Chapter 2: Ms Mouse Roars

Linda realized she was hungry. She was pretty sure this low-class hotel was lacking room service so she would need to leave on a food run. From her earlier walk she remembered a sandwich shop a block away that would suffice for dinner. Maybe a nice takeout six inch sub sandwich and chips. Not wanting to leave her new found cash in the room she dumped most of the junk in her large purse onto the bed. Linda stuffed the money into her purse and looked at her bed. What a mess. How did her purse get so full of stuff? One of these days, she promised herself for the umpteenth time, she would clean out the unnecessary junk. Yeah, right, and one day politicians would serve the public who elected them, cops would be impartial enforcing the law, and lawyers would tell the truth; and someday, pigs would fly, or whatever.

Damn, there was dead guy’s wallet. Better check that out too. After opening the wallet up, Linda sorted through a miscellaneous assortment of business cards and receipts, dead guy’s driver’s license and junk. It did contain another $33. That would cover meals for tonight and tomorrow. No ramen noodles in her immediate future. Thanks, dead guy. The rest was trash to be dropped off someplace no one would find it. One of the drain holes for storm run-off on the side of the street would work just fine. Ms. Mouse could drop it in the sewer water and no one would even notice.

Not wanting to get stuck on the ancient elevator with a purse full of money, Linda took the stairs down to the lobby. There were several cops in the lobby talking to the night clerk and other residents of the hotel. That was fast. Someone had figured out pretty quickly where dead guy lived. Maybe he had friends on the force, or maybe they just kept track of known drug dealers. Or maybe she didn’t have a clue. The night clerk didn’t know her at all, so Linda quickly and quietly slipped out the main entrance and headed up the sidewalk to the sandwich shop.

Normally, Linda’s danger warning radar would have gone off, but she was concentrating on the ramifications of the police presence at the hotel and trying to figure out if she had forgotten anything that could lead them to her.

Someone bumped her violently from behind and spun her to the ground but not before he wrenched her purse off her shoulder. Linda, lying on the sidewalk, looked up to see a man running away as fast as he could go, carrying her purse clutched in one hand.

Linda’s anger spiked immediately. No bastard thief was going to steal her money! “No way, motherfucker!” she yelled. Her mind surged with power and the running man was slammed down to the ground. His breath whooshed out and he lay there dazed and moaning. Anyone watching would assume he’d just tripped and fell, but she knew better. Body-slamming seemed to be another of her new talents. Hmmm, maybe a job at WWE? Linda got up, walked over and grabbed her purse, then spit on him and gave him one of her signature killer-sneaker kicks to the ribs.

“Ouch! Shit! I’ve got to get better shoes or stop kicking douche-bags,” Linda exclaimed. Some bystanders laughed and then continued on with their own personal business. She giggled at the mental picture of kicking an actual douche-bag. She turned and headed into the sandwich shop a few feet away leaving Mr. Douche-Bag laying there. ‘Forget about the small perps’ she thought to herself. Probably a druggie looking for some cash to buy his next fix, anyway. If he didn’t soak that shirt in cold water soon, the blood from his nose was going to cause one hell of a nasty stain.

Inside the shop, Linda decided on a half-size Italian BMT sub, chips, and a Pepsi to go. Her order was quickly filled. She paid for her food, added some paper napkins and headed back to the hotel. The purse snatcher was long gone.

Linda summoned Ms. Mouse, and pretending to tie her sneaker at the curb, Linda wrapped the dead guy’s wallet in one of the napkins and adroitly slipped it into the storm drainage slot. Ms. Mouse at her best. Linda waited a moment till she heard the wallet splash in the sewer water. No one noticed a thing.

Once inside the hotel, she wanted to run up to her room and hide out, but the TV was on in the lobby and the newsman was talking about “The Back Alley Killer.” She stopped to listen.

“There are still no clues in the murder earlier today that left a known drug dealer dead of massive head injuries and a lot of questions,” the smarmy reporter stated, obviously reading from a prepared statement. “Police are currently searching his room at the old Wilson Hotel on 1st Street, and expect an early resolution to this case.”

Linda had heard enough, and not wanting to draw attention to herself she climbed the stairs up to her room on the third floor. After entering and locking the door behind her, Linda sat down on her wooden chair and put her meal and drink on the small table.

