Kelly King entered her tiny, dark apartment and her foot kicked the brown manilla envelope that had been slipped under the door. After picking up the portrait sized envelope, she locked the door and decided on not turning her lights on. It was already past midnight and she should really get some sleep, at least that was what her tired muscles informed her. She slipped off her high heels with a moan of relief, and padded her way to her bedroom in bare feet.
She tossed the envelope on the bed and began to undress, ecstatic to be free of her tight dress. She grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the floor and snatched a t shirt out of her dresser. She placed her phone on her nightstand after glancing at the screen. There were no notifications, no missed calls, not that she expected to see any. Feeling like a bag of cement, she plopped down onto her bed. Opening the envelope she slid the contents out on her bed, there was one photograph and one printed sheet of paper.
She looked at the photograph first and her eyebrows went up. This woman is gorgeous! The picture had been taken from a distance and had been enlarged. The image was not the best quality, it looked grainy and slightly unfocused, but it was good enough to see how stunning the woman was. She had long jet black hair that extended a few inches past her shoulder. She had a slim face with high cheekbones, reminding Kelly of a model, or even a supermodel. Her lips were full but not overly large, and they looked pretty damn soft in Kelly's opinion. She wasn't wearing any makeup but the woman looked like she did not really need to either. This woman was a natural beauty. She had a nice long neck that Kelly found really hot, but the picture did not go past her shoulders so she was not able to see just what that neck was attached to, unfortunately. Kelly could fantasize though, but she decided it was best to try and push those counterproductive thoughts away. This was supposed to be a contract after all, not some kind of dating service. The eyes were on the small side but appeared to fit nicely for her face, her eyebrows were real and perfectly shaped. This woman was not high maintenance, which Kelly found extremely attractive. She had been with her share of 'lipstick lesbians' and 'butches' and she found herself more attracted to women who were somewhere in between the two. She wished she could make out the color of the woman's eyes but the picture quality made that impossible. Placing the picture on the bed next to her and with a sigh she looked at the other sheet.
"Sonny Moretti, short for Sonja." She murmured out loud to herself. She liked the name, Sonny seemed to fit the beautiful face in the picture perfectly. Twenty eight years old, hey she just had a birthday. "Happy belated birthday Sonny." She muttered through a smile as she looked at the picture again. A 'button' girl for the Don since she was twenty. Her father used to work for the Don until he was killed when she was twenty four. He was a hitman too. So she followed into the family business.
From some of the details about the jobs she had done, Sonny was good at her chosen profession too. Extremely good. Tony wrote a message to her along the margin of the sheet saying that Sonny prefered to hit her targets from long distance. Girl's a sniper. The note continued to say that Sonny Moretti also had some experience with close kills too, very hands on type stuff. She knows Krav Maga? Damn. This girl could fight too. Fuck. This was going to be hard. No wonder the Don is paying so much. This Sonny Moretti is a killer.
A notification flashed on her phone, it was a breaking news headline. Four men had been killed in an apartment building downtown. So far police had no suspects in custody. Shit. Four men? This had to be the handiwork of her target, Kelly reasoned.
This was going to require an absolutely flawless plan, and she was too tired to think about it now. She turned the light off and laid back on her pillow hoping she would dream of a brunette with a slim face and high cheekbones.
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Sonny closed the front door and flicked the wall switch that turned the lights on in her small townhouse. It happened to be one of three safe houses she kept in Chicago. Its meager accommodations consisted of a empty living room, a small bedroom with a full sized bed, a sparse kitchen with a small refrigerator, oven and a microwave. There were some non perishable provisions, toiletries and a few clothes. The basement was where she kept her real supplies, guns, ammunition, and her other tools of the trade. In the attached garage was a brand new Ducati Supersport motorcycle, gassed up and ready to go.
She sat on the bed and opened her go bag, inside she had another change of clothes, an unassuming t-shirt and a pair of jeans. There were two sets of fake IDs and ten prepaid Visa cards each carrying a balance of two hundred and fifty dollars. She had one burner phone that she could use and then dispose of but there was really no one she could call anyway. Finally she removed the lockbox from the bag and placed it gently, almost reverently, on her bed.
