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She disappears around the entryway, and seconds later the front door slams.
Ritz darts out of the room and I stand there alone, feeling a little shaky, uncertain. I don’t know where she’s staying tonight. Probably with Swain. I guess she couldn’t fathom the thought of one more night here.
When I look at all the boxes she left for me to stare at, the irritation sets in. I don’t know. Maybe I am a little relieved. I needed Devin earlier this year in ways I didn’t understand at the time. Not that I was using her. I wasn’t. At least I don’t think I was. But sometimes people come into your life like a calm after the storm. And things are so great you forget there was ever a storm. You’re comfortable, take shit for granted right out of the gate.
There are a few things in life I take for granted. And one of them is my ability to numb shit out. In fact, I’ve been numb for a long time. It’s so much better than getting emotionally invested in things or people who are just going to disappoint you. Or worse, try to destroy you.
Ritz makes a sudden appearance, bumps into my leg. When I look down at him, he sits and meows.
“I know. It’s time for some Chicken of the Sea.”
I peel back the top of a tin can and scrape it into one of his clean bowls, thinking about something Dev said.
I know you prefer dick.
I think about it, my limited experience with dick as a whole. It hasn’t been positive. Even though I know good guys exist, my daddy being one of them. But dick is the cause of 99% of the world’s problems. They’re not the cause of mine, or Devin’s. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a single problem that I’m not personally eliminating one by one with the help of my trusty Kershaw.
After feeding Ritz, I pull some leftover lasagna out of the fridge, then decide it’s too heavy. Instead, I grab some grapes and cheese and a few pieces of sourdough bread. I pour a drink and suck it down so fast my stomach spasms.
On a piece of paper, I write a name.Benjamin Figueiredo. I do a quick internet search on my tablet to confirm the spelling of the last name. And I study the paper for a moment, wondering how long this guy has been involved with King and why I haven’t heard of him.
I google his name, followed by “Phoenix,” and at the top of the results page is a link to his Facebook. It’s private, of course. Can’t see a damn thing but his profile picture. Dark hair, angry eyes, pissed off expression. Seems about right.
When I navigate to the About section, there’s a hyperlink that takes me to a page where I can download an app called KidSafePact to Android, iPhone, or Windows. Heart racing, I click on the Features tab and start reading as fast as my eyes can move. Looks like KidSafePact is a social networking app for children ages 13 and under. And so far, most of the reviews of the app are good.
Except for the ones that aren’t.
Apparently, some parents have complained that the app is invasive, crawling your phone and tracking your location. Some of this is standard. I’ve heard that a lot of app developers do it to sell information to other companies.Lolat anyone who thinks any part of their life is private. On the tablet I use to research my kills I keep the camera covered with masking tape and the mic turned off. There are no pictures, no important documents or contacts listed. Basically, the tablet is empty of pretty much everything but internet searches. I really have to wonder how many parents take the time to research these so-called “child friendly” applications their kids are using. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe less than a fifth. And that’s being generous.
So, this is the app business Snowden was referring to. The one Benjamin and King run together. No doubt it’s how they find their victims.
It doesn’t take long to find the company name: Development Solutions. It was created last year—Benjamin Figueiredo himself being listed as the official developer. The LLC address is in Chandler, on East Frye Road. I jot it down on the piece of paper and plan a visit in the very near future. And then I download the app to my tablet so it’s there when I’m ready to create a profile.
The next thing I do is send an email to my best friend Rigger with a picture my daddy took of me when I was twelve and we were on a ski trip in Colorado. I’m wearing a turtleneck sweater and diamond earrings, my hair pulled into two buns on either side of my head. A few flames from the fireplace are visible in the background. We were on our way out the door to some fancy dinner. That night, I tried caviar for the first time and loved it. Daddy was so proud of me. He said I was officially a cultured young lady. At the time, I thought he was comparing me to buttermilk.
I laugh softly at that.
Mother’s murder had taken place about two years prior to that trip. I was there when she was killed. Witnessed the whole event. But by the time the police got there, I couldn’t recall a single thing, could barely talk.Shock traumathey said.
They did their thing, took pictures, gathered evidence, then Daddy morbidly pulled me into the room to look at her body, to see if maybe I could remember something,anything, telling me how important it was. That’s when I saw the blood, the way her mangled body looked. Her brains oozing down the walls.
That night, a part of my soul left my body. And it shaped me into the woman I am today.
I shiver when I think about how close I came to being peddled into their underground world of underage snuff porn, and the sick, guttural truth of it all.
That it would have happened at the hands of my own mother.
She was going to sell me, but then King killed her over some dispute. There is nothing sicker than a woman who’d rather have cash than ensure the safety of her own offspring.
Daddy says she wasn’t like that when they married, that King got to her, rotted her mind and heart. I’d asked him once why she would need to sell me when he makes bank, but his one-line answer said it all.
“The company was struggling back then and that’s all you need to know.”
I’ve never asked again.
Daddy has spent years and close to half a million dollars hunting the sick fuck down. And the FBI have been quietly but aggressively searching for him too. You know someone is good at hiding if the FBI can’t find them.
I have to give it to King and Benjamin. This whole app thing is pretty genius if they can pull it off without getting caught. Well, King has been doing this for years without getting caught. He not only had my mother killed, he runs the entire sex trafficking trade from West Texas to the California state line. And once he is gone I’ll have exacted my revenge on everyone responsible for roping my mother into their twisted web of sickos. Nothing like saving the best for last. I’ll take Benjamin out for good measure too.
