by Frank Zafiro
I patted her arm. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m glad they didn’t take you too.” Platitudes fell awkwardly between us. “Did they speak? Give you any clue where they were taking her?”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. The gun never leaving her grasp. “The cops asked me about it, but I was too scared to say anything. Maybe I should have.” She glanced up at me, fear and trust mingling on her face. “Are you going to save her, Bull? Can you do that? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here… you’re going after her? She said once that she wasn’t afraid of anything because of you.” She waited, as if I would give her a secret password for the clue and she desperately wanted me to take it from her.
Taylor’s belief in me, passed on by a close friend, sent a staggering amount of reality shooting down my spine. Not only did I have a girl to find, but I also had to find a way to return her intact – all of her. “I’m here to find her. Can you help me?”
She nodded. “The white guy had a tattoo on the back of his hand and wrist – like a snake but it was, well, it was a woman’s legs wrapped around a gun.” Becca swallowed, pink coloring her fair skin. “In school, there’s a real dick who’s been talking about joining this gang and he got the same tattoo on his calf a couple months ago. He showed everyone and then got suspended for it.” She paused to take a breath and look behind me and all around like the huge man in front of her wasn’t enough to protect her.
Her rambling reminded me of Taylor. The teenager used five hundred words to say she was hungry.
Becca continued. “He hangs out down on Sprague. There’s a bunch of bars and strip clubs that way and this group of guys is pretty rough.” She met my gaze with her own. “If they know I saw what I saw…”
She didn’t have to say anymore. I’d seen more than she’d ever comprehend and I was afraid for what they could do to her. I wasn’t stupid and didn’t offer fake promises I couldn’t guarantee I’d keep, but I offered advice – welcome or not. “Look, Becca. I’m not sure what happened to Taylor, but I’m going to find her. I suggest you get out of town – go visit family or friends, but don’t go alone. If you can, get your parents to go with you, okay?” I ducked my head to see if she understood what I meant.
The girl wasn’t stupid. She nodded, holding the gun close to her hip.
I walked her to the backdoor. “Are your parents home?”
“Yeah, they’re upstairs. I’ll talk to them. They usually do what I want.” For a spoiled girl, she seemed extremely level-headed. She placed her hand on my forearm and leaned close. “Bull? Find Taylor. Please. She’s my best friend.” And with that, she disappeared inside the house, leaving me to find my way to my vehicle.
Only after I was down the road a ways did it occur to me that she’d never answered how she knew her way around guns so well.
She’d be fine. Becca was a fighter.
Just like Taylor.
I had a niece to find.
SIX
Gus
I sat on the couch and stared at the television while some rich idiot lectured some other rich bimbo about what was “real.” The whole conversation was bizarre and gave me flashbacks of watching The Princess Bride over and over again with my little sister years ago.
I don’t think that word means what you think it does.
The obvious irony of the conversation aside, I really don’t think Brenda or Tiffany or whatever her name was had a firm grasp on what the word “real” meant. Not what she thought it did, clearly.
Next to me on the coffee table, my phone buzzed and danced. I glanced down at the small text screen.
It was Anton.
I muted the television and put down my wine glass. One day? That was a fast turnaround. Maybe too fast. My radar pinged but I couldn’t say whether it was just because it was odd or if it was a danger ping. Although in undercover work, odd usually meant danger.
I answered the phone after five rings.
“Damn, girl. I thought you were gonna let my ass go to voice mail.”
“I was in the shower,” I lied. “What’s up?”
“In the shower, huh?” He chuckled. “Now that is a delightful thought. Truly delightful.”
I didn’t answer. I’ve found that if you don't respond, most men will eventually wear themselves out or give up. Anton was no different.
“You in a towel right now, then?” he asked. “Or standing there all naked, dripping water off your fine titties onto the floor and shit?”
“Is there a reason you called?” I put a little sternness into my tone.
“Of course there is. I don’t go calling people random-like.”
“Then what is it?”
“Always so business, business with you, H. You need to relax a bit.”
“What I need is to know why you’re calling me.”
He sighed. “A’ight. Be that way.”
I waited.
After a minute, he said. “I got some business to talk with you. In person.”
“All right. When?”
“Right now, girl. Why you think I’m calling you?”
I glanced up at the clock on my wall. “It’s ten-thirty.”
“So it is.”
I hesitated. I didn’t really care that it was late, but it was just… odd. I should have put him off until the morning, but I didn’t want to risk pushing him away. Especially not on the verge of getting him to move underage girls. “Where?” I finally asked.
“Clink’s. I’ll be in the bar.”
“Awful upscale.”
“Shee-it,” he said. “I’m all about class, motherfucker.”
I quickly dialed Lieutenant Shepard’s number from memory while I was getting ready to leave. I set the phone on the bathroom counter while I wriggled into a pair of jeans and threw a casual shirt over my head.
