The channels quickly slipped by, as Alyssa absently clicked the channel down button on the remote control in her right hand. Her feet were curled up beneath her as she leaned on her left elbow. Though her eyes stared at the rapidly shifting images on the television, her mind was elsewhere. Getting lost in some fantasy playing out on that little screen would be the best thing for her right at that moment. Unfortunately, all of the dark things in her mind just then wouldn’t release their grip long enough to let her focus for even a second on something else. Even the delicious smell wafting from the plate sitting on the table behind the sofa couldn’t push them back far enough to let Alyssa remember that she was starving. Sophie had dropped it off fifteen minutes prior. Her attempts at small talk failed, so she left rather quickly. Alyssa wasn’t interested in Sophie’s bogus, best friend act. Dad was gone, Mom was on the list, and she had no idea what was going to happen to her and Matt. All of those thoughts were far more important than any nonsense that Sophie could have offered.

The bottom of the door to Alyssa’s room dragged across the carpet as it slowly opened. The swooshing sound it made didn’t have any better luck dragging her attention away from the thoughts tormenting her mind than the delicious odor filling the room did. She didn’t care who was entering the room. She didn’t care about much just then. Even when her weight shifted as a large shape sat down next to her on the sofa, she didn’t budge.

“Nothing good on?” Mario asked.

Alyssa remained silent, her gaze not shifting an inch from the flashing colors on the television.

She could feel his stare as he watched her silently for a few moments. Then he tried again, “The last time we spoke, I promised you some answers. Are you ready to listen to them?”

A shrug was the only response she could muster in her numbed state.

“Okay,” Mario began. “I’m gonna’ cut you some slack because you’ve been through a lot these last few days. Normally disrespect like that would earn you a backhand in this house, but I think you’ve already been beaten up enough.”

She replied with a short, humorless, “Ha.”

He ignored it and continued, “Your father’s name was Daniel Johnathon Rosatti.” The words burned Alyssa’s ears as they left Mario’s lips. She still didn’t turn toward him, but she shifted and sat up straighter. The gesture was just enough to let him know that he had her attention. After a brief pause, he added, “And your mother is a whore.”

Alyssa’s head snapped toward Mario, and she shouted, “Bullshit!”

Mario raised his hand up as his entire face seemed to squint. Then he raised his voice and scolded, “You watch that fucking mouth, little lady. I’m not sure how things run at your mother’s house, but in my house children are disciplined when they speak that way to adults.”

Alyssa desperately wanted to say more, wanted to piss him off, push him over the edge, and challenge his threat. She fought off the urge and remained silent, not quite content in watching him sit there, frozen and ready to blast her upside the head. Her face was still a bit sore and swollen from Vinny, and she really didn’t want to get hit anymore. Any words that would have left her mouth at that moment would have only served to get her hit again.

Mario glared at her for a few long moments with his hand high above his head, ready to strike. Eventually, the tension in his body fled and he dropped his arm. Then he adjusted in his seat, pulled at his collar, cracked his neck twice by turning his head in both directions, and began again. “Based on your reaction both times that we’ve spoken so far, I’m assuming that your mother never told you about your father. In fact, I’d throw money down that she never told you Mark wasn’t really your dad,” his tone had mellowed back to something friendlier and more conversational.

Alyssa bit her bottom lip as the corners of her mouth dipped down into a slight frown. Tears were poised at the bottom of both her eyelids. She closed them tightly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Once she calmed herself to the point that she could speak without her voice cracking, she said, “I don’t believe you. I don’t know what you want with me or why you are lying to me, but I know that you are.”

Mario gently rested his hand on her left shoulder. When she shrugged him off, he raised both of his hands up and said, “Fine, I won’t touch you. Let’s try this another way.” He cleared his throat before asking, “Have you ever wondered where you got all of that thick, dark hair? Both of your parents are pretty blonde, aren’t they?” He paused a few moments, not really expecting a response. Then he asked, “Or, have you ever wondered why you and your brother don’t bear a stronger resemblance to each other. I mean, I can see a bit of your mother in both of you, but I only see Mark Ramsey in your brother’s face. You haven’t noticed that?”

Alyssa opened her eyes, but didn’t look at him. “My grandma has dark hair. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Mario chuckled as he fished something out of his pocket. It was an old photograph, slightly yellow and faded. One of the corners was bent in a bit. He held the image in front of Alyssa’s face and said, “Take a look at this.”

Alyssa turned her head away and looked at the ground.

“Look,” Mario said, as he leaned around her so he could keep the picture in front of her face.

She closed her eyes tighter and turned her head further away from him.

“Something that you’re going to have to learn pretty quick is that I don’t do real well with the spoiled princess thing,” he sighed as he grabbed the back of her neck with his left hand. He squeezed with that hand as he continued, “In fact, it really pisses me off. Now look at this fucking picture. Don’t make me ask again. I really don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart, but you need to learn some respect. And you need to learn to do as you’re told.”

Alyssa’s body tensed as she opened her eyes. “Fine,” the word fired out of her mouth between clenched teeth. Her form deflated as she looked at the face of the man in the picture. His eyes, his nose, the shape of his mouth, she really did look like him.

A wide smile spread across Mario’s face as he watched Alyssa examine the photo. “There,” he said. “Do you believe me now?”

Alyssa sat silently viewing the picture through the stunned expression that had taken up residence on her face.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mario’s tone remained calm. “This is a picture of my son, Danny, your dad. Now I’m going to tell you a little story. I never got a chance to do that, tell you any stories. You were taken from me before you were even born, before I had a chance to know you. I blame both of your parents for that. Your dad’s been dead longer than you’ve been alive, so it doesn’t do me much good to blame him. That’s why I have to save it all for your mother. Anyway, the two of them took a lot away from me. I can’t imagine what you think of me right now, and I didn’t want it to be this way. There is nothing I can do about that. I’m going to tell you a story now. It’s a story that you may not want to hear, but you need to hear it.

“When your mother was sixteen years old, she already had quite a reputation. I heard about her from an associate. He said she was the best. She was a killer, Alyssa, an assassin. Of course, I thought exactly what you’re probably thinking right now, ‘A sixteen year old girl is an assassin? Yeah, right.’ This associate of mine was an old buddy from way back though, and he vouched pretty hard for your mother. I took a chance. Of course, I didn’t tell my father any of this. Big John wouldn’t stand for having any teeny boppers associated with our organization, even if they were kept at arm’s length. Had I told him about it, things would have gone differently. Your dad would be alive, your mom would be dead, and you wouldn’t exist. That’s a different story. We’ll talk about that one another time.

“Stiletto Rose, that’s your mom’s real name. Shelia Brody – Ramsey after she married that bum – that was a fake. We’ll get into that later. Anyway, she was good, like a ghost. I hired her to do this guy and she iced him in a crowd. Everybody saw him die, blood spitting out of his throat like a fucking geyser, but nobody saw your mother. She was good. I hired her again. All told, she did about ten hits for me in the span of three months, made quite a bit of money. I didn’t mind, because she took care of business, didn’t pick up any heat, and always left an impression. She helped me get my message across. Everything was working out great. What I didn’t know was that your father had taken a liking to her.

“Danny was a good kid. He was coming up pretty fast. However, he was easily distracted by a round ass and a nice set of tits,” Mario caught himself. “Sorry, kid. Your mom was a looker. Anyway, apparently your parents started seeing each other behind my back immediately after she did her first hit for us. Had I known, I would have squashed that shit right away. She was under age, and I’m not big on drawing unnecessary attention. Messing with underage girls is trouble nobody needs. On top of that, he was married. Not that I begrudge any man for having desires. A lot of guys have one or two on the side. His wife had a pretty powerful dad though. That is also drama that I didn’t need. Again, that’s another story that we can save for a different time. The meat of it is that your mom gets knocked up. I didn’t find out about that until later. I didn’t find out why my son was killed until after he was dead.”

Alyssa’s voice was barely more than a whisper, as she asked, “How did he die.”

Mario’s expression turned dark, as he sighed and said, “I cried when I found his body, what they did to him.”

“Did my mom…” Alyssa’s voice trailed off before she finished the question.

“No,” Mario replied, as he shook his head. “Your mom didn’t kill him. As far as I know, she didn’t even know about it. In fact, I’m not sure that she knows about it to this day. Unfortunately for her, she was the reason. My son was gutted. According to the coroner, he was alive when it happened. The motherfucker tortured him to death.” His voice cracked as a tear spilled over his eyelid. He wiped it away, sighed, and added, “There were pieces of him missing.” At that point, he broke down completely.

Alyssa stared silently at the sobbing thing before her, too bewildered to say anything. The guy was like a barbarian in a suit, a barbarian that wanted to kill her mother. However, his pain was so real that she couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of compassion for him. She stopped short of rubbing his back while he wept. Everything was so confusing. Nothing made any sense. There was no way her mom could ever kill anybody. Yet, at least some of Mario’s story had to be true. There was no denying her resemblance to the man in that picture. If the man in that picture really was her father, it would mean that her mom had lied to her. Both of her parents had. What else had they lied to her about? Did her dad know about her mom’s past? It was too much. Despite all of her best efforts to remain silent, more words fell from her mouth, “So, who killed him?”

Mario sucked in a bunch of mucous and swallowed hard. Then he rubbed his eyes, composed himself, looked at Alyssa, and said, “A piece of shit that your mom used to hang out with, Rufus Walker. That’s the son of a bitch that did it. I’m not sure what she was to him, but I’m sure that she is the reason he did what he did to my boy, your father.”

Mario’s words spun around in Alyssa’s head, mingling with everything else already spinning in there. There was too much. Things just weren’t processing. All she could come up with was, “I’ve never heard of him.” The words sounded far away as they left her mouth, like somebody else was saying them.

“Of course not,” Mario shrugged. “He’s one of your mom’s skeletons, a skeleton from her past that doesn’t fit the soccer mom thing she’s trying to do these days. If you had any idea what she was…” his voice trailed off as he shook his head and rubbed his eyes again.

 Alyssa stared at him. She had nothing more to offer. The idea of her mom killing people, much less being good at it, just wouldn’t process. The person that Mario was describing sounded like some kind of monster. That wasn’t her mom. Her mom was caring and giving. She cooked. She cleaned up after everybody. She hugged when somebody was sad or hurt. She carted everybody to all of the places they needed to be. She wasn’t a killer.

Mario’s eyes were still red from crying as he looked over at Alyssa, faked a smile, and said, “I’ve been thinking about this moment since I found out about you. This isn’t at all how I expected it to go.”

