by David Stever
“The woman, what’s her name? Give me that, then come back tomorrow when the real detective is here.”
“I followed her into a hair salon and sweet-talked the girl at the front desk. Talia Thorne. Probably fake. You won’t find anything. No driver’s license, tax returns, nothing. Lives in an apartment downtown leased to Entertainment Ventures.”
“Why not bring her in?” Mike asked, before I could.
“From what we understand, the trafficking is huge. Can’t risk tipping her off.”
“Wow. Never thought this case would go in that direction,” I said. “Makes me wonder if Stan is involved?”
“I doubt it, but we need to compare notes. Your new friend Dee Dee is all new to me.”
“You need to be concerned about Paul Ellison. He’s the lead on the girl’s murder and he already sniffed out Stan.”
“Ellison?” Her eyebrows went up in surprise.
“You know him?”
“Only by reputation and it’s not flattering.”
“No matter what you heard, he’s a damn good detective. His question being, ‘who killed the girl.’ And if his investigation leads to the trafficking, your case is jacked. Be here at eleven tomorrow morning. We’re his first stop.”
“Serious?”
“Eleven.”
“If nothing else, it will be worth the entertainment value,” Mike said. “I can’t wait for his reaction when he meets you.”
“Is he going to be a problem?”
“To be determined,” I said.
She finished her drink, got out of the booth, and we all exchanged hugs. I walked her out to the alley and to her black Camaro, which fit her persona perfectly: sleek, black, and tough.
Back inside, I cleaned the bar while Mike swept and mopped the floor.
“Johnny, my gut tells me Shelton has nothing to do with Mad Dog’s case. You can try to keep his name clean, but this trafficking stuff is way out of our league. If he has himself mixed up in that, God help him.”
“I agree, but the whole Dee Dee thing was too weird. Last night she was scared, tonight she was in a good mood and way too friendly.”
“Yeah?”
“Not even subtle. Odd, really. Oh, and totally playing Stan. He’s in love, but to her, he is another fish on the line.”
We locked up the bar for the night and both agreed the morning should be quite interesting.
###
I was too wired to sleep. Too many parts of today played over in my mind. The strange lunch at Max’s, the weird meeting with Dee Dee, her using Stan’s car, and running into Monica after all these years. I took my camera out to the balcony and stretched out on my chaise lounge to scroll through the pictures from earlier. I stopped on the picture of the woman with the long, black hair. Talia Thorne. I zoomed in on her face. Stared at it, studied it. Familiar. Seen it before.
I laid the chair back and closed my eyes. I needed my brain to shut off for the night, but it was not going to happen. Images flashed by, from today, yesterday. Stan. Katie singing the Shelton jingle. Kenzie in the street. Dee Dee with her hand on mine. The woman with the long, black hair.
The woman with the long, black hair. I bolted from the chaise and hurried to the walk-in closet in my bedroom. I pulled down from the top shelf a shoebox I used to hold my mementos. I opened it. My pocketknife from Boy Scouts, my first Communion pin, the badge the PCPD gave me when I retired, and the note.
The note from a little girl I knew for three days many years ago. I gently removed it from the envelope and unfolded it.
Johnny. Thank you. I love you.
I stared at the paper.
It couldn’t be.
23
The revelation that Talia Thorne could be the young girl I harbored for three days twenty years ago consumed me. Every thought was about her. Did she also have the same revelation when she learned Stan hired me? Did her memory flash to the time she spent with me and that’s why she pulled the strange lunch greeting at Max’s? So she could take a look at me and confirm I was the police officer who befriended her? Or, did she already know and wanted me to have a glimpse of her? Nevertheless, I would not rest until we met and with any luck, we’d both find the answers we sought.
No matter what my mind was churning, it was morning and I had a business to open. Paul Ellison had his face pressed to the front window when I came down from my condo at ten to begin the set up for the day. Mike usually rolled in at ten thirty; Katie arrived by eleven.
I unlocked the door for him. “Early, aren’t you?”
“Johnny boy, what a fine morning. Did you run?”
“Not today. Had a bit of a late night.”
He settled on a stool and I put a glass and a fifth of Jack Daniels in front of him. He poured a man-sized breakfast portion. Most people needed coffee in the morning; he needed Tennessee whiskey. I first checked the taps and then began to cut lemons and limes while he watched. “You want to take over here? Earn your spot at the bar.”
“Nah, I’m much better from this side. What you got for me? Anything new?”
“I want you to meet somebody. In a few minutes.” I nodded toward the bottle. “Go slow.”
“Delarosa. No surprises.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Remember, I can expose your friend in a matter of seconds.”
“Who?”
“The one who can put me in a new Chevrolet.”
I stopped cutting lemons and aimed the knife at him. “He was set up to be the victim. My job is to keep him out of the papers. I’m asking you don’t look his way until you are left with no choice.”
“But all it takes is one reporter to discover Shelton owned the building. The first story will be,” he held his hands up, making air quotes, “‘what a coincidence. The famed football star owns the building where the girl was murdered.’ But if the same reporter gets a whiff of anything shady, Shelton will be the first name you read.”
