and you’re bound to step in shit." I laughed, and Marcus cracked a smile too. He could always come up with some crazy saying to make me laugh. “I’ll let Adam know you said that." “Please do, cause I’ve seen those fast ass girls blowing up his phone every time he’s in here. And you should hear the way he talks to them. Ain’t nothing but trouble." “I know it”, I replied. And Carson,” Marcus continued, “I don’t see no hope for that right there. I told you not to buy him those shoes." “Marcus let’s not start that again." “I told you Maggie, you don’t buy no man no shoes. My mama used to say, Buy a man a pair of shoes and he will kick you in the ass and walk out on you." “Marcus, I swear it had to be hoot living with your mother and your grandmother.” “Girl, you have no idea, why do you think I’m a man who wears nail polish and women’s clothing." “You are so crazy! And besides what happened between me and Carson has nothing to do with a pair of shoes. It has to do with a man not being able to keep his d**k in his pants.” “True, true. But was he wearing them shoes when he did it?” “Marcus!” “Ok, ok, I won’t say anything else about the shoes. You get real damn sensitive you know that?" “I’m not sensitive; I just have a lot going on. And as much as I love sitting here listening to your southern colloquialisms, I have work to do.” “Don’t we all girl, don’t we all,” Marcus said as he walked back to his desk. I entered my office and closed the door. I used Carson and Adam as an excuse, but really I was thinking about Garrett. I really didn’t know what my next move was with him. Then there was the matter of Ms. c*m. I had to get back on track with taking care of that situation before I missed my opportunity. I stared at the picture of my mother on my desk. “I wish you were still here,” I said. But she didn’t answer back. Trina and I hadn’t spoken in some time. I missed her, but I couldn’t afford to have her in my business. “So, you can’t call your sister anymore Ms. Investigator Lady.” “You know it’s not like that...