Her left eye squinted as she turned her head toward him and asked, “How did you expect it to go?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, scratched his head, and then added, “I’m your grandfather for Christ’s sake. I guess I thought that you might be just a little happy to meet me.”

Several sarcastic responses that would have effectively conveyed her shock flooded into her head. She was too bewildered and too numb to use any of them. She was honest instead, “I don’t know what would make you think that.”

“We’re family, blood,” he shrugged.

“We are not family,” her tone remained flat, distracted.  “You destroyed my family.”

Mario slowly nodded while his face contorted through a series of expressions as if the muscles there face couldn’t settle on what emotion they were trying to display. Finally, he said, “I’m giving you your family back. It will be hard at first. You just found out that the people you trust most in the world have been lying to you for your entire life. That has to be a tough pill to swallow. You need some time. Once you have a chance to work through all of this, you’ll come around. I know you will. You’re a Rosatti.”

“Do you really believe that?” her voice cracked. “I’m a prisoner here. I’m not a part of this family. You killed my father…”

“He wasn’t supposed to die,” Mario snapped back. “Mark Ramsey wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t know anything about any of this. That was an accident caused by a poor personnel decision. Never hire amateurs. All of that being said,” he raised the index finger of his right hand, “he was never your dad in the first place.”

“He was my dad, the only dad I’ve ever known, and you killed him. Sticking a picture of a guy in my face and telling me that he’s my dad isn’t going to change anything about my life,” the tears started again as she spoke. “And I will never be a part of your family.”

Mario smiled, cleared his throat, and slapped his hands on his thighs. Then he stood and walked over to the door, opening it slowly. As he stepped out of the room, he turned and said, “That’s enough for now. You have a lot to think about. You are a part of this family though. That isn’t going to change.” With that, he turned back around and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Alyssa stared at the door for a solid five minutes after he was gone. She couldn’t tell if she was sad, angry, depressed, hopeless, or a twisted concoction of all of those things. The loss of her dad hadn’t even had time to process before Mario added more to the sloppy stew sloshing around in her head. She hated him and the way he could slip effortlessly from smiling to scowling, happy to sad, and threatening to friendly, as if each emotion he expressed was fake, forced out to elicit a certain response. Too much pain, too much anger, too much sorrow, it was all too much. Her focus shifted from the door back to the television. The channels were still speeding by, those random flashes of color. She hadn’t realized that her thumb continued to rhythmically press the channel down button on the remote the entire time that she and Mario had been talking. She stopped changing the channels. It was a gameshow. Fine.

Steve Huft sighed several times as he cradled his forehead in his left hand. Cheeks and Pat sat across from him gingerly sipping coffee that was still a hair too hot to drink. Neither considered giving up the effort. Uncomfortable lips were better than sitting in silence and waiting for Huft’s head to explode. All three of them occupied a booth at a shithole named Mary’s that was just off the main drag in Coleman. The place was in desperate need of a mop and the dirt-stained booths were held together mostly by tape that was a few shades brighter than their aged, red vinyl. The only other people in the place were a waitress named Josie that looked like nobody told her the ‘80s ended, a cook with a crooked nose and an ample belly that was covered by a dirty, white t-shirt, and a wrinkly, old fellow wearing a Peterbilt hat that looked about two steps ahead of the grim reaper. With the lack of sleep among the three cops, they fit in pretty well.

“Alright,” Huft finally broke the silence, “let’s work this shit out so we can all get the hell out of here.”

“Agreed,” the words were quieter than Cheeks intended, slowed by a throat full of phlegm.

“Anybody who could tell us anything is dead. That doesn’t help us much,” Huft shrugged. Then he sipped his coffee and continued, “There is nothing we can do about that. It’s a pain in the ass, but it is what it is. Let’s focus on what we’ve got.”

“All the guys with I.D. on them must have been with Vinny,” Pat interjected. “The other two were probably pros. One of them must have been a cleaner and…”

“Yeah,” Huft interrupted him. “Thanks for that assessment, Brookfield. That’s some real fucking police work right there. I’m going to keep you in mind if I ever need somebody to come out to a crime scene and point out all the obvious shit to me.”

“Come on, Huft,” Cheeks dropped his hand on the table. It wasn’t quite a punch, but hard enough to make the utensils jingle. “Take it easy. We wouldn’t even fucking be here if it wasn’t for Pat. Everything we have on this case so far we got from him. Cut him some fucking slack, hey?”

Huft’s teeth clenched as he sucked a noisy breath in through his lips. He blew the breath out hard and said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Pat. Go ahead. What else have you got?”

Pat chuckled as he shook his head and turned the corners of his lips down, “No thanks, Huft. I’m good. Why don’t you take it? Go ahead and show us backward, suburban idiots how a real, big city detective from New York works.”

Huft’s reply was mostly whispered, slipping along the top of another slow sigh, “Oh, give me a fucking break. You sound like my fucking wife.” He shook his head and then continued in a slightly louder tone, “Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t jump for fucking joy when you threw down those solid observations, but I’m looking for steak here, brother, and you’re throwing meatloaf down on the table.”

“Well it is fucking meatloaf,” Cheeks jumped in. “They didn’t leave much behind that wasn’t fucking obvious. Two crews; the one we happen to be looking for, all dead, the other, two down and the rest are at large. None of it helps us much.”

Huft’s head was already shaking before Cheeks even finished. “No, there’s more to it than that. You’re right about two crews working here, and about the four kids with I.D. being the ones that we are looking for. You’re wrong about the other crew though, only one of them is dead. The guy with the scissors jammed in his eye, he must have been surprised by the kid upstairs who wasn’t killed clean. That cleaner wasn’t part of the second crew though. He was just hired by them.”

Pat’s tone lost some of its edge as he nodded and said, “Okay. I can see that. What about the kid in the basement though? He was shot in the shoulder and obviously bled out. Who did him?”

Cheeks shrugged and added, “Yeah, genius, give us your fucking theory.”

Huft ignored Cheeks and broke it down, “I think we all agree that killing Ramsey wasn’t part of Vinny’s original plan. He and his boys were just supposed to grab the kids.”

“Talk about fucking obvious,” Cheeks scoffed.

Pat put his hand on Cheeks’ shoulder and said, “Let it go, man. It’s no big deal.”

At the same time, Huft looked at Cheeks and said, “Look, I said I was fucking sorry, and Pat seemed to accept that. Do you want to work through this shit, or am I on my own?”

Cheeks sighed, turned his head, and replied, “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Fine,” Huft started again. “So, Ramsey’s death was an accident. They got the kids and were supposed to hold them here to be picked up by whoever hired them, or – more than likely – an associate of that individual. The kid downstairs was shot by one of his own before the other crew showed up. There was furniture tossed around and blood all over the place. There had to be some kind of disagreement. Anyway, that kid wasn’t done by a pro. The kid in the van and the kid face down in the kitchen were both done execution style. Those were the only kills that went off as planned. The guy with the scissors in his eye was surprised by the kid in the hallway. After he was stabbed in the eye, he shot him once in the chest and then twice in the back when the kid turned to run. He went down just after he got the shots off. The crew that guy belonged to left the place a mess because they knew they had a cleaner coming. The cleaner was interrupted by someone completely unrelated to the other two crews…”

“Ramsey’s wife,” Pat’s wide eyes echoed his shock at the realization as the words left his lips.

Cheeks’ face twisted up as he turned toward his old friend and said, “The soccer mom in the minivan? No fucking way.”

Pat raised his hands in the air, as his head shook slowly back and forth, “I’m telling you. There was something off about that woman. I couldn’t place it at the time, but afterwards it all started coming together. She said a black car ran her off the road. That had to be Vinny. It just seems like too much of a coincidence.” His coffee had cooled enough that it didn’t burn his lips when it touched them. He gave it a quick chug and then added, “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel it my gut.”

Cheeks’ smirked, “You feel it in your gut or your pants, old man?”

“Piss off,” Pat fired back quickly. “I’m serious. If she’s not involved somehow, why can’t you guys find her? Where did she go?”

“That’s a good question,” Huft conceded. “I’m not sold on your theory though. The guy that did the cleaner in was a pro. He cuffed that poor bastard to that chair and obviously interrogated him. Did you notice the cut on his pinky? He was probably threatening to cut it off. In any event, I can’t say who the guy was or what his angle is on this, but I’m sure he isn’t a thirty something soccer mom with a couple of kids that drives a minivan.” He scratched his head, hit his coffee again, and added, “Maybe whoever hired Vinny and his boys got their hands on her too.”

“Why?” Cheeks piped up. “Vinny was hired by pros. That much is obvious. What isn’t obvious is what they wanted with the Ramsey family in the first place.”

“Exactly,” Pat’s tone earned a triumphant ring. “Mark Ramsey is squeaky clean, drunk and disorderly when he was nineteen years old and that’s it. There is nothing after that. Shelia Ramsey, on the other hand, might as well not even exist. Doesn’t that strike either of you as somewhat odd? There is no record of her at all prior to nineteen-ninety. Then she magically exists. How do you explain that?”

“She kept her nose clean,” Cheeks shrugged.

Huft chuckled, “Come on, Cheeks. I’m with Pat on this one. There should be something somewhere; dental records, immunization records, high school transcripts,” he paused and looked out the window, “something.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Pat pointed at Huft. “She’s like a ghost that just appeared one day, her and a brand, new baby. I’m telling you, there’s more to Shelia Ramsey than a couple of kids and a minivan.”

Huft raised his hand toward Pat and said, “Yeah, all of that being said, I’m still not convinced that Shelia Ramsey is the one who did our cleaner. She’s definitely a person of interest, but I’m still having trouble making the connection between a minivan driving soccer mom and a cold-blooded killer that could slit somebody’s throat from ear to ear.”

“So where do we go from here?” Cheeks asked.

“Yeah,” Pat added, “no matter how Shelia Ramsey fits into this case, we’ve got nothing until we can I.D. the two John Does.”

Huft sat silently stroking his chin for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat, finished off his coffee with a big gulp, and said, “We definitely need to find out who our pros are. Unfortunately, we can’t be the ones to find the crime scene. Pat, I’ve thought more about your story, and it’s too weak. Not to mention the fact that you’ll have to explain to the Valentinos what you were doing at their place. I know that you don’t winterize it for them. That could cause us trouble down the road. You’re not going to hang around. None of us are. We need to get somebody on this quick though. Even the state patrol shouldn’t have any trouble identifying Vinny and his crew. They have their I.D.s lying on top of them for Christ’s sake. We should get word about it within a few hours. Then we can get our people on it. Nobody can know we were here though.”

