Missed Connections

  Missed Connections: Book 0

  DBS Publishing LLC

  Copyright 2018 by DBS Publishing LLC

  Smashwords Edition

  Prologue

  The Bauer Technology Charity Gala was the event of the season in Simone City. Anybody that was somebody showed up, decked out in tailored suits, designer dresses, and jewelry so precious that the diamond pieces were loaned out temporarily and insured for thousands of dollars by their true owners. The gala was held at Bauer Tech’s main building, a high-rise in Juno, the business district and the wealthiest of the city’s four boroughs. The rich and privileged lived and worked in Juno, and they often partied there too. On the surface, charity events and galas were dignified soirees. The attendees drank champagne, ate salmon puffs, and kept the language polite and stuffy, but when the auction or donation part of the evening concluded, the events devolved into less attractive conversation. The men relieved the bars of whiskey, the women of wine, and the evening wore on without the worry of maintaining propriety. It was just shy of this hour that Vivian Bauer said goodbye to her husband Wallace—the CEO of Bauer Tech—and excused herself from the gala to accompany their fifteen-year-old daughter Veronica home to their penthouse apartment.

  “Good night, my dear,” Wallace said, helping Vivian into her coat. “The car is waiting for you at the curb.”

  John Halco, Wallace’s best friend and business partner, chastely kissed Vivian on each cheek. “You always leave early. You’re missing the best part of the evening.”

  “I’m afraid once the shrimp cocktails are gone, I no longer find your jokes amusing, John,” Vivian teased. “And Veronica is bored out of her mind.”

  The fifteen-year-old girl mustered a smile for her parents’ benefit. Her dress itched, her high heels pinched her toes, and the pins that held her hair in place dug against her scalp. She was ready for the stuffy evening to end.

  Halco almost ruffled Veronica’s hair then thought better of it. “Sometimes I forget that you’re a young woman now. A few years ago, you were drawing on my office walls with crayon.”

  “I was five, John,” Veronica said, employing that sardonic tone children seemed to learn as soon as they hit their teens. “Let it go.”

  Her parents, Halco, and the other men who waited patiently for her father’s attention all chuckled. Veronica, despite her indifference to the goings-on at Bauer Tech, was a charmer. Her father’s friends and business partners found her smirk and quick wit amusing. Wallace used it to his advantage, often allowing his daughter to speak freely to his associates. She had a quick mind and picked up every detail of the business speak. One day, Wallace hoped she might take over the company in his stead.

  Wallace hugged his daughter tightly, careful not to spill his drink on her emerald dress. “Get out of here, troublemaker. I’ll see you at home.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  Vivian and Wallace exchanged one last kiss before mother and daughter left the businessmen to their whiskey and cigars. A black Town Car with tinted windows was parked on the curb of Bauer Tech. The driver opened the door to the backseat so Veronica and Vivian could slide in, and then they were off. Veronica pulled the pins out of her hair, letting the strict updo unravel and cascade around her face.

  “It wasn’t too bad, was it?” Vivian collected the discarded pins in her palm. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  “Someone ate all the veggie rolls,” Veronica said, massaging her scalp with the tips of her fingers. “I’m starving.”

  “How about I order a pizza when we get home?” her mother said. “I get tired of all that fancy food sometimes too. We can pop in a movie and relax for the rest of the night since you don’t have school tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Veronica rested her forehead against the cool glass of the Town Car’s window and watched the big buildings of the borough pass her by. “I want a bath first though. My hair feels like a helmet from all this finishing spray.”

  The Town Car dropped off the mother and daughter at the foot of the Ivory Hotel, where the price per room was so extravagant that it was not spoken aloud. The Bauers owned the suite on the top floor of the Ivory. Once or twice, Wallace entertained the idea of buying the entire hotel to make it more affordable for others, but the world of advanced technology left him no headspace to consider real estate. The Bauers’ top floor suite was everything you expected out of the place Simone City’s god of tech called home. There was no key to get in. Veronica pressed her finger to a small blue pad that lit up, scanned her print, and unlocked the door. As the teenager pranced inside, motion-sensor lights switched on and Wallace’s patented Smart Home device, named Jeeves, sprang to life.

