Chapter Thirteen

Rebecca cruised slowly through the tenderloin, that part of town frequented by prostitutes and the men who sought their company, drug dealers, street people, and others society had cast out or forgotten. The prostitutes in their crotch high skirts and revealing tops leaned against buildings or strolled languidly through the litter-strewn streets. Many she recognized by sight, more than a few by name. Arresting them was not her goal -- they were no more criminals than the hungry who stole for food. When citizens of the surrounding gentrified areas complained that the undesirable activity was encroaching on their neighborhoods, the cops would round up some of the girls, knowing full well they would be back on the streets in hours. All the participants knew it was a futile gesture. Rebecca chose instead to keep an eye out for new faces, especially the very young, hoping to get to a few before the streets became a way of life. Occasionally she succeeded.

She pulled over in front of a bar which sported a flashing neon sign reading, `Girls Live Nude Girls. She wondered absently if anyone besides her found that sign absurd. It wasn’t the bar she was interested in, but the thin blond woman in front of it. She was about five-five, heavily made up, with an expanse of leg showing that left little to the imagination. Her hair was bleached, in a punk cut, and she kept one eye on the cars cruising by as she talked with several other women. When she saw Rebecca climb out of her car, her face twisted into a frown.

"Hiya, Sandy," Rebecca said softly as she approached. The others in the group began to drift quickly away.

"Jesus, Frye," the girl hissed, looking quickly over her shoulder. "What are you trying to do to me? Ill be poison to every john on the street tonight!"

"So you can get a good nights sleep then," Rebecca said, turning so her back was to the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the street. She was alone, and it was no secret she was a cop. "I need to talk to you."

"Is that all?" Sandy said with contempt. Shed had too much experience with cops who wanted more than just information to trust any of them.

Rebecca met her angry gaze evenly. "That’s all right now."

"I don’t have much choice, do I?"

"No, you don’t."

"Can we talk inside? You’re killing my business out here."

Rebecca nodded and followed the girl into the dark bar, taking a table well away from the small platform where a woman did a tired bump and grind for the few patrons. Sandy signaled for a drink. Rebecca put a twenty on the table.

"So, what do you need, `Officer," Sandy asked in a bored voice.

"Two cops were killed the day before yesterday. What do you hear about it?"

Sandy sipped her drink and regarded Rebecca coolly. She didn’t actually dislike the big cop; in fact, Rebecca was one of the few cops who didn’t harass the working girls. Shed even let Sandy out of the police van one night after a raid rather than bring her downtown for the empty charade of booking. Still, Sandy didn’t want her to get the idea she was some kind of stoolie. And it didn’t help her reputation any to appear too chummy with the cops. There was something different about the tall, blond detective tonight, though. She seemed almost human, like she had feelings. You’re losing it, girl -- cops with feelings!

"There’s nothing going down that I’ve heard," she said finally, which was pretty much true. They’d all heard about it, of course. Usually when something like that happened it brought the whole force down on them, like they were the source of all the city’s problems. Maybe this cop was just the first of many.

"What about the chicken trade? Any new faces in town?"

Sandy snorted in disgust. She hated the child procurers and pornographers as much as she hated the pushers. Like most of her friends, she stayed clear of them.

"Since that big bust six months ago, its been quiet. I heard there might be a new house open somewhere in a very ritzy location, but it isn’t down here."

"Who’s running it?" Rebecca asked nonchalantly, hiding her surprise at the information. She had been instrumental in cleaning out half a dozen establishments supplying children for all types of amusement in the city-wide crackdown Sandy referred to. If they were up and running again, there had to be big money behind it. Could that have been what Carmichael was on to?

"No one knows, and that’s the truth. There’s more than a few people who’d like to find out."

"Yeah," Rebecca muttered. "Where there’s kids, there’s money." She looked at the young woman before her, already cynical and hardened against life. There was nothing Rebecca could do to change her future, but maybe she could make a difference with a few of the really young ones. She pushed back her chair, leaving another twenty with the change on the table. "Thanks, Sandy. Keep your ears open -- Ill be back."

"Hey, Frye," Sandy called. "Who were the cops who got it?"

"Just cops."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16