“Anonymous tip?” Cheeks asked.

“It’s going to have to be,” Huft replied. Then he looked back at Pat and added, “I saw a pay phone in front of the Hardware Hank’s about a mile up the road. Use it to call 9-1-1, Pat. Tell them you heard gunshots or something, but don’t tell them who you are. Get off the phone quickly, and then get the fuck out of town.”

“Got it,” Pat nodded. “Where are you guys going to be?”

“We’ll be in touch,” Huft replied as he threw a twenty down on the table and slid out of the booth. “Meanwhile, if you hear anything or get any more leads, call me first. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, we’re clear,” Pat replied. Then he drained his coffee, slid out of the booth, and stood opposite Huft.

Cheeks followed Pat out and added, “We should know something by this afternoon.”

“Alright, Cheeks,” Huft said, “let’s get the fuck out of here.” Then he looked back at Pat, “Remember, call and then you get the fuck out of here too, and quickly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pat nodded. “I have to piss. Then I’ll call.”

Huft and Cheeks walked away as Pat headed for the men’s room. Just before he made the door, his phone rang. The number showed up as restricted. Restricted numbers were usually cops. He took a deep breath, let the phone ring two more times, and then answered, “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was somewhat thin, but it had a soothing quality, “Hi there, Pat. You don’t know me, but I know you. I have some information for you, information about two kidnapped children, a dead man, and a woman who has been calling herself Shelia Ramsey. Are you interested in that information, Pat?”

Pat glanced out the window, Huft’s navy blue Caprice was just pulling out of the parking lot. Then he glanced back at the long, dingy bar that Josie was leaning over to talk with the old fellow in the Peterbilt hat. Nobody seemed to notice he was there. Good. “Who is this?” he asked.

“Not just yet, Pat,” the soothing voice replied. “We’ll get to that, but right now time is of the essence. You’ve actually come pretty far on your own. I think you and your friends from West Allis are dead in the water without my help though.”

“Well, you’ve got that much right,” Pat agreed. “We are dead in the water until we get another lead. Hopefully we’ll have something by this afternoon.”

“Yes,” the voice agreed. “The state patrol should definitely inform West Allis that their killers have been found. However, it is going to take them some time to find out who the other two are. We don’t have time for that, Pat.”

Pat’s tone remained quiet, but he allowed a hint of irritation to slip into it, “Alright, who the hell is this? You have obviously been watching me.” Pat looked around, casting his gaze out every window in the joint, and then added, “Are you watching me now? I don’t like this game. Why don’t you come out and talk to me face to face?”

“Relax,” the voice remained calm and eerily soothing. “I am a friend, Pat. I can’t tell you who I am just yet. That will be a long conversation. I can tell you quite a bit that will help you find who are looking for, and I can tell you that the feeling you have in your gut about Shelia Ramsey is not something that you should ignore. Go have your piss, call 9-1-1, and then get of town like Detective Huft suggested. I will call you back in exactly thirty minutes. That should give you plenty of time to get on the road. Good-bye, Pat.”

Before Pat could respond, the soothing voice was gone. He stared at his phone with a dumb look upon his face long enough that he felt awkward about it once he realized that he was doing it. Then he shot another glance back at the bar. Josie and the only customer she would have until lunch time were still chatting it up, and the greasy cook was nowhere to be found. Good, he didn’t need any extra attention. He slipped into the men’s room, eager to get back on the road and learn what his new and mysterious friend had to offer.

Time dragged like the slow progress of a full moon across a clear, night sky. The thirty minutes that had passed since Shelia threw down her challenge to the Blitzkrieg might as well have been days. She had checked her watch no less than twelve times during that span. Each time she looked only two to five minutes had ticked away. Time hadn’t made any sense for her since Vinny Heart and his lackeys had snatched her kids and killed Mark. It was either speeding out of control or dragging. Focusing on it didn’t help. She couldn’t stop though, and willing it to move faster seemed to have the opposite effect.

As Shelia failed to ignore the ticking of that imaginary clock in her head, she peered through the sight of her M24. A gift from Knuckles and his crew, the rifle was military grade. It was one of three that she had found among all of the goodies in that van, and it would suit her purposes perfectly. There was only one route to the crumbling barn that she was hunkered down in. It was a dirt drive that ran relatively straight up to it from an old, country road that ran about five hundred yards to the east. The barrel of the M24 was aimed at the spot where that dirt drive met the old, country road. Shelia was ten feet up, sprawled out on a wooden plank that was just sturdy enough to hold her weight peering through a hole that was just big enough to aim her rifle through. The Blitzkrieg would never see her from the road, and he would never make it out of his vehicle.

The thought of incapacitating him and trying to squeeze information out of him had crossed her mind briefly. Though she had never heard of him, she knew his M.O. all too well. He wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead, and even if she was able to knock him out and incapacitate him somehow, he wouldn’t give her anything. On top of that, it felt like he wasn’t part of the Rosatti organization, just a pro with a very specific skill set that they brought in for a very specific purpose, killing Stiletto Rose. He wouldn’t know any more than he needed to, and he wouldn’t be the one killing her kids. That would be left to Wiggles. It would be worth putting the squeeze on that creep if she could get her hands on him. However, if she found him, she would find her kids too. Then there wouldn’t be a need to do anything but kill the sick bastard.

Shelia sucked in a deep breath and shook her head slightly, trying to get her mind back in the moment. Finding Wiggles was a top priority, but killing the Blitzkrieg was a more immediate necessity. She had to get the German assassin out of her way before she could move forward. He would keep coming until she put him down. Sliding up to her knees, she adjusted from a prone position to a crouch. It wasn’t ideal, but she had to give her elbows and shoulders a break. As soon as she had herself situated into a position that gave her an adequate shot through the small hole in the wall, an out of place noise down on the barn floor dragged her attention away from the road.

A random noise in an old barn shouldn’t seem all that odd. The place was falling apart. It was full of random sounds; wind slipping through cracks in the deteriorating planks that made up its walls, rakes and hoes and other tools with metal heads and rotting wooden handles hanging from nails and scraping or thumping against wooden posts that barely had the strength to hold the place up, and the filtered hum of cars zipping along Highway 41. This noise stood out among all of those other noises, like someone humming into a kazoo in the middle of a symphony. It wasn’t the sound of an inanimate object being blown around by a stiff wind. There was something accidental about it; like someone had been focusing so hard on suppressing any sound they might make that they missed one.

Shelia gathered herself and spun around, dropping the rifle and retrieving the .45 from the holster on her hip as she fell down onto her right shoulder. Her eyes followed the barrel as it swept the barn beneath her. Nothing looked out of place. A rusty tractor with no wheels on it grabbed her attention. It sat against the back wall of the barn to her left. There was enough room behind it that someone could hide back there. She scrambled back up to her knees, as she locked her aim on the rusty heap.

The standoff with the ancient tractor lasted through several moments of silence. The wind was still whistling and cars were still humming down the highway, but those had melted into white noise, relegated to just another aspect of Shelia’s surroundings. Her focus cut through them searching for the out of place sound, that accidental noise that didn’t fit with them. Then it came again. This time it was quick and the effort to suppress it was absent. It was a footstep directly beneath her, and it came a split second before a gunshot that was quickly followed by three more.

Bullets tore through the plank she was on, shredding the rotten, old wood and blasting splinters of it into the air. All four of them would be buried deep in her flesh had she not rolled forward off of the plank. As she flipped and spun toward the ground, that plank split where the bullets had ripped through it, both torn up halves flopping toward the ground. Just as her feet hit the floor – the left one less than squarely – a shape rolled out from beneath the collapsing platform. Shelia ignored the pain that erupted in her left ankle as that foot twisted awkwardly, planting her on her ass. Instincts took over, and she continued to roll backward with her momentum. By the time she was back on her feet, the shape that had rolled out from beneath the platform was just getting to his. She lunged toward him, grabbing his right wrist at the same moment that he grabbed hers. Both guns exploded at the same time. The barrel of hers was just as close to his ear as the barrel of his was to hers. His left ear drum had to be ringing just as much as hers was.

“We finally meet, Stiletto,” even though his tone was nothing less than a shout, the thick, German accent was unmistakable.

Shelia had finally come face to face with the Blitzkrieg. His blonde, short flat-top and narrow – almost pointy – nose gave him the appearance of a rat. The soft, blue eyes sitting above that pointy nose didn’t fit the rest of his rodent-like appearance. She only had a second to consider them as they flew toward her face. A moment later, his forehead smashed into her nose. The world exploded in a flash of white. She could taste the blood in her mouth and feel it coursing down to her chin while her cheeks burned. Instinctively, she let the momentum carry her backward, pulling him along with her. As her back hit the ground, her right foot shot up into his gut and launched him over the top of her depositing him on his back. She managed to get a hold of his gun as she lost her grip on his wrist. Unfortunately, he had gotten a hold of hers as they both scrambled back to their feet.

Shelia shot first, but the Blitzkrieg was quick. He ducked and managed to get two shots off at her feet. As soon as he dove toward the ground, she leapt up into the air flipping over the top of him and firing two more shots off. One of them clipped his thigh just before she landed on him. He got off one more shot, but Shelia managed to block his arm as he brought it up to aim. It missed, succeeding only in adding a little more volume to the ringing in her ear. She ignored it, grabbing his right wrist with her left hand and pinning his left arm down with her right knee. She was only able to hold him there for a few seconds before he managed to struggle out of her grip. It was long enough to smash the butt of the P220 combat pistol she had taken from him against his left temple twice. Once he finally flipped her off of him, she also managed to yank the .45 he had taken from her out of his grip. It flew twelve feet toward the barn wall before it hit the ground and skidded even closer to the wall.

Before Shelia had completely made it to her back, the Blitzkrieg was bearing down on her. He had a five inch boot knife in his hand. Shelia had precious few moments to wonder when he had gotten his hands on it as she pulled the trigger three times. Only one bullet fired, small mag, son of a bitch. Luckily, that one bullet clipped the diving German’s left shoulder enough to knock his thrust off its mark. It pounded the barn floor next to her head. Without a thought, she began pounding the butt of the empty pistol against the side of his head again. It took five good strikes before he backed off enough that she could get her right foot into his gut and kick him off of her. As he flopped away, she rolled to her feet, ditching the sidearm and yanking her tactical knife out of its sheath on the way. Not wasting any time, she lunged at him and pounded her blade into his throat just as he made it to his feet.