“And cops who leak stories to the press don’t stay cops very long.”
“Just saying.”
“I’m telling you, we work together. Quid pro quo.”
“I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Uh huh.”
The ice hopper under the bar was empty, so I filled two buckets in the kitchen. I was on my way back when I stopped at the door and stood, observing Paul. He had the glass in his left hand and the bottle in his right. He would drink nonstop. Pour refill after refill. There was no tasting the whiskey, enjoying it. He needed to down as much as he could to function. A pang of sympathy went through me and I realized how much the alcohol controlled him. Like most alcoholics, I guess. He’d be one of those guys who retires and dies six months later, leaving a whole lot of life on the table. Or the bar, in his case.
Katie came in. “A black Camaro is in my parking spot.”
I moved the whiskey away from Paul and poured him a ginger ale.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?”
“Protecting you. Sit tight.”
Katie grabbed my arm. “It has tinted windows. Couldn’t see if anyone was inside.”
“I’ll fill you in. A lot to tell from last night.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Paul dumping a shot of whiskey into the ginger ale. “Ellison, stop. Trust me.” I stashed the bottle on a shelf.
Monica came in through the back. Dressed in all black again, but now a business suit of slacks, blouse, and a blazer. She was a head-turner no matter what she wore.
Paul recognized her. “Is that who I think it is?”
She was headed our way and Katie said, “Who is she?”
Monica extended a hand to Ellison. “Monica Mattson. Pleasure to meet you, Detective.”
“You, too. I always wanted to meet you, but our paths never seemed to cross. Your reputation proceeds you.”
“Uh huh. Yours, too.” She said to me, “The booth?”
I nodded.
Katie held up her hands and mouthed, “Who is it?”
Paul
slid into the booth across from me, and Monica sat next to him.
She wasted no time. “Detective, Kenzie Fitzgerald worked for a company I am investigating.”
“The escort service?”
“Entertainment Ventures.”
“What kind of case? I can help.”
“Nope. What you can do is stay in your lane. Investigate the murder, period. You come across anything that seems off or doesn’t fit, or something you think might help me, you call.” She slid him her business card.
“Hold up. First, I don’t appreciate your tone, and second, I’m the senior detective. How about we start with your case?”
Monica shifted around to face him, and I thought it prudent to interrupt. “Monica, give him something. You two might make more progress if you play nice.”
She considered for a minute and I was sure she was calculating on what to say to him without giving up too much. “We were contacted a few months ago by NYPD about a sex trafficking ring that could be running girls through Port City on their way to New York. Entertainment Ventures has come up in the investigation. Not much else to tell. You see or hear anything odd that could relate, tell me.”
“Damn, Mattson. Yeah, no problem. But it’s a two-way street. I have a murder to solve, so if you dig up anything—”
Katie slid into the booth next to me, across from Monica, with her pen and notepad. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Katie.” It was horrible timing, but it probably saved Ellison from a verbal dress down.
Monica ignored her hand, looked her over. “Oh, no thanks. Nothing for me.”
“Monica, this is Katie Pitts. She works for me. Research.”
“And I’m an apprentice private investigator,” Katie chirped.
Ellison took a large gulp of his laced ginger ale, sat back and folded his arms, as if he couldn’t wait for this show to begin.
I think it blew Monica’s mind that this girl interrupted her. “I thought you were Waitress Barbie here to take our order.”
The comment took Katie aback. She stiffened in her seat. “No, sorry. I’m taking notes.”
Monica stared at her, as if the female lion were sizing up her prey, deciding when to pounce and eat her alive. Katie only smiled and squirmed.
Monica turned back to Ellison. “Stay in your lane, and yeah, we keep each other updated. One other thing—I know you are close to retirement, and you would love to go out with a bang, but I’ll put you out to pasture right now if you screw up my case. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She got up to allow him out.
He mouthed, “Good luck,” to me as he left.
Before Monica could get back into the booth, Mike slipped in. “What did I miss?”
“You missed Ellison get his orders,” I said.
“Take it easy on the old guy. He’s killing time until he can submit his papers.”
“Hey, last thing I need is that old drunk in my way.” She propped her elbows on the table and set her sights back on Katie. “You enjoy the PI work?”
“I love it. Johnny’s been teaching me; I mean whenever I can go in the field with him. But the research part is fun, too. I can’t believe the things you can find out about people. My favorite is surveillance, but not really because it can be long and boring, but also exciting at the same time. I’m sure you already know all this. What weapon do you carry? I’ve been wanting a concealed carry permit, but he won’t allow me yet. I need to learn to shoot, first.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Right, Johnny?”
“We are taking it one step at a time.” My face got hot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike bite his lip.
“What do you pack, Detective?” Katie asked.
“Well, I carry a Glock 9mm.” She pulled it from her shoulder holster under her jacket and laid it on the table. Then she stood and put one foot on the bench and raised her pant leg. “And this little guy.” She put a small gun beside the Glock. “A 45-caliber Derringer.” She reached around her back and produced a third weapon. “A Beretta 9mm. Just in case.”