Sonny Moretti lifted her five foot ten inch frame from the bed and headed to the bathroom. She turned the shower on and stripped down, placing the clothes she had worn on the tiled floor to burn later. Using her long tan fingers she tested the water and stepped inside the glass enclosed shower. Hot water and soap streamed down and dripped off tight and muscled limbs. She washed her long black hair and closed her eyes, allowing the fragrant shampoo to ease some of the tension that was coiled inside her. She knew the danger she was in, there were most likely over a hundred men in the city looking to kill her. She was not going to run from them however. Had she wanted to, she could have slipped away and then vanish without a trace. She could hide in any number of countries around the world and never be heard from again.
Sonny stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, she brushed her raven hair and went back to the bed. She laid down and picked up the lockbox again and opened it. She removed a small .38 pistol and an old photograph, the only two items inside the simple metal box. For a moment she held them both to her chest and closed her eyes, relief flooding through her that they were still in her possession. The photograph was old and the paper slightly frayed on the corners but the image was still clear. It was a picture of a raven haired nine year old girl with a tall man in his forties. They sat near a shimmering river on vividly green grass, smiling in the sun during a spontaneous fishing trip. She could still remember the smell of the grass and the sound of the water. She could recall the feeling of the hot sun on her arms and the wet scales of the fish. The sound of her father's laughter and his deep voice when he showed her how to bait a hook. Sonny and her father shared the same slim face and high cheekbones. He was a slim man, six feet and four inches tall and he was a giant to her. A gentle giant, he was always soft spoken and fair to her. Anthony Moretti was not a pushover, he could be a strict disciplinarian when he needed to be, but he was always patient with his only child, his baby girl who he always called 'Sonny'.
Sonny's mother had died while she was giving birth, forcing her father to raise her all by himself. Anthony did the best he could but he really was not built to raise a daughter. He did not know what dresses to buy or how to braid his daughter's long hair. But that did not stop him from showering his daughter with all the love and attention he could. Anthony Moretti was a hitman, he lived in a violent world and contributed to it with violence of his own. The only thing that mattered to him was his daughter, so he trained Sonny to be able to defend herself as soon as she had taken her first steps. Sonny fired a gun for the first time when she was seven. He held her little hands to the weapon and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was the loudest noise she had ever heard in her life, it had frightened her and she had cried. Her father had held her and dried her tears but when she was calm again he made her shoot it over and over again until all the bullets were fired. He explained to her afterwards that the gun itself was only a tool, like a drill or a jackhammer. It might make noise or perhaps even kill you if you did not know how to use it properly, but if you practiced with it and understood its power you did not need to fear it. It could be like a paintbrush if you mastered it, if you respected it then you could become an artist with it.
An artist is exactly what she became, through her father's tutelage she learned everything about becoming an assassin, and she had excelled far beyond his expectations. He taught her to be an expert in every firearm possible and she had so much talent he would often tell her that she could win a gold medal if she wanted to. Public accolades did not interest her in the slightest though, only the approval of her father mattered, he was the most important person in her life. He taught her how to use a blade on someone close up and to minimize the mess. He instructed her on the use of explosives and poisons, although he loathed using the two. Their use was too showy for him and he never used them unless the contract specifically asked for it. Sometimes people wanted to send a message and insisted that the hit be done a certain way. Doing that kind of thing too often was a surefire way to get a reputation he had warned her. He taught her however that an assassin gained a long successful career only if they never drew attention to themselves. Each hit should look as generic as any other, he explained to her.
Anthony Moretti never had to sign his work that way either, he was a professional and not a psychopath. He never enjoyed the act of killing, but he was exceptional at it. He instilled in her his own gray sense of morality about life, there was no black and white in real life. Some people in the world needed to be killed. He also taught her that collateral damage was unacceptable and just plain sloppy, endangering civilians was forbidden. That type of mindfulness and discretion had earned him the respect of his small community of hired trigger men. The powerful elite of the criminal underworld knew that if they wanted a professionally done job with minimal mess, Anthony Moretti was the one to call.
