“He still has a lot of connections, and he’s made a lot of enemies in his time.” Esther pulled her coat tighter. “It’s a dangerous path to start on.”
“Life’s a rollercoaster. It’s the ups and downs that make it exciting, and a rollercoaster without ups and downs is only a train.”
“But some people adore train rides. Some of the most beautiful tours in the world are on trains. Not every trip has to be a rollercoaster.” Esther pleaded, walking alongside her boss. She admired his intensity, she admired his determined focus, but he was draining to work for. After a few long minutes of silence, she began to smile. “I don’t know if I ever told you but my first job was at a train company, and they fired me after a week. When I was leaving, the boss asked me how many trains I had derailed, and I said, ‘I don’t know. It was just so hard to keep track.’”
Hunter tried not to laugh, but his dimples gave his smile away.
“Oh, you’re not laughing?” Esther joked. “Well, I was also fired from my second job, but that was for something I didn’t do.”
“Which was?”
“Work.”
Hunter shook his head, his grin growing wider.
“At my next job, I managed a nightclub for men with erectile dysfunction.” Esther’s smile was broad. “But it was a total flop.”
“That’s terrible.” Hunter chuckled.
They continued their walk past another tour group, all taken in by the buildings rising off the edge of the river. Members of the group stood in the middle of the walkway, ignoring everyone else, attempting to snap the perfect shot in the morning hues. Hunter and Esther stepped around them, moving between the crowd of people dressed in Chicago sweatshirts, holding their conversation until they came to another clear patch of the walkway.
“We won’t have a lot of time for jokes in the coming months, Esther. Felony drug possession won’t be easy to defend against. He was sitting in his club when the cops busted in and found a large amount of cocaine in a private room. They busted in based on only one tip-off, which was unusual. There were a lot of things about the raid that don’t make sense.”
“You’re suggesting he was framed?”
“That’s what Cowan stated. He thinks someone set him up to knock him out of the game. The court-appointed lawyer got him bail, but he wants me to take over the case. Once behind bars, he’ll have little influence there. In fact, he’ll probably die behind bars with the enemies he’s made.”
Hunter looked over his shoulder at the man. He was edging closer, stepping through the crowd of tourists.
“Who called in the tip-off?”
“We don’t know yet. The prosecution has redacted a lot of the information so far. And as witnesses have previously disappeared in cases involving Rick Cowan, the prosecution is going to apply for a suppression of the names before discovery.”
The man came closer. Twenty-five yards away. It was a tail, and he wasn’t trying to hide it.
Hunter turned towards the man. The man held his gaze for a moment longer than what was comfortable, and then turned around, walking with his head down in the other direction.
More than a tail, it was a message.
“I know it’s dangerous, Esther, and I know it’s going to bring a lot of trouble.” Hunter stared at the back of the man as he walked away. “But I have to do this. I have to know what else is in the file.”
Chapter 3
Jasmine Langford stepped out of the Five-Star Gentlemen’s Club in the West Loop and into the morning light. It took her eyes more than a few moments to adjust. The sun sneaked through the gaps between the buildings, throwing small rays of warmth onto the cold Chicago streets. Trash blew in the light breeze, puddles of stale water lay on the sidewalk, and the smell of exhaust fumes were thick enough to taste as the office workers began their regular journeys into the city.
Dressed in a long black coat, sneakers, and slacks, Jasmine began the walk home to her apartment. On the mornings she felt unsafe, after dancing for men through the night, she took a cab, but on the quiet mornings, on the mornings when she felt confident, she preferred to stroll through the streets, watching the world drift past in the other direction. The changes in landscape and social class were dramatic in her twenty-five-minute walk. One moment, she was in the West Loop, surrounded by clean cars and smooth roads, but within fifteen minutes of walking, she was in East Garfield Park, where the roads were littered with pot-holes, cars barely kept running, and trash cans were seldom emptied.
“Cold night, Phil?” She took two five-dollar bills from her night’s take, and placed them in the man’s hat. The man rested on the street, under a dark tartan blanket, his head resting on a small pillow. She came to sit next to the man, placing an old newspaper under her behind to avoid the damp sidewalk.
“Extremely cold, Jas,” the man replied as he began to sit up. “Colder than it’s been for a long time. Chilled me right to the bone.”
“Only going to get colder before winter’s here.”
Jasmine leaned her back against the wall. The Five-Star Gentlemen’s Club had been a part of her life for the last year, and Phil was a regular sight on her walk home. He had his own corner, his own spot on the street near an underpass off West Jackson. Apart from the meager bags of possessions and the clothes on his back, the corner was the only thing he owned. It was his place in the world. In the distance, the skyscrapers stood tall, peeking through the morning smog, a reminder there was wealth and opportunity nearby, but it seemed a world away for men like Phil.
As an African-American, Jasmine fit into the predominately black suburb, and felt safe walking the streets half the time. The other half, she had her hand on the Taser in her handbag.
