by Rick Polad
“Yes, your Honor,” answered Benjamin. “However, we respectfully dispute the charges.”
Judge McCalister looked bored and held his hand out, palm up.
“Your Honor, we contend that Miss Douglas was only talking to someone in a car through an open window. What she was doing had nothing to do with prostitution.”
The judge looked skeptical. “She was talking about the weather, I presume?”
“I don’t know what, exactly. I didn’t hear it and neither did the officer. The police car pulled up and she was arrested after the car pulled away.”
The judge sighed. “Officer...” He looked down at the file. “Williams. Please approach the bench.”
“Officer Williams, did you hear the conversation between Miss Douglas and the person in the car?”
Williams took a deep breath. “No, your Honor, but...”
“So what is your basis for this charge?”
Williams shuffled from one foot to the other. “It was obvious what was going on, your Honor. And with the recent...”
The judge held up his hand and peered over his glasses. “Last I checked, there is no law against talking to someone in a car. Next time, please bring me something that is actually against the law. Case dismissed.” He turned to Miss Douglas. “Young lady, I have no doubt about the obviousness of what you were doing. And women doing that sort of thing have been dying, as Officer Williams was about to point out. I would rather not see your name in the paper.”
Ben led Laura out of the courtroom as the bailiff called the next case. He held the door open and glanced at the judge. He knew the judge had already forgotten about Laura Douglas and was only trying to get through the afternoon cases and get home to a martini.
Chapter 4
Spencer Manning’s phone rang at a quarter to seven Wednesday morning. He wasn’t up and had no plans to be, despite the ringing telephone. The machine would get it. He expected it to be a salesman, in which case the line would go dead as the message started. But it didn’t. The entire message ran: “You have reached Spencer Manning, Private Investigator. Please leave a message and I will call you back as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, you can page me at 733-555-5555.” Spencer listened with half an ear and tried to stay awake till the caller came on.
“Spencer, it’s Ben. There’s something I could use your help with. It’s a personal...”
Spencer untangled his legs from the sheet and reached the phone on the table next to the bed. “Hang on Ben, I’m here.” He waited for the machine to stop. “Okay Ben, sorry about that.”
“No. I’m sorry to wake you.”
Spencer switched ears and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t wake me. I just came in from my run.”
When Ben had stopped laughing he said, “That’s the biggest load of bull I’ve ever heard. Maybe staggering back from the bathroom, but certainly not running at this hour.”
“Now, Ben. Is that any way to talk to someone you need a favor from?”
“Who said I needed a favor?”
“I heard personal. Personal means favor. Favor means free. You should be building me up, not cutting me down.”
“Sorry. I forgot you were so sensitive. But I do need a favor.”
“Can you hang on a second?” Spencer asked.
“Sure.”
Spencer put down the phone and pulled on a sweatshirt that was laying at the foot of the bed. “Okay, shoot.”
“This may sound a bit strange. I had a client the other day. Prostitution. Same old thing. Nothing out of the ordinary except that she’s younger than the average.”
“How young?”
“Not sure. Driver’s license says nineteen.”
“Okay, probably not uncommon. What’s the problem?”
“Problem is she got to me.” Ben was silent, trying to decide how to explain.
Spencer waited patiently and yawned.
Ben continued. “I’m pretty used to the people that come my way, but this girl should be in college somewhere. She’s a nice kid who sure as hell doesn’t belong on the streets of Chicago.”
Spencer took a deep breath and yawned again. “Yet here she is on the streets of Chicago.” When Ben didn’t respond, Spencer added, “People end up where they don’t belong for any number of reasons. And there’s nothing you can do about it no matter how much you’d like to.” Spencer had seen more than his share of sad stories.
“Thanks for the lecture. I know all that. I’ve been thinking about it and feeling pretty damned helpless. This morning I decided I had to do something.”
“And that something involves me?” Spencer asked.
“I hope so. I’d like you to see what you can find out about her. I have a name and address. See if you can get some history. Where is she from? Any family? Anything that might help.”
Spencer’s eyebrows went up. “Help with what?”
Ben sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe keeping her alive.”
They were both quiet for a minute. Spencer thought about working for nothing, again, and decided he owed it to his friend. Ben had called after Spencer had solved his first case and had sent several clients his way. It was also a good cause.
“Okay, Ben. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Great.” He gave Spencer the name and address. “When can you start?”
