The Water

by Nancy Jackson

  “Okay. You’re right. I need rest. I’m going to stay in bed until I can’t any longer, then order a big pizza and pig out.” Randy always had a way of making her feel better. At least he wasn’t leaving. At least she could still go to him when she needed him. And they would fight, and she would feel better.

  Carrie did as she promised and spent the rest of the day sleeping as much as possible. But by four that afternoon, she had to get up. She was starving and ordered a pizza, her favorite food. Her fridge was stocked with a six-pack of Michelobe Light so she was good to go for the evening.

  Rested, she decided she would do a little laundry and clean-up around the house. As she picked and sorted through a pile she had thrown in the corner of her bedroom, she heard paper crunch in a pocket.

  When she pulled out the folded up envelope from the rear pocket of a pair of work pants, she remembered having folded it and shoved it in her back pocket. It was the envelope they had found at Pride’s house and brought to her.

  It had remained sealed. Once in her pocket, she had forgotten all about it. Hesitant to open it still, she turned it over and then over again in her hands. She couldn’t. Not now. She’d cried too many tears already today. The letter would have to wait.

  She opened her top dresser drawer and put it inside and slightly to the back. Someday Pride, someday, she thought.

  The rest of the evening was uneventful and even pleasant. She did laundry, picked up her house, stuffed herself on pizza and finished the Michelobe.

  By bedtime she was rested and looked forward to a restful night, and not one forced on her from exhaustion.

  Chapter 17

  “Mike, look at this,” said Rick as he held up a list of evidence collected from the most recent crime scene.

  Mike took the sheet from Rick and read over it. The previous two crime scenes had been in areas where trash and debris was easily accumulated, but this was a small park at the end of the canal that the city kept mowed and cleaned. They had collected far less garbage this time.

  Mike finished reading and looked up and Rick. “What are you wanting me to see?”

  “I would understand if we found one ink pen or pencil at a scene, but did you see that there were three ink pens, a red, a blue, and a black one, and a mechanical pencil?”

  Mike looked back down at the paper. “Yeah, so what? You think it means something?”

  “Who knows, but I will call the lab and see if they can do the fingerprinting and swabs on those first.”

  Rick made the call and hung up with a promise to rush the testing on those items.

  “Shame about Bracket, huh?” asked Mike.

  “Yeah. What a way to retire!”

  “Let’s see where we are on all this,” said Mike.

  For the next hour they looked over the list of interviews they had finally gotten through. It had taken them awhile to find the competitors of Gus, but they pushed on until they found them under every grimy rock.

  “These greasy slugs didn’t do this. Honor among thieves, and such,” said Rick. “They had no reason to.”

  “Has anything turned up on Sam that we know of?” asked Mike.

  “Let me look. I really want to find that girl.”

  Rick fingered his copy of the photo of the girls. He wished it were not so faded and yellowed.

  “Have we talked to their classmates yet?” asked Rick.

  “No, only a few neighborhood girls. Their classmates have all graduated and are scattered to the wind by now. I’ll get started digging. I can’t think of anything else,” said Mike.

  By five they’d tracked down fifteen of Sam’s classmates and had actually spoken to six on the phone. None knew who they could be talking about but were willing to look at the sketch.

  “What if we are showing this sketch to the wrong people? What if we took it around and asked in the vice section?” asked Mike.

  Rick looked up at Mike and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that might work. He may be connected there somehow. I hate it when I get tunnel vision.”

  They retraced the steps from the few days prior when they had hunted down Tiny Simmons, Rudy Vargus, and Herman Merrell.

  Pulling up to Tiny Simmons’ house, they thought no one would be home. There was no sign of a vehicle or persons about. Not wanting to just assume no one was home though, Mike went to go knock on the door.

  No one had been home, or had answered. They knocked on two more doors before realizing they were making no headway. Rick pulled out his cell phone and called the lieutenant in charge of the Human Trafficking Task Force.

  “Hey Bill, this is Rick Morris. We’re trying to track down those three yahoos, Tiny Simmons, Rudy Vargus, and Herman Merrell we asked you about the other day. Where do they hang out? I want to get into the heart of where they do their dirty work.”

  Bill laughed. “No, you don’t! But, I get ya. I’ll send you a list of hangouts and haunts. Be ready to get dirty, or maybe just feel dirty.”

  “Thanks Bill.” Rick hung up the phone. “He’s sending us a list of places to go. I know some of these aren’t just into prostitution, but bars and clubs. I want to do some sniffing around and see what we can dig up.”

  Rick’s phone pinged, and he saw the file Bill had sent over. “First stop, Lawdie’s on northwest tenth street.” Rick shoved the car in gear and headed that way.

  Randy didn’t feel like he had time to do these interviews, but they were a man down and the drowning cases weren’t the only heavy cases at the moment. He needed to finish this process and get them in the field.

  “Sean, thank you for coming in today,” Randy began.

  The young man sitting in front of him was fit and attractive. He had sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. And he was extremely nervous. Randy watched as Sean’s eyes flitted around the room and back at him several times.

