++++++Gargoyles++++++
Hours later Elisa looked up from her computer monitor. She had a vague memory of pulling into their assigned parking spot at the two-three and getting out of the car. She was still reeling from the tape. In order to corroborate Fox's story, they needed proof. After calling around to several other precincts regarding open homicide cases that looked like contract killings, they'd found one that fit their profile.
The bodies of six men had been pulled from the Hudson River five years ago. Each man had a tattoo of the letters I.L.A. on his forearm, along with a series of numbers. The coroner's report listed the cause of death as a single gun shot wound to the head. Elisa clicked with her mouse, and her computer screen paged to the next document.
Pictures of the bullets taken from the scene were laid out on a forensics' lab tray. "Shit," Matt muttered over her shoulder. "You know what those are?" he asked, pointing to the mushroom shapes. "Hollow points," Elisa answered. It took considerable time and skill to make a hollow point. A groove had to be dug into the tip of the bullet without causing any damage.
When the bullet reached its target, the hollowed point would expand, causing maximum destruction along the wound path. Regular bullets fall apart during flight, leaving shell casings on the ground, but a hollow point is reinforced with steel to ensure the bullet arrives intact. Ivan Puzic and his friends were dead before their bodies hit the ground. The bullets were so lethal they'd been outlawed in the U.S. several years ago. Elisa clicked next.
They both cringed at the bloated images of six corpses. The damage done from being submerged in water for several weeks had made it almost impossible to identify the victims. When the men failed to return home, a missing persons report had been filed with the Justice Department. The I.L.A. tattoo on their forearm, along with their rank and serial number, established who they were.
"Which one is Ivan Puzic?" Matt asked. Elisa glanced down at the photos faxed to them and then back at the six photos on her computer. She placed the cursor on the middle photo, then clicked to zoom in.
"I-I think he is," she said, identifying him by the serial numbers on his arm, visible on the fax and the autopsy photo. Any doubts about what Fox Xanatos was capable of was dispelled by the pictures.
"What are we gonna do?" Matt asked. Fox's statements, along with the evidence, was enough to incriminate her.
Elisa looked away from Matt, debating with herself. She knew there were three sides to every story. What he said, what she said, and - somewhere in the middle - was the truth. She replayed the coversation between Matt and Fox in her head. One part stuck out. "Over 8,000 people were killed," Fox had told Matt. She turned back around in her seat. "We find the weapons and make Puzic pay for killing thousands of innocent people."
She held Matt's gaze as she pressed the delete button on her computer. The pictures of the dead militants disappeared one by one. Matt pulled out his tape recorder and placed his thumb over the red erase button, in an instant his conversation with Fox was wiped out. Without the statement there was no case against her. Elisa would deal with her conscience and Fox Xanatos another day.
+++++Gargoyles++++++
Monique Jeffries, AKA Big Mama on the street, moved her mouth skillfully up and down the John's latex-covered shaft. Her tongue circled the mushroom head before wrapping her lips around it. He groaned in appreciation; the stranger lifted his hips, forcing more of himself into her mouth. She opened her mouth wider to accommodate his girth.
When his length was buried inside her warm mouth, she stuck out her tongue. Using a skill that had taken her years to learn, she licked his testicles while sucking his member. "Fuck!" the john shouted, looking between his legs at the woman who was taking him to heaven. Her cheeks caved in as she sucked him harder, sensing he was close. His manhood quivered, signaling his release. He grabbed the back of her head, holding it in place. The tip of the condom ballooned as it filled with semen.
Monique slowly raised her head, giving his shaft a long lick before releasing it from her mouth. She sat up in the passenger seat of his car. He was still breathing hard, watching her reapply plum lipstick to full lips. She noted, from the corner of her eye, that he was still semi-erect. 'Damn!' she thought to herself, he'd want another blow job or some ass. She was anxious to leave. The area he'd taken her to making her nervous. It was dark and deserted.
