My Sister's Detective

by T. J. Jones

  "Whatever? It was a God-damn kidnapping! Torture and rape to boot. Don't defend that son of a bitch to me."

  I tried to backtrack. "Sorry, Mr. Carson. This just doesn't sound like the kid I grew up with. Can you talk to your dishwasher, see if she'd be willing to talk to us? If what I find out ends up starting a Police investigation, this could all get really messy. Better for both of us if I can sort out your end of it now instead of having the cops sort it out later."

  Carson shook his head. "God, I hate you Private Dicks, you're always threatening to go to the real cops. Give me a card, I'll talk to her and see what she says." I had cards, but of course they didn't mention the fact that I was a Private Investigator.

  Maggie pulled a card out her bag quickly. "Have this woman call me directly. I speak fluent Spanish, and talking to another woman might be easier for her."

  "Alright," He studied her card. "No promises, but I'll tell her you're going to get this White Devil put in jail. She doesn't want anything to do with the cops, I happen to know she's still undocumented."

  "Then be sure and explain that we aren't real cops. We really need to talk to her." I stood up and held out my hand. Carson ignored it again.

  "You get your business with my dishwasher wrapped up Mr. Slater, then I don't ever want to see your face in here again, ever, is that clear?"

  "Crystal. Get her to talk to us and you'll be rid of us for good." We didn't slow down at the bar to finish our drinks, we just kept on walking.

  ***

  "What do you think?" I asked Maggie, knowing she would confirm what I feared.

  "Pretty compelling story. What if the notebook we have isn't about dealing drugs?"

  "Yeah, I was afraid you'd say that. Maybe he was moving people around. Maybe he was moving kids around Maggie. Selling them for sex, just to put a small fortune in the bank."

  "We don't know that yet Slater. Maybe there's more to it. So far, this woman, the rumors, they happened years ago. But the notebook looks like business was better than ever the last couple years. That doesn't make sense."

  "Maybe he just got better at hiding it, brought kids in from other places, like Minneapolis and Buenos Aires. Look on the internet, those are two of the worst places for kids getting dragged into prostitution. Shit Maggie, I can't believe he could be that guy. I don't want to believe it."

  She pulled me close as we walked and put her head on my shoulder. "Let's give it a rest. Let's just walk and play tourist and not think about it for a while. We can walk down to the beach and watch the moon come up later."

  "Sounds like a good place to get mugged." I said glumly.

  She laughed. "I'm not worried, I have a big strong man to protect me."

  "I know sarcasm when I hear it, you're a black belt, and you have the gun."

  The afternoon was hot, even for Miami, and we took our time walking down Collins then strolled over to Ocean Drive, people watching and taking in all the activity. The street was full of high-end vehicles, and I could have spent the rest of the day just looking at the Lamborghinis, Porsche's and Ferraris on slow parade, picking their way through the mob of people. And it was a mob. We walked along the edge of the street, dodging the street artists and panhandlers. The noise was continual and I didn't hear the rush of feet behind me until it was too late.

  A high-pitched female scream alerted me and I spun around as a tiny Latino girl wearing just a string bikini came running across the street, heading straight at me. Another woman, a little older and considerably larger was right behind her, screaming in a mixture of English and Spanish, the gist of which was that she was going to kill the bitch. The first girl ran around me and circled my waist with an arm, then hid behind me, all the while screaming at the top of her lungs.

  "Help me, help me Senor, she is going to kill me!"

  The second woman was very substantial, wearing shorts and a tank top that revealed entirely too much. At least I didn't see a knife or a gun. She plowed into me like a jiggly freight train, all chubby legs and arms and ample breasts, and I tried to step back and get the hell out of the way. The girl behind me was screaming bloody murder and the chunky one in front had clenched her fists and was swinging wildly, trying to reach the little one. The big girl missed her intended target but managed a blow that landed on the end of my nose. I grabbed at her and she and I and the little one all went down in a big pile.