  After letting him sweat for a few minutes, Randy said, “You seem very nervous Sean. There is no need to be.”

  Sean nodded, or bobbed his head, up and down. “I know, sir. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

  “There is no need to be. I see high commendations here in your file. Can you tell me what was the most challenging thing about being on the OKCPD?”

  Sean cleared his throat and sat up straight. Almost as if rehearsed, he succinctly described a robbery and how he and his partner found and took down the assailants.

  Randy wanted to ask Sean if he had memorized that response, but didn’t want to put the poor fellow in any more distress than he was already in.

  After about twenty minutes of questions, and having received rote answers which Sean had clearly memorized, Randy concluded the interview. He had tried to trip Sean up a few times, but didn’t feel it was worth the effort. He wasn’t a good fit for their office.

  Next was Gabriel Lane. A quick review of the file reminded Randy that, he too had high commendations.

  Gabriel, Gabe as he liked to be called, was quite the opposite of Sean. He was easygoing to the point of being too familiar with Randy as if they were equals and buddies. He was braggadocios and proud when he answered the interview questions.

  Randy closed that interview. He wouldn’t do at all, thought Randy.

  Lainey Tate was next. Her file was full of recommendations from not only superiors at the police force, but from non-profit organizations where she had volunteered. There were various teachers, supervisors, and others who had taken the time to write glowing letters of recommendation for this lady.

  When Lainey entered the room, Randy immediately knew without asking a single question she was right for the job. She stood tall and assured, but not arrogant or proud. Her smile lit the room, and she seemed… happy.

  After a full hour with Lainey, Randy had long since asked every question he had intended to ask and continued to chat with this young woman. She had energy and loved to engage in conversation, but she was humble about all the achievements she had earned and accomplished. She was a genuine pleasure.

  Randy knew he wanted to offer
her the position, but as of that moment he was still officially serving as SAC in a temporary capacity. He would need to get the final approval from the commission to extend Lainey an offer.

  It briefly crossed his mind to bring Carrie in for a meet and greet with Lainey, but he was the supervisor now, and needed to wean himself away from their partnership.

  The moment Lainey had left his office, he dialed the number to the chairman of the commission. Before hanging up the receiver, he had the approval to make the offer.

  Lawdie’s on northwest tenth street was filling up. It was almost five p.m. and there was a steady stream of those who came straight from work to get a beer.

  “What a dumb name,” said Mike. “Where on earth did the owner come up with that one?”

  Rick chuckled and shook his head. He took a deep breath and grabbed the folder he had brought. He wasn’t ready for this, going into a place he knew they weren’t wanted.

  As they approached the door, two men who were about to go inside opened the door for them to enter, then turned and went back to their car. “I guess they weren’t in the mood to share a strip joint with a couple of detectives,” said Mike.

  They stood for a few seconds just inside the door, to let their eyes adjust to the dim light. It was a very large room with the bar on the far west side.

  The north side was nearly taken up with the stage. It expanded the width of the room with a large finger shaped extension protruding into the center of the room. In the garment district in NYC it might have been mistaken for a larger version of a fashion runway.

  Various tables were scattered across the open space of the floor, and several men had both beer and ladies sitting on their tables, getting equal attention.

  A lonely thin figure with long dark hair and sad eyes, dominated the stage. She was numb from drugs and alcohol and made her moves in a trancelike state.

  Rick and Mike walked over to the south end of the bar where it curved back to meet the wall. Standing there, they could see the bar and talk to the bartender without having to turn their backs to the crowd.

  The bartender threw down his towel and walked over to the two men. “What can I do for you fine gentlemen?” His tone was sarcastic. He wanted them to know they were not welcomed there.

  Rick pulled out the sketch of the man who had picked up Sam. “Will you look at this sketch and see if you recognize him?”

  The bartender barely glanced at it before saying, “Don’t know him.” He stood staring straight into Rick’s eyes with his fists firmly on the bar spread apart by locked arms.

  “Look, we don’t want to cause any trouble. We’re just trying to find a missing girl and this guy is the last one someone saw her with. It isn’t a great sketch, but will you please just look at it?”

  The man shrugged and took the sketch from Rick’s hand. He looked for a few seconds as Rick and Mike watched for recognition on the man’s face.

  Handing it back, the man shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. You know how many men come and go in this place. He isn’t someone I have come in contact with enough times to remember.”

  Rick nodded his head and put the sketch back in the file. Then he pulled out an enlarged photo of the three girls. “What about these girls? Do you know any of them or have you seen any of them?”

  He didn’t want to let on that one girl was already dead. For a brief second, he thought he saw a flash in the bartender’s eyes. Did he recognize them or was he simply attracted to them? That picture held the image of three beautiful light blonde haired girls, the one of Cami, Sam, and Addy. Rick couldn’t imagine any man not being attracted and interested.

  The bartender fiddled with the pic in his fingers then shoved it back at Rick. “No.”

  Rick didn’t immediately take the picture from his hands. “Are you sure? No crime if you have. Surely you would remember beauties like those.”

  The bartender was getting visibly rattled. “Look, I don’t know them.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Rick as he placed the photo back in the folder. “Now can you point us to Tiny Simmons?”

