by Chance(lit)
"You know where she is now?"
"Well, I gather she's not at home, in Medford?"
"No, would you have any idea where she might be?"
"No, I'm sorry. I don't."
"You've not heard from her?"
"No. Not in ages."
She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. I was right. The panty hose were dark tan. The legs were good, too.
"And you have no thoughts where I might find her?"
"No, I'm very sorry, but I really don't."
"Names of any friends she might have contacted?"
She shook her head slowly.
I stood and took one of my business cards out and gave it to her.
"Well, if you do hear from her, or you think of anything that might be useful in finding her, please give me a call."
"Of course," she said and stood and shook hands with me.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful."
"Me too," I said and went back out into the rain with the collar of my trench coat turned up. In uniform. Driving back to Boston I thought about how she had not once asked why I was looking for Bibi or if she might be in trouble, or any of the questions she might have asked if she really hadn't talked with Bibi. Maybe if I laid low in the weeds for a while and didn't bother Abigail any more, the houseguest, whoever she was, might assume the risk was over and come back.
CHAPTER 34
Hawk and I were in Bay Village, on the south end of Charles Street, approaching a couple of hookers.
"This is a pretty long end run ain't it?" Hawk said.
"You got a better idea?" I said.
"Could talk with Julius again."
"We can do that," I said.
"But let's see if we can find out a little about what's going on down here in the trenches."
"That where we are?" Hawk said.
"Right here where the cash is earned," I said.
"Good evenin'," one of the hookers said.
"I'm Wanda."
"Aren't you cold?" I said.
She had on a red sleeveless top and a white miniskirt and three inch white heels.
"Got a sweater over in the doorway," she said.
"You cops?"
"You ever see a cop dressed as good as me?" Hawk said.
"Some of the undercover Vice guys looking pretty fresh," Wanda said.
"We're not cops," I said.
"We're looking for a missing woman."
"You think she hooking?" Wanda's friend asked. She had on black toreador pants and a huge blonde wig.
"No, but it's a place to start," I said.
"Who runs you?"
"We got us a pimp," Wanda said.
"Bet he don't think of it that way," Hawk said.
"What's his name?" I said.
"Chuckie. Either you gentlemen going to fuck one of us?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"
"Cause if you ain't you best be moving along. Chuckie don't like us, you know, ah, wasting time with people ain't customers."
"Where is Chuckie?"
"Around. Keeping an eye on things."
"So if we stay here for a while, Chuckie will show up and tell us to move along."
"That what he usually do," the blonde said.
"But you two looking kind of big and quick."
"You think we'd scare him off?"
"Chuckie bad," the blonde said.
"But there two of you..."
I nodded.
"Hawk," I said.
"Why don't you sort of even the odds for Chuckie."
Hawk nodded.
"Ladies," he said, and started walking toward Park Square.
"You want Chuckie to hassle you?" Wanda said.
"I want to meet him," I said.
"Chuckie's pretty mean," Wanda said.
The blonde reached over and felt my bicep.
"Oh!" she said.
"Maybe this be something."
Wanda felt my bicep too. The two women giggled.
"You know who Chuckie works for?" I said.
"Chuckie don't work," Wanda said.
"We work."
"You know who Chuckie pays off?"
"Naw, man, don't know nothing 'bout that stuff."
A dark Pontiac Bonneville drove slowly along Charles Street, and slid into the curb beside us. A tall high-shouldered black man got out and walked around behind the car and stopped beside me.
He had on a black and red leather warm-up jacket and a red do rag on his head. First Deion, now the world. His arms were a little too long for the jacket and his wrists where they showed below the cuffs were thick.
"You a police officer?" he said.
"No."
"Then you looking to have yourself some fun?"
"Nope, just passing the time of night with these ladies," I said.
"Well, sir, these ladies are mine, you know what I mean, and they working, so they don't really have no time to be passing."
"You Chuckie?" I said.
"You best move along," Chuckie said, " 'fore you get your white ass fucked up."
"Now, see, that's the trouble with you pimps," I said.
"You got no judgment. You always play the race card too early."
The two hookers had moved back a little toward the doorway to watch. They were excited.
Chuckie raised his voice and moved very close to me.
