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Each time I enter that apartment, the air smells of her. I sit patiently in the armchair by the window. I smoke my cigarettes, knowing all too well she’ll smell them. The smell will put her on high alert. The adrenaline will begin to pump through her body, her brain will begin to convince her she can escape. But we both know she doesn’t want to; she wants to see what lurks beneath the mask.
Each interaction we have confuses her more, making her question what’s right and wrong. I can’t think about the future, likely because I have no intention of making it. This work is dangerous and dirty, with far too many risks.
“he’s heading out the side door now. Keep an eye on him. I’m not far behind.” As soon as I hear Axe’s words, the door to the bar opens, and a dishevelled drunk stumbles out.
“Great, gotta deal with some fucking pissed moron.” I mumble.
“Problem?” Jimmy quirks a brow.
“No, they just always think they’re invincible after a couple of drinks.”
“He’s had more than a couple.”
Switching on the ignition, the rickety van rumbles to life. Looking towards the target again, the noise of the van hasn’t alerted him to our presence. Likely, he’s paying no attention to what’s happening around him.
“Sooooo…” I glance at Jimmy, who’s running through the target file. “Finn Reid, thirty-seven years old. Just acquitted for the rape and violent assault against his wife Sarah, after she refused to testify in court.”
I shake my head, trying not to let my eyes roll. It’s not that I don’t have empathy for victims because I do. It’s the anger I feel towards people who prey on the vulnerable, manipulating them for their own gain, traumatizing them over and fucking over again because they’re just shells. Shells waiting to be swept away, when the fucking predator has no use for them or finds a new victim to torment.
“How did we come by this one?”
“Our good friend at the women’s shelter witnessed Finn hanging around but never saw him interact with Sarah. She refused to testify in court a day later and went back to him.”
“Why are we here, though? We can’t force her to testify. We usually only deal with victims who want justice?” I ask curiously.
“A week ago, she came back to the shelter. Sarah took another severe beating and ended up being taken to the hospital. When she was there, they told her she was pregnant.” Jimmy answers solemnly.
“Fuck…” I mutter, keeping my eyes on Finn as he stumbles through the street.
“The baby is ok, but I guess that’s the wakeup call she needed. She went to Pamela; Pamela came to me.”
“Take it there’s no chance he’ll change?” I ask sarcastically, quirking a brow.
Jimmy shoots me a cold look. My humor isn’t for everyone, and I know as well as anyone that violent and cruel bullies will never change. With a baby on the way, it just means a new victim is arriving for him.
“We’ll head to the end of his street; Axe is following from here.” Jimmy gestures towards Axe, who’s silently following Finn through the badly lit street.
With his hood up concealing his face, from here, it looks like the devil himself is following him. Axe stands well over six feet and is as broad as he is tall. A former US marine, the discipline he was taught treats him well in this little hobby. His immense patience is something I should probably take notice of, but I’m too reckless and out of control for him. My anger clouds my judgement, I hoped it would subside in time, but it hasn’t; if it hasn’t by now, it likely never will.
“Axe, you good with that?” I speak via the radio.
“All good, Two. Take into account this guy is fucking rinsed. It could take a while. I’ll call if there’s an issue.”
The van picks up the speed and heads towards Finn’s house. As we pass the rundown property, I feel a shudder slither up my spine as we park on the quiet road. Luckily for us, the gardens are so unkempt and overgrown, this tatty van would go unnoticed.
Fuck, this looks like where I used to live…
As my eyes scan the dark street, an unnatural cold feeling begins to settle over me. The once white small houses are now falling apart, dirty and rotten. I swallow hard, knowing all too well the sadness that’s likely going on behind each closed door. Kids watching their parents get high, begging them to stop, to pay them some attention, hell, even fucking feed them. The arguments turn violent, leaving the younger, smaller members in the home to pick up the fucking pieces of their lost hope.
Clenching my fists, I count to ten. As much as I want to walk into each home and kill every bad person in there and save the kids, I know I can’t. I learned a very long time ago.
You can’t save them all.
I can still smell the whisky and cigarette smoke from the back room of the bar. I can feel the sweat on my skin, and I can hear those words. The memory is so vivid, even now, eight years later, something I’ll never allow myself to forget. The first time, I felt like I was doing some good, even if what was proposed on paper sounded wrong.
“How’s things with Summer?” Jimmy asks, yet I hear the concern in his voice.
When I don’t answer, he turns to me, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh.