  My nose hurt and I was getting mad. I pushed the hefty one off me and started trying to get up. I was afraid the big one would keep trying to beat the hell out of the younger girl, but as soon as she got to her feet she turned and bolted, running as fast as she could down the street and into the crowd. Figuring on a thank you at least, I turned to help the smaller girl up. She was already on her feet too, but she didn't run in the opposite direction like you would expect. Instead she took off after the older gal that had just been trying to kill her. She only made it half a dozen steps.

  Maggie stepped forward and clotheslined her like Steve Austin closing out a cage match on pay per view; except there wasn't anything fake about it. By the time I got the rest of the way to my feet she had the pretty Latino by a thumb and was twisting her hand back while she pushed a knee into her neck. With her free hand she reached into the front of the girl's bikini bottoms and came out of there with my billfold. She turned and tossed it to me. "I told you Slater, this is Miami!"

  The girl on the ground was screaming bloody murder and Maggie stood up and stepped away from her. The first girl, the big, tough looking one, came running back and stood over the small Latino, also screaming and swearing loudly in Spanish. I think. Then she lowered her head and stepped toward Maggie, her meaty fists clenched.

  Maggie, somehow shoeless now, crouched into a fighting stance. I have to say, she looked pretty damn intimidating. She didn't yell, but we all heard her. "Take your game somewhere else bitches, or you're not going to like what happens next."

  I believed her. It took the chunky woman a few seconds, but I think she believed her too. She pulled her accomplice up and they turned and disappeared into the crowd. A small group of drunken college boys had gathered and they booed loudly, disappointed that the chick fight had ended so quickly. I grinned at the young guys as I stuck my billfold into the front pocket of my shorts, then stood by humbly as Maggie slipped her short heels back on.

  "Holy Shit, you were awesome!" I laughed. "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen. None of the girls, I mean, nobody I knew in my squadron could have done that. How'd you know she had my billfold?"

  "For an ex-cop, even a military one, you're pretty easy, Slater. Nothing distracts a guy faster than a girl fight, but I knew they were playing you. The little one tripped you on purpose, that's why you went down. I hope I didn't hurt her, but I wasn't about to let her get away with our lunch money."

  "I thought the big one was going to go after you. You could have taken her, right?"

  "Isn't that why I have a big strong man along, to protect me?"

  Okay, that was sarcasm.

  ***

  The revelation about Davey really threw me and I wasn't in the mood to go to another club to hear a story of more atrocities he might have been involved in. Once we had cleared the worst of the crowd, I made a suggestion. "How would you feel about forgetting the investigation for the rest of the night? I say we go to one of the clubs and see how these spoiled twenty-somethings party, maybe even dance a little."

  Maggie knitted a brow. "You just want to get me drunk."

  "I just want to get me drunk. Mostly I want to have fun and not think about what Davey might have done."

  "Yeah, I get that. I'll be your wingman, one of us needs to stay sober."

  "You're the best-looking wingman I've ever had." She surprised me and slipped her hand into mine and gave it a squeeze.

  "Just don't get too drunk, I don't want to have to drag you up to bed tonight."

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to drink that much."

  Chapter Nine

  A sin
gle ray of sunlight tunneled its way around or through the curtains of the motel room the next morning, searched the room for a victim, then decided to pierce my eyelids with its mind-numbing brilliance. My head really hurt. I glanced at my watch, six-fifty. No point in moving yet.

  I didn’t move, just lay there trying to piece together the events of the previous evening. There had been dancing, and a lot of drinking. Maybe a fight? I ran my hand across my face quickly. My nose was a little tender, but that was from the altercation with the pick-pockets. Other than that, I couldn't locate any tender spots that might have indicated damage. Way, way too much to drink, that was for sure.

  There had been some sort of an argument. I was sure I remembered being escorted out of the bar, and maybe throwing a punch? Then there was a lot of laughing in the cab. It came back slowly. There had been laughing in the cab, and kissing. More kissing in the elevator, and even more in the bed? I turned my head slightly. Maggie was lying on the pillow next to me, snoring softly. We must have pushed the beds together at some point, and most of the blankets were gone, just an undersized bedspread that covered most of the two of us. One long shapely bare leg had found its way on top of the covers and it wasn't mine.

