The River Girls

by Melinda Woodhall

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hollywood was floating on a tranquil lake, a soft breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his skin. He watched wispy clouds drift by in a sapphire sky and noticed a plump bumble bee hovering overhead. The bee buzzed and circled, coming closer. The buzzing grew louder and more insistent, prompting Hollywood to swat at the bee.

  “What the hell, ya’ dumb bee,” Hollywood muttered as he opened one eye and saw with disgust that he was not floating on a lake, but instead was laying on a saggy unmade bed in a dingy motel room. The artificial light from the bedside lamp hurt his eyes as he peered around. The buzzing was coming from his cell phone, which had fallen out of his hand and onto the worn, discolored carpet.

  He sat up, wincing at a sudden, stabbing pain in his head. Tempted to lay back down and curl into a fetal position, he forced himself to swing his legs off the side of the bed.

  His stomach lurched, and he retched out a loose string of bile that hung suspended in the stagnant air, before dropping onto the ground beside his still buzzing phone. His mind swam as he tried to remember what had happened.

  Did I shoot up that whole bag? Nah, I’d be dead. But I must have done a shitload.

  Kicking his phone out of his way, Hollywood stood and staggered to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and stared at the man in the mirror, noting the bloodshot eyes, matted hair and hollow cheeks.

  He bent over the sink and splashed cold water into his face and mouth, before cupping his hands and pouring a few handfuls over his head. Raising his dark eyes back to the mirror, he winked at his reflection, flashing his straight, white teeth in a smile despite the persistent pain in his head. High as shit, and still handsome as hell.

  The buzzing began again, and Hollywood looked over his shoulder at the phone, still laying on the floor.

  Who the hell keeps calling? And where is everyone?

  Hollywood looked around, a nagging suspicion beginning to form in his mind as he surveyed the empty room. It seemed deserted somehow. Brandi and Mia had been getting ready for work when he’d passed out, but there was no sign of them now.

  The clock showed ten-thirty, so he estimated he’d been out of it for at least three or four hours. He tried to assure himself that the girls were already working and making money, but his gut still felt queasy and nervous.

  Sig will flip out if another girl goes missing. The guys in Miami won’t be too fucking pleased either.

  Hollywood picked up his phone. He’d missed twenty-four calls. He thumbed through the names and numbers, seeing that most of the calls had been from his mother or Vinny. The last few calls had been from Sig. He scrolled through his text messages and saw Sig’s last message: Where are you? I’m on my way.

  He knew all the girls were supposed to be taking clients. After all it was Friday night. They should be able to do big business before the girls were moved next week. No way would Sig want to give up the earnings from a busy Friday night. Hollywood wondered if he had time to check the other rooms on the ground floor before Sig arrived.

  The girls slept in the ground floor rooms of Building D, bunking two or three girls to a room. The two adjoining rooms at the far end of the second floor acted as holding pens for the girls on duty as they waited for the next john to show up.

  All business was then transacted in the remaining rooms on the second floor. The two stairwells were strategically positioned to allow the lookouts to deny or allow access to the johns who were coming and going.

  A thought stopped Hollywood just as he headed for the door. He jabbed a finger at his tracking app and the map screen popped up. Seven dots hovered above the Old Canal Motel. The yellow dot for Mia was there, as were dots for six other girls. There was no purple dot. Brandi was not showing on the map. Hollywood navigated to the search screen and selected a name from the dropdown list. A message appeared on the screen: Tracking device not found.

  The stabbing pain started again in Hollywood’s head just as Sig unlocked the door and stepped inside, his wide shoulders filling the doorway as he entered. The older man was wearing a black baseball cap and dark glasses. He scanned the room without removing his glasses.

  “Where have you been? Why haven’t you answered your phone?” Sig’s voice was quiet and steady.

  Hollywood knew that Sig didn’t need to shout or lose his temper; he had other ways of making Hollywood do whatever he wanted. Hollywood thought of the little bag of dope that had been in his pocket, but that was now gone, and gritted his teeth.