When her father died she had stepped into his role with ease. Her laser like focus, her attention to detail and security made her highly sought after as a world class assassin. All of her father's old clients went to her now for the contracts they needed done and she continued to be as discriminating as her father had been about what jobs to accept and what jobs to reject. She could afford to be picky because she was the absolute best in the business right from the start, and people paid her high price happily because they knew she was without a doubt the best in the business.
By rights she should have enjoyed a long and fruitful career and then been able to retire wealthy and financially secure. But then she got the Russian job. She had never worked for them before and was not interested in doing so. The rumors about their extreme brutality were well known and she did not want any part of them. But Don Salvador had asked her for the favor of taking the contract and she agreed only because he had asked her personally. He had been a close friend of her father and she felt duty bound to accept the offer.
That was how she met the man who would ruin her career and carefully curated reputation forever. That was how she had come to meet Arnold Jefferson.
One week ago
Sonny sat at Arnold Jefferson's small table inside his shabby rented room in the dark. He was relatively easy to find even though the Russians seemed to have had trouble doing so. She found this contract extremely distasteful because of what they had asked her to do. They wanted his ears and his tongue removed and then his body was to be burned to send a message. Sonny felt this kind of thing was overkill and disrespectful, not to mention unnecessarily sadistic, but the Don had asked her to do it and the money was very good.
She drummed her powderless latex gloved fingers on the table, the tactical knife resting near her hand. Glancing at the clock on the wall in the rundown hotel room, it showed her that she had been waiting for almost an hour. Just then she heard the key slide into the lock of the door. She remained motionless as her assignment slowly walked into the darkened space and closed the door softly behind him. She watched as he gingerly stepped further inside and scanned the room, his eyes just beginning to adjust to the darkness.
His hand went to the light switch and turned it on. His eyes bugged out when he saw her sitting there and his breath hitched in his throat. "Please." He croaked and beads of sweat began to spring up immediately on his furrowed forehead. She put one gloved finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet, her eyes were dulled and motionless, scanning him for danger and finding none.
"Don't kill me. I-I have some money." He whimpered as his overweight body began to shiver. She stood from her chair slowly and carefully picking up the knife, eyeing him with the eyes of a stone cold killer. Arnold dropped to his knees and intertwined his fingers together in front of him. "Tell them I'm sorry! Tell them I won't do it anymore! I won't say anything!"
If these were to be his last words, she had heard better. "I just wanted to protect those girls." He whispered and closed his eyes. Her arm stopped in place and the sharp edge of the knife was still as it waited to be used for its designed purpose. After a moment he raised his head, the deathstrike had not come, his shaking eyelids cracked open a sliver and he looked at her. Her own eyes had not changed from the cold and detached look from before but her arm was now motionless, hanging stiffly in the tension filled air of the flop house room.
"They didn't do anything to deserve this. I might be a crook but I'm not like them. I was only trying to help them." His face was tear streaked and his lip quivered.
Her arm had not moved an inch, her muscles locked in place. "What girls?" Her voice was low and cold and it commanded attention.
His eyes flickered in comprehension of the fact that his life had just been extended for a few more seconds and depending on his answer to her question its continuation hung in the balance. "The girls. The ones they use for..." His voice fell to a whisper, he could not read her face, unable to tell if his words were having any effect on her at all his remaining hope for his survival began to wane.
Her arm slowly lowered to her side, the knife held firmly in her hand. "How old?"
"Most look about fourteen or maybe sixteen years old." He was speaking quickly now, grasping at any chance to live. "I saw one.." Her eyes narrowed as he continued talking, the small movement gave his voice momentum. "She was only nine. A little girl. And they were gonna... they were gonna..."
Underneath her armor of discipline, Arnold Jefferson's words registered what he was saying and a flame began to smolder inside her chest. She sat down carefully, crossing her long legs in front of her and placed the knife on the table next to her. "Tell me everything."
