Nowhere Fast (A Mercy Watts Short)

by A W Hartoin

“What are you doing here?” Uncle Morty bellowed through the door.

  “Nice,” I said. “I came to ask a favor.”

  “Pass.”

  “Aunt Miriam sent me.”

  Uncle Morty went silent, probably considering the implications of not letting me in. If he didn’t, Aunt Miriam might show up on his doorstep or worse, a whole pack of nuns.

  “What kind of favor?” he asked, finally.

  “Sick and twisted.”

  Morty let me in and I was faced with two of his best pals. Rodney and Aaron looked like the kind of guys you’d expect to be profiled by Scientific American, complete with high IQs and lack of social skills.

  “Hi, guys,” I said.

  They waved while looking over my head. They were dressed alike in stonewashed jeans and baseball jerseys. That was where the resemblance ended. Rodney was tall and skinny with a mostly bald head that he attempted to cover up with an assortment of odd hats he bought at the Goodwill. Aaron was short and dumpy with thick glasses circa 1983 and too much hair that grew in cowlicks all over his head. His bad hair day was permanent.

  “What are the guys doing here?” I asked. “I thought you were writing.”

  “I’m done,” Morty said.

  “How’d it go?”

  Morty grunted. He wasn’t entirely happy that I knew his secret, but it was his own fault that I’d found out. Never leave the fourteen-year-old daughter of a detective alone in your office for five minutes. I was nosy and unrepentant, just like my dad. He really should’ve known better.

  “I have some business. Can we talk privately?” I asked.

  “Mercy, it’s us,” said Rodney.

  Exactly.

  “Are you getting paid for this job?” asked Morty.

  “It’s for Aunt Miriam. What do you think?”

  “We talk here, unless you want to pay me.”

  “Fine. How much do you know about porn sites?”

  Aaron turned red and trotted into the kitchen. One down, but Rod was made of sterner stuff. He stood his ground and tried not to look too interested. He failed.

  “Looking for a new line of work?” said Morty.

  “Yeah, right. I happen to be looking for a girl, Charley Horton. She was on the news. I got a tip that she’s been seen on a site.”

  “Which site?”

  “That’s why I need you.”

  “So when you think of porn, you think of me.”

  “You’re the internet guy.”

  “There’s about a million porn sites. Got any helpful hints?”

  “Well, she’s thirteen for starters.”

  “They’re all thirteen.”

  “Not all of them,” Rodney said with a sly grin. I didn’t want to think about Rod’s porn site picks.

  “My source says that she was on a site that had a girl’s name. He’d never heard the name before.”

  “Is she developed?” asked Rodney, fiddling with the buttons on his faded Hawaiian shirt.

  “I’d say she’s pretty flat.”

  “Could she look younger than thirteen, like nine or ten?”

  “I guess. Why?”

  “Because that’s what they like on Lolita,” said Morty.

  “Yeah, Lolita’s big business,” Rodney said.

  “You mean child porn,” I said.

  “That’s the stuff. I don’t personally get the attraction. Those are babies. They’ve got no tits, no ass, nothing. What’s the point of porn without T and A, I ask you.” Rodney popped the top off a Heineken dark and sat at Morty’s extra-large card table. He started flipping through a book about mystical creatures of something or other. Interest over.

  “Lolita’s where I’d start,” said Morty. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses— a lot like Pete’s, sad to say— and cleaned them on his favorite tee shirt featuring The Clash. “You want me to do it.”

  “It’s for a good cause,” I said with my hands folded in prayer.

  Morty groaned and Rodney laughed. Aunt Miriam was my trump card. He didn’t want me telling the good Sister that he wouldn’t help me out.

  “Well, shit. Why not,” he said. Then he yelled into the kitchen, “I could do it in between melees since somebody takes so God damn long.”

  “Excellent. How long do you think it will take?”

  “Not long. I got a friend.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  “Let’s just say you’re not his kinda girl.”

  Ick.