  The old bastard has me by the balls.

  “I had business to take care of,” Hollywood said, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. “Personal business.”

  “Cut the shit, kid.” Sig slammed the door behind him and walked toward Hollywood.

  “I’ve got that scumbag from Miami all over my ass about the deteriorating situation here. The numbers are moving in the wrong direction. We had ten girls last week, and now we’re down to eight. I need you bringing in more girls fast, and you’re off screwing around. What’s the fucking problem?”

  “There’s no problem, Sig,” Hollywood said, deciding to change tactics. “I’ve been working on the next target. A real beauty. Young and fresh, just like they asked for. But it takes time, man. I got to have a little time to lure her in, you know.”

  “Well, we haven’t got time. We’re scheduled to send a shipment of ten girls out next week. There are buyers waiting. This isn’t small-time shit like you’re used to. These guys are serious. If we don’t send the shipment, there will be consequences…for both of us.” Sig leaned over and parted the curtains and motioned for Hollywood to look outside.

  A man stood in the circle of light outside the window. He was tall and muscular, his bulky arms and chest straining the material of his gray blazer. Like Sig, the big man wore dark sunglasses, even though the sun had set hours before.

  “What's that meathead doing here again?”

  “Rick’s here to check on the shipment. What do you think he’s doing, stopping by for tea?” Sig spat out the words and adjusted his cap. Sweat shone on his forehead as he removed his glasses and stared at Hollywood. “They’re worried we can’t handle our end of the deal. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

  “Don’t panic, man. I’ve got it under control.” Hollywood produced the million-dollar smile that had seduced countless gullible teenage girls. The smile didn’t work as well on old men.

  “Well, you better, or the goodies are gonna dry up real quick,” Sig said, pulling out a few baggies stuffed full of white powder.

  “You want some of this dope? Well, you’re gonna have to bring in some money to pay for it. And that means you need to find some more girls to earn you that money.”

  Anger flashed in Hollywood’s eyes as he watched Sig stuff the baggies back into his pocket. He fought the urge to jump on the big man and wrestle the bags from him.

  Too bad the old guy is always packing that big-ass pistol. Otherwise I’d jump his ass right here and now.

  His anger evaporated as he remembered Brandi’s purple dot was missing. Could the app be wrong? Did the little device break? Or did she run off like Star and Jess? His thoughts swirled as he pulled out his phone and tapped on the app’s icon again.

  No fucking purple dot. And definitely not the right time to tell Sig that Brandi might be gone, too.

  “Listen, Sig,” Hollywood said, remembering Big Red’s earlier visit.

  “We may have bigger things to worry about anyway. Big Red was snooping around earlier asking questions about Jess and about the girl they found in the river. He said the sketch of the girl on the news looks like Jess. What if he goes to the cops?”

  “Big Red isn’t going to the cops, no matter who they find in the river. As long as he’s getting a piece of action, he’ll keep his mouth shut.” Sig looked at Hollywood with hard eyes.

  “But I’m pretty curious about Jess, too. She runs from here without anyone seeing her and is pulled out of the river a few days later? You know
anything about that?”

  “Hell no, I don’t know what happened to that crazy bitch,” Hollywood said, raising his hands in protest.

  “If that girl they found in the river is Jess, then she probably threw herself in. She was always getting sick and whining about going home. When she left I just thought she’d run off.”

  Hollywood didn’t admit that he had been glad to be rid of her. She’d been using up too much of the smack for his liking, and she’d been too sick to make any real money off the johns.

  Sig considered the stubborn look on Hollywood’s face, and then shrugged. “Well, the fuss about some dead druggie won’t last long. Just lay low and make sure not to let any of the other girls run off.”

  “No way, man. I got these girls wrapped around my little finger,” Hollywood said, wiggling a long, thin finger in the air.

  “That’s what you said about Star, and she’s still in the wind,” Sig said, putting his sunglasses back on and taking another peek between the curtains. “Just stay focused on finding replacements for Star and Jess. The guys in Miami aren’t going to be happy if they don’t have a full shipment to send next week as planned.”