And he did.
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After the first twenty four hours of searching had turned up nothing, Kelly decided to try looking at the problem of finding the elusive assassin-slash-drop dead gorgeous damn near
supermodel from the other side. This 'Sonny' girl did not want to be found and she was good enough at her job to not be. So Kelly decided to start by looking at the Russian connection first and then work backwards from there. The Popov organization had hired her to kill an ICE agent? Arnold Jefferson? Wait, he's not an agent, he's just a clerk. Her fingers click-clacked away on her laptop keyboard as she dug into this Arnold Jefferson person more, she started with checking his online profile and his tax returns. Her experience as a federal agent had given her plenty of tools in her bag of tricks for finding private information on people, mostly involving searching on the Dark Web and other, not at all legal, places online.
Arnold Jefferson was single and forty six years old, he had never married and he was overweight. He was not a particularly important person over at Immigration, a mid level bureaucrat and classic underachiever. She was not seeing any connection between him and organized crime at first until she looked at his Facebook profile. A little over a year ago Arnold had started posting vacation pictures, Mexico, the Caribbean, Australia. It seemed that Mr. Jefferson had become a first class world traveller all in the space of a year. Before that the most exotic place Arnold had ever visited was St. Louis.
He purchased a new car last summer, a brand new Audi R8 Spider with all the trimmings. But looking at your tax returns here, you only got a two percent raise not enough for a brand new Audi. Sorry Arnold, you did not pass go, you did not collect two hundred dollars. Then she saw one picture that immediately caught her eye, Arnold was having a grand old time drinking and dancing at some club with a guy he tagged in the post as Ivan.
This Ivan guy was a flashy fellow, he was maybe in his late twenties with an athletic build. Kelly thought he had an average face that perhaps some women might find attractive. She was not one of those women however. He wore a lot of jewelry and was a snappy dresser, looking every bit the stereotypical eastern european gangster.
She opened a new tab and looked up Mister Flashy Pants Ivan Popov. This Ivan was a social butterfly, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, the guy was everywhere and enjoyed showing everyone just how rich he was at all times. It was all planes, trains, and luxury automobiles with this guy and he also flashed more gold than an Atlanta rapper.
Ivan Popov. In her research into the Popov organization there was no mention of an Ivan Popov at all. As she delved deeper she was starting to figure out just why he was not being included in the organization. Ivan was very loud and very loose with his money. Except it was not exactly his money that he was being loose with. Ivan Popov was actually the idiot son of the head of the Popov organization, Petrov. Petrov Popov was the leader of one of the largest organized crime families in Russia and Europe, and he was now expanding rapidly into the United States. He was brutal and smart, nearly untouchable and he did not make mistakes.
Well, he did make one mistake. He didn't wear a condom when he conceived his dumbass son Ivan. How it must piss off Petrov to have Ivan running around drawing attention to himself and the Popov family. The black sheep. Kelly sighed, she knew that role all too well.
So, how did Arnold and Ivan connect to Sonny? Sonny was supposed to kill Arnold by order of Petrov but didn't. Why? Was it just because of Arnold's 'party fun times' with his son? Seems a little extreme to teach his son a lesson. But Arnold wasn't in any of Ivan's social media pictures. So maybe Ivan wasn't paying Arnold. Maybe it was Petrov who was footing the bill. Petrov needed something from Immigration so he puts Arnold on the payroll. Then Petrov wants Arnold dead. Somewhere in between those two events, Ivan and Arnold cross paths. Ivan's not part of the family so what does he need to hang around Arnold for?
They were both straight as far as Kelly could tell, so they were not secret lovers. Ivan was always surrounding himself with scantily clad hot women in his pictures and Arnold had only one girlfriend ever mentioned on his timeline and they had broken up years ago. Unless they were experts at being in the closet she could not see that kind of connection between the two men. Maybe Ivan subcontracted some services from Arnold. Services that papa Petrov didn't approve of.
Kelly closed her laptop with a sigh. She would not find out what she needed from Facebook. She picked up her phone and dialed the number from memory since she could not put this particular person in her contacts. It rang and a familiar voice answered.
