This story is a prequel to the first Natalie McMasters novel, Stripper!
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Shit happens.
It’s totally an excuse. Something that people say to explain things that don’t make sense – a lightning bolt hits a tree and a falling limb kills some poor schmuck just walking down the street. Shit happens. Wrong place, wrong time. You know how it goes.
But then there’s the other shit – the really bad shit that people do. Nine-eleven. People who microwave kittens, or babies. Shit, that when you hear about it, you want to shut it out, not think about it, but you just can’t help it, because it plays over and over again in your head. And it’s even worse when you see it for yourself. You can’t just say, “Shit happens,” and get away with it.
So I’m writing this to try and make sense out of something that makes no sense. Or maybe it does make sense and I don’t want to accept it. Or maybe, shit just happens.
My name is Natalie McMasters. I’m twenty, short and blonde (OK, it’s bleached), way cute and a pre-law student at State. And I’m also a private detective – a private detective trainee, to be precise.
It starts in Constitutional History class. Dr. Mac is going on about the reasons why two amendments proposed by James Madison as part of the Bill of Rights were not ratified when my cell phone goes off. Of course it’s silenced but the vibration makes me jump.
“You have a comment, Ms. McMasters?”
“No ma’am.” The tingling stops – it’s kicking over to voicemail.
Of course, I have a terrible time paying attention from then on because it might be Michael, calling to tell me he was just kidding – he really hadn’t gotten engaged to somebody else while he was still engaged to me. Yeah, right.
So first thing when I get out of class, I dig the phone out. Dr. Mac walks by as I’m calling voicemail and says, “You know, students really shouldn’t bring those things to class, even if they’re quiet. You just weren’t there for the last fifteen minutes!”
I smile sheepishly as the mechanical voice starts up in my ear, “You have one new message. Press “1” to listen.”
I hit the key, and then swallow my disappointment as I hear Uncle Amos.
“Hey, Nattie. I need you to relieve me as soon as you get this. I’m like to bust a kidney. I’m parked in front of 415 Smith Street. See you soon.”
Uncle Amos is my mother’s brother who runs a detective agency out of a nearby small town, mainly ‘cause he doesn’t want to pay the rent on an office here in the state capital. He’s hired me as his assistant while I’m in school. The pay ain’t great but the work ain’t hard – most of the time I can study in the car while I’m on stakeout. Most of his business comes from dogging insurance scofflaws, waiting for them to do something for the camera that shows they’re not hurt as badly as they say. He even got me a private detective trainee’s license from the state, of which I’m prouder than I like to let on.
So I walk to my car and punch 415 Smith Street into the GPS. It’s not long before I see his old Chevy, parked halfway up the block. I park a little ways behind then walk up and let myself in the passenger side.
Uncle Amos leans towards me, and I meet him half way so he can give me a peck on the cheek.
Uncle Amos is as Southern as grits, biscuits and country ham, all of which he consumes way too much of. He’s not a lot taller than my 5’1” but he’s easily double my weight. He’s not quite sixty and I constantly worry that he’s not going to make it there if he doesn’t stop with the fatty food and the cigarettes. He has a broad, likeable face topped off with a shock of pure white hair. It’s a great face for a PI – it makes people just naturally want to tell him things. He’s wearing his usual cheap, wrinkled suit with the collar open and his tie pulled halfway down the front of his shirt – I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with it done up properly. Magnum P.I. he ain’t, but he’s my uncle and I love him.
“Whatcha got?” I ask.
His eyes narrow critically as he looks me over.
“That’s a fine way to dress on stakeout.” I’m wearing a tube top with my belly bare, and short shorts.
“Hey, I was in class! I didn’t go home to change ‘cause you were like, get here ASAP.”
“That’s a fine way to dress for class,” he snorts.
“Whatcha got?” I ask again.
“See the little white house three doors up?” he asks rhetorically. “Our boy lives there. Randall Leighton. He builds houses. Claims he pulled somethin’ in his back on his last job and now he cain’t work a lick. Got hisself a great big disability policy, so I reckon he could be out for a long time. Insurance company just wants to make sure they’re not givin’ him an extended vacation.”
The house is small, no more than a thousand square feet, with a screened porch on the side farthest from us. A blue Ford van that has seen better days is parked in the driveway on the other side.
