by Vicki Delany
The back door to the pizza shop opened with a burst of loud music and warm air. A man gave them one startled look and slammed the door shut.
Ronnie Kilpatrick bolted.
For a flash of a moment Lopez considered going after him. But Ronnie was twenty-one years old and in good shape after his stint in jail. Chase Ronnie and this other guy would get away. Lopez knew where Ronnie lived; the other guy would disappear into the mountains.
“Name?”
“What the hell? Aren’t you going to go after him?”
“I know him. Don’t know you. Name?”
“Stewart. Joe Stewart.”
Lopez sucked in a breath and his heart skipped a beat. He hoped he managed to keep his face impassive. Joe Stewart. Facebook user and friend to teenage girls. Handed to Ray Lopez on a platter.
“Mr. Stewart, where do you live?”
“Vancouver.”
“What brings you to Trafalgar?”
His eyes shifted to one side. “Visiting a friend.”
“Your friend in the drug business?”
“No. And neither am I. You’ve made a mistake.”
“Mr. Kilpatrick is a well known drug dealer. Want to tell me why you’re meeting with him in a dark alley at night?”
“Dinna ken he were a druggie, did I?”
“If that’s the case you will be allowed to go once you’ve showed me the contents of your pockets.”
Stewart shifted his feet and glanced toward the road.
“I advise you not to attempt to run, Joe,” Lopez said. “This is a small town. Isolated. There are only three roads out. They can be blocked off before you even get to your car.”
A siren sounded and lights washed the alley.
“Fuck it,” Stewart said.
Lopez let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He’d almost considered cancelling the call for a uniform. A dark alley. No one around. An unfortunate accident.
He’d come closer than he liked to crossing the line.
The car pulled up and Dawn Solway got out. She stood back and watched as Lopez told Stewart to turn around and snapped handcuffs on him. The detective patted the man down and found a wallet, keys, cigarettes. And a crumpled lottery ticket, wrapped around a soft material.
“Tsk, tsk,” Lopez said.
Solway handed him a plastic bag, and he dropped the items into it.
“Okay, Mr. Stewart, time for a trip to the station.”
“You’re going to charge me with that little bit of powder, while the other guy gets away?”
“Don’t worry about Mr. Kilpatrick. We know where we can find him. Did he sell you that stuff?”
Stewart’s eyes moved as he calculated. “Yeah,” he said at last.
“Thanks. Let’s go.”
Solway drove the car into the secure parking bay and the door closed. Only then did she and Lopez get out. Solway assisted Stewart.
She processed him through the computer while Lopez watched.
“If you do not have a lawyer of your own, you may contact a legal aid lawyer in the morning,” Solway said.
Stewart grumbled.
“You don’t look like a user,” Lopez said. “Are you buying for someone else?”
“No. And even if I was, you think I’d confess to trafficking?”
“Not trafficking in that quantity,” Lopez said. “Just wondering. You said you have friends in town.”
“I lied. I don’t have any friends.”
“Come on. Time for beddy-bye.” Solway grabbed his arm to take him to a cell.
Stewart offered no resistance.
Unlikely a judge would order him to be held. White powder was wrapped in the lottery ticket. Cocaine, probably less than a gram. Stewart didn’t show signs of being a long-time user and the amount was too small to be able to charge him with trafficking.
Kilpatrick was a fool, but he wasn’t harmless, and Ray Lopez was not happy to see him back in town. Stewart had readily admitted he’d bought the stuff from Kilpatrick. Better if they caught the dealer red-handed, but a buyer’s testimony would go a long way toward obtaining a conviction. With Kilpatrick’s record hopefully this time he could be sent away for a nice long stay at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.
But that was of little important to Ray Lopez tonight.
“Hold on a minute. Ever been to Big Eddie’s Coffee Emporium?”
Stewart eyed the detective. “Might have.”
“How about the park? We have a nice park, high over town. You get a great view from up there.”
“Might have.”
“You said you don’t have friends in town?”
“No.”
“You sure about that? How about a woman friend? The sort of friend you might have coffee with now and again.”
“I said no.”
“Do you like girls?”
