by Frank Zafiro
“Suspects?” I asked.
“None named.”
“Only two cases fit?”
“Well, no. There were actually five that fell into the criteria, but three were solved and all three of those men are currently incarcerated or deceased. That leaves these two cases.” She tapped her finger on the computer screen. “Maybe this is your perpetrator. Maybe he started out with a rape and graduated to sexual homicide.”
“It would be textbook,” I said with a shrug.
“The textbooks are there for a reason.”
Renee stood and disappeared around the corner. When she returned, she plopped a small stack of paper on top of my files. “Hope this helps.”
“It does. A lot.” I gathered up my files and the reports. Then I turned to Renee.
She sat primly in her chair, holding her coffee cup and watching me. I leaned forward slightly. “Renee, I’d really like to work on this for a little while longer. If people start thinking serial killer on this…”
“There’ll be a task force.”
“Right. And four or five more dead bodies will pile up while they figure out who’s in charge and how to reinvent the wheel.”
Renee sipped her coffee, then set the cup down. “Right now, We’re just talking theory. If another body shows up, then I think we’ve moved past theory and more people need to get involved.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Me, too.”
The apartment complex on Nora Avenue had paint peeling from the trim. It was one of many tri-plexes scattered throughout the lower north side of River City. Eva Patterson was the first victim in the reports Renee gave me. Her last known address was in number two.
I could smell a barbecue nearby as I mounted the rickety steps and knocked on the apartment door.
When no one came to the door, I leaned across the porch and tried to peer in the window. The thick white curtains obscured any view. I returned to the front door and knocked again. Still no answer. I raised my fist to knock again when I heard the jiggle of a doorknob.
“Who the hell is it?” came a disgruntled voice from doorway of number three.
“Police, ma’am.” I showed my badge. “I’m looking for Miss Patterson.”
A head full of curlers popped out from the doorway. “Eva? You’re looking for Eva?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She moved away months ago. Never said a word. Just packed her boxes out to her car one day and drove off.”
“You don’t know where?”
“No,” she admitted. “She didn’t say anything to me.”
“You haven’t seen her since she moved?”
“No. Don’t see much of anything around here.”
“Do you know where she works?”
“Samson’s,” she said. “Down on Sprague.”
“Thanks,” I told her and started back to my car.
“Eva Patterson? That stupid bitch left without giving notice months ago.”
I stood at the bar in Samson’s. It was a bar for white trash muscle heads, guys who couldn’t afford memberships at the trendy gyms, but lifted weights in their dirt floor garages. The bartender called himself Samson and I didn’t care what his real name was.
“She didn’t talk about leaving beforehand?”
He wiped the bar absently and shook his head. “Nope. Course, she wasn’t worth a damn after getting raped.”
“You knew about that?”
“Yeah. She missed three days of work because of it.”
“Any idea who raped her?”
“I got no idea.”
“How long did she work here?”
“I dunno. Seven, eight months.”
“Was she a good worker?”
Samson shrugged. “Not bad. How hard is it to schlep drinks, you know? She was easy on the eyes, though, and that’s what matters in here.”
“Was she dating anyone?”
“Not serious. At least, not so as I could tell. She jumped around a little bit, though.”
“With you?”
“Me?” Samson chuckled and wrung out his towel, then continued wiping. “I don’t bang the help.”
“Good policy.”
“It is for me.”
“Did she have problems with any of the patrons?”
“Nothing memorable. She got hit on a lot, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I mean more along the lines of obsessive or violent. Stalking. That sort of thing.”
Samson shook his head. “Then no. Not so as I ever heard.”
“Do you know where she moved to?”
“No.”
“Where she’s from?”
“Here, far as I know.”
I sighed. “How about any friends? You know any of those?”
“All I can tell you is that she was a tight little spinner, she came here and worked, she did okay until she got raped, then she wasn’t worth a damn. And then she left. End of story.” He shrugged. “If you find her, I still owe her about sixty bucks in wages. I already paid the payroll taxes on it, so she might as well have it.”
I turned and left the bar.
“What do you want with my Beverly?” the woman asked me.
I stood on the porch outside her trailer. The woman, Beverly Stubbs’ mother, had already refused to give me her first name and insisted I call her Mrs. Stubbs. When I had asked for her daughter, she became even more guarded.
“I’m doing some follow-up investigation, ma’am.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that I’m trying to fill in some gaps in a few different cases, ma’am. Your daughter’s case is one of them.”
Mrs. Stubbs pointed her finger at me. “You sonsabitches have had plenty of time to find the man that hurt my baby. Why don’t you go do that instead of bothering her?”
“Ma’am, your daughter may have information that can help –“
“She already told you everything she knows! Asking her again isn’t going to make a difference.”
“Mrs. Stubbs, I am not here to con you. I’m here to see if your daughter can help me. Not just with her case, but maybe even with some others.”
“How?” She crossed her arms.
“Facts have come to light that weren’t available at the time of her assault. I need her help with them.”