“Lives alone?”
“Yep,” says Uncle Amos. “Hasn’t stirred today. You take him the rest of the day?”
“Sure.” I pause, thinking, and then ask, “Can he get out of there without the van?” I want to save myself to trouble of casing the street, knowing that Uncle Amos has already done it.
“Not real easy,” Uncle Amos says. “Railroad tracks at the bottom of an embankment behind the house and they’s nothin’ on the other side but a car dealership and the highway. You saw the mom ‘n pop shop at the end of the street when you came in?” I nod. “He leaves without the van, likely that’s where he’s bound. Ain’t really nothin’ else in the neighborhood. They got biscuits and hot dogs down there, you get hungry. But be careful. He can get out with the van at the other end of the street and you’d never see him go if you’re down there. Okay?”
I nod again.
“Good,” he says. “I been here since sunup. I’ll wait if you want to get some food, elsewise I’d like to be gone.”
“I’ll be okay till dinner,” I say, “but I’d better get some smokes”. Typically, we don’t do round-the-clock surveillance on these insurance cases. It’s usually enough just to catch your mark carrying a heavy trash can out to the street, running after a kid, or pushing a lawn mower. One time, I even got a picture of a guy working out on a rowing machine in the gym who claimed he’d thrown his back out!
“You need to quit that mess,” says Uncle Amos, referring to my smokes.
“You smoke! You need to lose some weight, too!”
Once back in my car, I wait until Uncle Amos is gone, then pull up nearer to Leighton’s house. I get out my Constitutional History book, light up a smoke and begin to read with an eye on Leighton’s door.
It’s nearly dinner time and I’m thinking about calling it a day when Leighton comes out. I get a pretty good look at him during the short time it takes him to get in the van. He’s nearly six foot and a little paunchy, probably in his forties with brown hair and a bald spot on top. He’s wearing a tight-fitting, striped polo shirt and a pair of Dockers. He fires up the van, backs out and turns toward me. I sink down in the driver’s seat as he passes but he doesn’t even look my way. I watch in the mirror until he turns at the end of the block before I follow.
Leighton is easy to tail – why shouldn’t he be, he has no idea that anyone’s interested in him. We end up at a large Chinese restaurant less than a mile away. As he turns into the parking lot, I briefly consider just going on home, but then I pull right in after him. What can it hurt, he doesn’t know me from Eve – this way I can get a really good look at him. I give him a minute or two and then follow him inside.
As I step into the ostentatious lobby, I realize I’ve screwed up. Leighton is at the take-out counter, picking up a large brown bag. Wow, dude must be totally crazy about Chinese food – there’s gotta be enough in that bag for three or four meals! I can’t risk following him back outside, but it’s likely he’s just returning home. This time he does notice me as he passes – his eyes go straight to my boobs, then strip away my tube top and my shorts as they slowly slide down my body. Great, the dude’s a letch! Now I really hope I can catch him carrying bricks with my digital camera!
***
The next day, Saturday, I follow Leighton to the mall. Since I know ahead of time I’ll be staking him out I dress to show a lot less skin, wearing hiking boots instead of sandals, a NASCAR hat to hide my blonde hair and a pair of aviator sunglasses. With the crowd of shoppers as cover, he hasn’t a clue that I’m around. He heads straight for a sleazy lingerie shop. As I pretend to examine an outfit that I wouldn’t be caught dead in through the window, I feel my face flushing as I watch him pick out a bra, panties, stockings and garters, all in obscenely bright vermillion! Well, who’s the lucky girl? Not!
That evening, I decide to do something I shouldn’t. Uncle Amos has given me strict orders to take no chances on these surveillance jobs, both to avoid alerting the subject that somebody’s interested in him and to keep myself safe. But by now, I totally don’t like Leighton and I want to catch him doing something he shouldn’t be able to. So after dark, I check out the brightly lit windows of his house with my zoom lens. I figure my chances of getting caught are pretty low; my car is in relative darkness under a tree.
Leighton doesn’t believe in curtains, so I have no trouble seeing into the house. Problem is, I don’t see him, even after I watch for several minutes. He’s got to be in in the back of the house, because I watched him go inside and he sure hasn’t come out again.