Shelia held the German assassin’s right shoulder with her left hand as her right dug the blade of her knife deeper into the side of his throat. He gurgled something inaudible while she watched those blue eyes that didn’t fit the rest of his rat-like appearance gray over. Every heavy breath that left her lips sent little droplets of blood splattering onto his face. The adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly dissipated, and she let his body fall to the ground. By the time the effects of it had completely worn off, she became acutely aware of burning pain in her left thigh. Exhaustion dropped her to the ground. The moment her backside hit the barn floor, she reached for that burning pain and found the handle of the Blitzkrieg’s knife. All of the nearly five inches of that blade were buried in the muscles along the back of her leg. A slight cry left her lips when she yanked it out. It mingled with the sloppy sound that the blade made as it left her flesh.

Shelia laid there watching the barn roof spin slowly above her for a few moments before trying her feet. The attempt didn’t work out so well. She fell back to the floor fighting her heavy eyelids. The battle lasted for a few minutes. With each passing second, her breathing became steadier. Those heavy lids finally won, as sleep finished her off.

The lack of windows in Shelia’s new, silver, Ford van made it difficult to see the items she was digging through. The thing was nothing but sheet metal from behind the front seats all the way to the back. There were no proper seats in the cargo area, just benches along both walls. In between those were a couple of tables with crates full of weapons bolted to them. Holding a small penlight between her teeth, she rifled through them and then the small, built-in cabinets under the benches. Those cabinets held nothing but more weapons, ammo, and tools. Though all of it would be useful when she finally caught up to the Blitzkrieg or the Rosattis, they wouldn’t bring her any closer to them. No problem, she expected that. Examining the goodies in the back of the van was mainly to get at least a vague idea of how equipped she was.

Aside from a laptop computer mounted to the dashboard and a riot gun mounted where a console might have gone, the van was relatively standard up front. The computer didn’t provide anything useful. Apparently it was only used as an over-glorified navigation system. The glove box proved equally useless, except for two sticky notes stuck to the outside of it. Both had names and phone numbers written on them. The hand writing was pretty sloppy, but Shelia was able to discern names out of the chicken scratch. One read Blitz. She finally had a number for that snaky, German bastard. The other read, Wiggles. She tossed the name around in her head a few times. Wiggles, Wiggles, Wiggles… It was familiar, but from where?

Shelia’s form deflated as she slouched deeper into the high-backed, passenger seat of the van and closed her eyes. Exhaustion – like nothing she had felt since Matt was a baby with his days and nights mixed up – swept over her. Thankfully there were too many thoughts wrestling for her attention to allow sleep to get its hands on her. Just a little rest would be wonderful though, a few minutes maybe. Her body jolted as her eyes popped open. ‘No time for that,’ she thought, as she brushed her hair back from her face, forced the air out of her lungs, and shook her shoulders. ‘Have to stay awake.’

Her eyes moved back to the name on that little, yellow slip of paper. Why was Wiggles so familiar? She kept her eyes open while scanning her thoughts this time around. Wiggles, the name flipped slowly over in her head. “Wiggles,” she said it out loud. “Who the hell is Wiggles, and why do I know that name?”

As that name, Wiggles, continued to float around in her mind, Shelia started tallying the bits of information she had gathered up to that point. The Rosattis were behind everything. That was the biggest thing. They essentially had unlimited resources, and they didn’t have much competition left in the area. Why were they dedicating those resources toward her? She had never double-crossed them. She just stopped working for them when Danny made it completely clear that he didn’t want to have anything to do with his child. He would have paid for the abortion. What a sweetheart. There was no reason for them to come down on her so hard. They had all guns a blazing. Why? If the prick honestly had a change of heart, he could have called her. He obviously found her. The phone number would have been easy. Of course, she would have told him no. She never had the chance though.

The reason why was troubling, but not nearly as important as where she could find them. Whatever the reason was, Mark was dead, and they had her kids. That reason was enough that they recruited a small army of pros and a handful of amateurs to do the job. There had to more to the story. When Rufus helped her scrub her identity and relocate, it made sense. She had baggage. The family that she should have been a part of – the family that could have protected her from her past – didn’t want her. She could have protected herself. Having a baby on the way added a big enough wrinkle that hiding out was the right answer. Was that it? Was that the whole story, or was there something that Rufus hadn’t shared? Something had him scared enough to turn his back on her, there had to be more to it. Answering that question would have to wait. Her mind drifted back to that new name, Wiggles.

The Blitzkrieg – or Blitz as he was referred to on the sticky note – wasn’t familiar at all. When she spoke with him, he acted as if she should know of him. That was merely the bravado of a narcissist. Had she remained in the game, they probably would have crossed paths at one point or another. She hadn’t though, and he truly did not exist in her memory banks. Wiggles, on the other hand, that name was definitely there somewhere. It had to be from her time with the Rosattis.

“Wiggles, Wiggles, Wiggles,” she said the name again several times as she rubbed her forehead. “Who the hell are you, Wiggles?”

An image popped into her head. It was a young guy with bright eyes and a warm smile. He had slicked back hair that wouldn’t quite stay in place. Little bits of it would fall down onto his forehead here and there. He seemed to be constantly smoothing it back with both hands. That was him. That was Wiggles. Danny had introduced him to her as an old friend, Tony maybe. When that young man with the bright eyes, warm smile, and slicked back hair took her hand though, he said, “Call me Wiggles. All my friends do.”

“Son of a bitch,” Shelia sighed.

It all flooded back into her head. After meeting Wiggles, she checked up on him. “Know the punks you be fuckin’ with,” Rufus had started pounding the importance of that idea into her head at a very young age. By the time she met Wiggles, looking into the backgrounds of everybody she met had become part of the routine. He wasn’t an old friend of Danny Rosatti. He was a young punk working his way up the Rosatti ladder, an outsider trying to break in. Apparently he managed to accomplish that goal. If he were still working for them after all the time that had passed, he was probably pretty high up that ladder. Wiggles’ altitude on the Rosatti ladder wasn’t important. What was truly important to Shelia just then was another tidbit she had dug up on him all those years prior. The thing really troubling her at that moment was how he had earned his namesake. “The wiggles,” that was where it came from. That was how the sick bastard described the dance his victims did after he had tied them up and covered their heads with plastic bags.

There is no emotion that is helpful when doing a job, but fear is the worst. Anger and hate sit just behind it, jostling for the second spot. Both are a hair better than fear. They can at least make it a bit easier to pull a trigger or thrust a blade. The effects they have on the decision making process are far more detrimental than any benefits they offer though. Shelia had all three of them coursing through her as she sat in that van, thinking about what Wiggles might do to her kids, and contemplating her next move.

A slow sigh poured out of her mouth as she reached down to the floor in front of her and fished the two-way radio Rufus had given her out of her pack. The last time they spoke, he said that he couldn’t help her anymore. That answer wasn’t going to cut it. She had numbers and the names that belonged to them. That was all that she had to work with. Rufus could help her turn those numbers into locations. It didn’t matter if he wanted to or not, she needed him.

Shelia pulled in a deep breath and then released it. Then she depressed the lever on the side of her radio and said, “Rufus, this is Stiletto.” Her tone was as calm as the water of a small pond on a windless day.

Shelia listened to the silence for a few moments waiting for a voice on the other end. After a minute that felt more like ten, she pressed the lever again, “Rufus, this is Stiletto. I realize that you’re terrified right now, and I believe that there are lots of things that you haven’t told me. I don’t care about any of that at the moment. You don’t have to get any deeper into this, but I have a couple of numbers that I need locations on. Find me those and then you can scurry back to your hole to hide.”

A few more silent moments trudged passed. Shelia was just about to depress the lever again when Rufus’s voice poured out of it. “Hey baby girl. What’s up?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Rufus. What do you think is up?” Shelia’s monotonous tone didn’t match the sarcasm of her words. With all of the emotion swirling around in her, she still managed to keep control. The German had made her slip. That wouldn’t happen again. She had to keep control.

After another painfully long pause, Rufus replied in a tone that sounded more defeated than anything. “I know, baby girl. I know,” he paused again. “You said you’ve got numbers. Who are them numbers for?”

“Don’t worry about who they are for. You’ve already made it clear that you’re too chickenshit to get involved,” she paused. “And that’s fine. I’m on my own. I work best that way. I’ll give you these numbers and you give me locations. Then I can do what I have to do, and you can go back to hiding out. I’ll collect my baggage on my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Rufus replied somberly. “I know I let you down. I’ve always got your back though. Give me them numbers.”

“This one is for Wiggles,” her tone didn’t change as she rifled the number to him off the sticky note.

“Got it,” he replied. “Give me a minute.”

Shelia waited in silence. She didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute passed before Rufus’s voice came over the radio again.

“That’s a dead end, baby girl,” he replied. “The service was cancelled on that one.” After a brief pause he added, “Looks like within the last day or so.”

“Are you sure?” Shelia allowed a hint of irritation into her voice, “Or are you just protecting me? I don’t need protection right now, Rufus. I need some fucking help. I need a fucking address. No matter what you think of baggage, I’m going to get my kids.”

“I ain’t fucking with you,” his tone was more pleading than angry. “That number is dead. They do that shit a lot. You know that. I’m sorry. Facts are facts. What’s the other number?”

“Fuck!” Shelia lost the control that she had been clinging so desperately to for just a moment. She composed herself and continued, “Okay, this one is for the Blitzkrieg.” She rattled off the number.

“One minute,” he replied. After a long pause he added, “Where you at now? That phone is just south of that place in Coleman. You still in the area?” just a hair of excitement had crept into his voice.

“What?” the same excitement was dancing around Shelia’s tone. “He must be at the rest area looking for my corpse. I hope he likes what he finds.”

“What rest area? What are you talking about?” Rufus asked.

“They sent a fucking hit team, six guys. They’re dead now. I took their van. That’s why you can’t see me anymore, unless you’re tracking my phone. They shot your van up, so I had to blow it.” Shelia’s calm had returned, back to business.

“I’m sorry, baby girl,” Rufus’s tone deflated back to something more depressing. “The next time you call, if I don’t have your kids I’ll at least have an address. I’m looking, baby girl.”

“Good,” her reply was curt. “You should be sorry.” She debated for a moment and then finally gave in. “Rufus, why are they coming so hard at me? Why didn’t Danny just call me? What don’t I know?”

