Paul drags himself onto all fours and crawls toward his toast. He’s lost most of his muscle mass. Once a fit man weighing two hundred pounds, he’s dropped down to a lean one hundred and forty. His arms tremble under the pressure of his weight. Watching him crawl toward his food is like watching a sloth climb a tree. When he finally reaches it, he stuffs both slices into his mouth. He chokes and sobs around the wad of dry toast in his mouth. It’s disgusting.
“I said! How was your weekend? Are you going to be rude, Paul?” she admonishes. They’ve been working on his manners for the better part of three weeks, and while he’s gotten better, he still leaves a lot to be desired as far as she is concerned.
Paul’s sobbing gets momentarily louder before he spits his wad of bread out into his filthy hand to answer. “I thought you left me to die.” Changing strategy, he pulls a smaller piece of bread from his hand and swallows it whole.
She smiles. “Why would I do that, Paul? You’re helpless. Do you think I’m cruel?”
“Yes,” he sneers and swallows more bread, picking it apart and swallowing it as quickly as he can until it’s gone. He licks his dirty palms afterward.
“Well,” she addresses him patiently, “you should have thought about that before you ended up here, shouldn’t you?” She takes a bite of buttered toast and sip of tea. “Why are you here, Paul?”
“Fuck you,” he whispers.
That won’t do. “You obviously haven’t learned your lesson. I’ll let you think about it.” She turns off the microphone. She can observe him screaming and punching his fists bloody into the floor of his cell, but she can’t hear him and that’s good enough for now. She has a lot of planning to do if she’s going to welcome her next guest aboard.
Over the years, she’s done her own share of research into Amaya Perez. Not out of curiosity, but necessity. Her endgame is near, and the last thing she needs is an ambitious reporter or law enforcement official taking an interest in Amaya’s internet ramblings and asking questions of the only person who’s seen her in action and lived. Granted, the twenty-three-year-old social justice warrior has less than a hundred subscribers, but she also has one hell of an analytical mind. No one has ever put her killing pattern together. Her victims are as random as she can make them. The only thing they have in common is the evil they commit.
Following the events in Santa Monica seven years ago, Amaya got herself together. She frequently speaks about her sobriety on her podcast and offers online Narcotics Anonymous meetings to help those isolated during the global pandemic. She’s also moved back to her old Puerto Rican neighborhood in the Bronx where she works as a community organizer. However, her favorite topic of conversation on her podcast is The Vagina Vigilante—an anonymous woman who stalks rapists and abusers and makes them disappear, never to be heard from again. It would be ridiculous if it weren’t true.
If they were playing Battleship, then Amaya has hit her destroyer more than once with terrifying accuracy. She’s begrudgingly impressed by the younger woman. Amaya has a methodical mind and a persistent spirit. But if her ship is going down, it’s going to be of her design and not because she failed to tie up loose ends. It’s time to return fire.
Ben Franklin posited there are three steps to turning an enemy into a friend, or in her case, an asset. First, ask for help in an area in which your enemy is strong. Second, make the offer easy to accept. Last, express gratitude—vengeance is its own reward.
Amaya is astute at gathering and analyzing information. Despite this, her mother’s murder is still unsolved. Amaya has long suspected a cover-up by the NYPD and their police chief, Benicio Morelli. The Morellis are tantamount to New York City royalty. They, along with the Constantines, own several city blocks and have political ties on both sides of the aisle. Their business dealings are international news. In fact, her company does business with them. Benicio Morelli is a distant, dubiously-related cousin, but the name is enough.
As luck would have it, the Constantines are throwing a masquerade ball in Bishop’s Landing in two weeks. She’s already accepted her invitation. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t get involved in this type of nefarious activity; she favors the perverts—like Paul—but