  I made a quick exit after yelling good-bye to Aaron in the kitchen. I went home to change for church and did my best to forget about Charley and Lolita porn.

  For all my pestering, I couldn’t get Pete to go with me. Church is better endured with a partner, but Pete had no sympathy. I got to the cathedral right before noon with plenty of time to get a good seat. It was never more than half full. I stepped through a side door and took a deep breath. Even with such a limited view, it was a glorious sight. I’d spent every Sunday morning as a child in a pew staring up at the mosaics and soaking up the grandeur. I loved church then, before I had anything to confess.

  Aunt Miriam was tucked inside the arch leading to the Blessed Virgin’s chapel, her favorite. She nabbed me when I walked by and guided me by the elbow into the pews under the central dome. My eyes went right up to the balconies that dotted the walls, high up just under the mosaics that took seventy-six years to complete. Mom said they were just decorations with nothing special behind them, but I always wanted to get up there and see just what was in those dark spaces where no one was allowed to go.

  I bumped into a pew and Aunt Miriam squeezed my elbow, propelling me to the first row. I hated the first row. It was like being in the first row in school. The first was supposed to be for the overachievers. I was a last-row girl.

  We sat down and she reminded the other Sisters who I was. They nodded with forgiving faces. My absences were accepted if not approved of. They were all dressed nearly identically with dove gray veils trimmed in white and white sweater sets with a dark A-line skirt. I couldn’t see their feet, but I’d be willing to bet they were wearing sensible shoes with thick crepe soles. They were Sisters of Mercy and all worked at the same hospital. Aunt Miriam was a retired administrator. Now she ran the volunteer program with a frightening efficiency.

  Aunt Miriam patted my knee. “I’m glad you could come this morning.”

  Like I had a choice.

  “What did you find out?” she asked. I could see the other sisters cocking their heads to hear what I had to say. I told her what I could without embarrassing her or myself.

  After Mass ended, we walked down the center aisle. My head swiveled around, looking at the beauty and knowing I couldn’t catch it all. I headed to my favorite place, at least the favorite I was allowed to go into, The All Souls Chapel with its black and gold mosaics and winged hourglasses. Under the chapel arch, I spotted the Bled sisters, Myrtle and Millicent. It was their favorite, too. Myrtle and Millicent were my godmothers. When I was little, I called them my fairy godmothers. I spent a lot of Sunday mornings sitting between them, looking at the mosaics and being fed expensive French chocolates that they kept in gold foil boxes inside their Hermes handbags. They were the Bleds that had given Dad our house and had practically raised me. Considering the time they’d given me, the education, the art, the museums, you’d think I’d have turned out as elegant as they were, but my blood won and I turned out a Watts.

  I waved to them, kissed Aunt Miriam on the cheek, and threaded my way through the crowd to two little old ladies dressed like they should’ve been walking on a boulevard in Paris in 1935 rather than in St. Louis in the boring now.

  “Mercy, my love,” said Millicent. “So good to see you here.”

  If Aunt Miriam had said that I’d have felt guilty and resentful, but when Millicent said it I just felt happy to be seen.

  I hugged her and then Myrtle.

  “We were just going to lunch. Care to join us?” asked Myrtle.

  “I’
d love to,” I said, looking down at my cotton sweater. “I’m not really dressed for it.” Lunch with my godmothers usually involved tuxedoed waiters.

  “No one will mind about that,” said Millicent, hooking her arm through mine. “We insist.”

  I got back to my apartment at one-thirty bloated with clams casino and veal scallopini. Pete had left me a note. He’d been called in to cover someone else, so I had the rest of the day free. But I still hadn’t interviewed Charley’s partner in crime, Rachel.