The faint but shrill sound of a voice mail beep came from the earpiece. I picked up the phone.
“My connect wants to talk. Now. Clink’s. I’m headed over.”
I hung up.
I thought about taping on a wire but rejected the idea. Maybe it was because of the odd ping, but it just didn’t seem like the right move. My purse had a tiny video recorder in it anyway, so I could turn that on before I entered the restaurant. Unless the background noise was too loud, it’d at least pick up the audio.
I ran a quick brush through my hair and left.
Clinkerdagger’s was one of Spokane’s nicer restaurants. Along with its signature pea salad and dark wood décor, it was right on the river and featured a magnificent view of the Spokane Falls. The bar inside was a cramped square corner, farthest from the view.
I found Anton at a table for two in the corner. It was a week night, so there were a few empty tables, but the place did a brisk business no matter what day it was. There are only so many places the rich will deign to eat in Spokane, I guess.
That thought made me smile. My working class roots were showing. Dad would be proud. Or at least as proud as he could be of me and my missing Y-chromosome.
Anton actually half-stood when I approached the table. He had his back to the wall, leaving me with the chair facing the wall. That exposed my back to the rest of the bar. I’m not paranoid, but I hate that. It always took a lot of effort to keep from glancing over my shoulder frequently, or angling the chair to take in most of the room. Old habits die hard.
“You look fine, girl,” Anton said, giving me an up and down as I sat.
Fucking schmoozer.
I settled into the chair, putting my purse on the seat next to me. My small .40 caliber Kahr was inside the purse, tucked into a specially designed holster flap. Not that I figured to need it, but you never knew.
The waitress appeared almost immediately.
“Water,” I told her.
She nodded, and turned to Anton. “And you?”
He motioned to his almost empty drink glass. “Another Crown for me. Rocks. You sure you won’t have one, H.?”
“I’m sure.”
&n
bsp; “Come on. We relaxin’ here. I won’t tell no one.”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “You got a house red?” I asked the waitress.
“Sure. It’s 14 Hands, a Washington blend out of – “
“That’ll work,” I said.
She didn’t miss a beat, only smiled, nodded, and went away.
Once she was gone, I leaned back in my chair and gave Anton a cool look. “Now that we’ve taken care of the pleasantries, you want to get started with our business?”
He shrugged mildly. “You always so dye-rect. Don’t you never want to just relax? Get to know each other a little?”
“No.”
He laughed lightly. “Yeah, I do get that impression. But let me tell you something, H. There is only so much business a man can do with somebody before he needs to get better acquainted. It’s important.”
“Why?”
“It becomes a matter of trust.”
“That’s not how I see it.”
“No?”
“No.”
“How you see it, then?”
“I think trust is built when what you say and what you do are in alignment. Repeatedly, and always.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. Trust builds over time.”
“You talking about having a track record.”
“Yeah, you could call it that.”
“Most people would,” he said. “That what we got, H.? A track record?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“We been doing some fair amounts of business over the last month or two, huh?”
“Some.”
“That what you call it?” He chuckled. “Man, I do two deals with some of these motherfuckers and I swear we blood brothers or something. But you…” he pointed at me, wagging his finger slightly. “You be all cool and shit. Distant. Why is that?”
That radar ping I mentioned before? Yeah, it just turned into an alarm claxon.
The waitress arrived with our drinks, rescuing me. Anton barely acknowledged her, keeping his eyes locked on me. I made a show of thanking her, then sipped the wine. No taste registered in my dry mouth.
I swallowed and met his eye.
“I guess where I come from, you don’t have to be friends to do business. In fact, most of the time it’s better if you aren’t.”
“Strictly business, huh?”
“It’s cleaner that way.”
“Cleaner, huh?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Life don’t work that way. Life be dirty.”
I shrugged. “If by dirty, you mean complicated, then I agree. Life is complicated. Keeping things strictly business minimizes complications.”
“Minimizes trust, too,” he mused.
I didn’t answer. We both sipped our drinks. Said nothing. Sipped again. Looked at each other. I couldn’t pin down the expression he gave me. The odd radar ping was still going strong.
Finally, I asked, “Why am I here, Anton?”
He smiled. “That’s a good question, girl. Why are you?”
“You called me.”
“And you came.”
I suppressed a sigh. “Why?”
“You want my opinion on the matter?” Anton asked, then shrugged. “I think it’s simple.”
“Then explain.”
His smiled broadened. “You like me, H. And I like you, too.”
I sat there and digested that for a long moment. Then I realized what my radar had been telling me all along. That odd yet familiar radar ping didn’t have anything to do with my cop self. It was coming from a more basic place. My woman self.
Anton wanted to fuck me.
Christ.
I already knew this but I figured it was a casual enough desire that he would limit it to eyeballing me and making comments when we did our business together. I didn’t realize he was going to ask me out on a date.
Motherfucker.
