Tracking Evil: The Web Pt. 07

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil: The Web Part 7

Tracking Evil: The Web Part 7

Recap:

As there has been some crossover on this series between 'Tracking Evil: A Podcast', 'Tracking Evil: The Web' and the collaborative work with Harry Flashman 'Tracking Evil: Nordland', I thought a quick recap was in order.

Four women are involved in an ongoing effort to expose a cabal of serial killers known as The Web. They are an investigative reporter, Erica Anderson and her three friends, Arlene McGuigan a former Deputy Sheriff, Denisa Teodoroiu a Bounty Hunter and Shondra a weapons expert.

An attempt was made by two agents of The Web, acting under orders of their leader a millionaire CEO of a pharmaceutical company who goes by the title of The Spider, to kill both Erica and her newborn child. It was foiled by Denisa who killed the two men but was badly wounded in the effort. To remain safe the four women split up, hiding their identities and locations while they sought clues as to identities of people involved with The Web.

A number of important events happened while the women were apart. Erica fell under the spell of a killer called Rufus who became obsessed with her. Erica was rescued from this peril by Shondra. Arlene, posing as a fence for the criminal underworld ended up becoming pregnant during a one-night stand. And finally, Denisa was kidnapped by agents of The Web, the gun battle making headline news and alerting the others to her predicament.

Erica, Arlene and Shondra then focused on finding Denisa as their top priority, enlisting every friend, ally and contact they had made during their war with The Web.

Acting on a tip that proved to be false, Erica travelled to Nordland where she encountered Emelie Vikander. This young police officer aided Erica in verifying that Denisa had not been smuggled into that country, Erica repaying the favor by assisting Emelie in solving a string of murders. During their time together, an unidentified individual shadowed the two women, his presence remaining unnoticed by them.

Chapter One:"Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

To an uninformed by-passer, The Tempest Bar and Grill looked like it must have seen busier nights. Though a virtually empty parking lot, excepting a couple of vehicles belonging to staff members, was in fact the norm for this particular place. Located just outside of Chase City, Virginia, it was considered off limits by most of the local residents, those that saw themselves as respectable at least.* See Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt.02

What this meant was that the roar of a motorcycle's engine, followed by the crunching of gravel beneath its tires as it pulled off the road and into the parking lot in front of The Tempest, stuck out like a sore thumb to anyone inside or outside of the bar. The Indian Chief bike was the latest model, the Heavy Metal Smoke painted bodywork still looking factory fresh. Its rider used their left leg to snap the kick stand into place, black leather tactical boots now crunching on the graveled surface of the parking lot. The matte black carbon fiber helmet with its mirrored visor remained in place as the rider strode towards the entrance to The Tempest.

From their short stature, probably no more than five feet three inches allowing for the boots and helmet, and their slender build, even the most unobservant of people couldn't fail but to recognize the rider as female and the eyes tracking her approach were certainly observant. Black leather riding chaps clung to her denim clad legs, a form fitting black leather jacket completed the look, the clothing, like her bike, brand new.

The rider opened the door to the bar, standing just inside the doorway as she finally removed her helmet, a spring causing the door to shut behind her as soon as she released it. Straight black hair seemed to cascade down her neck to settle six inches past her shoulders as she freed her head from its protective shell. Brown eyes, humorless eyes, swept the interior before with an approving grunt she clumped inside to take a table near the door. Her face was young, her teenaged years gone but not that long ago, and there was a stark beauty to it that would draw men like moths to a flame, her serious eyes a poor impediment to masculine ardor.

Leaving her helmet on the table she walked to the bar where a barman stood watching. Black, mid-twenties and cheerful looking, a nametag was pinned to the worn looking apron he wore, the ink on it too faded to read.

"Help you?" The question was posed in such a sunny manner that it would have passing trade returning if passing trade ever stumbled across the bar.

"Beer," she replied her own tone as curt as the man's had been friendly. Her European accent was unmistakable despite the brevity of her reply and while it piqued the interest of the man behind the bar as had her arrival, he gave no outward sign nor did his smile drift away in the face of her rudeness. Instead, he simply pulled a cold bottle from a fridge beneath the bar counter, setting it down carefully, wanting to avoid it spilling onto the clean countertop. The woman pulled a clump of money from her jacket pocket, peeling off a twenty-dollar bill and leaving it on the counter beside the untouched bottle.

