The changing room was a tight space, filled with mirrors and tables, and Jasmine often questioned whether there were video cameras hidden in the shadows. It was eerie, moldy, and dampness clung to the air. The music could be heard pumping outside the door that didn’t shut properly, and most of the furniture was mismatched, collected from cheap yard sales. It wasn’t much, but then what were their choices? Work hard, study hard, and hope they got out of the game? She wished it was that simple. Jasmine had been around the block long enough to know it wasn’t that easy. Some of the hardest working people she knew where also the poorest. It didn’t matter how many hours they put in, it didn’t count for much on minimum wage.
Despite her circumstances, Jasmine still had hopes for her future, such high hopes, even though she didn’t know anyone who got out of the game and made money elsewhere. They’d all been drawn back after they realized they couldn’t earn a better wage in the real world.
When she received the text message she was waiting for, she left her shift, said goodbye to the Samoan guard, and walked down the street, back towards the city, her destination six blocks away. She walked fast in the icy wind, holding her coat tight across her chest. When she arrived at the underpass, the car was already there, waiting for her in the darkness.
She approached the car and rapped her knuckles against the driver’s side window. It was another minute before it moved down.
“I see you’ve made the statement to the police. I’ve read it. You did well. Said everything we wanted you to say.”
“The cops told me my name would be kept a secret for the next five weeks. That’s good. I can still go to work and do all the things I need to do before this gets to trial. The cops were happy to see me, and recorded everything on tape this time. I said everything just like you wanted me to say.”
The man handed an envelope out the window of the car. Jasmine checked down the street, and when she saw no one, she took the envelope. She held it in her hand, but it didn’t feel thick enough. She looked inside.
“What’s this?”
“Five thousand.”
“You said it was twenty-five thousand.”
“It’s not.”
“We had an agreement—my testimony for twenty-five thousand. I lied to the police for you. Just because I’m a poor black girl, doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”
“It does.” His response was blunt.
“I can’t start a new life with five thousand. That won’t last me more than a few months. I want to get away from all this and study. We said the payment for the statement was going to be twenty-five. This is a fifth of what you promised. That’s not how deals work.”
“That’s all you’re getting at the moment. You see, if we gave you the full amount, you’d be on the next bus to Miami, and we’d never see you again, but we’re going to need you to testify at the trial. That was part of the deal.”
“Am I going to get the full amount after the testimony?”
“Sure.”
She didn’t trust him. She didn’t even know his name.
“What if Rick finds out?”
“Then you’re in trouble, but you’re already in deep enough. You can’t walk away from this now.”
“I won’t testify until you give me at least fifteen thousand.”
He shot her an angry glance. “You can’t negotiate with me. If it comes out you lied in a statement to the police about the raid, Rick will come after you and five thousand won’t stop him.”
“What?”
“You have no choice, Jasmine. You’re not in a position of power, you’re a pawn for us to play with. Remember that. You do what we want, when we want you to do it. You have to testify if you want the rest of the money. And I don’t like your attitude right now. And if I don’t like something, then it disappears.”
She stared at him. Her whole life she had been trampled on, forgotten about, and used, and she’d had enough. “And if I don’t testify?”
“If you don’t testify, your name will be released, and then I can’t imagine Rick Cowan will let you walk these streets for long. He won’t treat you nicely after this.”
“But how can I trust you’ll pay the rest of the money after the trial?”
“You can’t.” The man started the engine of his car. “But that’s the risk you have to take.”
Chapter 10
Tex Hunter walked into his local grocer—a small store where people had to squeeze past each other in the aisles—and purchased a hearty rib-eye with a fresh bunch of asparagus to cook for dinner. He chatted to the Italian-born grocer, happy to be distracted by his ramblings on community, business, and politics. During their chat, the grocer delivered a commentary on all the week’s occurrences. A mugging nearby. Disputes between residents. Traffic getting worse. Aldermen breaking promises. Bears season looking hopeful. Hunter had lived in his River North apartment for the last five years, and small talk with the grocer was part of his weekly routine, a welcome connection to his local area.
As he stepped out of the grocer, Hunter noticed the silver Mercedes sedan waiting near the entrance to his apartment building. The building had security—a doorman, numerous security cameras, and a guard for the underground parking lot. If required, Hunter could call the doorman, who would ensure the back entrance, the delivery area for the adjoining shops, was open. He’d used that option before.
But Hunter was looking for answers, and anyone who was following him was likely to provide a lead. Hunter walked to the doorman and caught a glimpse of the person inside the driver’s seat of the sedan. The man was looking at him, watching him. Hunter greeted the doorman, handed his grocery items over, and asked him to look after them until he returned. Once the doorman had placed the items inside, Hunter drew a long breath, and stepped towards the sedan. He walked up beside the car, leaned his tall frame down, and tapped on the driver’s window.