  I called and spoke to Rachel’s mother. Rachel would speak to me in an hour. Rachel Steinburg lived in Maryland Heights, too. Her house was a cinch to find and Rachel was standing on the stoop waiting for me when I arrived. She walked halfway across the lawn toward my car and waited. She was tall for thirteen and well into the gangly stage. She had dark hair, braces, and painful-looking skin. I felt like giving her my dermatologist’s card. I hadn’t taken time with makeup that morning and was happy for my laziness. Sometimes it’s good to be a slob.

  I walked over to Rachel. “Hi. I’m Mercy. Do you want to go inside?”

  “No. My mom’s in there,” said Rachel.

  “You don’t want her to hear us?”

  “Yeah. She’s so nosy. She has to know everything.”

  Gee. I wonder why.

  “Can we take a walk then?” I asked.

  “No way. She’ll think I’m doing something bad.”

  Duh.

  “Okay. Here’s fine. Is Charley your best friend?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I bet you miss her a lot.”

  “Sometimes. Mostly I just wish people would stop asking me stuff.”

  “Like about why you ran away.”

  “Yeah. Like they’re so stupid. Everything sucks here and I should’ve stayed with Charley. I can’t do anything. I can’t even walk around the stupid block,” said Rachel.

  “Do you really wish you’d stayed with Charley?”

  “I don’t know. She’s probably doing cool stuff and going to parties. I can’t do anything.”

  “She might not be doing anything. Have you thought about that?”

  “She’s OK. I mean, she could call or something if she wasn’t.”

  I gave her a look and waited to see if it would dawn on her that Charley might not be able to call. It didn’t.

  “Do you want her found?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you like for things to go back to the way they were before?”

  “She’s been gone a long time.” Rachel fiddled with a recently popped zit on her chin and picked off the scab.

  “I have a lead on who she might be with.”

  Rachel’s mouth fell open in surprise. “No way! Where is she? How come she didn’t call me?”

  “I haven’t actually talked to her, but I have a good lead and I need you to help me out with it. Charley was supposed to call you and she didn’t?”

  “Yeah. She was gonna call when she found a new place to stay.”

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  Rachel looked at me with a challenge in her eyes. “No.”

  “You knew she was going to leave Terry’s place?”

  She hesitated. “Are you going to tell my mom?”

  “I don’t think your mom needs to know, but I do. So…”

  “Terry was gross. He had all these icky sores and he wanted to kiss her and stuff.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did Terry ever talk to you about pornography?” I asked.

  “A little.”

  “What did he say?”

  “You’re not going to tell my mom?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “He said he had a friend named Jamie and he’s into that stuff. He said this guy would take Charley’s picture.”

  “What did Charley think?”

  “She thought it was gross. All those old pervs looking at her.”

  “Did Terry mention Jamie’s last name?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t remember everything, can I?”

  Not after what you were on, no. “Is there anything else you didn’t tell the police?”

  “No, I didn’t want to tattle on Charley, but it’s been a long time.”

  “Don’t worry. If I find her, I’m not obligated to tell her how. Good enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  I left Rachel standing in the middle of her front yard. She was still standing there when I turned off her block. I got on my cell phone and called Morty. He hates it when I add to a job, but I had no choice. I didn’t want to see Terry again and Morty has good connections. He said he’d get a list of Terry’s known acquaintances and get back to me. He didn’t have anything on the porn yet.

  The next few days were a blur. I was filling in at a pediatrician’s office and we were knee deep in the flu season. It seemed like every kid in the state came in with a desperate need to puke. I swore I’d never work Peds again. I once worked a salmonella outbreak after a kid’s twelfth birthday party. That was three months ago and I guess that’s how long it takes me to forget how horrible sick children are. Give me oncology, ER, anything but Peds. I’d rather give myself ten shots than give a kid one.

  Friday was my last day at the pediatrician’s office. After another day of puke and rectal temps, I went home to find a dozen messages from Uncle Morty on my machine.

  Morty picked up on the first ring. “About time. Where have you been? I thought you were off today.”

  “The vomit monsters called.”

  “Errgh.”

  “Tell me about it. What’ve you got?”

