by Boo Walker
“What do you mean, ‘someone else was in control?’ ”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
CHAPTER 15
Anybody who has been in the Pacific Northwest long enough knows that if you are looking for tweaked hookers, you have a 100 percent chance of finding plenty of them in Seattle and Portland. Not that we were looking for Erica Conway—who would be on a slab at the coroner’s office by now—but we were looking for her kind. I guess you could find those types just about anywhere, but if you were a prostitute and you wanted to make the best cash, Seattle—Pioneer Square in particular—would be the place. At least, it was a good spot to start.
Hunger got the best of me as we drove the bridge crossing over Lake Washington, so I swung by Via Tribunali in Capitol Hill. As I folded a slice and crammed it into my mouth, Francesca said, “No meat? Ever?”
“Not in a long time.”
She shook her head. “I feel bad for you.”
“It’s the veggies that keep me looking young. I’m older than I look.”
“Right.”
“How old are you, Frannie?” I asked, knowing I’d get some kind of Italian fire thrown back at me.
“Che palle! Don’t call me that. And don’t ask a woman how old she is. Didn’t your mom teach you anything?”
“I love how you women soldiers have something swinging between your legs one minute and then turn into prom queens the next. Drives me crazy.”
She rolled those big brown eyes. “Here he goes again. God, you’re awful sometimes.”
“You’re a real peach yourself.”
“I’m getting used to it, though. You’re a little off in the head, but I don’t think you’re all asshole.”
“Through and through, lady. Trust me. One hundred percent, certified, grade-A asshole.”
“Nah…you just need to talk it out. Not with me, but someone qualified. Highly qualified. In fact, you might need a team of doctors. A highly-qualified team of doctors. All Harvard grads.”
“Are you done?”
“You’ll need to find the best in the world.”
“Keep going,” I said, taking another bite.
“NASA scientists.”
“Really?”
“It may require military funding.”
“I mean, really?”
“Actually, we might be going in the wrong direction. I’d say a team of engineers is all it would take, someone who could figure out how to pull the Washington monument out of your culo.”
I shook my head.
“I’m done,” she said, stifling her smile, enjoying herself way too much.
We found a Kinko’s and made copies of the mark found on the bodies, plus some photographs of Erica Conway and Lucy Reyes that we’d pulled off the Internet. Then we drove downtown and parked in a garage off Third Avenue. By the time we were on foot, it was 11 p.m. The whacks were starting to come out of the alleys.
A few cops were strolling, but they were mostly there to curb the violence. They wouldn’t know where to begin if they started going after misdemeanors. I watched one group of gentlemen passing around a crack pipe not twenty feet from two cops, and not a thing would be done. Then there were the homeless. Some on drugs. Some who appeared to be but might be clean as a whistle. The ones who were really out there were having long conversations with themselves as they limped up and down the street with no idea of what was going on around them, smelling of excrement and bourbon and sweat and onions.
Francesca and I walked side by side as we passed these types. “We’ll kill them with kindness first,” I said, “and see if we can get some answers. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll get aggressive.”
“Thanks, Commander Harper.”
On the corner up ahead, right outside of a smoke shop, a group of girls stood in a circle laughing. Very questionable motives. Lots of tights and skimpy garments. Heels that elevated them above the rest of the crowd so they could scope out their prey. Too much makeup, covering up the scars of a life doing what they knew was wrong. Profiling 101. Go get ‘em, Harper. I turned to Francesca. “Watch this.”
Francesca instinctively pulled away, a little grin on her face. As I approached the women, one of them looked me up and down and said, “You need something?” They all turned.
“I do, yeah.” I pulled out the pictures of the girls and held them up in front of my face. “I’m looking for a couple friends. You ladies recognize them? I could really use the help.”
A sassy one with blue lipstick took the lead. “Who are you? Get outta here. Why would we know?”
“Well…I think they were in your line of work.”
She got a little closer. “‘Our line of work?’ And what is that, exactly?”
“I’m just looking for a couple friends. Trying to help them out. Do any of you know them?” The girls were kind of half-looking, but they were clearly scared of pissing off the sassy one.
“Get outta here,” she said.
“Please.”
“Go, or you’re going to get yourself into trouble.”
“Thanks for your time. You’re a real asset to society. A pillar!” I raised my hand to the rest of them. “Ladies, have a good evening.”
No one said anything as I stepped away in defeat. Francesca had a smile that might have upset me had she been a man, but her twisty little grin made me smile myself. Despite my best attempt at not softening, I couldn’t help it. We had our first real laugh together.
“Nice work,” she said. “Now I know why Ted brought you on.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re a charity case.”
“God, you’re a riot, Frannie. Roman comedy at its finest.”
“You lack a woman’s grace. That’s all.”
“Please. I’m sure there’s soooo much I could learn from you.”
“Oh, you’re right. You are actually good to go. The perfect man. God’s son.”
We went a block south, and it was still more of the same. Gangsters, punks, trannies, hippies, hookers, trannie hooks, homeless, druggies, and then who I guess you’d call the normal people walking around checking it all out, like they were at the freak show at the circus.