Monique guessed from the smell it was a landfill. "Come on, baby, do it again," he said, holding his penis at the base. "I'm still horny."
She glanced sideways, trying not to show her annoyance. "Sure, playa, but let's go someplace else. It stanks out here." He narrowed his eyes at her. "No!" he said. He yanked off the condom, throwing it at her. The contents splashed in her face. "I don't like those. Doesn't feel the same." He held his penis towards her.
"Suck it now, bitch," he commanded. She'd seen this before. It didn't matter if it was twenty dollars or a hundred. Some men felt once they'd paid for it, they owned you. Her hand slid to the switchblade she kept strapped to her thigh. She reached out, replacing his hand with hers. She wrapped long brown fingers around his thick shaft.
"Relax, baby, I'm gonna take real good care of you," she told him, keeping her voice low. She stroked him up and down. He thrust his hips to the rhythm of her hand, his eyes drifting shut. She brushed her thumb over the head of his penis, eliciting a deep groan from him. She pulled out her knife.
She pressed the steel against the base of his penis. "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to piss of a woman holding your dick?" His eyes snapped open. "Who's the bitch now! Motha fucka!" she yelled. He tried sitting up. "Don't," she yanked hard on the rapidly softening flesh "move," she warned. She removed her hand from his shaft but kept her knife poised over it.
The hooker reached behind her, searching for the door handle. When she found it, she opened the door and jumped out of the car, not bothering to look back. She moved as fast as she could in the stiletto heels she wore. The extra flesh she carried slowed her down even more."Fucking whore. I'm gonna kill you!" he screamed.
++++Gargoyles+++++
Monique listened to the john screaming obscenities as he searched for her. "I'm gonna shove my dick so far down your throat it's gonna come out your fat ass." She wanted to tell him he wasn't workin' with that much talent. Instead, she stayed low, crouched under a window.
Her heart beat rapidly, adrenaline pumping through her veins. If it came down to it, she'd fight; it wouldn't be the first - or the last - time she'd had to fight her way out of a bad situation. She could hear him walking near her hiding spot. His footsteps stopped.
She jumped, startled, by a loud bang. The sound of a door crashing open followed. She cocked her head, listening for the slightest sound. "Holy Mother!" he yelled. She could hear him running. Moments later, she heard a car peeling away.
She peeked cautiously over the windowsill. Silence and eerie darkness greeted her. She glanced around, eyes drawn to faint light coming from an open doorway. Monique knew something had scared the john. She walked outside, instinct telling her to run, but something pulled her to the open door. Gripping her knife tightly, she walked towards the other building. She placed a hand over her mouth when she entered. The stench almost overpowering her.
It smelled like urine, feces, and rotting meat. The hand holding the knife started to shake, but she forced herself to keep going. She made her way to the edge of a large room. Lying on blood soaked mattresses were naked, emaciated bodies. Dead eyes stared at her, their mouths open in silent screams.
Like the John Monique turned, prepared to flee.
"Help." She stopped, looking around the room, not sure she'd heard the softly spoken words. "Help me." Monique shook her head, telling herself there was nothing she could do. The landfill was out in the middle of nowhere. She'd be lucky to make it out alive; she couldn't carry an injured person back to the city.
Maybe the John would send help? The hooker closed her eyes, remembering how he'd run and left her stranded. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. "Hello! Where are you?" she called out.
"Please help me," the voice pleaded.
Monique's eyes strained in the dim light, searching in the direction of the call. She made her way toward the voice, afraid of what she'd find. She tripped over some boxes, startling a pack of rats. The rodents scattered, seeking protection in the dark. Behind a stack of wooden crates, she found what she'd been looking for. And What she found would haunt her for the rest of her life.
She stared down at the woman's bony frame, her ribs and swollen belly clearly visible. Wide eyes gazed back at Monique with a mixture of hope and fear. For the first time since she'd laid down for money, she called for divine intervention. "Lord, have mercy," she whispered.
(TBC)
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