  “He ain’t here.”

  “We’ll wait,” said Rick. Then to Mike, “Let’s take a look around. Find ourselves a good front-row seat.”

  The bartender took a deep breath and turned to go back to his tending. His body was as taught as a piano string. He didn’t need these cops patrolling the club and Rick knew it.

  They took a seat front and center so that everyone looking at the stage would have to look at them too.

  Soon, a scantily clad waitress came to take their order. Mike wanted a bourbon so bad he hurt, but they both ordered soft drinks. Soon an older lady, well, older for that place, came over and attempted to sit on Rick’s lap.

  “No, you don’t!” Rick sputtered. “Go sit on his lap,” he said as he pointed at Mike, who was already shaking his head.

  Not to be deterred, the lady pulled up a chair to their table and scooted in close, her nearly bare breasts purposely on display.

  “What can I do for you fella’s?” When she smiled, the creases around her lips from years of smoking, briefly melted away.

  What the hell, Rick thought and turned his chair towards her. He pulled out the sketch and the picture of the girls. “We need to find this man and these girls. Can you help us?”

  The lady straightened in her chair and moved the pictures around on the table, placing them side by side. She studied them for what seemed like an eternity. Is she merely playing us, wondered Rick.

  Then she picked up the picture of the girls and brought it closer to her face. Her nails had been professionally done at one time, but now had a few chips. She tapped the photo with one.

  “This girl here. She seems a little familiar.”

  With that comment, Mike turned from watching the dancer on the stage to the table. “Which one?” he asked.

  “This one here.” She had tapped Sam.

  Neither of the seasoned detectives wanted to frighten her away, and they didn’t want to be played either, but she had tapped Sam’s photo and not either of the other two girls.

  “Yes, I’m certain. But I’m trying to place exactly where it was.”

  The lady continued to stare at the photo. Then she laid it back on the table and picked up the sketch. Creases furrowed their way through her forehead as she thought.

  Laying the sketch back on the table, she then took both hands and laid them on each side of the man’s face hiding the long dark hair. Slowly at first, then more aggressively, she nodded. “I know him too. Not with this long hair. He keeps it short now.” She looked up at Rick with hope in her eyes that she had pleased him.

  In return Rick studied her face. He didn’t like wild goose chases. “Where do you know him from?” Mike asked.

  She turned to look at Mike and said, “He used to be my guy, you know…" She ducked her head to look back at the photos.

  “You mean your pimp?” Mike didn’t care if he was blunt.

  The lady nodded.

  Rick was pulling out his notebook and pen. “We need to get some information from you.”

  Just then Rick felt an abrupt shove from the back of his chair. He whirled around to see who had done it. The bartender stood there. “You’ve got to leave.”

  Rick stood and looked the man firmly in the eye. “I don’t got to do nothing.” Mike had also risen from his seat and now stood next to Rick as a show of solidarity.

  “You can’t be here messing with the ladies and taking up a table if you aren’t drinking and playing.”

  Rick casually motioned towards their soft drinks. “We’re drinking.” The corner of his mouth turned up as he spoke.

  The bartender’s face was not just red, but deep crimson. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were dangerously round. “The boss said you have to go.”

  “The boss, huh?” asked Mike.

  “Let him come tell us,” said Rick.

  “Suit yourself. He’s through that door there.”
He indicated a closed door at the north end of the bar. Two large muscle in jackets, despite the August heat, stood on either side.

  Rick turned to address the lady at their table one more time to get her name and contact info, but she was gone. She had slipped away the moment the bartender had approached. He quickly scanned the room looking for her. “Damn.”

  He scooped up the pics and slid them back into the folder. Both he and Mike headed for the door. As they approached, the muscle stood even taller and filled the space they were in with greater force.

  “Okay, let us in.” Rick didn’t have time to play with these goons. The man on the side where the doorknob was reached over, and without taking his eyes off of the detectives, turned it. Once open, he gently pushed so the door swung open into the room. He kept his post.

  Rick and Mike entered the room. It was an office like any other office. It had a desk and some file cabinets, and there was no one in there. But there was an open door on the far side of the room that led to another office.

  As they entered that room, they were ready to pull their weapons. In the center of the far side of the large room, sat a large dark mahogany desk filled with stacks of cash. A money counter was on one corner.

  Behind the desk sat Tiny Simmons and on each side were two more goons. The room was bathed in more light than the bar area, but only slightly more. There were stacks of crap everywhere. Rick guessed the maid must have taken the day off.

  Tiny was exactly what his name implied. He was about five feet tall exact. On his best day he would weigh in at around one hundred twenty pounds. He could have been a jockey, but he hated horses.

  His artificially blonde hair was cropped short and stood up in tufts on top of his head. The white blonde hair was in sharp contrast to his fake tan. He sat without looking at the detectives, stacking coins on his desk. The diamond rings, one on each finger glinted in the dim light.

  He wore an expensive suit and tie. Rick thought he might puke. Here this man sat surrounded by money made by using and abusing women. What he wouldn’t give to set them all free and on the right track to a better life.