“What kind of a question’s that? Sure I like girls, don’t you?” His eyes flicked to Solway, who looked confused, not knowing where this was going.
“Young girls, I mean. Little girls. Underage girls.”
Understanding moved behind Stewart’s beady black eyes. A single drop of sweat trickled down his right cheek. He wiped it away. His fingernails were chewed into the quick. His glance slid to one side. “Of course not.”
“Constable Solway, get a camera and take a photograph of Mr. Stewart. I want to show it to a potential witness. I think we might have more charges to lay before the judge tomorrow.”
Chapter Forty-four
Nicky Nowak had taken a room in a cheap motel where she spent the entire day sitting and stewing and waiting for her car to be fixed. Then they phoned and told her it would it would be another day.
She’d finished reaming them out for the delay when her cell phone rang. She took the call, listened, and phoned a car rental company.
She had to get out of here, now. She threw her toiletries into the suitcases she’d hadn’t bothered to unpack and walked the few short blocks to collect the car. Back to the motel to toss her cases into the trunk.
She sat in the car for a few minutes, staring at the line of motel room doors. Then she took a deep breath and pulled out her phone.
In Big Eddie’s Coffee Emporium chairs were stacked on tables. A man ran a broom energetically across the floor as Nicky walked in. Only one table, in the center of the room, was occupied.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“It’s okay.”
“I guess you’re mad at me for coming on to Adam, eh.”
Molly Smith shrugged. “Why would I be mad about something like that?”
Nicky did not sit down. “It’s who I am, Molly. I fuck for a living. It’s like if you saw me not putting money in a parking meter you wouldn’t just walk away.”
“First of all, I would just walk away because that’s what the bylaw officers are for. And secondly, it’s hardly the same. But most of all that might be what you do. It’s not who you are. It’s not you, Nicky.”
Semantics. “Joey Stewart used his one phone call to tell me he’s been arrested. He was caught making a drug deal and they’re going after him for trying to lure girls to Vancouver. I don’t want anything to do with that, so I’m outa here. I thought… I guess I wanted to say good-bye, Moonlight. To thank you for being my friend.”
Molly gave her a long look.
“What do you think might happen to Joey?”
“They can hold him on the narcotics charge while they dig nice and deep into his background. If he’s ever been seen in the company of underage hookers or handling kiddie porn, he’s toast.”
“Not my problem. I’m cutting him loose. I’m thinking of going to Toronto. Start over.” Ironically, Joey had hung around Trafalgar in case Nicky needed him, and he’d been b
uying drugs for her when he got pinched. After fleeing her mother’s house, sitting in a crummy motel all the next day staring at the walls and consuming two bottles of wine, Nicky phoned Joey to say she was desperate. Joey never touched the stuff.
Maybe he really did like her after all.
Fool.
“You know you should think about getting into a new line of work?” Molly said.
“Yeah, I know. You might not want me to be your friend, but I’m glad you’re mine.” She held out her hand. Molly hesitated, just for a moment, and then she stood up and wrapped her arms around her friend.
They held each other close. Nicky broke away first. “Thanks. Keep in touch, eh?”
“Sure.”
Nicole Nolte drove out of Trafalgar. Molly Smith would not keep in touch, and Nicole would never see this town again. She’d arrange for someone to bring her car to Vancouver, never mind the cost.
It was late and the sun had long ago disappeared behind the hills. Clouds were gathering in the west. It would rain soon, snow on the mountains perhaps, and the wind was high, tossing the river into waves, tips crowned white. It would be morning before Nicole pulled into Vancouver.
Molly Smith had been wrong. Nicky Nowak was gone, and she would not be coming back. Being a hooker was more than what Nicole Nolte did, it was who she was. It was all she had.
A no-smoking sticker was stuck to the dashboard. Nicole pulled up at a red light, dug in her purse for a cigarette and light. She flicked the lighter; flame broke the dark inside the car. She lit the cigarette, breathed in deeply, and felt the smoke move into her lungs. The traffic light changed from red to green as Nicole took one last glance at the night-covered mountains. The car behind her beeped its horn, telling her to hurry it up. She drove out of town.
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