"Yeah."
"It's me. Can you talk?"
"Yeah, go ahead." Tony said.
"What was Ivan Popov into?" Kelly asked.
Tony chuckled in admiration. "You're the best in the business Kels."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Now what was he into that his father disapproved of?"
Tony breathed. "He brings girls from over there to over here." His answer told her everything she needed to know.
"Got it." She hung up quickly. Human trafficking. With girls. That probably wouldn't raise the ire of his father though. But Tony said girls, not women. Ivan probably didn't have the infrastructure to bring them over in large numbers like his father could. No, he would have to do it one or two at a time. Which meant papers and Immigration. Enter Arnold who was already working for the Popov's. Ivan goes into business for himself and papa doesn't like it. He puts a hit on Arnold to send a message to his son. But Sonny doesn't complete the contract. She leaves Arnold alive, why? A few days later Arnold goes missing anyway.
Kelly ran her fingers through her short red hair in frustration. She just could not look inside this beautiful woman's mind and see what was going on in there. Kelly was just going to have to go with a hunch because she was quickly running out of options. She was going to have to go looking for Ivan Popov.
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One week ago
Sonny surmised that she had two choices, either kill Arnold and take down Ivan or let Arnold live and take down Ivan. There was absolutely no option in Sonny's mind to allow Ivan Popov to continue pimping out little girls, there was no way she would let him live. It made her stomach turn to even think about what he was doing to those helpless little girls. Arnold Jefferson had information about Ivan's operation and what he knew could be useful for her new mission to terminate Ivan Popov. And now that knowledge was the only thing in the world that was keeping her former target alive.
Although Sonny's calm face did not reflect it at all, she was becoming furious as her understanding about Ivan's sick business grew. Her father had taught her to never get emotional at work, to never allow your feelings to override your situational awareness. Emotions clouded your judgement and in their line of work, where every decision or action was critical, that could get you killed. She worked on her breathing, taking slow and even deep breaths while she stared at the quivering mess that was Arnold Jefferson.
She put her tactical knife back in the sheath on her belt then pulled her Glock 19 pistol out of her shoulder holster and pointed the barrel at Arnold's chest. "Get off your knees and sit cross legged on the floor, hands in your lap and don't make a sound. Answer the questions I ask you in a low tone. If you scream once you will not scream again. Do you understand me?" Her voice was cold and deliberate.
Arnold nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, yes please don't kill me."
"Where are these girls kept?" She asked evenly.
"A couple different places. I-I don't know for sure. I only ever went to one of them and
even then I just waited in the car when Ivan went inside. We-we were headed to a club and he got a phone call that made him mad so he had the driver stop at this house and he got out and then he was in there for a while and when he came back out he was pissed off for a long time until we got to the club." The words tumbled out of Arnold's quivering mouth like an avalanche.
"Enough." She stopped his rambling with a curt word and a raised hand. "Is there anyone else involved in this that you know about?"
"Uh-uh, he had a woman who I saw once or twice. She's not a part of his father's crew. I only ever saw her with Ivan. She met him outside the house that one time before they both went inside."
"What is her name?" She asked evenly and mechanically.
"I-I don't remember."
Her eyes were locked on his with an intensity that made his mouth go dry and his throat clench from terror. "On the phone when he got the call in the car he-he had called her Elaina I think. No! No it was Amina! Yeah, Amina." He was grasping at any lifeline he could, anything that would please the assassin and spare his life.
"What does she look like?"
He looked up at the ceiling nervously like the answer was somewhere up there on the water damaged surface. "She's like maybe in her sixties or something. Gray hair tied in like a bun in the back. Tiny woman, like real thin and short, like maybe five feet or something. Skinny. Wrinkly face and real mean looking."
Sonny committed the physical description to her memory. "What does Ivan need you for?"