“What facts?”
“I can’t go into that with you.”
“Then fuck off!” she screeched and slammed the door in my face. The trailer shifted and rocked as she stomped away from the door.
I waited and considered knocking again. I strained my ears to hear any conversation from inside the trailer.
The front door opened a crack, then widened to a foot. A young face appeared in the narrow opening. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry she yelled at you.”
I shrugged. “It happens. Can we talk?”
She cried harder and shook her head.
“Only for a minute, Beverly. Just one minute.”
She shook her head more forcefully. “I’m sorry, but I’m never gonna talk about that ever again.”
“Beverly—“
She looked away and closed the door gently.
I stood staring at the front door of the trailer. After a few seconds, I turned and walked back to my car.
Saturday, April 17th
Palms Motel, Morning
VIRGIL
I spent the night in my hotel room at the Palms. I could have gone to the Davenport, but I wanted to stay close to ground zero, especially now that I’d raised the stakes by beating the off-duty cop.
I rolled over and sat up on my bed. The little digital clock on the nightstand said 09:30. Using the palms of my hands, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes before trudging off to the shower. When I was done, I climbed back into my clothes from the previous night.
I slipped Hiero’s Glock into the back of my pants. It would be hidden underneath my jacket, so I decided to
take it with me when I left the room.
After making a phone call to River City Taxi, Axel pulled up in his white cab. I walked up and climbed into the back seat.
“Where to?” he asked with a smile. His formerly blonde spiky hair was now jet black, but he still wore the white shirt and black tie.
“The Davenport.”
He dropped the car into gear and headed toward downtown. “Would you like any music this morning?”
“No.”
He nodded and continued to drive in silence until we were at the hotel. The car pulled directly up to the curb and I handed him the fare.
“Sorry this was a short ride, Axel.”
“They all add up. Call when you’re ready to go somewhere else.”
I climbed out and swung the door shut.
In my room at the Davenport, I checked on my guns. No one had found them taped to the back of the television set.
Things were heating up on East Sprague. The Brotherhood of the Southern Cross was tied to my daughter before she was murdered.
I shook my head as I paced around the room. They might have seen me in the room across from their clubhouse. I knew damn well that they saw me when I was with the prostitute named Grace.
I wanted to carry a gun so badly, but it didn’t feel like the right time. I put Hiero’s gun in my suitcase underneath a pair of jeans and zipped it shut. I left my own guns taped to the back of the TV.
After changing clothes I went downstairs to the lobby and the payphone. I lifted the receiver to call Mr. Saccamano, but thought better of it. I didn’t have much to tell him and I knew he’d try to convince me to come home. I punched several buttons and heard a ringing in my ear.
“River City Taxi, can I help you?”
Axel dropped me off at The Hole around noon. Rolo was nowhere in sight, so I grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered an Old Granddad’s and sipped it quietly. About an hour later, Rolo strolled in with a tall, thin blonde on his arm. He was in an over-sized black puffy jacket and baggy black jeans. She wore black shorts, an Oakland Raiders sweatshirt and black high heels. She slid into the booth first and he slid in next to her. I caught his eye in the mirror behind the bar and he waved me over.
“Whatcha doin’ in this part of town, baby?”
“I was looking for you.”
“You found me. Whatcha need?”
I flicked my eyes over to the blonde and back to him.
“This is Rhonda. Rhonda this is - ? Shit, I don’t even know your name.”
“Does she need to be here?”
Rolo thumbed at the blonde. “You don’t like this white girl?”
“That’s not it.”
Rolo scooted out of the booth and waved at Rhonda to leave. When she got up, she kissed Rolo on the cheek and turned back to me. Rolo dropped back into the booth and Rhonda strolled out of the bar.
I leaned in over the table and Rolo leaned in as well.
“Do you know any of the players in the Brotherhood?” I asked.
Rolo leaned back and watched me for a moment. “I know a few. None that are willing to work both sides of the tracks, if you know what I’m saying. But I can point them out in a crowd.”
“What about Sammy G?”
Rolo nodded. “I know of him. Never met him. He’s the Brotherhood’s pimp.”
“How can I find him?”
“He’s the only one with a birthmark on his face.”
“Does he go around and check on the girls?”
“Hell, no. They bring the cash straight to the clubhouse. That’s where they keep the dope to keep the girls happy. They don’t hold out because they don’t want the Brotherhood to hold out. It’s commerce built on trust.”
“How do I get Sammy G out in the open?”
Rolo closed his eyes and crossed his arms. He made small squeaking noises with his lips while he thought. When he opened his eyes, he said, “Bring him a girl. He’ll come out to check on the goods.”
“How the hell do I bring him a girl?”
Rolo smiled. “You rent one of mine for a day. Put her on a corner, let her work a few tricks. Sooner or later, Sammy will come to collect what’s his.”
“How much?”
“That depends on what you want.”
“I want something to bring Sammy out quick.”
“Then you want a girl who’ll get a lot of traffic.”
