5
Fury
* * *
Hagarty is a piece of fucking work. I’ve seen my fair share of motherfuckers, but he ranks right up there with the worst of the fucking worst. I’ve been watching him and digging into his affairs for three days and the shit I’ve discovered makes me sick. And it takes a lot to make me sick.
He makes the bulk of his money in prostitution, porn, stolen goods, and money laundering. None of that information is new to me. What is new is that he now has two guys who handle most of his business dealings so he can indulge in what appears to be his new favourite activity: picking young boys up off the street and giving them a new life. That new life consists of him fucking them whenever he wants, beating the shit out of them whenever he wants, and forcing them into prostitution and porn. At my latest count, he’s “saved” ten boys from the street. And at the end of every day, he goes home to his wife and daughters, and pretends to be an upstanding citizen who runs a successful car dealership chain across Australia.
Just before lunch on Tuesday when I’m sitting outside one of the apartments he owns, waiting for him to come back out, King calls. “Need you to leave Hagarty and get over to Zara’s and watch her for the rest of the day. Mace will take over at around five this afternoon.”
“You want me to watch Hagarty again tonight?”
“No, take the night off, and tomorrow, meet me at the clubhouse in the morning. Around ten.”
“Will do.”
We end the call and I head over to Zara’s place. As far as I know, King hasn’t found solid evidence she’s in danger yet, but he’s still got eyes on her at all times of the day.
It takes me forty minutes to get there. Sarge takes off after we catch up for a bit and I settle in for a long afternoon. Ten minutes later, Zara reverses out of her driveway and heads out so I follow her.
Thirty minutes later, we pull into the underground car park of a medical specialist centre. Zara eyes me as she leaves her car. No smile, but none of her bullshit either which makes my day.
I then spend the next hour and a bit hanging out waiting for her. When she returns to her car, she keeps her head down and doesn’t make eye contact. Her shoulders are hunched and my eyes are drawn to the loose black dress she’s wearing. It hides her body in ways I don’t often see women her age doing. The thing it doesn’t do, though, is hide her beauty. No fucking wonder King pulled me aside all those months ago and told me not to look at her.
Zara is beautiful with her flawless skin, full lips, blue eyes, and long blonde hair. It’s an effortless beauty that shines even when she’s vomiting all over someone. Add to that her curves, and she’s your classic blonde bombshell.
I wait for her to pull out so I can follow, but her car won’t start. It’s an old shitbox Ford that sounds like it’s on its last legs; I’m not surprised it won’t start. Leaving my bike, I walk to her door and bend my face to meet her gaze. Tears are streaming down her face, and she’s staring at me with a look that says “don’t fucking mention the fact I’m crying,” so I don’t. “Pop the bonnet.”
She swallows and nods, moving to do as I say.
I lift the bonnet and find an engine that’s seen better days, not to mention spark plugs that need changing. Fuck knows what else I’d find if I keep looking. However, King calls, distracting me from the car.
“Change of plans for tonight. I need you at the clubhouse after Mace takes over.”
“Okay.”
As I’m shoving my phone back in my pocket, Zara tries the car again. The engine cranks over like it has been, but this time the car manages to start.
I put the bonnet down and walk back to her window. Still not mentioning the tears that continue to track down her face, I say, “You need to get your spark plugs replaced and your engine checked over. It’s a mess.”
She grips the steering wheel. “Yeah, it’s on my to-do list.”
Her words are stiff. Forced. And I sense she’d rather be doing anything other than talking to me, so I tap her roof and say, “Gimme a minute.”
She waits for me to start my bike before pulling out of her park. I then follow her back to her place and park my bike out the front of it, eyeing the street both ways to check for trouble. Zara parks in the driveway and hurries inside. She keeps her head down while madly wiping her tears and I wonder what the hell she just did at that specialist centre to cause her so much upset.
An hour or so passes in which nothing much happens. Zara’s street is a quiet one so I see two cars only. It makes my job easy, but boring as hell. I’d rather be watching Hagarty. At least he’s on the move a lot more, which gives me something to do.
I’m in the middle of watching two teens coming down the street when Zara walks my way. Her face is expressionless. Her arms are wrapped around her body. She looks anything but confident in her approach and that surprises me because each time we’ve interacted, she’s seemed sure of herself.
I lift my chin at her. “You good?”
She nods and drops her arms. “Yeah.” She pauses and when she speaks next, her voice has lost the tension threading through it, as has her body language. “I, umm, I just wanted to see if you’d like some cake. I made some.”
“Is it chocolate?”
A smile peeks out from her sad eyes. “Yes. And vanilla, and red velvet, and lemon. Pick whatever you like.” Her smile grows and she shrugs. “Or have them all.”