“Well, if you’ll give me time to pull on some pants, I’ll get right on it.”
They both laughed.
“Actually, I could use a couple more hours of sleep. I’ve been on an all-night surveillance case that ended a couple nights ago.” Spencer looked at the clock which showed a few minutes past seven. “How about I make some calls this afternoon?”
Ben smiled and felt his shoulders loosen a bit. “Thanks, Spence. I really appreciate it. You’ve got my numbers.”
“Yup. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”
“Great.”
“Ben.” Spencer mustered his best serious tone. “Don’t get your hopes up. She’s not where she is because she has a lot of rosy options.”
“I know, Spence. But I can’t just sit and hope I don’t read about her in the paper.”
“Okay. You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”
“Not that good. Probably just some flaw in my childhood.”
“Yeah. But if you want analysis I’m going to have to charge you. We’ll discuss my fee over a beer—on you. We’ll see how many it takes to work off your debt.”
“Deal.”
They hung up. Spencer sat and thought for a minute. He could get history on almost anybody. That was the easy part. Doing something about it would be the trick. But maybe she was young enough to be salvageable. Yawning again, Spencer pulled the twisted sheet over him as much as a twisted sheet can be pulled, and went back to sleep.
Chapter 5
Charles Lamb checked his watch and then glanced at the gas gauge. It was 9:15 and the tank was almost empty. Making his way to the inside lane, he drove for two more blocks and pulled his old Chevy into a Shell station. The daytime temperature had reached 78 degrees as spring threatened to turn into summer. Street lights reflected in puddles left by the afternoon rain.
The hinges creaked as Charles swung open the door and, ducking his head, stepped out of the car. On the other side of the pump island was a black stretch limo. Tinted windows hid whoever was inside. A black-suited chauffeur stood by the pump, minding his own business.
Charles inserted the nozzle into the tank and started the pump. “Bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Just once, I’d like to see her fill up the damn tank.” Sarah had her own car but would sometimes take his. He had no idea why. He never put in more than ten dollars of gas, but tonight he was distracted by the limo as he tried to make out shapes in the light playing through the windows. The heavy click of the pump shutting off brought him back to reality.
“Damn.” He yanked the handle out of the tank and angrily banged it back into the cradle. Eighteen dollars and twenty
cents. That left him less than four dollars to make it until Friday, and this was only Wednesday. He could try asking his wife for extra money, but she never gave him any, no matter the reason. All he ever got was a lecture.
As he screwed the cap back onto the tank, the rear door of the limo opened and a woman started to get out. She had on black high heels and black nylons that ran up to the edge of a very short skirt. Charles fumbled with the cap as he stared at her leg.
Whoever the leg was attached to was arguing with someone in the car. Charles was close enough to hear clearly.
“Take your hand off of me,” said a controlled female voice filled with disgust.
“Fine. But don’t expect any more business from me,” said a deep, gravelly male voice.
“I don’t expect anything from you except money. Everything you have you’ve had to pay for.”
“I suppose that’s some kind of slap in the face.”
She swung her leg back in the limo but left the door open. “You owe me five hundred dollars.”
He laughed rudely and yelled out the door, “Hey, Rocky. You hear that? She wants five hundred dollars!” He laughed again.
Charles glanced at the chauffeur, whom he assumed was Rocky. But the chauffeur didn’t respond. He didn’t move or even blink.
“You pay me, or I send a few love letters.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Pay me.”
Charles could just make out the side of her right leg. He was slightly behind the limo and couldn’t see the man. But he would always remember the deep, gravelly voice.
“Here’s your money, you damned whore. I hope you choke on it.”
Several bills fluttered out the open door, followed by both legs this time as the lady slowly got out of the car. She leaned back in, picked up bills off the floor, and then started picking up the ones that had floated down to the ground. One had landed a few feet from Charles. It was a fifty. He picked it up, looked at it with wide eyes, and waited.
Rocky gently closed the door and, after finishing pumping the gas, paid and got back in the limo. The limo then slowly pulled away from the pumps and out into traffic. Charles watched the red tail lights disappear around the corner.
As the woman picked up the bills, Charles got a good look at her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He pretended he was screwing on the cap, which was already tight, as he tried to watch out of the corner of his eye. As she picked up the last bill, he closed the cover of the gas fill and walked around the pump to where she was standing staring out into the street.
He wasn’t sure what to say to her. He startled her when he cleared his throat. She jumped slightly and turned quickly, starting to raise her arm.