As I get out of the car, a little voice in my head is telling me that I’m being way stupid. I trot down the block and around the corner to the railroad tracks, then walk along the tracks until I figure I’m just about to his back yard. I clamber up the embankment, having a little trouble with the kudzu, and I’m looking at the back of Leighton’s house. The windows are unlit, but there seems to be a faint glow coming from somewhere. Then I see from where. Regularly spaced around the cinder block foundation are small basement windows, painted white against the white foundation. Funny I didn’t notice them earlier when I was watching the front of the house.
The little voice in my head gets louder as I crawl across the back yard on my hands and knees, trying to keep the telephoto lens dangling between my arms from picking up a coat of mud. Now I’m next to the foundation, and I just about press my nose against a basement window, but I can’t see inside – the paint is too thick. A scratch with my fingernail confirms it’s on the inside. I wonder, do I really want to see what he’s doing down there, with that hooker’s rig he bought today, and no woman? I shudder as a whole bunch of nasty images whirls through my mind.
I freeze as a light comes on almost directly over my head then shrink as close to the house as I can. Leighton must’ve come back upstairs and now he’s in the room directly above me!
The little voice in my head is shrieking as I inch up to peer into the bedroom. There’s a shade on the window but it’s not pulled all the way down. I’m looking at him across his unmade bed as he stands there wearing only a pair of tight black jeans, wiping his hands and arms on a towel. Like I said, he’s a little paunchy, but I can see the muscles rippling in his arms and back. His hair is mussed and his torso gleams with a thin film of sweat, or is it something else? It doesn’t look like there’s a thing wrong with his back, either, but he’s not doing anything that I can photograph to prove that. The hooker’s rig he bought is nowhere in sight. As he turns toward me, I duck down. I hold my breath and hug the side of the house as closely as I can. Did he see me?
It seems forever before the light goes out. I wait several minutes more before I edge along the wall of the house to the corner. I’m tempted to go out the driveway to the street and my car but I don’t want to be seen coming out of his yard, so I crawl back to the embankment. It’s a lot harder going down than coming up – the kudzu entangles my ankles and I end up going ass over teakettle the last ten feet. I painfully struggle erect and walk down the tracks, picking embedded gravel out of my palms and hoping I didn’t trash an expensive telephoto lens.
Next afternoon, I’m back on Smith Street wondering if I’ll ever get the goods on this asshole. Of course, I didn’t say anything to Uncle Amos when I relieved him about what I saw last night. I’m totally thinking about sending Leighton a box of rocks by UPS, just so I can snap his picture when he picks it up off his porch!
I’m not there long when he comes out and fires up the van. Gee, where are we off to today? I follow him about half a mile to a grocery store. As he gets out of the van, I pull my cell phone, with its camera, out of my pocket to have in hand while we’re in the store. Maybe he’ll buy a case of bottled water or something and I can catch him lifting it into his cart.
I get a cart and try to stay close to him without getting too close. I’m pretty sure he didn’t notice my face at all at the Chinese restaurant – he was way more interested in the rest of me. I’m still wearing the sunnies and the hat, but I don’t want to blow it now. All I need is to stay in camera range.
He’s a pretty boring shopper. He heads straight for the frozen food and gets a bunch of dinners. He gets some canned stuff, a six-pack of soda, a six pack of beer, and a loaf of bread. He stops at the back of the store and leaves his cart to go to the rest room so I check it out he‘s got a couple of chicken dinners, two lasagnas, two meatloafs. A couple of cans of chili, a couple more of beef stew. I move on and wait till he comes out. He heads to the checkout, plucking a bottle from a shelf as he goes. I glance at the shelf as I pass to see what he got. Violet-scented bubble bath! Now what the hell does macho-man want with that mess?
I wait till he gets into the checkout line, then I go through the self-checkout, buying a loaf of bread just so he doesn’t happen to notice me leaving the store with nothing. I want to be in my car before he gets outside. Something is nagging at the back of my mind, but I’m not sure what.
As I follow him back to his house, it all starts to fall in place. The hooker’s rig. Too much Chinese food. Paint on the basement windows. Two of everything in the grocery store. Bubble bath!