As she ate her now tasteless supper Linda worried that she had forgotten something. Backtracking mentally through the day, she suddenly sat up straight, and said “Oh, fuck me.” Fingerprints in room 504. She forgot to use gloves. Note to self: invest in a large box of disposable latex gloves. Soon.

At least now she had time to plan what to say, just in case the detectives showed up asking questions.

Linda knew, as a foster child, her fingerprints would be on file in the state records.

It was even more important now that she get all her money squirreled away safely so the cops didn’t stumble on it. Hard to explain an eighteen year old girl, fresh out of foster care, with over $6,000 in her purse the same day a drug dealer living in the same hotel was violently killed. Yet another thing to take care of tomorrow. After she had her money safe, time to look into a change of address, too.

After stuffing the money into her backpack, she replaced all the items dumped on the bed back into her purse and lay down, back propped up on her pillow against the wall. She clutched the backpack to her chest. Linda didn’t plan on sleeping at all that night, but with all the stress of the day, she nodded off. Waking with a start, she looked at her watch and saw it was already after seven in the morning.

Time to get moving girl! she thought.

Stretching out her stiff muscles Linda grabbed up her toiletries along with a cleanish towel and headed for the facilities. Luck was with her and the bathroom was empty. At least no humans were present. She did see a roach scuttle off and wiggle under a crack in the baseboard. Ugh.

Linda relieved her bladder and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature to perfect, and stepped in. She had just started to shampoo her hair when the fucking door opened and a man stepped into the room.

“Dammit, get out of here,” Linda screamed at the man while trying to cover all her naughty bits.

He just stood there looking pleased with himself. “You forgot to lock the door. Don’t worry, girlie, I won’t touch you. However, if you want to give free nudie shows, count me in.”

“Get the fuck out of here, you perv,” Linda said with some steel in her voice.

The fat guy just stood there, leaned against the door and laughed at her.

All Linda could think about was, As fat as this guy is, he would probably have a heart attack if I really put on a show for him. As she thought about his heart, she found it actually being visible in her mind, pumping the blood through his clogged arteries.

Fat guy just smirked at her and started stroking his short thin dick. Looks like an Oscar Mayer wiener, Linda decided.

Linda’s mind boiled. She reached out with her senses and squeezed the man’s heart. Not enough to kill him, but enough to hurt.

Both of them were shocked. Linda because yet another talent was discovered. Internal heart squeezing! The fat man because of the sudden serious pain, as he clutched at his chest. Linda just stared at him.

“Now, Fattie, when I say get the fuck out, you’d better seriously consider listening to me! Now go! Lock the damn door behind you too,” Linda smirked. The old saying ‘If looks could kill’ popped into her mind. How true!

Fattie left. Quickly.

After he was gone Linda started shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body, and no means of draining it off. She just stood there and sobbed as the hot water pounded down on her body. She had almost killed a man just for staring at her naked body in the shower. And how in hell did she squeeze his heart? Yet more things to put on her to-do list. Figure out the whole heart-squeezing thingy. Maybe it will work with other body parts too!

Ten minutes later Linda had finished her shower, rinsed off and stepped out. Drying herself off, she considered all the recent changes happening around her. Things were getting really strange and she needed to get a handle on this soon. Like, yesterday.

When safely back in her room Linda decided to write down a plan for the day’s activities. Taking a small note-pad out of her purse and a pen she started writing:

1. Grab today’s newspaper

2. Breakfast. Coffee. Search paper for rooms to rent, and cheap apartments.

3. Oh, and check for news about ‘The Back Alley Killer.’

4. Go to the downtown main branch of her credit union and open an adult account with her own Visa Debit card.

5. Deposit some of her money in checking and some in savings at the credit union. $1,000 in each.

6. Either get a safety deposit box at ‘My Credit Union’ or get a storage locker at the train station to stash her backpack and most of the money. Or get both of them and split the money up.

“Yeah, that’s a better idea. Split the cash up, $2,000 in each location,” Linda mumbled to herself.

7. Follow-up on those rentals from the paper and try to find something suitable.

8. Research just what her new-found talents were. Slamming men into walls and sidewalks, and squeezing hearts seemed to be just the beginning. How far could she take this? Practice!

9. Box of disposable latex gloves. Family size box. Add alcohol wipes. To clean blood off shoes.

10. Shoes! Cute Women’s shoes. Flats or maybe a two inch heel max. *With Steel Toes

Linda added the star. Did anyone even make steel-toed women’s shoes? Maybe work boots. Ugh.