He continued to smile at me, his expression cocky and charming all at once. I shook my head at him.
“In another world, Anton, maybe. But not in this one.”
“Aw, come on. You don’t like black oak?”
I blinked, struggling momentarily with the reference. Then I got it. “Black’s got nothing to do with it. It’s that other B-word.”
“Brother?”
“Business.”
He pointed at me like I was being sly or something. “There’s that word again. You know what I don’t like about that word?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“That word’s got limitations.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, it is what it is. I don’t mix business with pleasure, so –”
“Oh, it would be pleasure,” he interrupted. “For sure.”
“Either way,” I said, my tone cool. Now that I’d figured out why he called me in the first place, the whole thing pissed me off a little.
Okay, pissed me off a lot.
He seemed to sense it because he gave me a puppy dog look. “Aw, come on, H. You can’t blame a brother for tryin’. You too goddamn fine, that’s all. It’s natural for me to try.”
“Let me ask you something, Anton. You do business with a man, you try to bang him, too?”
“’Course not. But I don’t bat from that side of the plate, as it were. I might have a beer or two with the man, though. Get to know him some. Build some trust.”
“How about we play it the same way?”
He shrugged, disappointed. “Fine, then. We can do that.”
We were quiet for a minute. I took another sip of my wine, finally tasting the full flavor. My mind whirred as I decided how to play this next part.
In the end, Anton took the lead. “You like that Romanian bitch? Sylvia?”
“Yeah. I think she’ll work out just fine.”
“I figured. Tight ass girl like that likely to get herself some regulars real fast. Regulars always pay more, don’t they?”
“They tip more,” I said.
“Where you send that girl?” Anton asked. “She ain’t here in Spokaloo no more, I know that.”
“South, with the others.”
“Yeah, I meant, where exactly.”
I took a sip of wine, then motioned for him to lean forward. He did. The scent that came from him was a mixture of whisky, a musky cologne, and cigarettes. I looked him directly in the eye. “Tell you what, Anton. You tell me where you got her from, and I’ll tell you where she went.”
He smiled slowly but not for real, then leaned back. “Shee-it. You looking to go straight to my source and cut me outta the picture.”
“And you’re looking to go straight to my client and cut me out of it.”
“Nah,” he said, waving his hand. “I’m mostly just curious, is all. It’s a curse, maybe. Being curious about shit.”
“You’re curious, get cable. There’s all sorts of answers on the History Channel or National Geographic.”
“C’mon. You’re not curious about nothing?”
I shrugged. “I’m curious who you work for. Where these girls come from. How much of a markup I’m actually paying. What all I can get from you, product-wise. Yeah, you could say I’m curious, too.”
He nodded. “See that? We both the same. And maybe with some trust, we can – “
“Gus?”
I turned without thinking. It was a natural response, a life-long habit that even three months of being undercover can’t erase. It was only after I’d already done it that I realized what had happened.
Fuck! Adrenaline zinged through me. I saw the whole operation go down the tubes in that moment. Not to mention the violence that would break out in another second. I almost reached for my gun inside my purse right then.
But the woman’s voice came from just a few feet away. Close enough to Anton and I that anyone would react to the sound, regardless of what name she spoke. That was my saving grace.
I hoped.
I felt Anton’s eyes drilling into me. Suspicion bubbled off of him like too much colo
gne.
The woman looked at me expectantly. “Gus?” she repeated. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Please, for the love of Christ, bitch…don’t say my name again.
“It’s Tanya,” she said, pointing to herself. “From Eastern?”
It took me another moment before the cylinders lined up and the memory clicked into place.
Tanya.
Tanya Pederson.
We were roommates my freshman year out at Eastern Washington University. She moved into a sorority after a few quarters, but we still hung out together. Went to parties, drank beer, met boys. Sometimes we even studied. When I hit my junior year and got into criminal justice classes and an internship, I left most of that behind. Tanya stayed a party girl straight through to graduation, though.
She was tarted up for a night out on the prowl. I hoped Anton caught sight of the low scoop on her blouse. I needed the distraction right about then.
“How long has it been, Gu—”
“Too long!” I interrupted loudly. I stood up and hugged her.
“Oh my God,” she said. “How have you been?”
I broke the hug and gave her a meaningful look. Our faces were about three inches apart. I could smell the fruity alcohol on her breath. She’d been drunk the last time we’d been that close, too, and tried to kiss me on a dare from an equally drunk audience of frat boys. I’d also been drunk, but not that drunk.
Crazily, I wondered if she was having the same memory.
“I’ve been great,” I said. Then I lowered my voice. “But I’m kind of busy right now. Maybe I could call you?”
Her smile faltered slightly, her expression turning confused. Then she glanced over my shoulder at Anton and her smile went away entirely. I don’t know if she knew I became a cop or not. If she did, I hoped she would figure out I was working and move along. More likely, though, she’d ask if Anton were my partner.