“You’ve brightened my morning up though, Jas. It’s always lovely to wake up with a beautiful woman next to you.” Phil smiled. He was missing his front teeth, the years of alcohol abuse had left him with a speech impediment, and he smelled like he needed five hours in a bath. “Sometimes, when you’re sitting here, I’m sure that I’m still dreaming. I’ve never understood why you take the time to talk to me, but I’m sure glad you do.”
She knew why, but that was a story she held close to her heart, a story she didn’t disclose to many people. “I’m just after the morning lowdown on the gossip around here.”
“Been a bit happening on the streets this week. Be careful, Jas. Lots more muggings going on around here. I hope they don’t find you coming home from work, but if they do, you come running for me. I’ll help you.” Phil cleared his throat. “I sure hope this place changes soon. I hope things get better around here.”
“Life is about hope. Hope that something changes, or hope we can do better. Hope and faith are all I have.”
She talked with Phil for the next fifteen minutes, detailing her adventures and troubles from the night in the club, and Phil reminisced about his past employment as a painter, and how life had changed for him. He told her who came and went on the street, where the trouble was, and where to avoid.
“Stay warm.” She patted him on the shoulder before continuing the walk to her apartment.
She wished she didn’t have to do what she did, she dreamed of a better life, but dancing for money was the best work she could come by. After a number of years at various clubs, she felt like she was starting to get her life back together. The years of abuse she suffered at the hands of her step-father had left a mark on her soul, but she was determined it wasn’t going to rule her life. She knew it wasn’t what men were supposed to be like, she knew that real men wouldn’t beat their children, but she had to stick by her mother.
As she walked through the streets, catching brief rays of sunshine, she thought about how life would’ve been different if her father hadn’t died from a heart attack when she was five years old. She thought about how much more love they would’ve had in their lives. Her mother, broke with three young children, turned to the first man with money. Her step-father had money, he had a house, but he didn’t have lo
ve.
Work at the Five-Star was steady, but it wouldn’t last forever. The club had been raided by the police a week earlier and there were rumors the cops were trying to push the owner, Rick Cowan, into closing the club. She’d been serving drinks that afternoon, pulling in a few dollars in tips, when they charged in with guns drawn. After it was raided, she was interviewed for hours, all in the back of an unmarked van. At the time, she found it strange. No recording device and no cameras. She told the police she knew nothing about the drugs in the club, and she’d been steering clear of those highs for years.
She didn’t hate that Rick Cowan had been arrested. He often shouted at the old girls, hit the new girls, and generally, regarded all the dancers as pieces of meat. When her friend, Lana Nevis, died in the club from a drug overdose a year earlier, her heart broke.
Jasmine didn’t have long left in the stripping game, she knew that, as the older strippers turned to tricks to make ends meet. She didn’t want that life. She wanted to move away from the world of crime, corruption, and sleaze, into a normal life, and study to become an elementary school teacher. The daily smiles from the young children would fill her heart with joy.
The studio apartment in East Garfield Park was the best she could hope to afford on her income. The owner gave her a deal on the place, but it was nothing special. There was little security, the locks on the doors were barely hanging on, and anything of value had to be locked away and hidden. There were two cameras, one focused on the entrance, the other down the first floor hallway, but they offered little protection. As she walked to the doors of her building, she saw the silver sedan parked outside. It was much too new to belong in her neighborhood.
She walked up to her fifth-floor apartment, the top level of the brick building. She froze. The door was ajar. The lock didn’t look like it had been broken, not forcibly, but other than the landlord, nobody else had a key. She fumbled in her purse for her phone and the Taser.
She crept towards the door.
With a soft touch, she pushed the door open. Sitting in her living room, waiting, were two men. She recognized one of them, but not well enough to know his name.
They sat on her couch, arms and legs spread wide, unmoved at her presence. The older man was perhaps in his seventies, with pale, wrinkled skin. He wore a suit, without a tie, round glasses, and a gold watch. The second man, dressed in slacks, brown leather shoes, and with the collar of his sweater up, was younger, although his hair was graying as well.
“Hello, Jasmine Langford. Don’t be afraid. We’re not here to hurt you. Come on in.”
She didn’t respond, stepping into her apartment, but leaving the door open.
“There’s no need to panic. We’d just like to talk to you, Jasmine,” the second man said. “We thought it was best if we waited here, rather than disturb you at the Five-Star.”
“Are you police?”
“We could be.”
“What do you want from me?”
“We’ll get to that, but first, we’d like to talk about what we can offer you. We’re wealthy men, with a lot of connections, and we can help you achieve a lot of your goals in life.” The older man gestured towards the armchair opposite him. “So, please, sit down and let’s have a nice little chat.”
She didn’t move from the entrance. Her right hand was inside her bag, holding onto the Taser.
“We know about your past, Jasmine, and we know about your desire to get out of stripping. What we’d like to offer is a chance for you to do that.” The second man stepped close to her, towering over her, before he walked to the door. He pushed it closed. “We’re not here to hurt you, although we could.”
“What exactly are you here for?”
