The two older women working behind the counter wore paper hats on their heads and striped pink and white dresses. They froze at the sight of the newcomers who just walked into their ice cream shoppe like a pack of leather-clad wolves. Out of the corner of her eye, Poison saw moms grabbing for their kids as men eyed them, no doubt trying to decide if they had a better chance trying to fuck or fight the hardened women standing before them. The two older women behind the counter exchanged a look like they were wondering if they needed to call the police.
In their defense, none of the NCMC had showered in two days, and Poison couldn’t have forced a smile onto her face if her life depended on it. She didn’t have the time, the energy, or the patience.
Poison started forward, the rest of the club hanging back. She had no intention of causing a scene, knowing damn well that she couldn’t help Rose from jail.
Then again, she wasn’t even sure what help she would be to her baby sister here either.
It had been many years since Poison had looked through the older pictures on her phone. All the ones that had included her pig of an ex-husband had long been deleted, while the ones of her parents and sister had just been buried, lost to time.
Pulling out her phone, Poison opened the screen to the last picture she had of Rose and showed it to the women behind the counter. “Do you know this girl? She’ll be older now, mid-twenties?”
Neither woman made any move towards her, though both did take a passing glance at the phone. “No, sorry,” the one on the left answered. “Can’t say I have.”
“Look again!” Poison demanded loudly, causing many patrons to jump. A metal spoon clattered to the floor. Fuck. Poison hung her head, desperately trying to rein in the mass of emotions bombarding her like a hailstorm. She let out a long, shaky breath through her nose before she, slowly, lifted her head. Poison’s grip on her phone tightened. “Please,” she pleaded, beyond desperate. “She’s my sister, and she’s missing. Can you please look again?”
The women hesitated before stepping forward. One even put on a pair of reading glasses to see Poison’s phone better. Tense seconds passed, but then they shook their heads, and despair cascaded through Poison all over again.
“It’s hard to tell,” the one said with a sad expression. “We see so many faces around here. Without a current picture, I can’t say for sure. I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Poison nodded stiffly. Really, what else should she have expected? “Thank you for your time.” She reached into her back pocket and dropped some cash in the tip jar on the counter.
Her club parted like the Red Sea as she turned and made her way towards the door on shaky legs. From their expressions, they were feeling as helpless as she was.
What was Poison supposed to do now? This had been thelongest of long shots, but it had been all she had, all that was keeping her going since she learned her little sister was still alive.
And now?
Poison had been such a rotten older sister to Rose, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty. She thought being harder on Rose would make her try harder, make her reach for more. Rose was the smartest person Poison knew, always spewing out the most random of thoughts and facts. So it made no sense why she didn’t apply herself, why she just barely passed her classes, and why she got caught up in the wrong crowds.
Poison walked aimlessly, not intending to end up in what was clearly the ice cream shoppe’s back alley. More of an open delivery lot with several dumpsters, a propane tank, and two steam vents. She did not feel the chilling northwest breeze that whipped her dyed ginger hair about as she stared at the chipped blue paint and the faded logo of the dumpster company.
A series of loud, echoing crashes disturbed the cozy, winter city as gloved hands reached for anything and everything that could be thrown, tossed, or destroyed. Trash littered about, but Poison didn’t care. She couldn’t breathe! She couldn’tbreathe!
Falling over, she braced her arms against the brick wall of the building and let out a heart-wrenching, agonizingly frustrated wail of agony.
She didn’t hear her club enter the alley, nor did she hear the motorcycle come barreling down towards her. All she felt were the strong arms that had held her every night for the past year and a half wrap around her middle. Pulling her off the wall, Kitty turned her in his arms. Poison struck. She punched and swatted at him several times, screaming as she did, but he did not relent. He took blow after blow until the last of her energy was zapped out of her. Her knees gave out, and she sagged against his chest. Even as pissed as she was, Poison clung to him like her life depended on it as tears began to fall.
* **
Poison walked stoicallyinside the ice cream shoppe sometime later, now wearing a pair of sunglasses to hide her red and puffy eyes. As she pulled her seat out, the metal legs scraping on the linoleum floor, she saw every single member of the club shoot Gypsy a glare, a silent reprimand to keep her mouth shut. Given everything currently going on, Poison appreciated the gesture. She did not need to deal with Gypsy’s unhinged comments right now, too.
Kitty did not follow her inside, and the women in her club smartly did not ask why. She didn’t know how much they’d seen in the alleyway, but she did not have the energy to mentally process both Rose’s reincarnation and Kitty’s betrayal. She had to choose, and she chose Rose.
Putting the manila folder Kitty just gave her on the table in front of her, Poison told the club in an emotionless voice, “I have the name of Rose’s Deputy U.S. Marshal. Jack was right. She isn’t here. Never was. Her job is working for a router manufacturing company. She tests their systems.” Poison pointed up to the router attached to the wall of the ice cream shoppe. “Jack thinks she uploaded the program into the router, and it just happened to land here.”
Wendigo pushed her half-eaten ice cream forward. “Then where was she?”
“Des Moines.” Even to her own ears, Poison’s voice sounded defeated. “Jack says the deputy who was guarding her was found murdered four days ago. It looks like a home invasion, but the U.S. Marshals are still moving everyone.”
Scissors glanced around at the rest of the club. “So Rose is safe? The message was just sent because she was in the middle of a move and couldn’t input the passcode on time?”
Poison shook her head. Reaching forward, she opened the file folder. It didn’t have the seal of the U.S. Marshal Service orclaimed it to be Top Secret, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was the official record. The top document was a full-page picture of a young woman who looked rough, to say the least. There were bags under her eyes and her hair was cut too short to be fashionable, plus bruises on her temple and hands that held up a mug shot sign. She was also so skinny the shape of her bones was visible through her flesh.
Tapping her finger on the photograph, Poison told her club, “Thisis the woman the Deputy Marshals moved today.” The mug shot sign dated five years ago identified the woman in the picture as Rose Amelia Benson. “Problem is, that’s not my sister.”
The others also voiced their bewilderment, but Poison quieted them with a look.
“I mean,” Poison growled, “thatthatisn’t Rose. I don’t know who she is or why the U.S. Marshals think she’s Rose, but she’s not.”