Arnold gulped out of nervousness and without moisture in his mouth it was very painful. "I work in Immigration, Petrov uses me when he needs to get someone in the country and I let him know if Immigration is sniffing around any of his operations. Ivan came up to me and said he would pay me to help him bring some people over. He brings them over like no more than 4 at a time. Coach flights. Nothing flashy or conspicuous. And then I make sure that their paperwork goes through to get them in and then I lose the girls in the system."
"How often does he bring them in?"
"Maybe twice a month? I guess? Yeah about two trips a month."
"When was the last time he had you do this?"
"Couple weeks ago I think? Yeah, yeah about two weeks."
She looked at him in silence for a long minute, her face was a mask of indifference, revealing no indication to Arnold whether he had taken his last breath or not. Then with a smooth motion that did not reflect the burning fury that was rising inside her, she put her pistol back in her holster. She stood smoothly, almost like a robot, and strode past Arnold to his door. He looked at her with confused, eyes that burned with sweat and tears. His jaw trembled and threatened to shake the teeth loose from his mouth as he spoke. "You're not going to kill me?"
She turned the knob and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind her softly and never looking back at him or acknowledging his existence at all.
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"My name is Kelly King and I have a gambling addiction."
"Hi Kelly." The other eight people who sat in folding chairs underneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the church basement spoke in unison. Stale coffee and dampness hung in the air of the large multi-purpose room.
"So last week it was my father's birthday. He would have been sixty-two. He was a good guy. A good cop. Brian Kelly. I always looked up to him and I always wanted to make him proud. That's why I joined the FBI, to make him proud you know? He was a great father, he took care of me after my mom ran out on us when I was seven. He gave me everything, and what did I give him? A fuck up for a daughter. My addiction got me fired. I was broke and I was chasing the dragon, so I took a loan from some people I shouldn't have. It was bad. So fucking bad. I had already shot my credit to shit and hocked everything I had that was worth anything. I knew these guys were criminals but I didn't care, you know? I hit a rough patch and I couldn't win to save my life so it wasn't long before they owned me. I started giving them stuff in exchange for them knocking some money off my debt. Information on investigations and stuff, telling them about wiretaps and stake outs. I was dirty. I knew it and I didn't care. I just knew that I was going to win. Eventually. Every time I laid down a bet I was sure this was the one, the one that was going to get me back on top. But even when I won it wasn't enough. It was never enough for me. Finally I got caught. I was fired, I pled down to six months in prison. When I got out I had no money, no job, no friends, nowhere to live, and no father. He died when I was in jail. Heart attack. We hadn't talked since I got in trouble. I didn't try to call him and he didn't try to call me. I was so ashamed. He was perfect in my eyes. He had been a great dad and I just let him down in every way possible. In a way I was glad he was gone. I never had to face him. I never had to own up to it. I went to my dad's place and found his service revolver. I put one round in and spun. I was going to place one more bet. I put the barrel to my head and closed my eyes. I don't know what made me open my eyes but when I did I saw a picture of me and my dad at the park. I remembered that day. I was nine years old. It was great, we tried to fly a kite and broke it. We had so much fun that day. And that's when I broke down. I put the gun down and I just collapsed. I think I cried for maybe two hours and then I fell asleep. When I woke up I started crying again. I kept going until I was dehydrated and there were no more tears. That was it. That was my rock bottom. I was going to kill myself. In my father's house. With my father's gun. After that I got my shit together. I joined the program and although I've had a few relapses since then I'm doing pretty good. I've been sober for two months now. Anyway, thanks for letting me share." She slumped back in her seat, exhausted and emotionally spent.
"Thanks Kelly."
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For anyone that was actively looking for a certain statuesque brunette with high cheekbones at the airport they would have been disappointed. Sonny was wearing a short blond wig and a New York Yankees baseball hat. She had on a tight t-shirt and short daisy duke jean shorts. She was wearing flip flops to try and disguise her height and carried a backpack on her shoulder. To casual eyes she appeared to be just any other woman waiting on her flight.