"I don't want you bothering my whores," he said.
"Who runs prostitution these days, now that Tony's in jail?" I said.
"Don't know no Tony," Chuckie said.
"Tony Marcus," I said.
"Don't know nothing 'bout no Tony Marcus," Chuckie said.
"Ain't gonna tell you again. Hit the road."
Chuckie had a gun on the right side of his belt, forward of his hip. I could see the hint of it under his jacket. I was trying to figure out how to push him hard enough to talk without pushing him so hard he went for the gun. Chuckie helped me figure it out.
He put his left hand on my chest and gave me a shove.
"Move it," he said.
He was grand-standing a little in front of his whores, it was to be expected. But I hate being pushed. I hit Chuckie a left hook and turned my shoulder in and stepped in under his left arm and hit him a right uppercut, under his chin, close to the neck, where I was less likely to hurt my hand. He fell over on his back and I stepped beside him with my gun out and pointing straight down at the bridge of his nose. The whores were giggling nervously.
One of them said, "Whoa, Mister Chuckie."
Chuckie lay there, his bell still ringing, trying to get his eyes to focus. I waited. When he could hear me, I spoke to him pleasantly.
"There's a gun on your belt, right side. Take it out with the first two fingers of your right hand. Two fingers only. I see more than two and your brains will make a very small mess on the sidewalk."
Chuckie hesitated. I thumbed the hammer back. He twitched slightly. Had he been standing it would probably have been a jump, then he took the gun out.
"Slide it toward the gutter," I said.
"Two fingers only."
He did and I stepped away from him and picked it up, and put it in my coat pocket. I uncocked my own gun and put it away.
"Now," I said, "what I was wondering was, who runs prostitution in town since Tony went to the house of blue lights?"
From flat on the sidewalk, Chuckie gave me an expressionless I'll-get-you-for-this stare. I gave him a gentle kick in the ribs.
"Tony still runs it," he said.
"From the place."
"And who helps him on the outside?" I said.
"Tarone."
"Give me a full name."
"Tarone Jessup."
"Thank you."
I turned to the whores giggling in the doorway.
"Ladies," I said.
They giggled some more. Nervously, trying not to. Chuckie would probably beat them up if he thought they were laughing at him. I smiled at them.
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Chuckie was sitting up now.
"Hey, man," he said.
"You going to gimme back my gun?"
"No," I said.
"Piece cost me five hundred dollars, man," Chuckie said.
"Think of it as rent," I said, and kept on going.
CHAPTER 35
Hawk located Tarone Jessup the next day and we went to see him in the back room of a video arcade on Ruggles Street. The front room was full of black teenaged boys who stared at me as Hawk and I walked through the room. Tarone's door was open and we went in. There were three men in the room. One at the desk with his feet up, two sitting against the right-hand wall.
"You Tarone Jessup?" Hawk said to the guy at the desk.
"Un huh."
He was a thin jittery-looking guy with a sharp nose and oval black eyes like a bull terrier.
"I'm Hawk."
"Knew you were," Tarone said.
"Who that with you, Casper the friendly ghost?"
The two guys against the wall laughed more loudly than the remark required.
"He do look kind of pale," Hawk said.
"He look like a honky motherfucker to me," Tarone said.
"Just think of me as color challenged," I said.
"Who you been paying off to run your whores in Bay Village?"
Tarone was wearing a small brimless black cap and some sort of loose-fitting multicolored African tunic. Authentic.
"The honky cut right to the fucking chase, don't he?" Tarone said.
The two guys against the wall guffawed some more. One of them had the thickened features of a not too successful prize fighter.
The other one, taller and younger, looked like a guy who might benefit from a few pops on the beezer.
"We looking for a woman," Hawk said.
"We starting at the other end, so to speak, working back. You understand? Got nothing to do with you."
"You want a woman?" Tarone said.
"I get you a woman, man.
We got a lot of them."
He looked at the two guys on the wall. They thought he was funnier than a bucket of bullfrogs. The younger one was stamping his foot as he laughed.
Hawk looked at me. Then he leaned over Tarone's desk and spoke very softly to him.
"Tarone, you don't know me," Hawk said.