  The big man walked to the door and grabbed the knob, then paused and looked around. “I’m gonna text you an address. It’s the home address of the nosy bitch that reported Star missing to the police. Stake out her house. See if she has Star holed up there.”

  Hollywood raised his eyebrows in mock respect. “How’d you manage to find out who she is and where she lives? You got friends at the DMV, man?”

  “I got friends everywhere, smart-ass,” Sig said, tapping out a cigarette and sticking it between his teeth as he talked.

  “Speaking of friends…where’s Vinny? You take Vinny with you on the stakeout. He’ll watch your back and keep you out of trouble.” Sig lit the cigarette and blew a puff of smoke in Hollywood’s face. “And lighten up on the dope. You’re starting to go off the rails again. We can't afford any more of your screw ups right now."

  As the door shut behind the man’s broad back, Hollywood clenched his fists and shook his head, imagining how good it would feel to slam the fist into Sig’s sturdy gut.

  Who the hell does he think he is? Vinny’s not my damn babysitter.

  The thought of Vinny brought a new surge of resentment.

  I’ll break that little ass-kisser’s glasses next time I see him.

  The thought brought a tight smile to Hollywood’s face. He began to whistle as he picked up his phone and dialed Vinny’s number.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sun was low in the eastern sky over the Diablo River, but it shone with a cruel intensity that made Nessa’s head ache. After five sweltering summers in Florida she still hadn’t gotten used to the heat and humidity. She had already taken off her jacket and rolled up her shirt sleeves, and it was only nine a.m.

  Nessa closed her eyes against the glare and sighed. “If it’s already this darn hot, noon is gonna be a real you-know-what.”

  “Let’s hope we’ll be done and out of here by then,” Iris said, her voice muffled by a protective mouth guard.

  The chief medical examiner was dressed in white hooded coveralls, PVC boot covers and latex gloves. Nessa knew the small woman was probably baking underneath all the Tyvek and latex. They’d been at the crime scene for over an hour, and Nessa suspected that noon would come and go long before they could collect all the evidence and release the scene.

  Alma Garcia, Willow Bay’s senior crime scene technician, called over to Nessa. “Detective, we’ve got some footprints here that lead out toward Harrington Road. Looks like we need to expand the crime scene area at least that far.”

  Nessa nodded and held up a thumb. “You got it, Alma!” she called, and turned to Officer Dave Eddings, who was standing at the edge of the scene, staring with wide eyes at the tent that had been erected at the river’s edge.

  Nessa noticed a light spray of freckles on the uniformed officer’s chubby, unlined face and wondered exactly how old he was.

  “Dave, you go move the outer cordons back. Get everybody to move out of the way. I don’t want anyone contaminating my scene.”

  Eddings gave a nervous nod and turned to follow orders. The morning had been difficult for everyone, but for an inexperienced officer like Dave Eddings, the grisly aftermath of the crime was hard to comprehend. Nessa was finding it a little hard to get her mind around it as well. She’d thought she’d been exposed to almost every type of horror one human could inflict on another, but she hadn’t counted on what she’d seen that morning.

  The morning had started off as usual, with a mad dash to get Cole and Cooper ready for school and onto the big yellow bus that stopped outside their house at eight a.m. sharp. She’d kissed Jerry good-bye, enjoying the soft scratch of his beard against her cheek, just as her phone started ringing.

  “Right on cue,” Jerry had groaned, pulling her rounded figure tight against his long, lean frame. “I miss you, you know.”

  But the moment of intimacy had ended when Nessa answered her phone. It was WBPD dispatch. They’d had a call from an official with Willow Bay’s Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. One of their trackers had responded to a reported incident at the Diablo River and had requested police assistance.

  “I think you’d better get down there pretty quick,” the dispatch operator advised.