“We know what you said to the police officers in the van after the raid on the Five-Star. You told them that you want to study to become a teacher. How lovely. Warms my heart,” the older man said. “And we also know what you said about your knowledge of the raid. Rather unfortunately, the witness statement has gone missing. A clerical error. It happens all the time. So the officers at the precinct are about to make another call to you and they want to retake your statement. And we would like you to describe what you saw on the day of the raid, and what you were told before the raid.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We have connections and money, which equals power. We can do whatever we like, whenever we want to do it. If we say jump, people jump. If we say lie, then people lie.”
“So you want me to lie?”
“We want you to tell a version of the truth. We know Rick Cowan had the drugs in the club, but the case against him isn’t foolproof. We need more witnesses to testify. We would like you, along with some others, to help make the case against him watertight. All we’re asking is for you to help convict a criminal. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how badly he treats his staff.” The older man leaned forward. “Lana Nevis found out exactly how badly he treats his staff.”
“What’s this got to do with her?”
The second man stepped away from Jasmine, wandering around her apartment, casting his eyes over her possessions. “Rick Cowan has made the wrong people angry. I’m sure a smart woman like yourself can understand how these things work. You need to make a new statement to the detectives involved, and you need to include a few more specific details which you forgot to mention the first time.”
“And if you help us out, you will find a large sum of money will fall into your pocket,” the older man added. “I’m sure we can reach a mutual agreement. One that can help you achieve your dreams.”
“Let’s say I go along with it. How do I know you’ll deliver on your side of the bargain?”
“You don’t.”
“Then I don’t want any part of this.” She stepped back towards the door, her hand tight around the Taser in her bag.
“I don’t think you understand,” the second man scoffed. He took off his coat, exposing the handgun in his holster. “Jasmine, we’re not giving you a choice.”
Chapter 4
Despite the clear skies outside, the inside of the Five-Star Gentlemen’s Club was dark on the weekday afternoon, allowing the lonely and desperate to escape themselves for a while, a privilege they paid well for. Red lights dotted the back wall, highlighting the brick façade, and the elevated walkway in the middle of the floor had lights focused on it, but for the remainder of the club, the lighting was almost nonexistent.
Tex Hunter walked through the entrance, past the large Samoan guard inside the door, running his hand along the velvet curtain, striding towards the main stage. There was a bar to one side, an open metal cage to the left. A girl, barely in her twenties, danced on stage, kicking her legs high, spinning around, wiggling her bare breasts. At the side of the stage, looking up, an older man in a suit clapped and cheered, and Hunter thought the old guy was creepy enough, but it was the man sitting in a booth at the furthest left of the room who really caught his attention.
Rick Cowan sat with one stumpy leg crossed over the other, studying the dancing girl. He had one hand on his chin, and the other hand was hidden under the table.
“Tex Hunter,” Cowan said as Hunter approached. “Welcome to the Five-Star. My pride and joy.”
The girl on stage stopped dancing, turned, and looked at Hunter. She winked and blew him a kiss. Hunter nodded in response.
The man who sat before Hunter had his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing a thin gold chain, with pants too tight, and shoes that were too shiny to match the rest of his outfit. His thin black hair was slicked back and to the right, his olive-skin was greasy, and he smelled of cheap aftershave bought at a Walgreens.
“You’re the best lawyer a broke man can afford, eh?” Rick Cowan took a hard ball of gum out of his mouth and dropped it in an empty beer glass. “Not much, is it?”
Hunter unbuttoned his coat and hesitated before he sat down—he was sure the seat would be filled with the foulest germs. The red cushions in the sem
i-circle booth were soft but there was no comfort to them.
“Hemingway once said that tourists shouldn’t bother with churches, government buildings or city squares. If you want to know about a culture, if you want to know anything about a city, you should spend a night in its bars.” Hunter looked around. “And it looks like a sad, sad state of affairs in our city right now.”
“You think that’s funny? You think you can walk in here and talk dirt about my business? I’m the king in here. I own this club, I own this area, and I own every single one of these girls. You don’t treat me like that.” Cowan pointed his finger in Hunter’s face.
“Unless you want it broken, you should put your finger down.”
Cowan stared at him for a long moment, grunted, and put his finger down.
Within five days, Hunter was able to build a hefty file on Rick Cowan. Cowan had an anger problem. That was clear. Numerous accusations of violent attacks, a number of sexual assault accusations that didn’t stick, and a manslaughter charge that was later dropped when two key witnesses disappeared. Then there were the rumors of drug abuse, drug importation, and drug trafficking. Cowan had enemies, many of them, but he previously had friends in high places. Over the years, those friends had moved on to people with more money.
“This isn’t where I usually do my meetings,” Hunter said. “I don’t usually have naked women dancing around when I meet a client.”
“It’s where I do all of mine, and it’s where I love to do them. I think of it as a bonus to owning a strip club. And there are many bonuses to owning a club, if you catch my drift.”
Cowan signaled to the female bar tender to bring two drinks. One of the girls dressed in lingerie delivered two whiskeys to the table. She ran her hand over Hunter’s shoulders, but he leaned away. This wasn’t the type of place he wanted to spend any time. The girl went over to Cowan, whispered in his ear, and then winked at Hunter, before going back to the bar.
Deadly Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Book 4) Page 2