"But you know about me. Don't you."
"Sure, I heard 'bout you."
"Anybody mention I enjoy being fucked with?"
Hawk's eyes were maybe six inches from Tarone's. Tarone looked quickly at his two pals. Then he looked back at Hawk. The two pals stood up, somewhat stiffly, against the wall. Hawk's eyes were steady on Tarone, barely breathing room between their faces.
"Be cool, Hawk," Tarone said.
"I ain't fucking with you."
Hawk slowly straightened. He smiled pleasantly. But his eyes still held on Tarone's.
"Well, good," Hawk said.
"That's nice. Who you paying off to run your whores in Bay Village?"
"Guy comes by, Anthony, collects a percentage every week."
"Anthony Meeker?" I said.
"Yeah."
"Who's he deliver it to," Hawk said.
"Mr. Ventura."
Hawk looked at me.
"How much?" I said.
"We give him five grand a week," Tarone said.
"Do any business with Gino Fish?" I said.
Tarone shook his head.
"Marty Anaheim?"
Tarone shook his head again.
"Pay off anybody else?"
"Just some Vice graft," Tarone said.
"Nickels and dimes."
I nodded.
"Anything unusual about your deal with Ventura?"
"No. It's his turf. He got a right to tribute."
"Tribute," I said.
Tarone shrugged.
"What he calls it," Tarone said.
"And you don't deal with Gino Fish," I said.
"Not direct. He may have some deal going with Mr. Ventura. If he do, I don't know nothing about it."
"Thank you for your time, Tarone," I said.
I nodded at Hawk and we started for the door.
"Hey, Hawk," the young guy said.
"You sure you tough as you think?"
Without speaking, Hawk turned and kicked him in the groin.
The young guy doubled over and fell on the ground. And moaned.
Hawk looked at the ex-fighter. The ex-fighter shook his head, and Hawk turned back to the door.
"Probably am," Hawk said.
CHAPTER 36
Dixie Walker agreed to take a ride with me before she went to work, and I picked her up outside The Starlight at about 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon. It was lousy weather, overcast and spitting rain. Dixie was wearing a yellow slicker jacket over jeans and a tee-shirt. To keep the rain off her head she was wearing a black baseball cap with her hair spilling out the adjustable opening in the back.
"Nice to see you dressed," I said.
"Thanks a lot."
"Be nice to see you undressed too," I said.
She smiled without much enthusiasm.
"That's better," she said.
"Go back down to one-A. Anthony's place is out Eastern Ave."
"You know the address?"
"No, but I can find it. I went there enough."
"Good."
"Be the first time I went there with somebody sober."
"You or me?" I said.
"Both," she said.
"I hope I can find it without a hand up my skirt."
"Well," I said, "if you can't..."
She smiled, more genuinely now.
"I'll let you know," she said.
Route 1A is narrow and residential as it runs through Lynn. The rain was annoying. It didn't wet the windshield enough to prevent the intermittent wiper blades from dragging, but if I shut the wipers off altogether, the water beaded up and made it hard to see.
Timing is everything.
"You didn't find Anthony in Vegas?" Dixie said.
"Found him and lost him," I said.
"His wife was killed."
"Really? By him?"
"Don't know," I said.
"My guess is no."
"Yeah, he doesn't have the balls for it," she said.
We turned left onto Eastern Avenue and drove past solid wooden houses, mostly two-family, mostly white, with small lawns in front, and some trees along the street. It was about as residential as Lynn got.
Dixie said, "Slow down. It's along here someplace."
We slowed. Cars behind me honked their horns.
"We're holding up traffic," Dixie said.
"Take your time," I said.
More horns. One driver pulled out around me and raced past me, tires screeching. As he passed he gave me the finger.
"He thinks I'm number one," I said.
"There it is," Dixie said.
I pulled in by a hydrant in front of a white three-decker v/ith dark green shutters and some scraggly lilac bushes along the driveway. The cars behind me gunned their engines in angry liberation as they passed me. I felt properly chastened.
"He's got a place on the second floor," Dixie said.
"You go in the front door and there's a hallway with stairs. Place always smelled like kerosene to me."
"He own it or rent it?" I said.