Sonny had bought a ticket that she did not plan on using and held it conspicuously in her hand. In her other hand she carried a large soft drink cup, she had dumped the soda and filled it with water. She was very careful about what she put into her body, no soda at all and no caffeine. While not a vegetarian, she did try and limit her red meat intake. Her diet was not about her vanity, her body was a weapon and she needed to keep it in peak condition.
Lounging around the international arrival gates in terminal five she was able to scan the area while pretending to look at her phone. So far she had not seen anything out of the ordinary. The last international flight from the Ukraine would arrive at 11:45 PM. She would leave then and return at 5 AM when they started arriving again the next morning. It would give her a few hours to rest her head at the safe house at least.
She noticed two men in suits enter the terminal and take strategic positions around the gate. It was time, the flight from Ukraine had landed and was about to disembark. She opened her camera app on her phone and casually aimed it at the door and pressed record. A few passengers came through, both in pairs and alone. Then a group of five got her attention. Leading the group was an old woman with a severe face and her hair pulled back in a bun. Behind her were four girls of varying ages, the youngest one could not have been too much more than ten years old and Sonny swallowed hard. The little girl was afraid and Sonny could see the terror in her eyes. Her hands were wringing nervously and with so much pressure that it looked painful. Sonny was glad that she did not have her gun with her or she might have killed the old woman right there. But she needed more information about this organization first before she acted, counting to ten in her head helped her to calm down.
There was a girl with them that was probably eighteen and had sunken, vacant eyes. Sonny's heart broke for the girl, even from as far away that she had placed herself she could see the dark circles and hopelessness. The horrors that she had endured were unimaginable to Sonny. This girl, now a woman she supposed, looked like she had already given up. Her life that should be just beginning was already over. The only thing she had left to look forward to was her own death.
The group met with the two men and without saying a word they all fell in step and left the terminal gate together. Sonny waited a moment and then stood up and followed them at a safe distance. She watched as they passed easily through customs, they were exiting the building and heading to a van that sat idling outside waiting for them. Sonny got out in front of them and pretended to talk on her phone outside as she slipped a small device from her pocket into her palm.
One of the two men opened the side door of the van and herded the terrified girls inside. The old woman climbed into the front passenger seat and Sonny readied herself. The van began to pull away and at that moment Sonny stepped in front of it and bumped her side onto the grill and dropped her backpack to the ground.
"Hey! Watch it asshole!" She yelled to the driver as she reached for her backpack on the ground. As she stood she slapped the hood with one hand and slipped the GPS tracker onto the grill with adhesive tape on the back. "I'm walking here you prick!" She said over her shoulder as she walked away, flipping him the bird as well. The driver gave her a dirty look but pulled away without replying to her words or gesture. The old woman did not even acknowledge her existence. Good.
She leisurely walked to the surface lot and opened the GPS tracker app on her phone. The van's image moved slowly out of the airport. She closed the app and put her phone away as she climbed upon her motorcycle. The Ducati engine started and she sped off into the night.
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After a quick stop at a gas station to change out of her tourist clothes and into an all black leather biker suit, Sonny sped to the GPS point on her phone that indicated the van's location. The van had stopped moving and she navigated towards it and into Riverdale. The app showed the location near the Calumet River on South Riverdale Drive. Sonny pulled up a block away from where the van was parked in front of a run down looking house. She saw one guard standing on the porch in front and recognized him as one of the men from the airport. Making sure he had not seen her, she got off her bike and walked in the opposite direction from the house and rounded the corner of the next block over. She made a loop and headed into the dark alley behind the house. There were no street lights on so she raised the visor on her black helmet to see her surroundings better. The house had a floodlight in the back positioned on the wall but there was no guard stationed there. There were security bars on the back windows and from where she stood they appeared to be covered by something on the inside of the house.
Carefully staying on the edges of the light's beam in the backyard, she closed in on the back of the house. After wading through the near knee high length grass she pressed her body against the back wall of the house. Looking over at the back door she saw concrete steps leading up to a metal door with a metal frame. There was a slit at eye level and no door knob or lock on the outside. It was probably chained from the inside she assumed. It might do as an exit but she was not going to get in that way. The bars on the windows were secured with bolts and not screws and upon closer inspection the windows were indeed boarded up with wooden planks on the inside.