  “Welcome home, Vivian and Veronica,” the cool robotic voice said. “May I be of service?”

  “Run a bath for me,” Veronica requested.

  “Running bath,” the device replied. In Veronica’s personal bathroom, the faucet turned on and spilled hot water into the tub.

  “And order a large pepperoni pizza from Giordano’s,” Vivian added. “Delivery, please.”

  “Ordering one large pepperoni pizza from Giordano’s.”

  Veronica left her mother in the living room and headed to her wing of the massive apartment. She kicked off her heels then unzipped her dress and stepped out of it with a relieved sigh. The bathwater steamed as she added organic lavender oil to it. She slipped into the water.

  “Play my relaxation playlist, Jeeves,” she requested. A series of speakers placed around the bathroom turned on, and a soothing coffee house singer crooned at Veronica as she submerged herself underwater.

  Veronica washed the hairspray out and let the oil soak into her skin, savoring the slippery warmth of the bath. As she smoothed conditioner into her hair, the music cut off.

  “Jeeves, continue playing relaxation playlist.”

  The Smart Home device did not reply.

  “Jeeves. Continue playing relaxation playlist.”

  More silence. Too much silence. A thump echoed down the hallway from the living room. Veronica’s breath quickened.

  “Mom?” she called out. “Is everything okay?”

  No reply. Veronica climbed out of the tub, dripping water across the bathroom floor. She put on her fluffy white bathrobe and cinched it tight around her waist, then crept through the door and down the hallway. Deep voices emanated from the living room.

  “Shut up! Do it quietly.”

  “Sorry for enjoying myself.”

  “We’re taking turns, right?”

  A group of men gathered around the white leather sectional that stretched across the length of the living room. Each man wore an expensive tailored suit and a black ski mask to hide their faces. Splayed across the couch, her dress ripped free of her body, was Veronica’s mother. A fresh bruise blossomed across her forehead. Her eyes were glazed over. She was conscious but unaware. One of the men had removed his bowtie and shoved it in her mouth to stifle her moans.

  A gasp of horror escaped Veronica. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The men turned. Shirts untucked, belts unbuckled, flies unzipped. Vivian exposed and vulnerable.

  “Shit!” One of the men did up his zipper and thumped one of his friends on his shoulder. “I didn’t know she’d be here!”

  “Where else would she be?” His friend, a tall man with broad shoulders and a blue patterned tie, showed no shame at the group’s activity. He turned to face Veronica in full. “We should have fun with both of them.”

  Some of the men hesitated. One of them said, “She’s just a kid.”

  “She’s fifteen,” the tall man replied, stalking across the room toward Veronica. “She’s a woman.”

  “Get away from me,” Veronica said.
Her voice trembled. On the couch, her mother stirred and moaned.

  “Shut her up!” the tall man ordered. One of his cohorts slammed his fist against Vivian’s head. A loud crack split the air.

  “No!” Veronica screamed, sobbing. “Jeeves, call the police!”

  The tall man laughed. “Silly girl. We disabled your father’s ridiculous Smart Home device as soon as we walked in. It’s just you and us. But don’t worry, baby. We’re all friends here.”

  He lunged for her, but she ducked out of the way and aimed a front kick at his head. Her heel connected with his nose and broke it, but that didn’t deter the man. Rather, it spurred him on. He chased Veronica down the hallway. She ran into the bedroom and locked the door, spinning around to look for her cell phone, but she’d left it on the counter in the living room.

  The door crashed open as the man put his foot through it. He dove toward Veronica, wrapped his arms around her, and dragged her into the living room. She kicked and screamed, bit his forearms, and yanked at his hair, but nothing worked. He lay her down on the rug in front of the couch and straddled her hips. When he leaned over her, she dug her thumbs into his eye sockets. He roared in pain, cradling his face.

  “You’ll pay for that, bitch,” he growled. Blood dripped through his ski mask and onto Veronica’s chest. His knuckles landed on her temple. Her head swam. Her stomach turned.