“Danny’s dead, Stiletto. He has been for coming on fourteen years now.” The depressed quality of his tone remained, as he added, “This shit’s all my fault.”

“What? What do you mean he’s dead? You killed him? When? Why?”

“He hurt you. I made a promise to your dad that I would never let anybody hurt you. I kept my promise.”

Everything was beginning to make sense. “So you killed him? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yeah, I killed him. I watched you mope around and cry for a week. He was dead two days later.” A bit of strength returned to his voice as he added, “You don’t want to know no more than that, so don’t ask.”

“No, you’re wrong,” the laughing quality that Shelia’s tone had earned was completely humorless. “I definitely want to know more, but I don’t have time for that right now. I want to catch that German freak before he dances off again.”

“Of course you do,” he sighed.

“You are in this Rufus. You got me into this, and you had better help me get out of it. When I call you again, I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit. I want an address.”

She clicked the radio off before Rufus could respond. Her hands clenched up into fists immediately after tossing the radio down onto her pack. The son of a bitch knew all along, playing like he was helping her through some mystery. All the time he had been hoping that she would miss somehow. The Rosattis had been searching for her for fourteen years, and she had no idea. She shook her head. All of the anger she was feeling for Rufus just then wouldn’t help anything. That would have to wait.

Shelia picked up her cell phone and dialed the number on the sticky note that read, Blitz. There was a good chance that he wouldn’t answer. He would definitely recognize the number. Hopefully he was as cocky as she thought. He was, it only rang once.

“Stiletto, my beautiful, deadly flower, we speak again,” the thick, German accent was all too familiar. “I trust you have not called to cry to me about your children again.”

Shelia called on every ounce of self-control she could muster to keep her voice from breaking. “You’re good,” she said calmly. “You’re hiding the shock extremely well. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that you are surprised that I managed to get a hold of this number.”

“Meaningless,” he shot back. “You have passed my test. You have proven yourself worthy of my time. You will be dead before tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m exactly twenty five miles south of you right now, parked behind an abandoned, old barn,” she paused to let the info sink in. When he didn’t reply, she continued, “Yes, I know exactly where you are. I’ve seen your handiwork, and now you’ve seen mine. Do you want to keep playing games, or do you want to get this shit over with?”

The Blitzkrieg laughed. “You have proven resourceful, Stiletto Rose. You have grown soft though. I expect you to be dead within the hour.”

“Do I have to chase you?” she asked.

“You will never see me coming,” the reply was quick, like a gunshot.

Shelia forced a chuckle, “Come and get me then. There is a big Jesus billboard on the same property. You can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting.”

The line disconnected. Apparently he didn’t have anything else to say. That wasn’t terribly surprising. When he had control of the situation and was calling the shots, the game was fun for him. Now that he had no place to hide, it wasn’t fun anymore. The Blitzkrieg wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly who he was dealing with. Had any more words dripped out of his mouth, his tone may have betrayed the fear that she knew was there. Luckily, it wouldn’t make him run. The game was over for him. He would come, and he would try to finish her quick. ‘Time to get ready,’ she thought, as she slipped toward the back of the van.

Shelia crouched in the darkness beneath a tall pine. The lowest branches drooped all the way to the ground giving her plenty of cover. However, they started high enough up the trunk of the tree that she could have stood erect, had she wanted to. The spot provided a perfect vantage point of the side of her van via a small break between two branches. She had parked the van beneath a light post that gave her a twenty foot diameter spotlight to work with. She didn’t even need her night vision goggles.

Barely an hour had passed after Shelia’s conversation with the Blitzkrieg when a silver, Ford van pulled into the rest area and parked directly behind the black Dodge she had rolled up in. The high beams on the big Ford blazed to life, bathing Shelia’s van in even more light. ‘Thanks,’ she thought. ‘That makes it even easier to kill you.’ Moments later, both the driver’s and passenger’s side front doors of the van flung open, and men in black jumpsuits carrying assault rifles with flashlights connected to their barrels hopped out. The sliding door on the passenger side of the van slid open at the same time, and four similarly equipped men poured out. All of them looked like special ops dressed for combat, from their boots to their backpacks and black masks. They moved like special ops too, securing the area and silently communicating with hand gestures. The Blitzkrieg, or whoever was pulling his strings, wasn’t playing. They had sent a strike team in.

One of the men who had exited the rear of the van looked up at Shelia. She held her breath and remained completely still as they made eye contact. It felt like they were staring at each other for several minutes. ‘Oh shit, can he see me?’ she thought. Her hiding spot was only a few hundred feet from where he was standing and his eyes were looking directly at hers. Those eyes squinted slightly as the beam from the flashlight on the barrel of his rifle slowly swept toward the tree. Shelia remained completely still until just before the beam of light reached the spot she was crouching in. By the time it hit the small break in the branches that she had been watching them through, she had rolled backwards and landed in a prone position. Glancing up, she could see the beam of light directly above her head. It was motionless for several seconds. Good. If he had spotted her, it would be bouncing with his footsteps as he approached. She counted, 1…2…3…4… It moved away. She released the breath that she had been holding long enough to make her lungs burn, as slowly and silently as she could.

Just as Shelia was about to rise back up to a crouch, the fireworks started. The silence of the rest area was shattered as the thunder of six automatic assault rifles ripped through the still air. Bullets shredding the van sounded like small hammers striking tiny bells. ‘Of course,’ Shelia thought as she slowly lifted herself high enough to peer back into the parking lot, ‘armor piercing bullets.’ The revelation didn’t surprise her. She knew she was working with pros. They wouldn’t take any chances. By the time the gunfire ceased, the van was riddled with holes. The man who had nearly spotted Shelia in her hiding spot raised the first two fingers of his right hand and flicked them twice toward the van. As soon as he had completed the gesture, a soldier near the front, passenger side of the van charged up to the passenger door, shoved the barrel of his gun inside, and fired off several more rounds. Immediately after he stopped firing, the rest of the group charged up to the van. They had all of its doors open in less than five seconds.

Shelia stowed all of her gear in the backpack lying next to her and set it behind the trunk of the pine she was hiding under. Then she jumped up to a branch about a foot above her head, quickly pulling herself onto it, and crouching low. The strike team would know momentarily that she hadn’t died in their barrage of bullets. Then they would fan out into the trees and begin their search. It would probably be less than two minutes before she had to engage them. She found another small break in the branches and watched.

A guy with a red bandana tied around his left arm charged around from the driver side of the van toward the fellow with all of the hand gestures. “Van’s empty, Knuckles,” the red bandana guy said as he jogged over.

Shelia made a mental note of the name, Knuckles, maybe he was boxer. In any event, she had never heard of him. He did appear to be the leader of the small strike force though.

Knuckles replied, “Of course not. That’s fine. Let’s hunt this bitch then.”  He pointed at the red bandana guy and said, “Boom Boom, you and Kamikaze sweep the trees to the south.” Then he pointed to the two men crawling out of the back of the van, “Hawk and Beretta, you two cover the field to the west. Bingo, you’re with me. Remember, this bitch has been out of the game for a while, but she’s a pro. Slack and your head will be lying on the ground looking up at your body wondering why you aren’t dead yet. She’s quick, efficient, and mad as hell about what the Rosattis did to her family. You know the stories. This bitch is like a ghost. Stay alert. We regroup here in fifteen. If she doesn’t turn up we sweep the other side of the highway. Now move.”

Shelia noted all of the colorful names that came out of Knuckle’s mouth while he was giving orders to his team, but only one of them mattered to her at that point, Rosatti. Blitzkrieg was a killer. He was no boss, just muscle. The son of a bitch would get in her way, but he wasn’t the ultimate goal. There were precious few moments to contemplate the importance of that name as Knuckles and Bingo stalked toward the tree she was hiding in, the lights on their guns shining directly at her former hiding spot. Those moments numbered long enough to allow the realization that the name belonged to Alyssa’s biological father and his family plenty of time to sink in. A long, slow sigh finished leaving her lips just as the beam from Knuckles light flooded the ground beneath her. Ten seconds until show time. Shelia slowly slipped her tactical dagger out of the sheath that was strapped to her right leg, took a reverse grip on it, and brought it up under her chin.

The slightly bouncing light shining through the trees paused. Shelia figured that Knuckles was giving Bingo directions, probably more hand signals. One would enter from the front where the light was shining and the other would enter from the rear. Knuckles would keep his light shining on that same spot to draw her attention, but Bingo would be moving around to take her from behind. They would enter together. Hopefully they wouldn’t look up until they were both under the hanging branches of the tree. Shelia drew a deep, slow breath in and held it. When was the last time she was so acutely aware of her heartbeat? Probably the last time she killed someone. The Rosatti family had hired her to do that hit. That was the last time she worked with Danny. Not too long after that, she discovered that she was pregnant…

Knuckles and Bingo breaching her hiding spot ripped Shelia off of memory lane and dropped her back in the present. They both stopped short once they were under the branches, sweeping the needle-filled ground beneath the tree with their lights. They were too far apart for her to get them both cleanly. Knuckles was closer. Shelia’s plan had just begun to come together as she slipped off the branch she was crouching on. A split second passed before her legs were wrapped around Knuckles waist and her blade was six inches deep in his throat. The blood pumping out of him and painting the pine needles red assured her that after over thirteen years without a kill, she could still find the carotid artery.

The beam from Bingo’s flashlight was moving up Knuckle’s legs far more quickly than Shelia was prepared for. That light was strapped to the barrel of a rifle that would be belching lead at her in moments. She pulled the blade out of Knuckles neck, flipped it over in her hand, and fired it at Bingo a moment before his finger squeezed the trigger. Only one shot got off before he dropped his rifle and both of his hands went to his throat. Shit. All of the gurgling and stomping that he was doing meant it wasn’t a clean hit. The dome of light from the flashlight – that had fallen to the ground with all of the pine needles – offered enough visibility for Shelia to see that her knife wasn’t sticking out of his throat, and there wasn’t enough blood for a severed artery. Her wrist must have gotten weaker over the years. Based on the sounds he was making, the blade must have clipped his windpipe. He would suffocate in a minute, but she didn’t have time to wait for that. More lights were coming. Though the gunshot had been suppressed, it was still loud enough in the silence to alert the rest of the team that the target had been found. After three steps and a quick snap, Bingo’s neck was broken. Shelia grabbed her backpack, rolled out from under the pine branches, away from the approaching flashlights, and ran fifty yards deeper into the trees.