  “I think we’re looking for a Jamie Crane. He’s a forty-eight-year-old white guy with a nice sheet including, wait for it now, distributing child pornography. I’ve got his last three known addresses.”

  “How’d you do with the website?”

  “Found her. She’s on lolitagirl.com.”

  “Is it what I think it is?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “How am I going to explain this to her mother?”

  “Not your problem.”

  “Easy for you to say. How’d do you know it’s Jamie Crane anyway?”

  “My friend made the connection. Once we knew the website, it was cake.”

  “Thanks, Mort. How about those addresses?”

  “Nope.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’m not sending you out there on your own. Jamie Crane’s no sorority girl. He’ll kill you if you interfere in his business. Rodney and I will go with you.”

  “Rodney? Are you kidding me?”

  “The more the merrier. We’ll take two vehicles. Rod will be with you in yours.”

  “And what do you need me for?”

  “Entertainment.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ll pick you up at ten. Try to be on time. We’re not waiting while you curl your hair.”

  “Piss off.”

  As promised, Morty and Rod were at my door at ten. I’d slicked my hair back into a pony, a point that I’m sure was lost on Morty. The two of them tromped in looking like a couple of low-rent cat burglars. They wore faded-to-gray black sweat suits. Morty’s sweatshirt barely covered his belly and he had a heavy-duty tool belt tugging at his pants. I expected to see his underwear by the time the night was over. Shudder. Rodney was better. His sweats fit and he lacked the tool belt. He did have a black knit cap pulled over his bald head.

  “I hope Mrs. Driscoll doesn’t see you. She’ll think you’re here to rob me. You aren’t, are you?”

  “Hey! We’re dressed for the job. What’s your excuse?”

  “I’m pretending I’m normal.”

  Skanky the cat walked in from the bedroom. The instant he got a load of the stealth duo he got a big tail and ridge up his back. He hopped sideways, hissed, and then streaked back into the bedroom.

  “What’s his problem?” asked Rodney.

&nb
sp; “He’s never seen freaks before,” I said.

  “We’re trying to do you a favor here,” said Morty.

  “Try a little less, will you. As it is I’m going to have to take you down the back stairs. How come you never dressed like this before?”

  “That was surveillance. Tonight we’re apprehending.”

  “She’s a little girl, not a psychotic felon.”

  “Half dozen one the other.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Actually, I did. My mother says, “Go get me the thing next to the thing with that thingy,” and I go get it. Morty may not be my real uncle, but he’s in the family.

  We did go down the back stairs, but Morty wasn’t happy about it. He was damn proud of his tool belt. We checked the first address and it was vacant. The second was an apartment building with two patrol cars parked on the sidewalk in front. I left Morty and Rod in the car. They got enough stares just being in there. I asked around in the crowd about Jamie Crane. It cost me a twenty, but I found out he hadn’t been around in a while. The cops were there for a domestic disturbance.

  The last address was in the Florissant suburbs. It didn’t sound like an ideal place for a child porn business, but we had nothing else. We got lost on the winding, confusing streets, and spent an hour finding the right house. It was a fifties ranch, white with green trim. The two BMW coupes parked in the driveway made it unusual. The other houses sported minivans and Chryslers.

  The lights were on and every window visible had a heavy shade. I wrote down the license plate numbers.

  “What now?” asked Rodney.

  I had no idea. “I guess we wait.”

  Morty called me on the cell two hours later. I jerked my head up and wiped off the line of drool rolling down my steering column. Rodney was asleep with his feet in my lap and mumbling something about trolls.

  “You were asleep,” said Morty.

  “Uh no, no. I was uh…”

  “Jeez. Haven’t you heard of caffeine?”

  “Rodney’s asleep. He slept through the phone ringing.”

  “Rodney’s practically a narcoleptic. Sometimes he goes to sleep in the middle of a game.”

  Heaven forbid. “What do you want?”

  “I say we pack it in. It’s quarter to four. Nothings going to happen tonight. We got here too late.”