RCC05 - Some Degree of Murder Page 11

  “Give her a ride home, if she’s staying in the city. Tell her that if you see her out on East Sprague again today, she goes to jail on all of this.”

  Bates looked at McLaren and jerked his head toward the interview room. I removed the cuffs from the small of my back and handed them to McLaren, who took them and went inside. While he was handcuffing Toni, Bates leaned in close to me.

  “She was dropping Paul Hiero’s name really heavy,” he whispered.

  “I know. She tried it in there, too.”

  Bates shook his head. “Hiero better hope that asshole Hart doesn’t get wind of it over in IA.”

  “He won’t be hearing it from me,” I told him.

  “Me, neither. But if this bitch doesn’t shut up…”

  “I know.”

  McLaren walked Toni out of the interview room, so he stopped.

  Toni looked directly at me. “Thanks,” was all she said.

  Thursday, April 15th

  Victorino’s Grocery, Noon

  VIRGIL

  Traffic whizzed by on Sprague as I talked with Mr. Saccamano.

  “Where the hell are you, Virg?”

  “At a payphone in front of some meat market.”

  “That’s alright. I’m calling from that little Korean laundry around the corner from the shop. Fucking phone dodge. If it weren’t for the Feds, we could talk on the damn telephone like white men.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Saccamano laughed. “Yeah, it would. It would be real goddamn nice. But enough of dream land. You makin’ any progress up there?”

  “I’ve got a line on some potential players. If it doesn’t pan out by the weekend, I’ll bag it and head home.”

  “Do that. I can use your help.”

  “Alright, Mr. Saccamano. I’ll give you a call in a day or two.”

  I dropped the receiver on to the hook and turned around. A tall blonde stood in front of me. She wore a tight red mini-skirt and black spandex top. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and her lips were painted a brilliant red which clashed with her deep green eyes. “Wanna date?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

  “No, thanks.”

  She shrugged and turned back to the street, watching the passing cars. Her ass was a little big for the skirt, but her legs were smooth.

  “Hey,” I said.

  She turned around and crossed her arms, forcing her breasts up and her nipples out against the spandex.

  “How much?”

  “You a cop?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Grab a titty then.”

  Even though it was broad daylight, I reached out and tweaked the nipple on her right breast.

  “That was free,” she said with a smile. “It’s forty for head, sixty straight in.”

  “Sounds fair.” I glanced around, hoping to find a pimp or BSC member watching over her.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A pimp.”

  “You’ve done this before, sugar?”

  I nodded.

  “Where to?”

  “I’ve got a room at the La Playa,” she said to me. “Room number seven. That’s where we’re going.”

  I followed her as she wiggled down the street, her high heels clicking loudly. My eyes watched passing cars, hoping that a bored cop wouldn’t drive by.

  We walked past the Brotherhood of the Southern Cross clubhouse and under their cameras. I smiled when I realized what she was doing. She just showed them who her trick was and they never had to step outside. Very slick.

  She opened the door and let me step inside first. The room was plain with no personal items anywhere. “Do you live here?” I asked.

  “Nah,” she said and pulled the door closed behind her. “I think of this as my office.”

  She stood with her feet shoulder width apart and her hands on her hips. “What’s it gonna be, cowboy?”

  “I got a couple of questions.”

  “Sure, sure,” she said, “but let me save you some breath. Yes, you have to wear a condom. And, no, I won’t let you do me in the ass or smack me around. We agree to any freaky business up front and if you try something that we didn’t agree to, I walk outside and someone comes in to have a talk with you. Got it?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “Those weren’t my questions.”

  I pulled out my money clip and tossed two hundred on the small desk in the room.

  “What do you want for that?” she asked, suspicion firm in her eyes.

  “Questions mostly.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Grace.”

  I showed her Fawn’s picture. “Grace, have you ever seen her down here?”

  She never looked at the picture. “I thought you said you weren’t a cop.”

  “I’m not. I’m her father.”

  Grace’s eyes flicked down to the picture. “Yeah, I saw her around here for a few days at the most. Nothing more than that, I think.”

  “Was she working?”

  Grace stared at me.

  “It’s okay. I need to know.”

  Grace nodded.

  “Did she have a pimp?”

  “Not really a pimp.”

  “Was she paying protection to someone?”

  Grace didn’t answer, her eyes challenged mine.

  I considered waiting her out but knew my questions would get back to them if I pressed too hard.

  “Was anyone giving her a rough time?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You hear most things that happen on these streets?”

  She nodded. “That’s how we survive.”

  “Who should I talk to about her protection?”

  “Anyone but me, honey.”

  “Okay.”

  “You got any more questions?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Want something for the rest of those bills, cowboy?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Whenever you want, baby.”

  I nodded at her.

  “But you know it’ll cost, right?”

  “It always costs, Grace.”

  She opened the door. “That it does, baby, that it does.”