By the time Shelia heard a voice yell, “Fuck,” she was ten feet up in another pine that offered an ample view of her original hiding spot. The thought of climbing higher briefly entered her mind, but she wanted to stay close enough to the ground to jump down and take off if the need arose. As rusty as she was, it probably would.

The same voice said, “Bingo’s dead. Knuckles ain’t but he will be soon.”

Another voice asked, “Boom Boom, how the fuck did she do them both with one bullet? I only heard one shot.”

“There was only one shot,” the first voice replied, “and she didn’t fire it. Bingo did.”

Shelia unconsciously noted that the first voice belonged to the one they called Boom Boom as she pulled a retractable bow out of her pack and nocked an arrow in it. She drew the bowstring back slowly. The two talkers were on the other side of the tree, out of her line of sight. The other two men stood at either side of the tree that Knuckles and Bingo were under. Both of their guns were aimed at the tree. “I’m not there anymore,” she whispered as she drew back her bowstring, drew a deep, steady breath in, took aim at the man to her right, and gently released the string. Two seconds later that man was falling in a heap with an arrow jutting out of his throat. Before the bloke on the left side of the tree had any idea what was happening, Shelia had nocked another arrow and put it through his neck. Two more down, it was all coming back, just like riding a bike. Shelia stowed her bow, jumped down from the branch she was crouching on, moved to a point fifty yards to her left, and scrambled up into another pine.

By the time Shelia had settled in her new perch, Boom Boom and the other remaining soldier were on the move. She thought for a moment, Kamikaze. That’s what Knuckles had said. Boom Boom went with Kamikaze. Not that it mattered. Both those fuckers would be dead in a minute. Still, keeping a lucid mind would help her stay ahead of her enemies. It helped to exercise her brain. Helping kids with math homework was the only exercise her mind had been getting the past few years.

Shelia had another arrow ready by the time Boom Boom and Kamikaze found the next body. They had moved around the left side of the tree and nearly tripped over him. Shelia couldn’t be sure if it was Hawk or Beretta until she heard Boom Boom say, “Son of a bitch! She got Beretta.”

‘There you go,’ she thought as she put an arrow through Kamikaze’s throat, ‘Beretta’s dead.’

“What the fuck?” Boom Boom shouted as Kamikaze’s hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. Then he aimed his gun at the trees about ten yards too far to the left to spy Shelia’s position and shouted, “I’m going to kill you, bitch! Why don’t you come out…”

Boom Boom’s shouting melted into a pained howl as an arrow tore through his right thigh. Just as he brought his gun up to start firing in the general direction that the arrow had come from, another arrow punched through his right shoulder. “Fuck,” he shouted, as he grabbed his rifle with his left hand and started spraying the trees. The firing lasted only moments before an arrow sliced into his left arm at the wrist and ripped up his forearm, perfectly splitting his radius and his ulna before embedding itself in his elbow. The garbled nonsense coming out of his mouth as he dropped his rifle to the ground and hopped around in pain could hardly be considered language of any kind.

Boom Boom was still shouting and carrying on as Shelia slipped out of the tree and jogged over to him. By the time she reached him, he was tugging at the arrow in his left arm. Every time he pulled, his screams grew louder.

“Ouch,” Shelia said calmly. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Fuck you bitch,” Boom Boom cried. Tears streamed down his face as he reached for her with his right hand. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Shelia grabbed the hand that was reaching for her, twisted it backward while pulling him closer, and hammered the right side of his face with a back-handed chop. Then she stepped back and fired a front kick into his sternum that was hard enough to knock him down. “You aren’t killing anyone, Boom Boom. You’re going to give me some answers. First of all, what kind of name is Boom Boom? What, do you like to blow shit up, big guy?” She nodded as she continued. “Yep, I’ll bet that’s exactly what it is. You were the bomb maker of the group. That makes sense.” Then she shrugged and finished with, “Not that it matters why they call you what they call you. Nobody will be calling you anything pretty soon.”

“Fuck you, you fucking cunt.” Boom Boom stopped struggling and gave into the sobs.

Shelia shook her head. “Are you kidding me? Quit crying.” She paused for a few moments, listening to Boom Boom’s tears before adding, “I swear to god. You have to quit that fucking crying or I’m going to put another arrow in you. I mean it. I’ve been through too much. I can’t sit here and listen to somebody who is supposed to be some kind of killer cry like a child. Come on now, Boom Boom. Pull it together.”

“You’ve got no chance, bitch,” Boom Boom sneered through his sniffles. “They’ve got so many guns. There are hundreds more just like us.”

“I can see why I should be frightened,” Shelia smiled. “You guys certainly gave me a run for my money. Hell, I didn’t even have to pull my guns out.” Shelia paused for a few moments, waiting for Boom Boom to say something else. When he didn’t, she continued, “Look, I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, and I’d really like to end that for you. I already have the name I need. I know you were hired by the Rosattis. Just tell me where I can find them, and I’ll end your suffering.”

Boom Boom laughed, “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you shit.”

“I thought you would say that,” Shelia began, “and I believe you. The only one of you that probably knew anything was Knuckles, and I’m not going to be able to get it out of him.” She paused as she reached behind her, slipped another blade out of her backpack, and held it up in front of Boom Boom’s face. “Do you see this blade, see how thin it is? This is a stiletto. It probably doesn’t look like what you would call a stiletto, does it? I bet it doesn’t. When you hear the word stiletto, you probably think of a switchblade, a ballistic knife, or something else like that. That’s an American thing. This blade is a true stiletto. It’s an old one too. This blade is from sixteenth century Italy. Obviously it has been restored, but it is still worth a ton. Do you want to know why they call it a stiletto? I’ll give you a hint. It has to do with the shape. Do you see how it comes to a point like that?”

Boom Boom didn’t respond. His eyes were taking on a faraway stare. Blood loss was getting the better of him.

Shelia shrugged. “I guess you’re all done talking. Fine, I’ll wrap this up quickly then. It’s named for the Latin stilus. You know, the thing they used to carve clay tablets with. No, you don’t know?” She shook her head. “Well, anyway, it has to with the shape.”

As the last word left Shelia’s mouth, she slipped the blade into Boom Boom’s throat. There wasn’t much pressure behind the blood pumping out of him, and didn’t take long for his eyes to gray over. She slipped the blade back out, wiped it off on Boom Boom’s shirt, and stowed it back in her pack. Then she picked up his rifle and used the flashlight to sweep the ground and retrieve her tactical knife. The stiletto was good for a poke and a quick kill, but a tactical knife was far more effective in a fight.

Once she had all of her gear back – including the arrows – she rifled through the gear on all of the corpses. It would have been better to properly dispose of them, but there wasn’t time. The sun would be coming up soon and she needed to be far away from all of the bodies. None of them were carrying anything useful except for Boom Boom. He had van keys. Those would be helpful considering they shot up the Dodge.

It took her roughly ten minutes to move all of her gear from the shattered Dodge into the Ford. It had already been loaded up pretty good too. That was a nice surprise. They had a lot of guns. What they weren’t carrying on their persons was stowed in their van. Added to what she already had to work with, Shelia was ready for war. She needed to be. The Rosattis would give her one.

As Shelia pulled back out onto highway 41, she held up a black box with a red button at its center. The sky lit up and the ground shook when she pushed that button. The black Dodge Rufus had given her was no more. When the state patrol finally arrived, probably within the hour, the charred bits that were left of it wouldn’t give them anything to work with. Still, she needed to find a place to lay low and do a proper search of her new van. There probably wasn’t much, but she would take anything she could get; a name, a rendezvous point, a cell phone. Hell, even a notebook would be helpful, anything to get her closer to where Danny and his family were holding her kids. What did he want with them anyway? He wasn’t interested when she told him she was pregnant all those years ago. The reason didn’t really matter. He had them and she had to find them.

Sophie Rosatti cleaned up the mess that Alyssa had left in her room.  She had a bit of a tantrum when she woke to find herself in unfamiliar quarters.  Sophie felt bad for her as she thought about all the young girl had gone through that day, poor thing.  Initially, she wanted to wake the little brat up, slap her around, and make her clean up her own mess.  As she attempted to put herself in Alyssa’s situation, her animosity toward the young girl lessened.  The brat had made quite a mess though, quite a mess indeed.

Sophie was scrubbing soda out of the carpet when Alyssa woke.  The heavy odor of bleach in the air disturbed her slumber.  The room was very poorly ventilated.  There were no windows and no fans or vents in the main room.  The bathroom had a small vent fan in the shower.  Its low hum was the only disruption to the silence, aside from Sophie’s labored breathing as she scrubbed.  Unfortunately, the small fan in the bathroom did more to disrupt the silence than clear the air.  Alyssa really could have used more sleep.  She woke in quite a mood.

Alyssa looked over at Sophie, “Where the hell am I?  What is this place?”  She was tired, disoriented, and well beyond scared.  All of the shock and confusion filling her mind left her not caring what happened.  Right at that moment, she didn’t even care if she died.

Sophie didn’t look up from her scrubbing, “You are safe and you will stay that way as long as you are in my care.”  Then she added, “I would sincerely appreciate if you wouldn’t take advantage of my hospitality by destroying my home anymore.  I have much better things to do with my time than clean up after your tantrums.”

Alyssa didn’t respond at first.  She just stared at the blank screen of the television.  She may as well have been watching the events of the prior day.  They played back again and again in her head.  It was all so much like a bad dream.  When would she wake up for good?  Maybe she wouldn’t.  Maybe she was stuck in a nightmare that would never end.

When Alyssa finally spoke again, her tone was pointed.  “Why am I here?  What did we do to deserve this?  What do you people want from us?”  Then it occurred to her that she had no idea where the other member of we was.  “Where’s my brother?”

Sophie stopped scrubbing, took a deep breath to collect her thoughts, and spoke calmly, almost sweetly.  “The first question, ‘Why are you here?’ is very simple.  You’re bait.  You didn’t do anything to deserve this.  How much do you know about your mother?”

Alyssa looked confused, “What do you mean?”

“What do you know about what she does for a living?  I should say what she did for a living.”  Sophie’s smile was sweet and her tone polite.

Alyssa quickly became irritated with the conversation, “Look lady…”

“Sophie,” she interrupted.  “Call me Sophie, sweetheart.”

Alyssa clenched her teeth and continued, “Fine.  Sophie.  I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.  Why don’t you just answer my questions?  Is this some kind of game?  What did my mom do to you people that was so terrible?”

The sweet smile never left Sophie’s face.  “Your mother’s real name is Stiletto Rose.  She’s a killer, a hit man.  Well, hit woman I suppose.  She was a very lethal and effective assassin.  That is until she messed around with the wrong family, my family.”