  When Nessa had arrived at the scene twenty minutes later, Officers Dave Eddings and Andy Ford were standing outside the cordoned area talking to a middle-aged woman with two small dogs straining against their leashes.

  “The girls saw it first,” the woman said, her voice high-pitched with emotion.

  “The girls?” Nessa asked, looking around for other witnesses.

  “Sugar and Spice, my Yorkies.” The woman nodded at the two dogs that circled her, yapping at her ankles.

  “Oh, how…cute,” Nessa said, regretting the question. “Sorry to interrupt, go right ahead.”

  “Well, the girls started barking like crazy. They ran right up to the edge. I thought they were going to jump in. When I looked out across the water I saw it.” The woman shuddered and turned her head away. “It was like something out of a horror movie.”

  “What exactly did you see?” Nessa asked, impatient to get to the tent, but wanting to hear what the witness had to say. She preferred to hear the details firsthand as opposed to reading them in a police report.

  “I saw that!” The woman pointed further down the river’s edge. Nessa squinted at a group of officers wearing orange and brown Fish and Wildlife uniforms. They gathered around a long, dark form on the ground. Nessa blinked and then squinted. “Is that a…a…gator?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eddings nodded. “It’s a twelve-footer.”

  “Holy cow,” Nessa said, not liking where the story was headed. “But what does that gator have to do with us…I mean why call in Major Crimes for an animal attack?”

  “Well, when I saw the gator swimming around I noticed he had something sticking out of his mouth,” the witness said, pulling her dogs closer to her. “I wasn’t sure at first, but then I saw what it was. It was an…an arm.”

  “A human arm,” Eddings added helpfully.

  “Oh.” Nessa opened and closed her mouth a few times, but before she could ask whose arm it was, the woman continued.

  “So, I called 911. Told them I’d seen a big alligator. They sent over those men, who caught the gator.” The woman paused to take a breath.

  “When they confirmed the arm in the gator’s mouth was human, they cut the gator open,” Eddings said, looking over at the men gathered around the alligator’s massive carcass. “But there wasn’t anything, or anyone, inside. That’s when they called us.”

  Officer Ford finally spoke up. “When we arrived, we surveyed the area and located the site where we think the initial gator attack happened.”

  He pointed to a clearing under a sprawling weeping willow tree where another technician was taking pic
tures.

  “We cordoned off the area and called the crime scene techs to come out.”

  “That’s when the trappers saw something in the rush, and called us over,” Eddings added, but Nessa had already begun moving toward the white tent that had been erected at the edge of the river.

  Alma Garcia had stopped her and advised her to walk along the common approach path they’d laid out. When the tech handed her a pair of coveralls, mask and shoe covers, Nessa had known she would be seeing a body, or at least body parts.

  Brace yourself, Nessa. Don’t lose your breakfast in front of everyone.

  She had hesitated at the tent’s opening, the smell of decay ripe in the hot, still air. Alma and the other techs stepped aside to give the detective a clear view.

  The girl lay on her back in a sodden tangle of tall grass and water hyacinth. Her face was partially covered by a spill of dark hair, and she was bare from the waist up, although what looked like the remains of a tank top lay in shreds around her. One stiff arm lay in a puddle of muddy river water; track marks scarred the pale flesh. The other arm was gone, her shoulder ending unexpectedly in a torn stump of blood and bone.

  Near the bloody shoulder, Nessa could see a delicate butterfly tattoo. But what made Nessa’s pulse race was the leather belt looped tightly around the girl’s thin neck.

  Solid, physical evidence. Maybe the killer has finally made a mistake.

  Nessa had escaped the tent as quickly as she could, pulling off the suffocating protective gear as soon as she’d reached the outer cordon. Sweat drenched her cotton shirt, but she still shivered in reaction to the grisly sight of the girl with the butterfly tattoo.

  The girl had been attacked by two different, but equally vicious, monsters. The trackers had managed to hunt down and kill the reptilian monster that lay defeated on the shore. Nessa knew the human monster was still out there, lurking and waiting for his next victim.