Bree dashed the last few steps out of the shadowed alley onto a crowded sidewalk. Common sense overrode her gutsy determination as heavy footsteps drew near. She sighed with relief at the sight of skateboarders ignoring prominently posted signs and young mothers pushing jogging strollers down the sunlit walkway. Thudding boots on the pavement behind her accelerated until the man shadowing her also erupted onto the sidewalk beside her. The odors and flavor of corruption clinging to the man had offended her senses for the last three blocks.
Bree forced a smile and lowered her gaze to the suspicious frown on the man's pockmarked face. "Hello." She cleared her throat to remove the nervous quaver. "Are you interested in the new homeless shelter?" She offered him one of the leaflets she'd been distributing in a homeless camp. Stepping into the flow of foot traffic, she raised her chin in a 'come with me' gesture.
The stocky man dressed in worn biker leathers squinted up and down the sidewalk as if wondering if passersby noticed the tall blond girl. "Do you have a death wish? It's a wonder you weren't robbed or murdered back there." He gestured back down the alley and tossed the flyer into the breeze. "What good is a shelter to these people, princess? Are they supposed to walk on water across the Mississippi to the arch? East St. Louis is a little short on charity. So take your cute do-gooder butt back to the 'burbs where it's safe to walk around alone."
Her nose twitched. The lemon-lime air around him smelled cocky, assured, brazen. She fell into line behind two grandmotherly-looking women pulling collapsible shopping carts. He followed, leering at her tight pants and long legs.
"Isn't that just a stereotype about poor people being dangerous?" Bree countered. "I'm not afraid."
"Just stupid. If I hadn't been trailing behind you, giving a couple of those guys the eye, you'd be a headline in tonight's news."
Bree shuddered and glanced over her shoulder at him. "In that case, thank you. Do you have a minute to answer a couple of questions?"
He shrugged and stood taller.
"Depends what they are." He stepped up beside her.
"I'm Cindy." Bree juggled the papers and offered her alias and her free hand.
He ignored her hand and snickered, "People call me Monster, as in wanna see my ...," he leaned closer and whispered something indecent.
Bree wrinkled her nose in disgust as his scent changed and silently thanked her father for the warning about some men's offensive behavior.
"But you can call me Dick," he smirked.
"What an interesting name." She pretended to write it on one of the flyers. "Truth is, I'm looking for a man."
He puffed his chest out and pulled his do-rag farther down on his broad forehead. "You found one."
She stopped in front of a barbecue restaurant, and pedestrians broke around them like the ocean current against an iceberg. She tasted brown sugar and red pepper in the air. "I apologize. It was a particular man, although you seem like a fine specimen."
"Specimen?" He lowered his head and hunched his shoulders forward as a crease appeared between his thick eyebrows. "Isn't that something you look at under a microscope?"
She ignored his body language, gave him a cheeky grin, and nudged him with her elbow. "You're educated. And I bet you know your way around the city. The guy I'm trying to find is called Jerusalem. I've heard he's kind of a big deal."
Bree smelled adrenaline-packed fear, panic, and suspicion at the mention of the name. Dick's wide-eyed gaze shot from side to side and back to the alley.
"Can't help you."
A lingering taste of vinegar remained in the air as he whirled and ran back the way he came.
***
Bree signaled her ride. As she was getting in the back seat, her phone pinged three times. Unlocking the screen with her thumbprint, she smiled at the message.
"Oh, Dick. You don't know how helpful you've been. Gotcha," she said as she checked the locator.
The microscopic transmitter Bree attached to Dick's jacket with her elbow had activated. John, her techno-geek father, had designed, built, and programmed the microdot in addition to writing the receiver app on her phone.
"One step closer to the baddest man around, Jerusalem Brown."
***
Bree eased behind the shrubbery between the alley and the back fence of her home. Adjacent to a densely wooded greenbelt, it allowed her the freedom to come and go unnoticed. Her father had chosen the house for its large backyard and dearth of neighbors in the vicinity of Northeastern Illinois University, where he, John Ballard, reigned as the tenured computer science chair. She pressed a hidden latch in the high fence, and a door opened just far enough to slip through.
At the back door, she wiped her boots on the ivy-printed doormat. "I'm back, Mom. Is there anything to eat?"