When the bar man returned with her change, she pointed towards the far wall of the bar where an electronic jukebox stood.

"That thing take cash?"

"No, but let me get you a token... my treat." He set her change on the counter, adding a token to the pile with an accompanying smile as he did so. A simple nod of thanks was all he received before she turned her back on him to approach the jukebox.

She wandered over to it, leaving her beer behind her. The layout of the bar was simple enough, some tables, some booths for the drinkers and those wishing to eat. A pool table in the middle of the floor and of course the jukebox took care of the onsite entertainment aspect. The lighting however was a dull, sickly yellow that aged the interior, giving the impression it was rundown. She had no doubt that this was the intentional choice of the bar's owner. There was one unusual feature The Tempest boasted, aside from its limited patronage, was a barber's station on one side of the room, complete with sink, reclining barber's chair... the works. It stood as empty as the rest of the place right now, a barber's cape draped over the chair, the shelves behind it stocked with dust covered barber's merchandise, gels, oils, razors and brushes.

From behind his counter, the barman kept his gaze fixed on his lone customer, splitting his attention between what she was doing and the way her shapely ass filled out her jeans. At that moment she was leafing through the vast digital library on the Jukebox, idly thumbing through playlists. This gave him the time to admire her rear which lifted his mood considerably. His eyes shifted, noticing she was unzipping the front of her black leather jacket while using the search option on the jukebox's interface screen to find a particular track.

The sound of Mark Lanegan's "I am the Wolf" began to issue forth from the bar's sound system, the bartenders expression skipping from lecherous to wary in a heartbeat. It wasn't the song's mournful lyrics, despite the stranger's choice in music being atypical for the bar, that set him on edge. It was the fact that as she turned back to face him, he could now see the shoulder holster she was wearing beneath her jacket. Its dark leather straps visible against the off-white ribbed crop top that was skintight against her small chest.

She moved, her trim 32A-24-35 figure slipping into a swaying motion though the music didn't inspire such, passing him by as she collected her beer from the counter, turning her back on him with complete confidence as she made her way back to the table she'd left her motorcycle helmet sitting on. Settling herself onto a chair and swinging both booted feet onto the tabletop, the young woman leaned back, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she read the concern plastered across the bartender's face. For his part, he kept both hands out of sight, the right one resting on the butt of a chromed Desert Eagle.50, the left pressing a green intercom button.

"Boss, you might want to check the bar camera," he said in a soft, unruffled voice.

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A few minutes later, an older man appeared from behind a secure looking door at the side of the bar area. Tall and well built, his exact age was indeterminable, the man's bald head and grey flecked goatee at odds to his unlined ebony dark skin. Forty, fifty, sixty? While his age might have been in doubt, the man's confident manner, his expensive suit and the deference the man behind the bar showed him, left his position of bar owner in little doubt. What else he might be was the subject of rumor. The woman seemed to become even more relaxed at his arrival, slouching back with all the arrogance of youth, her jacket falling open further, revealing the dark black of her gun.

"I'm sorry young lady, am I expecting you?" The well-suited figure picked up on her body language, guessing that she knew him even if she was completely unknown to him.

"No," she answered shortly, causing the slightest tic of annoyance to make the man's left eye twitch momentarily. He controlled his emotions, closing the distance between them by half, seemingly uncaring that she was armed.

"That's a lot of firepower for a petite thing like yourself," he noted.

"This?" The woman pulled the gun free in a smooth movement, a clatter of noise from the direction of the bar ringing out as the barman pulled his own gun into view. Unruffled, she laid the gun out on the tabletop, spinning it slightly so that the unblinking eye of its muzzle pointed away from the well-dressed man. "This is just a new toy I picked up. Model 2000. 9mm. Romanian. Like me." She tapped the gun's barrel with the tip of her index finger as she related this, finishing with an almost gentle caress along its length before leaning back away from it. "A memento, that's all."