“Tex Hunter?” The man asked as he wound down the window.
“Who are you?” Hunter brought his face close enough to smell the man’s minty breath.
The man was solid, clean-cut, with weathered skin and a solid jaw. The type of man that Hunter could reasonably assume was a cop.
“John Warden.” The man reached across his car and flicked open the passenger side door. “I’m an ex-cop and a good friend of Rick Cowan. You and I need to talk.”
Hunter waited a moment, looked up and down the street, and then to the security camera of his building. He didn’t want to stop to talk—he was looking forward to cooking his rib-eye—but it could be the lead he was after. He walked around the back of the sedan, opened the car door further and sat in the car, his knees squashing up against the dash.
“Alright.” Warden began. “Let me start with this—I’m here to help. I’m sure Cowan’s mentioned me. What I’ve found so far is that he’s been set up by someone in the CPD and we’re trying to figure out who it is. We’re close to finding out who, but I need to know what you know.”
“Nothing yet.”
“Come on. Don’t play me. I’m on your side, and I’m sure Cowan said I can help you out. And I can. We’re playing the same game, and we’re already ten points down. We’ve got to work as a team if we’re going to move this forward. You can help me, and I can help you. Tell me what you know.”
Hunter looked Warden over. He was in his mid-fifties, fit, with a short crop of salt and pepper hair. His white shirt was pressed within an inch of its life, and his watch looked like it had been polished.
“Jerry Schultz is now involved in this,” Warden continued. “He’s the man people turn to when they want things done. He’s connected to a lot of people, and when he’s involved, you can guarantee that something’s going to happen. Someone is paying somebody a lot of money to make things happen.”
“Schultz is connected to you as well. Rick Cowan did talk about you and so I read about your past, John Warden. Captain in the CPD, forced to retire after a long string of accusations, and now you spend yo
ur days using your connections to organize business deals for Schultz’s litigation firm. A consultant. I know what that means. You push money around to the right people, and move the chess pieces on the board. I’ve read your history, and it’s not clean. The fraud and bribery charges may have been wiped off your file, but you can’t erase the allegations.”
“This isn’t about me; this is about you and Rick Cowan. You’re being played, Hunter. Someone powerful is pulling the strings, setting both of you up for a fall, and you’re playing right into their hands,” Warden said. “You have to be careful.”
“What’s your involvement in this? Why would you even care?”
“We’re old friends, and we’ve worked together a lot. But Cowan and I also have a past. He has information on me, and I don’t want it getting out. I need to look after him to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Lana Nevis. The girl that overdosed in the club.”
“I had nothing to do with it, and no one was ever charged. She overdosed by herself. The girl was fine when I last saw her, maybe a little aggressive, and then she spent some time in the same room as Cowan. Five minutes later, she’s overdosed.”
“You think Cowan pumped her full of drugs?”
“I don’t know what happened, but I know the cops couldn’t pin it on me, so they blamed Cowan. The stripper was the sister of a beat cop. She had connections to the force. And the precinct was sick of girls overdosing in the Five-Star, so they came after him pretty hard. When it was a cop’s sister, it became personal for the CPD.”
The cars crawled past them in the traffic, the occasional horn sounding. Despite the years of planning, the roads in the city were getting busier, creating regular traffic jams that frustrated even the most seasoned of drivers. For Hunter, there was a familiar comfort in the noise, loud enough to drown the thoughts that were constantly running through his head.
“What is it you want, Warden?”
“I want…” Warden paused, looked out the window to the traffic, and then drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s not about what I want, it’s about what I can do for you. I can help you and Cowan win this thing, but you have to trust me.”
“Trust is in short supply around here.”
“Then I’ll give you something for free. A symbol of my goodwill. I have a name that may help you identify a witness—Jasmine.”
“Who’s Jasmine?”
“A contact in the CPD fed me the name. She’s one of the witnesses, but before you go chasing her, you should know this—” Warden flinched, and his micro-expression gave away his thoughts—he was hiding something. “You’re being played by someone, so watch your step. They want to take Cowan down, but they’ll happily take you down in the process. You’ll be collateral damage if you get too close.”
Hunter didn’t respond. He opened the passenger door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. As soon as the sedan drove away, Hunter called investigator Ray Jones.
“Find me any girl working in the club named Jasmine.” Hunter’s voice was strong. “She’s one of our mystery witnesses.”
Chapter 11
Ray Jones was able to track down the details of Witness B. With the name John Warden provided, Jones searched the files of the Five-Star, before going into the club and talking to the regulars. All the girls had stage names, but when he heard one of the staff say Jasmine was late for her shift, he had a lead. He talked to her briefly in the club, and within a few hours of internet searching, he had her full name, birthdate, past addresses, social security number, social media profiles, and family history. Connecting the dots was easy in the age of the internet. All the information was there, all the data was available, and his only challenge was knowing where to start.