Francesca spotted a couple of questionable women and said, “I’ll be right back.” She went over to them and started up a conversation. They seemed to welcome her. When she returned a couple minutes later, she had her smile going again. I was starting to see what the boys meant about every soldier under the president falling for her. I’d be damned if it was going to happen to me, though. Shit. Shit. Shit.
She came back my way. I did not welcome how she made me feel at that moment, with her victorious smile and her confident strut—this little game helping both of us forget about Ted being gunned down earlier that day. Don’t get all human on me, Harper. Don’t do that. You’re not like that anymore.
I suppressed the smile before she could see it. Enough of that for the day. “What did you find?”
“Nothing.” She pushed me. Quite aggressively. I caught myself from falling backwards. “But they talked to me,” she continued. “Said they’ve never seen either one.”
“Well done.”
“I can teach you if you’ll let me.”
“That’s okay. I’m good. They didn’t recognize the mark, either?”
“No.”
So it went like that for a while. After one or two more screamers, I started getting the hang of it. You get more bees with honey. That’s what Francesca kept telling me. A little honey and some lies here and there. I got into one method that seemed to work really well. I started telling them that I was looking for the two women in the photos because one was the love of my life, and I had to find her. I wanted to marry her. The ones that bought it obviously hadn’t seen the news yet. I was pretty sure by the next day that they’d all find out one way or another.
Francesca and I kept working our way south, all the way through the International District, near where the Mariners and the Seahawk
s play.
***
It was well past midnight when we finally got a hit. Of course, Francesca got it. Not me. I’d hear about that the rest of my life, I was sure. I knew she’d gotten lucky because she’d been talking to the same girl for a long time before she finally waved me over. We all sat at a picnic table. A bearded man slept happily on top of a broken down cardboard box not too far away.
The woman’s name was Lana. I shook her hand, making a mental note to soak my hands in gasoline later. A streetlight not too far away lit up the scene around us just enough to make out her face. Her eyes were heavy with mascara, and her skin told exhausting tales of unhealthy living. She was one of the ones who kept Virginia Slims in business. Her hair was matted at the ends. I wanted to ask her when she had last taken a shower, but instead, I said, “Pleasure to meet you.”
Francesca was on my side, sitting close to me. She said, “I told Lana we’d give her fifty bucks if she’d help us out. She says she knew them both. They used to work this area.”
“They didn’t go by those names,” Lana said, “but it was them. They was my street gals.”
I perked up. “Street gals…nice. What names did they go by?”
“Cher and Dolly. This one was Dolly,” she said, pointing to Erica Conway. “I haven’t seen them in a while…but they was good gals. Real good gals.”
“What happened to them?” I asked. “Where’d they go?”
“Who knows? Maybe they took jobs with Merrill Lynch. Or ran for office.”
I smiled. “I mean, where do you go in this line of work? Why would they quit?”
“Maybe they cleaned up. Maybe they run down south where it’s a little warmer.”
“So you stopped bumping into them both at the same time?”
“I think so. Wasn’t paying attention that much. But they was chummy for a long time and then they was gone.”
“How long had you known them?”
“Dolly, I knew for almost a year. I only knew Cher a couple months.”
I slid a picture of the mark on both women’s bodies and used my phone to illuminate it. “Both of them had a mark like this. Ever seen it before?”
“Only marks I saw on them were track marks.” She grinned and we got a glimpse of some teeth that weren’t fit for a mummy.
“Anything else you can tell us, Lana?” Francesca asked her, taking over.
“Not much to say, really.”
“What were their habits? Help me get to know them.”
“They did what we all did. Tried to get men to pay for sex. Hope that you get lucky enough to spend the night in some nice hotel room.”
“Did they get lucky often?”
“Dolly, probably more than most. Look at her. She’s a little bit of a step up from the rest of us. She saw plenty of clean sheets.”
“What about Lucy? Cher, I mean.”
“Dolly had that child under her wing. They worked together sometimes, you know. Dolly would get the job and then make a deal to get Cher in on the action for a little bit more money. It’s safer for the girls that way, if they’re together. And more bang for the boys and their bucks.”
“How often did they do a deal like that?”
“I wasn’t their babysitter. I don’t know. Maybe I saw ‘em get in the same car together ten times. Hey, I’d say you got your fifty dollars worth. Hand it over.” She stuck out her hand.
“Just a couple more,” I said, noticing her filthy, greedy hand. “Did you ever recognize the same people or cars that were picking them up?”
“No.”
“Okay, well we might come bug you again, if that’s all right. There’ll be more money in it for you.” I handed her the cash and a slip of paper with my number. “If you happen to talk to anybody else who knows anything or if your memory digs anything else up, call me. Again, more money.”
“I will.” She was looking around, making sure her pimp wasn’t eyeing her.
With that, Francesca and I got back in the car. “Why don’t we head back to the hotel and call it a night?” I asked. “It’s going to be another long day tomorrow.”
Truthfully, I needed more time alone to deal with my broken pieces. Once I got back to my room I sat at the desk for two hours, my head in my hands, working through it all, every muscle in my body tensed to the point of tearing.