  Thursday, April 15th

  1611 hrs

  507 West Corbin

  TOWER

  I heard the arguing in the backyard when I was half way up the walk. I couldn’t make out the words, so I veered off the walkway and around the side of the house. I loosened my tie and slipped out of my jacket.

  The wooden fence groaned when I opened the gate and stepped into the back yard. The arguing ceased. Ben was seated in a lawn chair, a book in his hand. I saw his wheelchair at the back porch. Teri sat in a small kiddie pool, facing Ben, who was studiously ignoring her.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked. “The neighbors called in a DV.”

  Teri smiled, but Ben’s eyes were fixed to the paperback on his lap and his shoulders hunched over protectively.

  “You deaf there, Benjamin?”

  “He’s just mad,” Teri told me. “You’re home early.”

  I turned my gaze to her. She sat comfortably in the small, blue kiddie pool. The water was to her waist. She wore a swimsuit bottom and a T-shirt. Her hair and shirt were both wet and I could plainly see her breasts outlined by the thin cotton of the shirt. I was suddenly grateful for the sunglasses on my face.

  “I took off early. Why’s he mad?”

  “Because I want him to have some fun and enjoy the weather.” She removed her hand from the pool and flicked water in Ben’s direction. He ignored her. “It’s not like we get weather this good this early very often.”

  “It’s not going to last. I can feel a good rain coming.”

  I watched her flick more water at Ben.

  “Well,” she said, “I just thought it might be good for Ben –“

 
Another flick of water, and a sly smile from her.

  “—to experience a little real life. He’s been spending too much time on that computer with his new game.”

  Ben closed his book and looked up at her, then over at me.

  “Just because I don’t want to go swimming in arctic weather is no reason to splash me.” With that, he turned back to his book.

  Teri eyed him for a few moments, then raised both hands from the water and gave him a double flick.

  “Teri!” Ben yelled.

  “Ben!” she yelled back and broke into laughter.

  Ben struggled not to laugh, but Teri’s laughter was so real and so infectious he didn’t have a chance. I found myself grinning as I watched them.

  Ben turned to me suddenly and asked, “Uncle John, can we order some pizza tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can Teri stay?”

  “If she wants.”

  He turned back to her and she shrugged. “Sure. If grumpy buns here is willing to smile, I guess I can be talked into some pizza.”

  She stood in the pool. The water streamed off of her and the T-shirt clung to her body like a second skin. I admired the flat of her belly and curve of her hip. She smoothed her hair back into a ponytail and squeezed out the water. When she pulled the shirt tight and wrung water out of it, I wondered if she were doing it on purpose.

  I tore my gaze away from her and headed for the back door.

  “You want to call in the order, John?” she asked.

  I stopped and turned to face her. She stood in the pool, her shirt still pasted to her body, facing me and smiling. Unabashed. Or innocent. Hell, I couldn’t tell which.

  “Pepperoni?”

  She nodded, then tilted her head and smiled at me. “Extra cheese?”

  “You got it.”

  Her smile broadened in thanks. Then she flicked more water at Ben with her foot.

  I turned and headed in the back door.

  Thursday, April 15th

  Palms Motel, Late afternoon

  VIRGIL

  A late afternoon rain descended on the city, covering everything in a wetness that would evaporate quicker than hope did on Sprague Avenue. I was in my room at the Palms Motel watching the clubhouse of the Brotherhood of the Southern Cross as well as any action that happened on the street. I’d put a chair next to the window so I could watch comfortably, but far enough back so no one could see me spying on them. The curtains were pulled to the side to maximize the view to outside. I had the television on for a bit as background noise, but quickly decided it was adding to my anger.

  The headache I started the morning with was still there, only less jagged and more focused in my sinuses.

  Two bikers pulled up in front of the clubhouse on noisy Harleys. They both wore long ponytails, scruffy beards and dirty blue jeans. On their backs they sported leather jackets with the patches of the BSC logo. The two turned off their bikes and ran up to the clubhouse door. The bigger of the two pounded on the front door until it was opened by another dirtball who looked to have been cut from the same cloth. The two nodded at the doorman and squeezed by him. Before the door swung closed, I could have sworn the doorman glanced up at me.

  I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, not wanting to admit that I’d been seen.

  After the rain stopped, I ventured out to burn off a combination of impatience and nervous energy.

  When I opened the door to the Tip Top club, I was greeted with a blast of cigarette smoke and AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. The door swung closed behind me with a loud clang. On stage, a small stripper gyrated her hips to the music. A tight, red thong ran up the cleft of her ass which was thrust towards the table of drunks near the stage. The girl stood up and faced me, showing off small breasts and a red scar that ran down the left side of her face. Her brunette hair was cut short, emphasizing her thin neck and the deep scar. She had a tattoo of a big, green dragon that covered her entire right thigh.

  I walked to the bar at the back of the room. A big man stood behind the counter and watched the dancer. He had a dirty, grey beard starting to form on his round face. His mouth hung open as he stared at the stage. He had a broken front tooth which had turned an unattractive black.