  As the man pushed Veronica’s cheek to the floor and ripped open her robe, she lost her grip on reality. Maybe it was the blow to her head. Maybe it was dissociation. Whatever the case, she stopped fighting and lay there. She watched her mother on the sofa. Vivian’s eyes rolled back in her head. The men didn’t care. They kept going. And going. Veronica hoped the darkness at the corners of her eyes would finish the job, that it would take over her entire body and pull her under until all of this was over.

  The door slammed. The men were gone. The worried face of a teenaged girl appeared in Veronica’s blurry line of sight. She cupped Veronica’s cheeks. She whispered for Veronica to hold on. And Veronica did.

  Chapter One - Vee

  In Simone City, the four boroughs were named after Roman goddesses. Juno, to the north of Slickwater Lake, was the business district, akin to Manhattan. It was full of high-rises and hotels and museums. Venus, to the west of the lake, was known as the party borough, home to every club, concert venue, and independent movie theater imaginable. Self-proclaimed artists, musicians, and philosophers lived in block buildings of studio apartments to perfect their crafts there. Vesta, to the east, was a little square of suburbia. It was block after block of cookie-cutter houses, matching mailboxes, and soccer moms that all went to the same salon to get the same haircut. Minerva was south of everything, including moral standards. It was the poorest district of Simone City, where the streets were lined with garbage, rats, and despair. In one night, I went from Juno to Minerva, and I’d stayed south of everything for twelve years.

  A bicycle messenger whizzed by. I flattened myself against the alley wall, breathing hard. The moisture of the red bricks soaked through my hoodie. I shivered. It was springtime in Simone City. The frost had melted, and there were fresh buds on the trees. But the winter’s cold lingered, especially at nighttime when the sun had foregone the concrete jungle of inner city Juno. The bike messenger took the corner too quickly. The back wheel slid out across the damp concrete and knocked into a trash can. The can wobbled and fell over, spilling rotten food and garbage across the mouth of the alley. The cyclist shot off, oblivious or indifferent to the mess. I was alone again, thankful for the solitude, grateful that empty alleyways in Juno were easy to come by. The people who lived here didn’t walk in the shadows. They stayed in the light. They walked on the wide sidewalks. They rode in their Town Cars. Brisk, professional, and above it all.

  I crept along, stepping through the garbage rather than hopping over it. The soles of my shoes had witnessed worse. At the end of the alley, I stopped again. Breathed in. Breathed out. It was late, too late for the nine-to-fivers to be wandering around, yet there were people in the streets. Men in expensive coats with expensive wrist watches and expensive smartphones. Women with red-bottomed heels and Birkin bags who left a cloud of Chanel Number Five in their wake. My jaw tightened, teeth clenched, each time one of them passed too closely. Another shiver rocked my spine, but not from the chill. People—all of them—made me nervous. And nervous was an understatement. I shouldn’t have come to Juno. I shouldn’t have left my apartment in Minerva at all. Leaving home was how people ended up dead. But it wouldn’t be my death on anyone’s hands tonight. The thought strengthened my resolve. I stepped from the alley.

  “Heads up!”

  A kid on a moped cut around me, aiming for the shortcut through the alley. He wore a red and green visor instead of a helmet. The design looked familiar. I tracked it as he swerved to avoid me. An elaborate G was embroidered on the visor. The kid had a stack of pizzas strapped to the seat of the moped. He was a delivery boy for Giordano’s.

  “Shit, lady. Get out of the way,” he called over his shoulder as he straightened out his path and bounced over the curb.

  My stomach turned. Go home, a voice said. Not my voice. It lived inside my brain, but it didn’t belong to me. You don’t have to do this. Shut up, little voice. Shut up. My hand balled into fists in the pocket of my hoodie, fingers wrapped tight around the handle of a freshly sharpened chef’s knife. Could people see it? The outline of the blade pressed against the black fabric? A woman—passing with her friend—stared. When she drew level, she broke eye contact and shook her head.