CHAPTER 16
An angry Detective Coleman relieved me from a miserable sleep with a phone call at about 6 a.m.
“Domino’s Pizza,” I said, trying to will myself into having a better day.
“Harper Knox.”
“That’s me.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? I’m talking to a woman down in the International District who has your phone number in her pocket. I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”
“Nope. I’m up here in Banff right now at the spa getting a facial.” I rubbed my jaw, trying to relieve the pain from clenching my teeth all night.
“Smart-ass,” he replied.
“I’m serious. Now, who are you talking about? Who is this girl?”
“I’m not going to listen to your bullshit. Stop now. I’m warning you. Don’t get in my way.” He started losing his cool. “If you continue to get in the way of my investigation, I will put you in jail. I don’t care if you shoot Purple Hearts out your ass.”
“In fact, Detective, I do. And let me tell you: those pins on the back, if they’re not closed, hurt sometimes.”
“This is your last warning.”
“Can I ask you one question?”
“What is it now?”
“Did you ever figure out what that mark means?” I had to know.
“You have to be kidding me. I hear your name again, Harper, and my next stop will be visiting you in a cell. Good-bye.”
In a robotic tone, I said, “Good-bye, public servant.”
Then I lay in my bed for a few minutes thinking. The police obviously knew about Erica Conway’s sketchy past. And I’m sure they knew about Lucy’s, too, whatever that might have been. Some savvy reporter would have her story on the AP line soon enough. It had only taken Francesca and me a couple hours to learn quite a bit about Erica, so it really wasn’t rocket science. But still…why? Why did they decide to break into the Singularity Summit and pull guns on the doctor? Still assuming it was the doctor they were after. Or was it Ted? If it was Ted, then mission accomplished.
And the other questions would most likely have answers soon. How did they know each other? Were they working with anyone else? Wasn’t it strange that the two women, who you could have easily argued were morally absent, had some kind of serious problem with the Singularity? Or was there some other reason to go after Dr. Sebastian?
I spent ten minutes cross-legged on the floor meditating and then flipped on the tube. Maybe there were some overnight revelations. It took me just a few minutes to find CNN. No, I didn’t care about some twenty-year-old celeb skipping out on her community service in Hollywood. A few tick-tocks later, they brought up the Summit. The journalists had been just as quick as the rest of us. First thing they showed were pictures of Erica and Lucy. And guess what? They were both prostitutes. They showed an interview with one of Lucy’s old friends confirming the rumors that Lucy had been known to sell her body. Then they discussed Erica Conway. Meth, cocaine, and prostitution were her hobbies.
So there it was. Two hookers—two drug addicts—break into a high security conference and attempt to kill a leader in the field of Artificial Intelligence. Why did they care? Was it something much more personal? Had Dr. Sebastian known these two women? Had he done something to them? Or with them? Was he a client? I had a real hard time imagining the cute little doctor with his high trousers swinging by and picking up hookers after spending all day in the lab working on his Fusion Project. Although he did have some lady’s man in him, prostitutes didn’t seem like his bag. Or was it all as obvious as it seemed: that they were after him for what he was doing in the lab?
I ne
eded to speak to Dr. Sebastian’s wife again. We needed to talk more about that threatening phone call, and also learn more about his enemies. And it wouldn’t hurt if I knew a little more about the Singularity.
Francesca knocked on my door. She was showered and ready to go. “Buongiorno.”
“Bongo cheerio. Come on in.”
“You’re still in bed?” she asked. “I thought you said you didn’t sleep.”
“Not much. I dozed off around four. Just woke a bit ago. Let me grab a shower really quick. Don’t go anywhere.”
I popped into the shower and began to scrub. Francesca came into the bathroom and started talking to me, and it was only weird for a second. C’mon in, I was thinking. But she started chatting with me like we were two guys in a locker room. “So I know what that mark was all about.”
Lathering shampoo into my hair, I said, “Talk to me.”
“It’s called a triskelion, and it’s been around since the Neolithic Age. Depending on the era and culture—the Celts, Neo-Pagans, Christians, Buddhists, et cetera—it can mean a lot of different things. The cyclical motion can signify motion or man’s progress. The three legs can represent the cycles of life—you know, birth, death, and rebirth. Or it can refer to the phases of the moon. Or spirit, mind, body, or past, present, future, or even the Christian Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“That really narrows it down. I wish it could have been something a bit more specific. Maybe a swastika or something.”
“Well, who knows? This could just be something between the two of them. Like a tattoo that two friends get.”
“Having it burned into your skin is a bit more aggressive than getting a tattoo. That had to hurt.”
“No doubt about it. But I’d say everything about these two women is aggressive.”
“I’m thinking this is some sort of gang work.”
“Maybe so,” Francesca said, walking out of the bathroom.
I finished up and met her back in the bedroom. Sat down on the bed shirtless. Francesca was at the table now, watching CNN. She muted it. “I’m sure you saw this. We spent all last night trying to find out more about them when we could have just sat around and waited until these guys had it.”