  Cautiously I lifted my side of the blankets to verify that I was still dressed. I was, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Relieved, I guess. It would have been really unfortunate to not remember something like that. I closed my eyes for a minute, searching my brain for any particulars. Maggie's breathing changed and I opened my eyes again. She was smiling at me, so that was a good sign.

  "Morning." I mumbled. "Crazy night, huh?" It was a fair assumption.

  "Morning Slater. You were absolutely magnificent last night." She gave me a coy look, and I almost fell for it.

  I called her bluff. "Don't even go there, I was drunk, but I would remember that!"

  She rolled out of bed laughing. "Damn, I had you going for a minute there."

  "I am wondering why the beds are pushed together, and why you're wearing my shirt instead of those God-awful pajamas."

  "I may have had too much to drink too. I think we both had intentions, but luckily we fell asleep before we could follow through."

  "Damn. You know it's still early?"

  Either she didn't get what I was saying or chose to ignored me. "Time for a workout before we go talk to that dishwasher. She called me last night, remember?"

  "No, I sure don't. I remember some kind of fight, I think."

  "Not much of a fight. Remember the bartender from Billy's Bar, the guy with no teeth? He showed up because his shift ended early and he probably can't drink where he works. Anyway, he came over and got in your face right away, started badmouthing Davey again. No pushing or shoving, you just wound up and drilled him a good one. Took all of thirty seconds and you were helped out the door by two really big bouncers. Last count, we're not allowed in three of the bars on Collins and we've only been here one day. Impressive Slater."

  "Well tough, he needed an attitude adjustment, the stupid redneck. As a rule, I don't hit people unless I absolutely have to. You were my wingman, you were supposed to keep me out of trouble."

  "I kept you out of jail. Actually, Ricky probably did because he came running out looking for you and the bouncers ended up having to jump on him. We made a run for it."

  "Damn, I missed all the good stuff." I grinned.

  "Getting shitfaced to the point where you don't remember stuff isn't okay Slater." Maggie said, suddenly serious. "It's fun to party, and we all get carried away from time to time, but I hope this isn't a frequent thing for you."

  "Speaking of getting carried away, tell me again why you're wearing my shirt?"

  "I keep forgetting that I'm off men."

  "Can't you just be on me? Once in a while?" It was a cheesy pun and she threw a pillow.

  "Are you coming down to the gym with me? You can sweat that poison out, shower, breakfast, and we're back on the case. You need to get a license." I stared at her, confused. "A license to be a Private Investigator? Sooner or later someone will want to see it for real."

  "I need to get a contracting license. Then I can start remodeling houses and have a real job."

  "Investigating is a real job, and you'll be helping people. I'd get one, but I don't have any experience. All that training you had in the military, you can probably just write the State of Florida a check and we'll be good to go."

  "We? Good to go? If we figure out what happened to Davey, I'll be happy to retire from investigating. Then I'm going to start pounding nails, remodeling houses and flipping them."

  "We'll see." She laughed, disappeared into the bathroom and came out a minute later in sweats. "Come on Slater. A good workout and a hot shower and you'll feel like a new man."

  Not a new man, but better. After breakfast I reminded Maggie that she had planned to call her sister and pick her brain about what she knew about Davey's boyfriend situation. While she did that, I pulled out the small stack of papers Sam had found in Davey's bedroom. They were all bank statements, going back several years and I skimmed through them quickly then folded them up and stuffed them into my suitcase.

  Maggie had gone out on the balcony to make her call. I couldn't hear much, but from her tone I suspected that it hadn't gone well. She pulled the slider shut a little too forcefully and looked at me glumly.

  "Well, she's back down. She didn't answer at first, I had to call twice. She said she didn't know anything about any boyfriend and then started crying. She sounded bad."

  "You worried about her?"

  "All I do is worry about her, Slater. I think she could be alright if she'd take her meds, but she won't. I don't want to go to another funeral."