The only way in was going to be the front door. Past the guard and who knows what she would find inside. It was going to be bloody but the way she felt about what was going on in there she did not really mind how much blood would be shed. She slowly walked along the side of the house toward the front, making sure to avoid as much of the grass as possible to cut down on the noise. It was slow going but it allowed her to scan the area around the side of the dilapidated house. More windows and bars were visible but she did not spot any security cameras, she decided that the people inside were pretty confident. She came to the grim conclusion that the security measures were to keep people inside, they were not too worried about anyone coming in from the outside.
Halfway to the front of the house there was a rustle directly ahead of her in the grass. A possum. Shit, she thought and pressed her body against the house. The possum was looking in her direction and started to hiss. She could hear the shuffling of the guard's feet on the porch, he was coming closer to take a look. By her boot she spied a small rock. She swiftly picked it up and threw it at the possum, hitting it squarely on the back. That was enough to scare the animal and to get it to scurry toward the front porch. The sudden appearance of the running possum from between the house earned a startled yelp from the guard as the animal darted away and across the street. The guard's head followed the possum as it ran in the opposite direction away from her. Sonny used the opportunity to quickly and quietly backtrack into the alley.
Finally she returned to her motorcycle and started it up. She wanted to retrieve her tracker from the van before it was discovered but she could not think of a way to get it without being spotted by the guard. While she puzzled on the problem, a limousine pulled up to the house. Out of the vehicle popped two men who looked like businessmen dressed in expensive suits that were very much out of place at night in Riverdale. These guys were not a part of the organization, she concluded, they looked too nervous. They were customers and the thought made Sonny's stomach churn. They were led to the front door by the driver and she saw her opportunity. She started her bike and sped to the van right when the guard was opening the door to let the three men inside the house. She stopped in front of the van and pulled the tracker off the grill, after retrieving it she gunned her motorcycle and sped off into the night.
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It was late and Kelly was tired. She slumped down on her bed and then saw her phone light up. The display read 'Lori'.
"Shit." Kelly muttered. She let it ring. Then after a few moments it ended. She shook her head and laid back on her bed. Then she heard the ping of a text notification. She picked it up and looked at the screen.
Lori: Why won't you talk to me? Kelly rolled her eyes. She should not reply. She should not reply. She repeated the mantra over and over again.
Lori: Talk to me. "Why won't this woman take a hint?" She whispered in frustration as she scowled at the screen.
Lori: Talk to me.
Lori: Please! "Oh my God!" Kelly yelled in her empty apartment as she keyed her response on the phone.
Kelly: I'm not talking to you. Stop calling me.
Lori: I'm sorry ok! It was a mistake! It was one time!
Kelly: That was one time too many. Goodbye.
Lori: Don't be that way baby. I love you.
Kelly: No. No. You don't get to say that to me ever again.
Lori: I love you! I'm sorry! Please talk to me!
Kelly: Stop texting me! I don't want to talk to you!
Lori: Kels I need you! I'm a mess without you! I cry all day and night!
Kelly: Good.
Lori: Please. Please. PLEASE!!! Just talk to me.
Kelly: No.
Lori: I'm a bitch OK! I'm a lying slut!!! I don't deserve you! But I love you so much! I need you baby!
Kelly: Stop it. Stop texting me.
Lori: You're breaking my heart Kels!
Kelly: Well you already broke mine when you cheated on me.
Lori: I can't live without you.
Kelly: Don't.
Lori: I won't live without you.
Kelly knew what this woman was capable of and it gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. "Fuck."
Kelly: Stop it Lori. It won't work.
Lori: Life has no meaning without you.
Kelly: Stop it! I mean it Lori!
Lori: I don't want to live without you.
Kelly: Don't do this!
Lori: I don't care. I won't live without you.
"God damnit Lori!" Kelly got up and grabbed her car keys, her blood running cold with panic.
Kelly: I'm coming over now! She did not wait for a reply text before she was out the door.
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