“What do you mean, he’s got a woman locked up in his basement?” Uncle Amos bawls. “Did you see her?” I hold the cell phone away from my ear.
“No, but…” I explain about the food, the lingerie, and the bubble bath. “And he drives a van!” To me, that’s the capper!
“Means nuthin’!” Uncle Amos barks. “’Sides, all you need to do is get me a picture of him takin’ out the garbage!”
“There was this guy in the midwest, Ohio, I think, who had three girls locked up in his house for years! They finally got him when the girls got away!” I hesitate, then I tell him what I saw when I snuck up to Leighton’s house last night.
Now he’s totally p.o.’d. “Nattie, I told you the ground rules when I hired you. And now, you tell me you broke ever’ one of ‘em! If he’d a seen you, he could’a had you thrown in jail for peepin’, and sued the pants off’a me besides! I promised your mama and daddy I’d take care of you before I hired you! You’re off this case as of right now! Don’t you be there when I get there!” The phone goes dead.
Great. Now I’ve gone and lost the best job I’ve ever had.
That night at home, I get on Google and find the guy I’d told Uncle Amos about. It’s Ohio, all right. I become more and more horrified as I read the story. The guy kidnaps three women in all, holds them for years, and does unspeakable things to them. One of the girls finally gets loose while he’s gone, and gets the neighbors to call the cops.
Worst thing of all – this isn’t the only case like this. I have to make myself quit pulling up the websites. I’m sure that something similar is going on in Leighton’s basement, behind those painted windows! But what can I do about it?
I can’t go to the cops, that’s for sure. If Uncle Amos doesn’t believe me, what chance do I have with them?
I go to a local TV station’s website and look for reports of a missing girl. All I can find are cases that have already been solved – a couple runaways, a couple murders. I give it up for the night and go to bed.
***
I sleep badly that night – when I close my eyes, I see the pictures of that dump in Ohio.
Next morning, I decide to give Uncle Amos one more try. It’s worse than I thought. Not only am I totally fired, he’s also decided to give up on Leighton altogether!
“We watched him for near a week and didn’t see one sign that he’s not as bad off as he says he is,” he says. “Not everybody we investigate is guilty, you know.”
Great. So now Leighton is totally free to do whatever he wants to that poor girl in the basement. Excellent work, Nattie!
So that night I’m parked on Smith Street again. Not for Uncle Amos this time but for me. I haven’t got the slightest idea of what I’m going to do, but I know I’ve got to do something. If I can only just get in there, somehow. Problem is, Leighton never seems to leave his place at night. Probably got better things to do at home, I think bitterly. Then it hits me. Maybe he needs a reason to go out! Now, if I can just find Leighton’s number on my cell…
Five minutes later, I’m punching in his number. It rings once, twice, three times, then, “Hi. This is Randy. I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but if you’ll leave me a message, I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.” Dammit! Think fast, Nattie!
“Hi, Randy,” I purr in my most seductive voice. “I’m Natalie. You don’t know me, but I totally know you. I even know what you’ve been doing to that girl in your basement. And you know what?” I pause a beat “Maybe I want you to do it to me, too.” I pause again, thinking furiously. “I’m going to be at Red’s Place down by State for the next couple hours. Come by if you want to meet me. I’m blonde, five one and way cute. I’ll be wearing a pink tube top and white short shorts. Hope to see you soon.”
Now, I’m back in my car waiting, with too much time to think. What if he gets scared and offs her? I sure don’t want to catch him dumping the body. Or maybe he’ll just cut her up and bury her right there in the basement! Maybe I just need to go up there and ring his doorbell…
I’m halfway out of the car when I see his side door open. I freeze, praying he doesn’t look this way!
I must’ve really put a load on his mind, because he jumps in his van without a sideways glance, fires it up and takes off.
Red’s is about fifteen minutes away. Give him another ten or so to find out he’s been had, so I’ve got a little more than half and hour to get in and out. Now, how to get in?
I always have a little flashlight in my backpack that I carry when I’m walking on campus at night. I dig out my Swiss Army knife as well. Some burglar’s kit! The front door is no good, it’s solid and there’s a streetlight right there. The streetlight illuminates the side door by the driveway as well. That leaves the screened porch on the other side once I get in there no one should see me as long as I’m careful with my light.