"Well memento or not, its presence here... your presence here... it's making my staff uncomfortable. Perhaps you'd like to finish your beer, be on your way?"

"Erica said you were friendlier than this," she said, lifting her beer to her lips and swallowing it in a series of long gulps.

"Erica? Would that be Erica Anderson?"

"That's right," she confirmed.

"You're a friend of Erica's?"

"She considers me a very close friend," the woman said. At this, the man's demeanor changed. He closed the gap between them in three long strides, extending his right hand towards her, his left hand collecting her gun in an act of careful composure.

"I'm Elias," he said as the woman took his hand.

"Denisa," she answered, the name conjuring a look of puzzlement on his handsome face.

"Aren't you... aren't you supposed to be missing?"

"Not so much missing as I was somewhere that wasn't where I was meant to be... as far as the people who were looking for me understood. I think maybe I was lost, but now I found myself." Cryptic and delivered in a bored, accented manner, her answer seemed designed to annoy more than inform which was apparently typical of the young woman. Elias looked like he was going to follow up with another question only for Denisa to beat him to it with one of her own.

"So that's it then?"

"That's what?" He turned to follow her gaze, seeing nothing but the bar behind him.

"That pool table. That's where you fucked Erica the first time she came here?"

Chapter Two:"I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit hole - and yet - and yet - it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life!"- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

"She told you about that?" The chuckle that accompanied his words was devoid of embarrassment or an attempt to downplay the query for the sake of modesty. Denisa clearly wasn't embarrassed to ask the question and Elias's own memories of that night were beyond fond.

"That's it, same table. Jukebox is new, the rest... same as when Erica and the Deputy... sorry, former deputy, paid me a visit," he answered. Elias stepped away, Denisa's gun held by the barrel, moving till he'd returned to the center of the room. He laid the gun on a nearby table with exaggerated care, glancing back towards the bar to see that his man had lowered his own weapon but that it lay within easy reach on the top of the bar counter.

"Well, that's a bit better, introductions made, large guns set aside. Now perhaps you'll tell me why you're here?"

"Have you seen her recently? Erica?" Denisa's habit of ignoring his questions, only to pose one of her own was beginning to get to Elias it seemed, his easy smile becoming brittle in the face of her detached manner.

"A few months ago. She was looking to see if I had any information on human traffickers. I might indulge in some smuggling, cross state tobacco and the like, but I have nothing to do with the scum that practice that sort of business. Since I couldn't offer any help or advice, she passed on, I haven't heard from her since. The impression I was left with was that you were the catalyst behind her enquiries however. So, was she successful in rescuing you?

"In a manner of speaking. She's certainly the reason I'm back in the US," Denisa replied. "Okay to get another drink?" She waggled her now empty glass of beer.

"Why not. Does whiskey suit you?" Elias smiled tightly at her nod and turned to the man at the bar signaling him. Then Elias took a seat across from Denisa, remaining quiet until two glasses and a bottle of Bushmills single malt was set on the table by the bartender. Elias broke the seal, pouring a couple of fingers into each glass. He picked up his, raising it in salute to Denisa.

"To friends, old and new," he offered as a toast. Something flickered on Denisa's face but she raised her own glass in acknowledgement, both taking a small sip, Denisa taking a second appreciative one as the liquid slid across her tongue.

"Twenty-One-year-old Irish," Elias said, taking a second sip himself. "Now, maybe you'll finally share what's brought you here?"

"Curiosity," Denisa said, cupping her glass and staring at the amber whiskey as it caught the yellow tinted lighting in the bar.

"About...?"

"You." Denisa's foot came up off the floor smoothly, the sole of her boot coming to rest with the faintest of pressure between his legs, the young woman imagining that she could feel the solidity of his cock through the thick sole of the tactical boots. "You weren't Erica's first... but she talked about you, this place, a few times. You made an impression on her, helped to change her views on sex, on fucking."

"And you're just... curious... about that?"

"Perhaps a bit more than curious," Denisa allowed. She took another sip from her glass and then shrugged off her jacket. Her arms were toned, her upper body now only covered by the tiny white crop top. From the flesh on view, it was clear that while she was in peak physical condition, she hadn't lost any of her femininity by becoming overly muscular.