  "We should talk to the dishwasher and then head back tonight. I don't know what else we can find out by being down here. If the dishwasher's story is as bad as it sounds, maybe it'd be better to just go home anyway. I can make phone calls and get Davey's bank records from Edith, plus I can always come back down here if I need to."

  "I hate to come all this way and have to run home just because she's crashing. She's the one that started us looking in the first place. I think we should go to the gay bar before we leave, talk to some of the people that might have been his friends. Whatever this gal says, it was years ago. We need to figure out if Davey was depressed. Seems like he had plenty of reason to be."

  "I think Angie was right, not a suicide. If I was taking bets, my money would be on this white-haired Devil. There's got to be something that will tie him and Davey together if they had something going on for that long. Of course, we have no way of knowing if the perv that caged up that girl years ago is the same guy that was knocking Davey around recently."

  "People that level of crazy, it's about control, not the sex. I'm betting it's the same guy. We better get going, I texted her and told her we're on our way. She lives north, off 95 a few blocks. Nothing like South Beach up there, bad neighborhood. She said her boyfriend is not thrilled about her talking to us, but she wants to. She's hoping we can put old Blanco in jail. Sounded like her guy would just as soon take care of it himself."

  "Understandable, but then he goes to jail for a long time which is the wrong outcome. Should one of us be carrying Davey's Glock?"

  "Should you be, you mean?" Maggie asked. "I can shoot, but I imagine you carried in the service. Can you hit what you're shooting at if we get in trouble?"

  "One of the few things that I'm really good at, that and flying."

  "You're not a bad kisser, for what that's worth." She grinned.

  "Wish I could remember that. Next time I'll make sure I'm sober."

  She raised a brow. "You're presuming there will be a next time?"

  "Fingers crossed. At the risk of sounding sexist again, I still think you should have the gun. I'd rather take a beating if we get in a bad spot than have something happen to you. Kung-Fu aside, somebody tries anything, shoot them. In this state you're allowed."

  "I'm not going to shoot an
ybody unless I have to, but I get your point. Thanks Slater, you're my hero."

  ***

  The neighborhood was pretty rough, street gang graffiti everywhere, a couple of burned out cars sitting in yards. We found the address and pulled up to the curb. A stocky dark-skinned man in his late twenties strode up to the car before we had made a complete stop. He was flanked by two other men that could have been his brothers.

  "Rosie don't want to talk to you, she changed her mind."

  "All we want is to find the man that mistreated her, put him in jail." I nodded to the other two men and tried smiling a little.

  Maggie shut the car off and turned in the seat, facing the men. "I just talked to her last night about all this, she was adamant that she wanted to tell us what happened to her. She understands that it's important, so what happened to her doesn't happen to someone else."

  "I said you need to go, we don't need your kind of help. You'll have the cops down on us. I'm telling you, get the hell out of here!" He stepped forward, and the other two men moved forward too, spreading out a little. Wisely, Maggie started the car.

  The screen door of the house banged open suddenly and a small Latino woman came running across the yard barefoot, waving her arms and yelling Spanish obscenities that even I understood. She walked up and stood directly between our car and the three men, pointing and arguing with the stocky man who I presumed was her boyfriend. Finally, she stepped forward and pushed him back repeatedly, yelling and pointing at an old Pontiac across the street. After another minute of verbal abuse the poor guy shrugged, gave me a dark look, and stomped off across the street with the other two. They climbed in the car and drove off as the small woman watched from the curb, her hands on her hips.

  She nodded to us. "He is a good man, he's just wants to protect me."

  Rosie was a pretty woman that looked much older than her nineteen years. It had undoubtedly not been an easy life. The house she shared with her boyfriend was badly in need of paint and the screen door was peppered with holes. A small air conditioner hung from one of the windows, rattling noisily as if it were about to grind to a stop at any minute, and a Dodge pickup sat in the front yard with two flat tires. From across the street, a radio blared out what I took to be Cuban hip-hop.