After meeting her in person, Jones called Hunter and offered to talk to the exotic dancer over dinner, perhaps with an ulterior motive. Hunter insisted it was a job for him alone.
The apartment building in the neighborhood of East Garfield Park was less than half occupied. It was falling apart at the edges, one of the first floor windows was smashed, and a strong stench radiated from the storm drain nearby. A dirty tent sat next to the building, and the fence was cracked, missing more than a few bricks. Not the sort of place that dreams were made of.
Tex Hunter ensured his BMW sedan was locked, checking it twice, before he stepped into the apartment building. He walked up the stairs to level five, rather than risk being trapped in the elevator. He didn’t trust elevators at the best of times, and this one looked like it hadn’t been serviced in years.
When he reached apartment 505, he looked up and down the hallway, searching for any cameras. There was one, although it was smashed and not likely to be working.
After three heavy knocks, a voice called from behind the door.
“What do you want?”
“My name is Tex Hunter and I would like to talk with Jasmine Langford.”
“Sorry, you must have the wrong apartment.” The voice behind the door was shaky.
“I don’t.” Hunter responded. “And I can talk to you now, or I can call your boss Rick Cowan and have him come down to talk to you.”
There was a long pause. Not a sound of movement from behind the door for fifteen seconds. Then the door clicked twice, the unlocking of the door bolts was loud, and the door edged open a touch. Jasmine peered out from behind the door, sheltering her body behind it. “Go on.”
“I’m a defense lawyer and I’m representing Rick Cowan.”
“Does he know you’re here? Did he send you?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. I’m investigating his case, and the road has lead to you. I know you’re involved somehow.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have a very good investigator.”
“I don’t know if I should let you in.” She looked up to him, eyes wide with fear. “The police said they’re going to put security on the door, but not for another month. They told me not to talk to anyone about it until then.”
“If you talk with me now, I won’t disclose your details to Rick.”
She nodded, and opened the door wider. Caught between a rock and a hard place, she didn’t have a choice. She was twenty-five, with dark hair and a toned, fit body. Wearing a loose top, cardigan, and sweats, she looked like she hadn’t planned on leaving the house, or having visitors, for the rest of the day.
Hunter ducked his head as he walked through the low door frame. The décor in the small apartment was busy, mismatched items scattered across the room, but it was clean. It was a one-bedroom apartment with a tiny living space, kitchen to the left, bathroom to the right. There was one window for the main area, and a desk tucked into the corner. An open math textbook sat on the table, a pencil and calculator next to that.
When Jasmine Langford first went into stripping, she had dreams of becoming a star. At first, her twenty-one-year-old body made a lot of money, and she thought it would last forever. But over the years, as she got older, her income decreased. She was no longer the top billing at the Five-Star, no longer the draw-card that Cowan put on the posters. Her income had become a slow trickle of five-dollar bills, rather than a steady stream of fifties.
“Have a seat.” Jasmine pointed to the gray two-seater couch, before bolting the door shut again.
The couch was small enough to be used in a kindergarten, and the low coffee table was filled with beauty magazines. Jasmine walked over to the laptop computer on her desk, typed a few lines, and then switched it off.
“Recording something?” Hunter sat down, and pointed at the small camera on the side of the desk, easily missed if not looking for it.
“Got to earn money somehow.”
“Webcam shows?”
“Not quite. People pay money to watch girls do their everyday things. They watch me cooking, watching TV, cleaning. All the everyday stuff. I leave the camera recording all day and when someone watches it, I get a small payment. People around the world pay to be Peeping Toms into my life
.”
“People pay for that?”
“They don’t pay a lot, but it’s something. Some weeks it’s five dollars, and other weeks it’s fifty, but I don’t have to do anything different, just leave the camera running all day. They watch me eating dinner, or ironing, or dusting. Sometimes I do those things half naked, and they all love that. I just live my life doing normal things, and people pay to watch it. It’s like reality television without the drama. It’s a website called ‘Peep Into My Home.’ I’ve got nothing to hide, so I let people watch.”
“And you have it running all the time?”
“It’s easier money than stripping. I leave it on and forget about it, but I’ve turned it off for this chat.” She bit her lip. “Does this mean Rick’s going to find out about me now? The other lawyer told me I had weeks before the information was released. I thought I still had time to work this out.”
“I won’t tell Rick Cowan about you until the witness list is officially released by the prosecution.”
“Can I even talk to you now?” She questioned. “Is that what I’m supposed to do? They never told me what to do.”
“Why don’t you begin by telling me what you saw that day.” Hunter leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I want to know what you saw when you claim to have seen Rick Cowan with the drugs.”
Deadly Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Book 4) Page 6