Alyssa smirked and shook her head, “You expect me to believe that my mom,” she pointed at her chest, “my mom, killed somebody?  That’s ridiculous.  Seriously, is this some kind of joke?  Am I on some sick reality show here?”  She put her hands up next to her face and tried her best to sound like a television announcer.  “Da, da, dum…It’s ‘Surprise, You’ve Been Kidnapped’.  Don’t miss one action packed minute.”  She continued to shake her head.

“It’s no joke Alyssa.  Your mother spent a year working for my grandfather.  He always said she was the best.  Then she got involved with my brother.  It’s a big no-no for the hired help to mess around with the family.  That’s when…”

The door opened and a well-dressed man with dark, slicked-back hair walked in the room.  He glanced at Alyssa and smiled.  It wasn’t a casual smile though.  There was a weird familiarity to it.  She refused to smile back as she looked him over.  He appeared to be in his fifties, but she was terrible at judging age.  His hair didn’t have any gray in it, but he did have a few wrinkles on his face.  He looked to be pretty athletic though.  She could see his muscles flex under his suit as he crossed his arms over his chest.  His smiled faded into an angry glare as he turned his gaze toward Sophie.

“Sophie,” he raised his voice a bit.  “What have you been talking to our guest about?”

“She had questions.”  Sophie fired back.  “What difference does it make what she knows?”

The gentleman’s expression softened a bit, “Ah, my sweet Sophie, your time would be better spent finding a good man to make a family with and give me some grandchildren rather than giving up family secrets.”

Sophie stood, stormed past him to the door, and then turned back, “I don’t like men, daddy and you won’t let me adopt.  I guess you’re out of luck.”  She slammed the door behind her as she left.

The gentleman humphed at the door.  Then he turned his attention back to Alyssa, “So many questions in your pretty, little head.  Don’t worry about them now.  For now, you should get some sleep.  You’ve had a rough couple of days and you could use some rest.  You’ll get your answers in due time.”

“Whatever,” Alyssa sighed.  “Who the hell are you now?  I figured out that you’re Sophie’s dad.  You must be the big boss man, right?  This is like a soap opera.  What the hell is going on here?”

He laughed, “You are just like your father was.  You’re full of fire and spunk and you need to know everything about everything and everyone.  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Alyssa.”  Then he extended his hand out to her, “I’m Mario.”

Alyssa looked at his hand and crossed her arms as she squinted at him, “What do you know about my dad?  Is he really dead?”  Her eyes became hot as she thought about what Vinny had said to her.  They were tingling again.  She wasn’t going to cry.  She wasn’t going to give this jerk the satisfaction.

Mario shrugged, “Are we talking about your dad or your step-dad?”

Alyssa slumped and looked confused.  Her voice lost its defiant tone.  “What?”

Mario shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’m sorry to say that either way the answer is yes.  We’ll talk more later on.  Get some rest and then I’ll give you some answers.  You have to behave though.  Quit wrecking my house.”  He winked at her as he turned and left the room.

Alyssa tried to respond but he was already gone.  She didn’t have a step-dad.  What the hell was he talking about?  The answer was yes though, either way, whatever that meant.  She let the tears come.  They soaked the couch as she drifted off to sleep.

Matt sat in what he thought looked like a small living room.  It was probably the size of his bedroom but it had a couch, a chair, and an entertainment center.  There were two doors in the room.  One led to a bathroom and he figured that the other must lead to a hallway.  The place was a lot better than the basement that he had been in.  The guys coming in and out of the room were a lot nicer too.  They didn’t tie him up or anything.  They just locked him in this room.  He could watch TV or play video games.  There was a little fridge full of soda with a bunch of snacks piled on top of it.  It was actually pretty cool.  One of the guys came in to check on him pretty often.  Matt didn’t know the dude’s name, but he was pretty cool too.  He told him that he could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t scream or try to leave.

Matt paused “Rocky” and got up to go to the bathroom.  When he came back out, the dude was back.  He was crouched in front of the tiny fridge next to a case of Mountain Dew, transporting cans from the box to the fridge.  Then Matt noticed the Taco Bell bag on the table.  He even had room service.  It was like staying at a fancy hotel except for the fact that he couldn’t leave.  This place certainly wasn’t scary, not like that basement.  That Vinny guy was a jerk.  Could he have been telling the truth about shooting his dad?  Matt’s fingers moved to his cheek as he thought about Vinny and that basement.  It still stung a little.

Then the dude looked over and said, “Hey little man.  How are you doing?”

Matt smiled and said, “Okay, I guess.  How are you?”

“Oh, I’m having a busy day,” he began.  “You sure do drink a lot of soda.  You know that crap rots your teeth, right?”

Matt shrugged, “My mom never lets us drink that stuff.”  He paused for a moment and then continued sheepishly, “Am I ever gonna’ see her again?”

The dude walked over to Matt, gently took him by the shoulders, and then knelt down in front of him so they were eye to eye with each other.  “Of course you will.”  He smiled, “Your mom just has some business with my friend.  Once they get that all worked out, I’ll take you home.  Until then, you’ve got to hang out here with me.  It’s not so bad, is it?”

Matt shook his head, “No.  I like it here, but I miss my mom though.”  His eyes watered just a bit.  Not enough to spill over, but enough that dude noticed.

“Hey little man, it’s gonna’ be alright.  Trust me.”  Dude still wore a big smile.  “I’ve got to get back to work.  I brought you some tacos and I’ll come back to check on you again in a couple of hours.  Just take it easy.”

Matt nodded.  Then he cautiously asked, “Is my dad really dead?  That guy that was beating me and Alyssa up, I think the other guy called him Vinny, he said that he shot my dad in the head.  Is that true?  Is my dad really dead?”  A couple of tears made it passed his eyelids as his lower lip began to quiver.

The dude shook his head and rubbed a hand over Matt’s head, “That Vinny Heart was a big asshole.  Pardon my language.”  He paused.  “Look kid, I don’t know anything about your dad, but I can tell you that Vinny Heart is a big, fat liar.  And you can’t trust him.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d make something like that up just to see you cry.  Do you want to know what a big jerk he is?”

Matt shrugged.

“Well I’ll tell you.  His real name was Vincent Valentino.  He just called himself Vinny Heart.  He thought that made him sound important, like a gangster or something.  Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Matt nodded.  The tears were still trickling down, but he managed to chuckle a little through them.

“Alright kid,” the dude started, “I really have to get back to work.  I’ll be back to talk to you later though.  Eat your lunch.  You’ll feel better after you eat something.”

Then Matt spoke up again, “What’s your name?  I don’t know what to call you.  In my head I’ve been calling you dude.”

“Dude?” the dude chuckled.  “You’ve been calling me dude?  What kind of name is dude?”  The way he said dude was goofy enough to make Matt laugh, so he kept doing it.  “Hi, my name is…Dude.  That’s ridiculous!  Huh.  Dude.  You’re crazy kid.  I’ll tell you what.  I think that we’re pretty much friends now.  All of my other friends call me Wiggles.  Why don’t you call me that?”

“Wiggles?”  Matt giggled.  “Why do they call you Wiggles?”

“Well this is kind of embarrassing, but I really love to bowl.  And my bowling buddies say that I wiggle my butt when I’m on my approach.  I think they’re full of crap, but that’s what they tell me and that’s what they call me.”

Matt giggled again and then became serious.  “Wiggles, where’s Alyssa?”

Wiggles stood and started walking toward the door.  “She’s in a room just like this one.  She’s doing just fine.  Don’t worry, little man.  You guys will be together soon.”  With that, he left the room.

Matt felt a little better about everything.  He liked Wiggles.  That was a cool name.  It was kind of funny that they call him that because he wiggles his butt when he bowls.  He went over to the couch and turned “Rocky” back on.  Then he ate his tacos.

In the hallway, Wiggles let out a long sigh.  He had two kids of his own and it took everything he had not to break down and cry right along with Matt, poor kid.  He hated this job.  Whacking punks was one thing, but messing with kids just wasn’t cool.  He really liked that Matt kid too.  The kid kind of reminded him of his own son at that age, what a little personality.  A tingling started behind his eyes as he rubbed his forehead.  He wouldn’t let himself cry.  It was a hard fight though.  That Matt really liked him too.  What would the kid think of him if he knew the real reason they called him Wiggles?  What if he knew that they called him Wiggles because he liked to tie his victims up, wrap plastic bags around their heads, and then watch them writhe in agony as they died?  What if the kid knew that he called that little dance of death the wiggles and that’s why everybody called him Wiggles?  What would that kid think of him then?  He shook his head, not really wanting to know the answer to any of those questions.  This job sucked.  No amount of money was worth it.  Killing punks was easy.  Being Matt’s buddy, looking into his eyes and lying to him that everything was going to be okay, those things weren’t so easy.  They weighed on him, made him feel half his size.  On top of all of that, gnawing at the back of his brain was the knowledge that after the thing was over, after Stiletto had been dealt with, he’d have to kill him.  Would he be able to do it when the time came?  He shrugged slightly to himself as he started slowly down the hall, barely noticing his own movement.

Shelia sat in the black, Dodge van, parked in a rest area on Hwy 41.  Minutes were drifting into hours as she felt the time slipping away from her.  It was as if the minutes were tangible and someone was tugging them out of her hand one by one.  She had no leads and Rufus wouldn't help her anymore.  What the hell happened to him?  He had never been afraid of anything.  Her dad wouldn't have had a partner that had even an ounce of fear in them.  “This is a dangerous business baby.  You gotta’ be real choosy about who got watching your back.”  That’s what her dad always said.  That’s why Rufus was his partner, because he wasn't afraid of anything.  He would lay down his life to protect his own.  So what happened to that man?

In the dark quiet of the van, her thoughts drifted to the past.  Rufus used to tell her stories about him and her dad, Jack Rose.  Rufus loved Jack.  He was the closest thing to a brother he ever had.  He would say, “Your daddy done saved my ass just as many times as I saved his.  Lightenin’, that’s what I called him.  That’s how he did his thing.  He’d strike like lightenin’.  Them sucka’s would never see it comin’.  That’s what we was, Thunder and Lightenin’.  I’d be bringing the boom, boom, boom and he be bringing the flash, baby.”