After dressing in shorts and a tank top with her attack-sneakers on, Linda took the elevator down to the lobby, and walked over to the friendly desk clerk. At least he wasn’t looking at naked women in a magazine this time.

“How much for a paper?”

“One dollar each. Inflation. I remember when they cost a dime.”

Linda handed him a dollar, and asked “Any place around here to get some coffee and a scone or doughnut?”

“There’s a Starbucks up on 3rd. Just take a right out the door and another right at the first corner, walk up two blocks and it’s there. Can’t miss it,” he said. “Oh, by the way, did you hear about Petey? He got his fool-self killed yesterday in some alley, three blocks away.”

“Petey?”

“Right! Mr Peterson in 504. His name’s Ed but everyone calls him Petey. Cops were all over the place here last night askin’ questions and checking out his room ‘n’ stuff. Night clerk told me all about it when I came in for work. One of the cops tol’ me something really odd about the murder, this morning. By the way, my name is Tommy. Pleased ta meetcha, Ma’am.”

“Same here, Tommy. Now, something odd? What was that?”

“Well, it seems as if the spot where Petey’s head connected with the wall was eight feet off the ground. Now Petey is about five feet ten, or thereabouts. So the cops are all ‘speculatin’ that it must have been a really strong, tall guy to shove him that hard against the wall that far up. They’re lookin’ for a muscle guy close to seven feet tall,” Tommy nodded. “Be sure to keep that to yourself, though, it’s not common knowledge yet.”

“Sure thing, Tommy. Mums the word. I’m going to go get some coffee and breakfast now. See you a bit later on.”

“Be careful out there, honey. If you see some seven foot tall giant, cross-over to the other side of the street.”

Linda left the hotel and turned right, walked a block, and turned right again. Tommy was spot on. Two blocks ahead she could see the familiar ‘Starbucks‘ logo. When she got to 3rd Street she went inside and ordered a Latte with extra foam and a couple strawberry scones. After paying she waited just a moment for her order, then took it to an empty table and opened the paper. Front page was full of speculation about ‘The Back Alley Killer’ but pretty short on facts. The detectives in charge of the investigation were ‘confident of an early resolution to this case.’ Sounded like the paper cribbed from the TV reporter last night. Anyway, thought Linda, how many seven-foot-tall muscle men live in Cauthen City? She started to laugh and snorted some coffee through her nose and onto her scone. Picking it up, she wiped it off with her napkin and took a bite. Mmmmm, delicious. Nose snorting wasn’t as good as dunking, though.

Checking her watch she saw it was after 9 a.m. now, and credit union hours, Monday through Thursday, were from 9 to 6. The downtown branch was over on 5th Street and a couple blocks further north. She could research a place to live later, back in her room. Linda got up, disposed of her trash and headed out the door.

Walking across the street Linda got a strong mental shot of evil intent directed at her. Looking up, she made eye contact with a tall skinny black guy wearing gold chains, a gold ring, gold tooth, you get the picture, a pimp. Guy must watch too many Hollywood pimp movies. Putting a little more sway in her hips, Linda walked up close to where he was standing near the corner and looked around, like she was waiting on someone.

“Hey there, young bitch, don’t go thinking of working my corner without you and me coming to an agreement,” snarled Mr. Tall and Skinny.

“You must be the local employment officer,” said Linda, trying to smile sexily.

“Das right. I’m the employment officer and dis here is my street. No hoes work here ‘ceptin’ they gots my permission and pays a commission.”

“Got some place close by we can go and negotiate? You might want to give me a qualifications test drive too.” Linda batted her eyelashes at the pimp.

“Yeah, I gots a place, right next door. Come on in and let’s get better acquainted. Show me the merchandise. We can talk some bizness too.”

The pimp took Linda by the elbow and steered her into the entrance to some small apartments above the first floor businesses here. Upstairs, he unlocked the door to apartment C and ushered Linda inside.

After re-locking the door, the pimp turned around to check out his future whore and grabbed his head with both hands. Pain, like he never felt before exploded in his head as several blood vessels shattered causing a massive stroke. The pimp fell to his knees, staring at Linda, then slumped over and dropped to the floor. He was dead before he hit the ground. She started to give him her trademark kick but changed her mind. The satisfaction of kicking the pimp wasn’t worth a painful toe. She still had to walk the rest of the way to the credit union. I need to find cute, steel-toed shoes someplace, she thought. Maybe searching the internet would work.