  “More and more riffraff from the south every day,” she said to her friend, not bothering to lower her voice. “The cops really need to do something about it.”

  The friend, unabashed, looked over her shoulder. I turned my head. The pair continued on, laughing. About me and the other riffraff, no doubt.

  I ducked from alley to alley, avoiding the main avenues as much as possible, until I reached an extravagant office building downtown. There, I sat down on the corner and drew my hood up. Hunched over. Any passersby would take me for just another one of the beggars. A minute later, someone tossed a handful of change and a piece of pocket lint into my lap. Good. It was working.

  I waited there for a while. One hour, maybe two. Watching the door of the office building. Scanning the faces of those who emerged. Finally, he came out. He was a little man, shorter than the average woman. At street level, I noticed the lifts in his loafers right away. He had fat fingers. His university's class ring pinched his skin. The face of his Rolex gasped every time his thick wrist flexed. The man buttoned his jacket and crossed the street. Once he made it to the opposite curb, I stood up and followed.

  He walked with his back erect and chest puffed out, a man who tried to make himself look bigger that he actually was. The shoulders of his jacket did not sit flush with his actual shoulders, as if he’d accidentally, or perhaps intentionally, given the tailor incorrect measurements. He did not go, as I expected him to, uptown toward the expensive apartments near the park. Rather, he turned west toward Venus. I tracked him across the bridge from one borough to the other. It was a lengthy walk for a man who not only had such short legs but could also afford to hire a cab, but when he reached his destination, it all made sense.

  Penthouse Gentlemen’s Club. It was one of the classier strip joints in Venus, though its title was a bit of a head scratcher. The club was in a basement beneath a gay bar. The sign above the door was small and dark, unlike the rest of Venus’s neon advertisements. The people who went to Penthouse were the ones who already knew it was there. The man with the fat fingers descended the stairs to the barred door with familiarity, sparing one glance at his surroundings before entering the club.

  I didn’t go inside. Penthouse was for men like the one who’d just entered it, rich business professionals who preferred less than dignified entertainment. If I walked in, someone would yell at me to take my top off. I couldn’t be noticed, so I had to
wait. A lot of this game required waiting. I didn’t mind. I was patient. Disciplined. Waiting was the easy part. As the man disappeared inside, I crossed the street and leaned against the wall opposite the bar, out of the bouncer’s sight. From here, I had a clear view of Penthouse’s entrance.

  The night was young in Venus, but it grew old as the hours passed by. It grew rowdy too, despite the weeknight. The bar drew a crowd around one in the morning, as did the curb. Young women in fishnets and stilettos smoked cigarettes outside Penthouse, suppressing shivers when the breeze found its way across their breasts, pushed up into unrealistic orbs of perfection like an “open for business” advertisement. Occasionally, a man would emerge from the gentlemen’s club and whisper in one of the girls’ ears. If the price was right, the duo disappeared together. A bitter taste flooded across my tongue each time, and I forced myself to turn a blind eye to the transactions.

  I caught sight of my reflection of the blacked-out bar window. I blinked slowly to make sure the woman in the makeshift mirror was me. The last time I’d seen myself, I had long wavy hair and a teenager’s plump cheeks. I’d shorn the hair myself, so that the honey-brown strands remained chopped at chin length. My face was hollow, leaving nothing but sharp edges. I wasn’t petite, but I made myself small. Hunched shoulders, thin but wiry, and a bowed head. My brown eyes were dark and vacant, sunken into the purple circles of late nights and too many hours of close proximity to a computer screen. I looked away.

  Hours later, the man staggered out of Penthouse. I clocked his bumbling path. He walked right past me, reeking of vodka, not three feet away. I let him pass, holding my breath. My hand trembled in my pocket. He grinned stupidly at one of the sex workers, then reached out to squeeze her ass. She nimbly stepped aside and wagged her finger. No, no. Nothing for free. The man winked, tucked a leftover dollar bill into the hemline of her fishnets, and moved on. When he disappeared into the dark corridor next to the bar, I slipped unseen after him.