She inhaled the familiar scent and taste of her home. Her mother, Ann, always smelled like cotton candy to Bree. She identified her dad's cedar scent with honesty. The air around her brother, Tom, had tasted the same.
"Have you been putting out food for the possums again, Mom? I saw two lurking across the alley."
Ann pulled sandwich makings from the white refrigerator in her all-white kitchen and carried them to the table.
"Bree, you know they'll dig under the fence if I don't leave them some cat food in the woods."
Bree wrinkled her nose. "Nasty things."
Her dad patted her hand. "They're harmless."
"I'm sorry you can't a real pet, Mom."
"Bree." John shook his head at her.
While her mother prepared a snack, Bree removed the studious-looking glasses, peeled out of the life-like silicone mask with attached wig, and laid it on the table. She ran her fingers through her dark, sweaty hair.
"Whew, that thing is hot. I'm glad it's not summer." She removed the dental appliance that made her cheeks appear puffier and her lower jaw more pronounced. "Where do you want me to put this, Mom?"
Ann offered a saucer, and Bree promised to clean the enhancement as soon as she ate. Her plump, balding father poured coffee for them and helped her pull off the platform boots.
"Everything in Tom's report is true," she said around a bite of ham and rye. "I followed the I-55 corridor to St. Louis with the various leaflets we prepared. The name Jerusalem Brown got the same reaction in Joliet, the South Side, and every truck stop on the interstate. I managed to attach the micro-dots to about a dozen people. I headed home as soon as the app activated."
"Did anyone give you any trouble, Bree?" John's forehead wrinkled, and the corners of his lips turned down. "I didn't feel right about you going alone."
Bree wiped her lips on a paper napkin and gave him a reassuring smile. "I was okay, Dad. For the most part, I stayed in public places with plenty of witnesses. And my Uber driver was always near. From the vibe I got from her, she felt satisfaction from helping me distribute self-help information to the less fortunate. Dad, you should thank your contact in St. Louis for letting us know about that new homeless shelter."
"Did you see it?" Ann asked.
"No, I was always on the Illinois side of the river."
A chime sounded on John's phone, one specifically programmed by him to map activity on Brown's device. Bree leaned over and peered at the screen. "It works. You're a genius. The only thing mine indicated was that someone called Brown's number."
"That's because we wanted you back home as soon as we knew someone had contacted him," Ann said.
Now that Dick had unwittingly provided Jerusalem Brown's number and coordinates by calling his mobile phone, John had been tracking his movements.
"Looks like he's on his way to St. Louis," he said. "More than likely, he's looking for that tall, skinny blond girl." He winked at his brunette daughter.
"What should we do next, Dad?"
"Why can't the police just arrest him since we know where he is?" Ann said. She washed and dried Bree's plate. Taking a seat at the table with them, she folded the dish towel into a compact package.
John reached for her hand. "Dear, I've explained before that someone will have to swear out a warrant, a prosecutor will have to bring charges, a judge will set bail, etc. But, no one from the governor on down will touch a case involving Jerry Bronwell. He's squeaky clean."
"But what about Jerusalem Brown?" Ann tilted her head and her fly-away blond hair billowed up like a halo.
Bree sighed. "Mom, pay attention."
"But that man killed Tom. Why aren't the cops doing anything?" Ann bit her lip and twisted her wedding ring.
Bree and her father exchanged a look they had perfected over the years. Ann was the sweetest, most obtuse person on earth. Unfortunately, her perceptiveness deteriorated after her firstborn's death.
"Could anyone have recognized you?" she asked, suddenly anxious.
Bree picked at the blond wig lying on the table. "Did you recognize me, Mom? No one knows me. Remember?"
Ann scrunched the towel into a tighter ball. "That's not what I meant, honey. Could anyone trace you back here?"
Bree laughed. "Think about all the tv I watch. I kept track and made sure I wasn't followed. Of course, I didn't let the driver know I was doing it." Bree turned to her father. "Let's look at Tom's file again, Dad. Maybe we missed something."
* Thank you for reading the first part of Baited Breath. Are you wondering why Bree associates odors on people with attitudes or emotions? What happened to her brother?
If you want to know more, vote and comment.
If you've already taken a look at this first chapter, you may remember that I said I'd upload another part each Friday. I've now decided not to make people wait for the story which is complete. So watch for Part 2 on Tuesday.