I check the street to be sure all the neighbors are inside, then nip across to the screened porch. The door is latched on the inside but the Swiss Army knife makes short work of the screen and I’m in. The door to the house is old-fashioned, with a half window on top made up of a bunch of little panes. I use the butt of the flashlight to break out one near the lock, hoping it doesn’t have a key on both sides. It doesn’t. I open the door, step inside and now I’m a felon! If I’m wrong about that basement and I get caught, it’s bye-bye law school!
The house is tiny – it’s only about five steps across the living room to the basement door, which is right across from the front door. I unlatch the front door thinking it’s another way out of here fast if I need it. The basement door is your typical inside door, painted white, with a glass knob and no lock. I pull it open and flash my light inside.
Whoa! Now I know that I’m totally right about this dude! Instead of a stairway going down, I see another solid metal door! Padlocked!
I know that you can sometimes open a combination lock by just turning the dial a little bit if the owner didn’t give it a good spin when he locked it. I pull hard on the hasp and inch the dial around clockwise – no luck! I try again, the other way no, dammit! Now what am I gonna do? I’ve got to get into that freakin’ basement!
Naturally, I forgot to look at my watch before I came in here but I figure it’s been about five minutes ten at the outside – so I’ve got the best part of half an hour left. I remember Daddy telling me once, when I was trying to get into college, “Nattie, if you can’t get in through the door, get in through the window.” So that’s what I’ll have to do.
In less than a minute I’m outside, around the back. The painted windows are dark. I lay on the ground on my side and break out one with my boot heel, but my foot hits something solid past the glass. I shine the light and see a glint of metal. Dude is taking no chances – there’s a heavy wire mesh covering the window on the inside! I break out the rest of the glass with the back of my flashlight, then lay on my side again and kick at the wire mesh.
Crunch!
Christ, it’s strong! I hope the whole neighborhood didn’t hear that!
Another kick, and it loosens. A couple more and my foot breaks through into nothingness, but my jeans are caught on the wire and I can’t pull my foot back out again! I panic and struggle and the wire cuts through the denim and sinks into my ankle! Then reason prevails and I use my other foot to push back the mesh so I can free my foot.
My flashlight lets me see that I’ve kicked the mesh away from the bottom and sides of the window frame, but it’s still mostly attached at the top. Now the question is, can I get inside? I’m petite, but that window is still going to be way tight. I stick my head inside and see that I’ve broken into a bathroom – the window is over one of those old-fashioned, clawfoot bathtubs. A strong odor of violets tells me where the bubble bath went.
I’m going to have to go in belly-down, feet first. I strip off my jacket and ball it up in one hand – it would probably help prevent my getting scratched by the wire, but it could prevent my getting in at all. There’s a bad moment when I get to my hips and another when I get to my boobs, but I take a deep breath, exhale and I’m in! I check my watch – nearly fifteen minutes have gone by! Way too much time!
I flash the light around – this is a totally outrageous bathroom! There’s a plush pink rug on the tile floor and a gold glints from the fixtures on the tub and the pedestal sink. The tile runs halfway up the walls. There’s a door on the opposite wall just a step away from me. A sliver of light gleams from the crack at the bottom.
I open the door and step into an elegant lady’s boudoir. The walls are not your typical concrete basement walls, but are covered instead with flowery wallpaper. There’s double bed with a pink coverlet, fluffy pillows and pink sheets that are turned back and inviting, and a white lace canopy. Pink cords dangle from the bedposts. There’s an expensive-looking vanity and chair – the hooker’s rig Leighton bought is draped over the back of the chair. A bench near the foot of the bed is covered in pink fluff and has hinged sections at the ends, which can be slanted up or down. There’s a big pink and gold armoire against one wall. The whole place reeks of violets but there’s another odor too, an underlying, subtle stink like in a gym or a rest room. And there’s a large hook embedded in the ceiling near the center of the room. I shudder when I see it. Worst of all, there’s no sign of an occupant.
There’s one door out of here besides the one leading to the bathroom. I try it, and it’s locked. I put my shoulder to it and it doesn’t even budge – there’s hardly a sound when I hit it. I know I’m not getting out that way without a fire axe.
