Page 39 of Judas

That’s a bad word, Lucien.

I know is bad but I means it!

That was my friend, he talks to me sometimes. Especially when I do bad things, reminds me to be a good boy or else coal in my Santa sock again.

“Come on, we are going back to the shed. I found you some noodles and warmed them up. You can have a full tummytonight and we can look outside the window and look for shooting stars before sleep time.”

“Okay!”

That night we didn’t see shooting stars, just a lot of big bright ones, and the moon. It was so jynormuss, like I can touch it, is so huge. I wonder if Nadia counts shooting stars, too.

The next day I sit on the back porch of the big house and make mad face at the ground-hair. Mommy says I share her with Nadia but I don’t like that. Why do I have to share her? Do other boys share their mommy too? I don’t share Daddy. Mean man don’t be shared. Why I have to share Mommy then? Pushing away from the hard porch, I run over to the edge of the grass and stomp on it. Makes me so angry. I keep pounding my wee-woo shoes on the ground and smoosh the grass.

In the middle of my tirade, I hear someone sniffle like they have a cold nose, and freeze like policemen say. Turning around to see where it is coming from and who is making it. Looking left, then right, I hear it again and follow it down the back of the big house. It is wood all the way into the dirt, grey like the sky with vines climbing the side. Like a jungle, I think.

Hearing it again, louder this time, I finally come up to a window that’s open some and see the little girl sitting at her desk. She is crying. Not a cold nose, but rain from her eyes.

Holding on to the edge of her window, I push up on my toes to get a better look at what she is doing and there on her color pages is the sun I made for her. But…she has a dark crayon in her hand and scribbling over the sun. The princess face too, then the dress, and the flower I colored for her.

What is happen, Nadia? You not like my picture?

Part of me wants to rain, too, but other side, the voice side, wants to be mean. To tell her she no good for make my picture a mess. I was nice to her; some sister she is.

I watch her for a while longer, until her rain dries and she puts her colors away. She has a red nose now, and big eyes that are so sad. I don’t understand why she’s like that but seeing her rain, it makes her more pretty. Daddy is right; girl versions of me are pretty but I don’t like them like he does. I just want to look at her, and make her smile. If she’s my sister, then she can come with Mommy and me, and I can teach her how to draw suns and not scribbles.

I can teach her how to be happy, just like me.

Chapter fourteen

Babel

Present Day

Ihave seen a lot of shit in my day. And when I say a lot, I mean more than about two metric tons of shit. Mav sent me to this gig, and we will be having some words once I get back. He needs an assassin, not protection detail. While I may have the skill set to wipe this fuck off the face of the Earth, Mav didn’t give me the authority to be a butcher.

This is the Wilson case. Sixteen year old Sadie Aurora Wilson. Daughter of Nadia Pierce, incarcerated, and Kace Patton, son of Franklin Patton. Adopted daughter of Victoria and Carl Wilson. Born at Munising Memorial Hospital in Munising, Michigan. Biological father and adoptive parents are deceased. Biological mother still living. Five foot, seven inches tall. One-hundred andforty-five pounds. Caucasian, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes. Plays softball, was in cheer, attends therapy sessions once a week, doesn’t drive and has no current job. Typical suburban neighborhood girl-next-door with a quiet life until all went bad.

Mav mobilized me a week and a half ago, after the girl was already reported as missing. Her uncle, Lucien Charles Bardot, had abducted her just a few days prior to my arrival. When I investigated the house, the crime scene wasn’t interesting enough to stay around. I wasn’t there to determine the cause of death or move bodies, as my services were needed elsewhere. Leaving her deceased parents lying, a few battlefield flashbacks feeding my PTSD, I did what I do best and hunted both of them down.

On the east side of Duluth, I caught them coming out of a truck stop. His hand was wrapped firmly around the back of her neck, leading her around possessively. Before they returned to the car they stole, she wheeled around on him and started giving him an ear full. Through my binoculars, I watched his face morph into something dark and it set every one of my senses on edge. Before she was done reaming him, he reached back and slapped her across her already-damaged face.

There are some things I will turn away from, because it’s not my fight, but this is not one of them. Hitting a woman, strike one. Hitting a child, strike two. One more, buddy, and Mav can fucking kiss my ass. I’ll put a bullet between his eyes and let the girl find her way home on her own.

From Duluth, they hit Grand Forks and laid low in a sleazy motel. What should have been a red flag to the receptionist was normal day-to-day operations when you look at the other… guests. That night, I watched the TV flicker for hours before it finally shut off around three in the morning. I keep watch a little while longer before I let my eyes rest—I’m old now and don’t have the same energy I did when I was in the service.

What would have taken a normal person just a couple days, takes these two forever. I guess this Lucien character is keen on lollygagging around, batting his prey around like mice. It aggravates the hell out of me but I keep out of sight and don’t charge in. I was given instruction only to observe, not step in, unless I thought the girl’s life was in immediate danger. He likes to smack her around; he’s aggressive, physically abusive, but I see the darkness in her eyes too. She dishes it right back—the most fucked-up dynamic I’ve had to witness and not take point on.

They hit Minot, Fort Peck, Chinook, and now we are in Sandpoint, Idaho, nestled along Schweitzer Mountain. It’s pretty through here—lots of places to hide, which I don’t like a single bit. Not with the way these two duck and weave through public like they’re ghosts. They exist on paper, but right now, this guy is as undocumented as it gets.

On my way out here, my phone blew up on the airplane. Matter of fact, ‘blow up’ doesn’t quite cover it. I know I had the damn thing on airplane mode when we took off and there was no need to access the Internet when I had everything I needed downloaded to my phone. Halfway through the flight, every device around me started to scream and scrawl but mine, though it was silent, was the only one with an actual call sitting on the screen.

When I answered, it was a very intense five minute conversation between myself and some fuck named Havok. From what he said, he was the one who contacted Mav and threw the entire file at him regarding the Wilson case. Let me tell you, most people look for the basics—who, what, when, where, how—then do the damn thing, but this guy was beyond thorough. Some advanced intelligence, Pentagon-Illuminati type shit. Every year of this girl's life was meticulously labeled,profiled, and placed in the order in which things happened. I was fucking impressed, to say the least.

When I got to the Wilson residence, I found myself relaying the data to him more than to Mav. I can’t quite explain the camaraderie I developed with Havok then, almost felt like the old days. Which is a different story for a different day.

Havok was able to drag up this guy’s identity and is in the process of sending it over via the satellite link we all use for seamless communication. I shot Mav a text, getting the access codes and gave him the details. Let him know that we could dig into the rogue when I get done with the case. Mav and I butted heads, of course, just like his old man, but he relented. He had one of the other guys firewall a subsection of the server just for Havok and I to use, then boobytrapped the outside of it like a battlefield.

Definitely like his old man.

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