I thought about the blonde he brought in with him. “Rhonda?”
“She’ll get lots of attention.”
“How much for her?”
“To put her in a dangerous position like that? A grand a day. She keeps the green she makes on any tricks. And as soon as you get Sammy, she’s done workin’ for you.”
“Fair enough.”
The pimp waved over a lanky, black kid wearing a blue North Carolina jersey. “Get Rhonda,” Rolo ordered and the kid took off.
I pulled my money clip out and peeled off ten one hundred dollar bills. Rolo held out his hand and I laid the money in his palm.
Rhonda came into the bar and walked up to the booth. Rolo pointed to my side of the table and I scooted over to let her sit. Rhonda slid next to me and I could feel the warmth of her body.
“You’re his for the day.”
Rhonda smiled at me.
Rolo snapped his fingers and she immediately focused on him. “He’s gonna have you working in BSC territory.”
Confusion swept over Rhonda’s face.
“When Sammy G comes to collect, our boy here wants to talk with him. When that happens you come home, got it?”
Rhonda nodded.
“Any tricks you work, that’s all gravy. If he wants a piece of ass, he pays, too. He’s only paid for you to be a signal flare for the Brotherhood.”
I glanced over at Rhonda and she looked at me. “When do we start?”
“Now,” I said. “Hang near the bungalows. That’s far enough away from the clubhouse, but not too far so you won’t be noticed.”
“And you’ll be watching the entire time?”
I nodded.
Rhonda stood up and headed for the door.
“Happy hunting,” Rolo said as I followed Rhonda.
It took her exactly two hours and four minutes to get Sammy G to her corner. She’d picked up three tricks in that time, the shortest one lasting five minutes and the longest lasting twenty-three. I watched Rhonda from the window of the Lazy J.
A biker with long brown hair rode up to Rhonda on a black Harley and parked it at the curb in front of the bungalows. I dug out several bills and tossed them on the table to cover my tab.
With traffic driving by I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. The biker grabbed Rhonda by the elbow and walked her into the alley that ran between the bungalows and behind ACME TV. I trotted across Sprague and into the alley.
The biker had his finger stuck in her face. A large purple birthmark was splashed across the right side of his face. “I know you. You’re with that nigger, Rolo.”
Rhonda’s jaw was clenched shut.
“You wanna play in this part of town, you gotta pay.” Sammy G. reached down and grabbed Rhonda’s crotch.
Rhonda looked frantically over to me as I approached them. Sammy saw me and let go of Rhonda.
“What the fuck do you want, playboy?”
“Take off,” I said to Rhonda.
Rhonda turned to leave and Sammy reached out for her. “The bitch stays here.”
I punched him in the side of the face with a left cross. Sammy buckled and went to one knee. I stepped up to him and hammered him with a sweeping right hook. He spun around and ended up on his back.
“Go,” I told Rhonda and she ran as fast as her legs and high heels would carry her.
I dropped a knee across Sammy’s chest. “Who killed Fawn Taylor?”
“Fuck you,” he said with a spit of blood.
“Wrong answer.” I punched him in the eye and stood up. I lifted my foot and stomped down on the back of his left hand. Seve
ral bones crunched and he wailed in pain. I put my foot over his mouth to stifle his yell.
“You were Fawn’s pimp, right?”
Sammy held his hand and nodded furiously, my shoe still in his mouth.
“Was she a good producer for you?”
He shook his head and grunted something. I lifted my foot so he could talk. “She was terrible,” he said, his voice panicky. “She wouldn’t pay rent. Didn’t think she had to.”
“Did you make her see the errors of her ways?”
His eyes widened and he frantically shook his head.
“I hear you rough up the girls who won’t pay.”
“No, no, I don’t do that.” His voice trembled as he talked.
“Word on the street is that you Southern Cross pussies damage the goods.”
He held his broken hand against his chest. “I don’t do that. How can they earn if you damage the goods?”
“Then who in the Brotherhood is out there damaging the girls?”
Sammy started to say something but quickly closed his mouth. I stomped down on his stomach and doubled him up.
“Oh, God,” he moaned. He struggled to breath for several seconds.
“Who’s hurting the girls?”
“Cody. Rowdy,” he said in the between gulps of air.
“Who?”
“His real name’s Cody, but we call him Rowdy.”
“Why’s he hurting them?”
“He was the original collector, but he liked his job too much.”
“Whaddya mean?” I asked, glancing up and down the alley.
“He hurt the girls even when they paid.”
“Why isn’t Cody collecting now?”
“Because he was cutting into profits.”
“By hurting the girls?”
Sammy nodded. His face had gone completely white and he looked like he was about to puke.
“Did Cody kill Fawn?”
“I don’t know. I swear.”
“What do you think?”
Sammy winced in pain as he moved his hand. “He wanted to give her his special treatment.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He wanted to show her how pain is erotic.”
“What about you? Did you ever fuck her?”
His eyes flicked up at me. “Yeah,” he said in a small voice.