"You and Erica, you share similar tastes then?" The brittleness of Elias's smile was gone, the irritated inflection in his voice at her antics was also banished.

"Some," Denisa allowed, "one in particular."

"Well, it's best said and done, I'm at an age now where I haven't the time to fence words all night," Elias said, his fingers steepled against his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"Big. Black. Cock."

"Jake, lock the front door, we're closed for the rest of the night. Take yourself out back after that, do some stock taking or something. I need some privacy with our guest here," Elias called out, his gaze never wavering from Denisa's face.

While the bartender Jake moved swiftly to do as he'd been asked, the couple at the table remained quiet. Denisa continued to sip at her drink while Elias pulled a leatherbound notepad and pen from his suit's inside pocket, writing down some notes as if he hadn't a care in the world. The front door was locked and bolted, the blinds on the windows lowered and the main lights in the bar switched off so that it was only a few spotlights behind the bar itself, above the pool table and the multicolored fluorescent lights that adorned the jukebox that offered any illumination to Elias and Denisa. Denisa's gun was moved from the table Elias had left it on, Jake setting it on the polished wood of the bar.

Elias gave a grunt of acknowledgement to Jake as the other man signaled, he'd finished, remaining seated until Jake disappeared into the rear of the building. Then he stood up, offering Denisa his hand, easing her to her own feet and leading her to where the pool table stood, a real focal point now in the darkened room. When they were stood beside it, Elias let his free hand settle on the back of Denisa's neck, pulling her closer to him.

"Allow me to settle your curiosity, and my own," he said in his cultured, deep voice. Denisa let a small smile creep on to her face. Not the mocking smiles she'd been offering until then, this one was born from wantonness. She tilted her head back as the older black man moved to kiss her, parting her lips as his own fell onto them in a cushioned compression. Their tongues clipped off of one another in a series of glancing blows before twisting and lapping in unison, moving from discord to harmony in the blinking of an eye. As the kiss grew hotter still, Denisa's hands moved about his torso, finding the flesh beneath the expensive clothing to be pleasingly buff.

When Elias pulled his mouth free of hers, both of their lips feeling swollen from the frenzied contact, he set Denisa back a pace, running a critical eye down her body.

"Let's have that off for a start," he said, his finger tapping first the shoulder holster rig she was wearing, then the crop top beneath it. Denisa tossed the leather holster to the floor, pulling the top off over her head and letting it fall to the not too clean bar-room floor as well. Her small breasts with their pink tipped nipples moved as her arms came back down to her sides, Denisa not bothering with a bra. She caught Elias's gaze and raised her own hand to tap against the three small scars on her upper body just below her breasts. Small and round, they could be nothing else but bullet wounds.

"Don't worry, all healed now," she said.

"And the person who gave them to you?"

"Can't heal dead," Denisa said flatly.

"Don't move," Elias said, lifting a cautionary finger in front of Denisa's nose. Never one to obey, Denisa fought down her instinctive response to do anything but, and so she remained in place while Elias put his hand back into his jacket, pulling out his pen. She held still as the tip of his pen touched her sensitive skin, rapid pen strokes following as the black man seemed to start doodling on her body. In less than a minute he was stepping back a pace to admire his work. Where there had been three small scars, now there were three black inked Ace of Spades.

"I want to see if you have something bigger than a pen in that suit," Denisa said, getting to her knees. Elias stood patiently as she pulled at the belt and fly of his suit pants, the cashmere garment falling to pool around his ankles as she worked them loose. Like Denisa, it seemed Elias didn't put much stock in underwear, his impressive black cock springing upright and ready for action as the soft fabric of his suit fell free of it. Like a ferret spying its prey, Denisa fell onto his cock without delay, running the side of her face down its length. She took a number of deep inhalations through her nose as she pressed her face into his crotch. The rich aroma of a man attacked her olfactory senses and a moan of need slipped unsuppressed from her lips. She set her mouth against the hard dark flesh, enjoying the unyielding sensation of the rigid cock against her soft pliable lips.