Katie’s eyes were wide and so were mine. “Wow. Impressive.”
“I’ll train you to shoot, if you want. These guys will teach you one way—I’ll show you the correct way.”
“Serious?”
“Anytime. When we finish this business.”
“Yes, def. Johnny, is that okay?”
“Absolutely. Detective Mattson is the best in the business. Hey, would you mind making some drinks?”
“No, not at all.” She left with our order: the usual for me and Mike, a soda for Monica.
“Mad Dog, what are you doing?” I asked.
“I like her. Yeah, she’s young and naïve, but for some reason, I’ll help her. Reminds me of myself.”
“What? You two can’t be more different.”
“How do you know? Might surprise you what you don’t know about me. But I will tell you this—if I find out either of you are banging her, I’ll kill you.”
Mike threw up his hands. “There’s the Mad Dog we love. Now I’m better. You had me worried there for a minute.”
Monica’s phone rang and she excused herself from the table just as Katie came back with the drinks.
“She is so cool. You guys worked with her?”
“Yep, we each did. One tough chick, though. Did everything with incredible intensity, one hundred and ten percent all the time. Nobody carries three guns.”
Monica came back. “Katie, I have an assignment for you.” She wrote some notes on Katie’s pad. “Two trucking companies. Pull everything you can. Drivers, routes, what they’re hauling, anything.” She handed her a business card. “Call me when you have something.”
“You got it. Thanks. I’ll start right away. I’m really looking forward to working with you. I think we have a synergy—”
“Stop talking. Do a good job here and if you want, I’ll teach you things these two Neanderthals cannot. I’ll train you, and if you work hard, you’ll be the strongest, meanest, most bitchin’ badass in the city. It’s up to you. I got to go. Johnny, I will call you later. I need your help.”
Mad Dog went out through the back. Mike and I both turned to Katie.
She had Monica’s business card in her hand and looked at us with those gorgeous baby blues. She was in awe. “I love her.”
24
Once the lunch crowd began to dissipate, I went upstairs to my condo and fired off a text to Dee Dee asking whether she could arrange a meeting with Miss T. I emphasized it was strictly routine, and that I only wanted to ask a few questions. She sent an, “I’ll see what I can do” response. We had to meet, no question, and I knew in my gut that she wanted the same. Why else would she want a peek at me at Max’s?
How could this all be a coincidence? Stan coming to me with the blackmail scheme only to learn the woman who owns Entertainment Ventures might be the girl I took off the streets in a valiant, but failed, attempt to rescue her? It was beyond bizarre, but I had seen things in my twenty-six-year career that I never thought possible.
Mike called. “Is Katie up there with you?”
“No, why?”
“She said she had an errand to run, but she’s been gone for forty-five minutes. I have three tables and a bunch of guys at the bar.”
“On my way.”
The note from the sixteen-year-old Talia Thorne—of course she never told me her name, and I still did not know whether it really was her—was on my table. I carefully folded it and placed it back in the shoebox, then tucked the box back in place in the closet.
###
I jumped in behind the bar while Mike took care of the tables and handled food orders. Katie disappearing for almost an hour was not her style. The Shelton case and now my past coming back to confront me in the form of Talia Thorne was disconcerting. Too many unknowns and variables for her to be gone without telling either of us what she was doing. She was eager to please, but her inexperience and naivete could quickly get her in trouble. I hoped she did n
ot decide to investigate a lead on her own.
My phone rang. Katie? No, it was Stan’s name on the screen.
“Johnny, I got another call. The same man who called me the first time. He said this is not over, and time is short.”
“What did you say?”
“That I was with some people and couldn’t talk. Which was the truth. He is giving me one hour and calling back.”
“Where are you?”
“Dealership. In my office.”
“Can you be at Joey Mac’s in thirty minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Park in the alley. Don’t talk to anyone.”
I pulled Mike aside. “Shelton received another call. I’m meeting him at Joey’s. Sorry to leave.”
“They make a demand?”
“Somehow he bought an hour. I need to stop him before he does something stupid.”
“Yeah, go. Hopefully, she—”
Something caught his eye. Katie. Mike and I—and the eight other guys in the place—could only stare.
She was dressed in skintight, black everything: jeans, low-cut T-shirt, motorcycle boots, and a leather jacket, which she put on as she walked up to us. She had her hair pulled back and black sunglasses parked on her head.
“What? No time like the present to begin my new life. I’ll handle drinks.”
The guys at the tables all moved to the bar.
“Monica created a monster,” I said.
“Bright side, brother. She’ll be great for business.”
###
Joey Mac intercepted me as I walked in. “Johnny, what’s going on? He’s been here for fifteen minutes and damn, that boy can talk. I thought I ran my mouth, but holy shit, I couldn’t break away from him, and I have orders stacking up.”
“Sorry. Thanks.”
Stan was at a table with a draft beer in front of him, and jumped up and threw a bear hug around me. “What do we do?”