  Amid cheers from the tables of drunks, the dancer ground her crotch on the pole in the middle of the stage.

  “Damn, she’s beautiful,” the bartender muttered.

  When the song ended, I turned to the bartender. His eyes flicked over to me. “What’ll it be?”

  I pulled out Fawn’s picture and laid it on the bar. His eyes glanced down and then back up at me. “She’s too young,” he said in a husky voice.

  “For what?”

  “For whatever you want. Either you’re looking for her or want me to hire her as a dancer. Either way she’s too young.”

  “You’ve never seen her outside?”

  “Man, I spend my entire time inside the bar. You see any windows on this joint?”

  “Fair enough,” I said and pulled the picture back to me.

  “What’ll you have?”

  “An Ol’ Granddad’s? Neat.”

  “I can do that,” he said. With a clumsy pour, he filled a glass, sat the bottle back on the counter and slid the drink in front of me. The small, brunette dancer sat next to me. She wore a men’s button-down shirt that stopped at mid-thigh. The large blue shirt was several sizes too big for her. Her bare feet dangled below her.

  “Hi,” she said with a smile that caused the scar to bunch up on her face.

  I nodded and noticed that her eyes were a steel grey.

  The music started again, something that sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. I looked over my shoulder and saw a fat woman with long dark hair get up on the stage. She wore a spandex leotard and spun slowly around on the stage. One of the guys at the front table whooped and hollered at her. I shuddered and looked back to the bar.

  The dancer on the stool next to me leaned in and whispered, “To each their own.”

  I smiled back at her. “Yeah, I guess we all forget that sometimes.”

  She stuck out her hand. “I’m Gina.”

  “Virgil,” I offered and shook her hand. Then I looked up at the bartender who was watching us closely. I knew the game. “Buy the lady a drink. On me.”

  She smiled. “I’ll have a Jack and Coke, George.”

  He nodded and fixed her a drink.

  Gina’s eyes flashed to the picture on the counter in front of me before snapping back up to me. “You a cop?”

  “Why?”

  “That picture there. A cop was in here yesterday flashing a picture of one of our girls that was murdered. She was a good friend of mine.”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “Then what’s with the picture?”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  The bartender sat the drink down near Gina’s elbow as she leaned over to look at the picture. A thin film of sweat still covered her face and neck. Her scent was a mixture of musk and moderately priced-perfume.

  The bartender moved away from us to the opposite end of the bar.

  “I’ve never seen her. How old is she?”

  “Fourteen.”

  Gina looked around the bar with a confused smile twisted on her lips. “Why are you asking about her here?”

  “She was in this area before she was murdered.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She reached out and touched my leg with her hand.

  Gina kicked back her drink and stared at the picture of Fawn. I took a deep pull on my Old Granddad and felt the ice clink against my teeth. “How about another?” I asked her.

  She nodded absently and I waved over George.

  A moment later George pushed a drink in front of each of us. I pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Gina.

  Gina turned to look at me for a minute with those steel grey eyes. There was a sadness in them that wasn’t there when I first walked in or when I first met her.

&nb
sp; She turned her head away from me, but looked quickly back. Suddenly, Gina grabbed her drink and slipped her hand in mine. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.” Her voice was shaky, but forceful.

  I let her pull me from the stool and grabbed Fawn’s picture. After I tucked it back in my jacket, I grabbed my drink from the counter.

  She led me back to a small room that served as the girls changing space. Gina closed the door and slid the lock. She put her drink down on a table and then grabbed mine from my hand to do the same.

  “I’m not a whore,” she said.

  I nodded and felt my heart beat faster. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt with a woman in a long time.

  “I don’t want any money from you.”

  “Then why?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of two dead girls in two days and that’s more than I ever wanna see again. I guess I just wanna feel good right now.”

  She snaked her hand around my neck. Gina pulled my head down to her and kissed me hard on the lips. When we broke, she stepped back and asked, “Will you help me feel alive?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  She unbuttoned the blue shirt she wore and let it fall to the floor. I stepped forward and grabbed her. I kissed her neck and tasted the salty sweat she’d worked up on stage.

  I lifted Gina up on to the table, pushing our drinks to the side. She opened up her legs to me as I unbuttoned my pants and let them slide to the ground. Her scent ran through my senses as I closed my eyes and enjoyed her body.

  When we were finished, Gina softly patted my chest as she broke our embrace. “Thanks, Virgil.”

  She grabbed her drink and took a sip as I pulled my slacks up.

  “Anyone tell you that you should be watching the Brotherhood?”

  “I was told they were running all of the action in this area.”

  “They are and they’re not forgiving to anyone who says no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whenever the Southern Cross patch hits the streets, people get the hell out of their way or pay the price.”

  “How do you know?”

  Gina finished the last of her drink. “Some of the locals come in here and talk.”

  “What about the Brotherhood? Any of them come in and talk?”

  “No. They’ve got their own clubhouse. And if they want action, they go into downtown for the nicer bars like Fast Eddie’s or the Red Lion.”