Once Jack had passed away, Rufus told Stiletto all of the stories about her dad.  He died when she was just twelve years old and Rufus promised him that he would finish raising her and take care of her.  Jack didn't want her to know about his life style, but she wouldn't let Rufus get away with not telling her.  She wanted to know it all.  Jack Rose was a mystery to her.  He was like two people.  One was her father and the other was a cold-blooded killer.  He was always distant, like part of him was somewhere else.  She needed to know who that other man was.  Rufus told her.

Jack Rose was a small time hustler that had been living on the streets of Chicago from his twelfth birthday on.  That’s the day he ran away from home.  He would never tell Rufus anything earlier than that.  According to Jack, that was the day his life began.  Nothing before that day mattered.  He was hanging around alleys and keeping himself fed by snatching purses.  One day a man approached him and offered him a place to stay.  The fellow owned a restaurant, a Japanese steak house.  He lived above it.  Jack said the guy was Irish, but he was fascinated with Asia; the food, the cultures, everything.  He was a real secretive guy.  He had a manager for the restaurant named Kyoto who acted as the owner.  It was a real weird situation.  Jack did odd jobs for Miles to earn his keep.  In turn, Miles gave Jack a place to stay, taught him all of the book stuff that he wasn't learning by not being in school, and taught him everything he could ever want to know about self-defense.  Jack knew about five hundred different ways to kill a person with his bare hands.

Though Jack didn't want for anything while in the care of Miles Blaney, he couldn't stay away from the hustling.  He started doing odd jobs for some of the local, small-time muscle.  He kept his nose out of the big stuff, but he ran some drugs and broke a few noses.  Jack kept all of that business away from Miles but Miles probably knew about it.  Miles knew about everything.

When Jack was seventeen years old, he met Tasha.  She blew his mind.  Tasha had blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a body that could stop a freight train dead in its tracks.  Jack said that her pouty lips were always begging to be kissed and she always smelled like this tropical perfume.  He didn't know the name of it, but it drove him nuts.  The first time he met her, he was dropping off a package for her, heroin.  She came to the door in nothing but a sheer robe and invited him in.  He was hooked from the moment he saw her.  He said that he never knew exactly how old she was, but she must have been around twenty-five.  The age difference didn't bother him any.  In fact, he thought it was kind of cool that an older woman showed an interest in him.  She shot up and then she rocked his world.  It was his first time and he fell hard.  Jack was in love immediately.  It was probably more lust than anything, but he knew it was love.  Tasha fell too.  They couldn't get enough of each other.  Jack eventually moved in with her.

Miles was pretty upset when Jack told him he was moving in with an older woman.  He didn't write him off though.  A man has to go where his heart calls him and he has to make his own mistakes.  He warned him that some of the best lessons are the hardest learned, and he told him that he’d always have a place to stay if he ended up falling on his face.  Then he told him never to touch that crap she puts in her veins.  Jack was pretty surprised that Miles knew about that, but then again, Miles knew just about everything.  Jack never did touch any drugs.  He smoked a little reefer now and then, but that doesn't count.  That stuff shouldn't even be illegal.

Jack and Tasha spent most of their time loving each other.  Jack kept up the hustling bit and did his best to get Tasha of the juice.  She was hooked though.  Before long, they found out she was pregnant.  Jack didn't have to push anymore.  She stopped shooting up on her own.  Something about another life depending on her to survive made all the difference.  She quit the stuff cold turkey.  Jack tried to talk her into going to rehab to help with the withdrawals, but she wouldn't have it.  She was sure that they would make her give up her baby.  Nobody was going to do that.

Tasha’s withdrawals were tough on the both of them, but Jack stayed right by her side.  He weathered the storm.  After a month, she said she still craved it, but it didn't consume her thoughts anymore.  Jack kept working.  He was going to have a family to support.  He was beginning to feel like he had a purpose.  Life was going to be great.

On Jack’s eighteenth birthday, he had the biggest payday of his life, one thousand dollars, a grand, for an easy delivery.  The job went off without a hitch.  Things were getting good.  He was getting regular work and his paydays were getting bigger.  He was even toying with the idea of buying a house.  It was time to celebrate.  He stopped by the restaurant and had Kyoto cook him up some steaks to go.  He even picked up some sparkling grape juice.  He would have gotten the good stuff, but there would be no alcohol for the mother of his child.  She was totally clean since giving up the heroin.  This birthday would be the best day of his life up to that point.

He raced home.  When he got to the apartment door, he heard a baby crying.  He almost dropped dinner on the floor.  The excitement swelling in his chest kept him from getting his key in the lock.  His baby had been born.  He was too excited to even be upset that he missed the birth.  She must have had it right there in the apartment.  Fumbling around with the key, he couldn’t even make his hand work.  He just wanted to hold his child in his arms and kiss it and hug it and he couldn’t get in the damn room.  Hysterical laughter began pouring out of him.  It was like a dream.  He just wanted to shout out at the top of his lungs, “Hey everybody, I’m somebody’s daddy!”

The key finally turned and he busted into the room.  Immediately, the thrill was gone.  He dropped dinner on the floor.  He barely noticed the sound of the fake bubbly smashing as it crashed onto the tiles.  Tasha was hanging from the ceiling by a belt.  Her mouth was open and her tongue was hanging out.  She was naked except for the robe that she had been wearing the first time Jack saw her.  Her legs were covered in blood that still dripped from her toes.  The puddle beneath her was huge, probably three feet in diameter.  Instantly, Jack tasted bile in the back of his throat.  He turned, put a hand on the wall to brace himself, and threw up.  As his body convulsed, he began sobbing.  He looked over at the table and saw all of Tasha’s gear.  She shot up.  Damn it Tasha!  She had been clean for a little over six months.  The baby was going to change her life.  The baby!

As tears rained down his cheeks, his ears finally focused back on the screaming.  His baby needed him.  It was on the bed, wrapped in towels.  He didn't even know if he had a son or a daughter yet.  He ran to the bed and picked the baby up, doing his best to quiet it down.  There was hunger in that cry though.  How the hell was he going to feed this kid?  He called Miles.  Miles would know what to do.  He knew everything.

While Jack waited for Miles, he did a little searching and found out that he had a daughter.  He let her suck on his pinky and it calmed her down a little bit.  Her face was beat red from crying for who knows how long, but she was beautiful.  She was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.  She looked just like her mother.  That was the second time Jack fell in love.  He looked in her eyes and said, “Welcome to the world Stiletto Rose.  That’s what I’m gonna’ call you.  You’re my Stiletto Rose.”

Shelia’s phone rang, abruptly waking her from her daydream.  Vinny said that he’d be calling her again, but Vinny was dead.  She looked at the display to catch the number.  Nothing. She wasn't dealing with the amateurs anymore.  Who was on the phone?  Who’s got my kids?  She took a deep breath and answered the call.

“Hello,” her voice totally sober, no emotion at all.  Never let them know that they’re getting to you.  Never lose control.  Always be in charge.  She did her best.

The response came in a thick German accent, “Stiletto Rose, my beautiful, deadly flower, I have something that you seek.  I am not interested in a game of cat and mouse with you.  You have seen my handiwork at the cottage.  That should be indication enough that I am not playing games with you.”

Shelia didn't respond.  She knew that she was speaking with the man they called The Blitzkrieg, and she knew that he had her children.  She also knew that his pause was for effect.  He wanted her to start sobbing and begging him not to hurt her babies.  She would have done it if she thought it would help the kids, but it wouldn't.  Keeping her cool was the only way to find out what the game was.  What was this German freak looking for?  What did he want?

After a long silence, the voice continued, “I can tell you that your children are safe with me and will remain so as long as you do exactly as you are told.  No more investigations or they will be dead when you find them, and you will find them.”

Shelia kept control of her tone, “Okay, whatever you say.  What’s the game?  What do you want me to do?”

“You will meet with my associates.  They will have further instructions for you.  If you contact anyone or call the police or any such nonsense, I will kill your children.  I know that I have a reputation for being swift and efficient when I work, but I promise you that I will kill them slowly.  They will feel much pain and will be happy to die when I’m finished with them.  I will videotape this for you and you will watch their suffering before you die.  Do you understand me?”

It was a struggle to hold her tongue, but she did.  Her reply was calm and polite, “I understand.  Where will I meet your associates?”

“They will come to you.  You are on Highway 41 correct.  They will be with you within the hour.”

They were tracking her, but how?  She hadn't been followed.  They must have gotten to the van.  He knew that she’d been at the cottage.  They could be there right at that moment, watching her every move.  A slight chill crawled down her spine.  She wasn't use to being prey.  She had always been the predator.  Her eyes scanned the area surrounding her.  Despite all of the lights, the rest area boasted many shadowy corners.  On top of that, it was surrounded by trees.  These weren’t just a few trees either.  It was more like a forest.

“Good-bye Stiletto,” the German’s voice snapped Shelia back to the conversation.

She tried to keep it to good-bye, but she couldn't stop herself, “Wait.  Can I talk to my children?”  Damn!  He would love that.  That was the fear he wanted to hear.  That’s what this freak got off on.

His tone become sharp and intense, “How dare you?  Do you take me for some amateur holding a prize for ransom?  I’m offended!  Take care in our future conversations Stiletto.  I am a man with very little patience and this project has already pushed me to my limit.  Do not push me beyond that point.”

The phone went dead.  Damn it!  She knew better than to show emotion.  She had to get her head on straight.  At least the amateurs were out of the game.  Professionals followed rules.  They were somewhat predictable.  The kids were just bait.  The Blitzkrieg wanted her not them.  As long as she could keep herself alive, he would need her kids.  How was she going to find them?  She couldn't call Rufus.  The only thing that she was completely sure of was that she didn't want to be in the van when the “associates” arrived.  They wouldn't have instructions for her.  They would have bullets.  The rules of the game changed when Vinny screwed up and shot Mark.  That wasn't part of the plan.  No, Vinny was supposed to get the kids without drawing a whole lot of attention.  That would be why he’s dead now.  Shelia knew that whomever the top dog on this hit was had originally wanted to make her suffer.  That’s why they needed the kids as bait.  With the cops obviously involved now, they wouldn't have time for that.  Now they just wanted her dead.  They’d keep the kids alive long enough to make sure that happened.  Then they’d kill them too.

Shelia grabbed everything she could carry out of the van and then headed off into the woods.  She had no idea what to expect, but she was pretty sure that they would strike fast.  Stiletto Rose had quite a reputation, and they knew that she and Shelia Ramsey were one and the same.  They wouldn't want to give her a chance to fight back.  ‘I’ll show him a deadly flower,’ she thought, as she found a good spot to hide.