Dammit! Where has he got her? I still haven’t got enough to get the cops in here – all I’d get is a jail term for breaking and entering!
I try the armoire; it’s the only thing in here big enough to hold a person. I swing open the doors, then wish I hadn’t! Hanging inside are several whips, some with small pieces of metal braided into the leather, various restraint devices made of cord, leather and metal, knives of assorted sizes, and a machete. There are also more articles of feminine clothing, all pink and obviously revealing. Despite myself, I examine the metal blades on one whip and I think I see faint brownish stains. Now maybe there’s enough for the cops. Just maybe.
In desperation, I turn to the vanity, but all I find is cosmetics and makeup, the latter in vibrant colors I wouldn’t wear to a PJ party. The lower drawers have yet more articles of clothing, best left undescribed.
I don’t know what makes me look under the bed, but I do and see a wooden box about a foot high and six feet long. It has rope handles on the sides, like a casket. I pull it’s heavy! I pull harder, and it begins sliding out from under the bed. There are air holes in the top! Oh, Jesus!
When I get it completely out, I see another padlock on the side.
“Hang on!” I holler. “I’m gonna get you outta there!” But how? The machete!
It takes several whacks for me to get the lock off. I throw open the lid, tears streaming down my cheeks.
She’s eighteen, maybe twenty, naked and has no hair or eyebrows. I can see the scars from the whips on her legs and torso. Her eyes are wide open, staring. I grab her shoulders and shake her. A flicker of her eyelids reassures me that she’s still alive. I pull her upright by the shoulders and crush her face to my bosom, sobbing.
“That son of a bitch! Honey, I’m gonna get you out of here!”
“Nice to meet you, Natalie!”
I spin around and he’s there in the doorway. That door is so heavy, I never heard him coming! He’s got a vile, lecherous smirk on his face.
“You are way cute! You want me to do it to you, too, do you! I think we can arrange that!”
As he moves towards me, I roll away from the girl and grab the machete. I come up on my knees, pointing it at him.
His grin broadens. “Now, what do you think you’re going to do with that, little girl?”
Not much, unless I can get on my feet. I get one leg under me and start to raise up, and he lunges! Off-balance, I swing the machete but he stops suddenly and lets it go by, then dives on me. Christ, he’s strong! He gets hold of my machete hand and squeezes. I can’t hold it anymore! He grabs the collar of my blouse and picks me up bodily. He throws me against the wall near the bathroom door – lights flash in my eyes and all the breath goes out of me. God, I am so screwed!
He’s not done. A boot crashes into my chest! I hear something crack inside as I’m thrown back against the wall again. Jesus, I hope he does kill me! He picks me up again, by one arm and the throat, squeezing, as he rants,
“Ooooh, I’m going to have so much fun breaking you…”
Suddenly, his eyes glaze and blood spurts from his mouth! He lets me go and I fall to the floor, then his whole weight is on top of me, forcing the air from my lungs!
When I come to, I struggle out from under him. He’s as dead as a dog on the side of the road, with one of the knives from the armoire sticking in his back. The girl from the box is just sitting there in the vanity chair, with his blood all over her hands and chest, staring at him, but I wonder if she even sees him. I drape her with the coverlet from the bed, and she never moves.
I take her into the bathroom and clean her up. She doesn’t resist. I call the cops from the upstairs phone, and when they come, I tell them I killed him. I figure she’s going to have enough to deal with without that too.
I find out later that she was taken from a city in a neighboring state and that he had her locked up for about three months. Her folks went crazy looking for her. The cops tell me she spent most of her time in the box, except when he had her out to abuse her. The bathroom, the cosmetics and the clothes were her rewards for being “good”.
Before the cops came, she managed to tell me that the thought of killing him was the only thing that kept her sane in that box.
I wish it was me that killed him! I totally do!
Now I’m back in my room at home, and there’s a knock on the door. It’s Kwaniesha, telling me that Roderigo Hernandez is on the phone. He wants to interview me tomorrow. I tell her to tell him I’ll call him back and to tell the same to anybody else who calls.
On second thought, maybe I better talk to Roderigo – the cops tell me that the DA is considering charges against me, anything from breaking and entering to murder. I might just need the money!
It totally makes no sense at all. Shit happens.
– END –