Keeping his arms close to his body, Charles raised his hands in front of his chest. “I’m sorry to startle you, ma’am. I wanted to give this to you.” He held out the fifty.
She quickly looked him over. He was much larger than she and looked very intimidating, but her face immediately changed from fear and anger to a look of calm and relief. She looked at the bill he was holding out to her.
“Thank you,” she said slowly.
Charles thought her voice sounded like what an angel must sound like.
“It is a pleasure to meet a gentleman.” She took his hand and curled his fingers around the bill. “You keep it.”
Charles stared at her hand touching his and felt electricity running through his large body. “No, no, I can’t,” he stuttered. “It’s your money.”
She laughed and sighed. “I have plenty.” She eyed his car covered with dents and rust. “You need it more than I do.”
He looked at her questioningly.
She squeezed his hand tighter. “Please, keep it. It means a lot to me. Good night.”
She glanced at the street again and then turned and walked into the station.
Charles opened his fist. His hand was shaking and he almost dropped the bill. He took a deep breath and went to pay for the gas. Waiting in line, he saw the lady standing at the pay phone on the wall next to the newspaper rack.
He started to pull the twenty out of his pocket and then realized he had better break the fifty. Sarah would wonder where he got it and would never believe the truth. Sometimes people were just in the right place at the right time. But it was never him—until now. Charles gave the kid behind the counter the fifty.
“That the smallest you got, mister?”
“Uh, yeah,” Charles lied.
“Christ.” The kid gave him a disgusted look and called his supervisor. It took two calls before a grizzled old man stuck his head out of the office.
“What?” the old man growled.
“This guy’s got a fifty.”
“That the smallest he’s got?”
“I wouldn’t wake you up if it wasn’t, now would I?”
“I got no idea what the hell you’d do.”
Scratching his back, the old man shuffled over to the register, looked at the crisp new bill, and then squinted at Charles. He held the bill up to the light. Looking at Charles again, he threw the bill onto the counter and shuffled back to the office, still scratching.
The kid rang the register and handed Charles the change. Charles stuffed it into his pocket and turned to go, stealing a glance at the lady. She was talking on the phone. He couldn’t help but stare at her legs. As he walked toward the door he overheard her conversation. She was calling a cab company.
“I really don’t want to wait here for an hour. Don’t you have someone in the neighborhood?” She listened for a few seconds, then closed her eyes and rolled her head back and around to the side. “No, thank you. I’ll call another company... well, I’ll just take my chances.”
She hung up and searched in her purse for more change. Charles walked over to her. Standing behind her again, he admired the shape that Sarah never had.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She turned, again startled. But her look softened when she saw who it was.
“I’m sorry to bother you again, but I overheard your conversation and I, uh, I’d be glad to give you a ride if you need one.”
She smiled and politely refused, saying it would probably be quite a bit out of his way.
Charles shook his head. “It’s no trouble. And besides, I should really do something to earn this fifty.”
“You already have, mister—”
“Lamb. Charles.”
“You already have, Mr. Lamb, Charles. Just by being kind. Not too much of that going around these days.”
“No, I mean something real, like giving you a ride home.”
She tilted her head to the left and looked into his eyes. Charles felt his heart jump. “Sure. Okay. Thank you, Charles Lamb, my knight in shining armor. Have you paid?”
“Yes.”
She reached into her bag, pulled out another fifty, and held it out to him. He looked at it and asked what it was for.
“For the ride home.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take more, ma’am. I already have fifty dollars.”
She tried to push it into his hand. He pulled his hand away.
“No. I really don’t want it. Please.”
She cocked her head, studied him for a bit, and put the bill back in her bag.
“Then let’s go.”
Chapter 6
She led the way to the door and they walked to the car.
Charles opened the passenger door. As it creaked, he cringed at the thought of this beautiful woman getting in his junker. He cleared papers off the seat and stood back as she got in. Her skirt hiked up, revealing a perfectly formed thigh. Charles swallowed hard and took a slow, deep breath. He slowly closed the door, trying to keep it from squeaking. It did anyway. He got in and started the car.
“Where to, ma’am?” He wondered what her name was.
“Well, get to Lake Shore Drive and head north for starters.”
Charles swung into traffic, embarrassed by the noisy muffler and the bumpy rid
e on worn-out shock absorbers. She didn’t seem to mind. It took ten minutes to get to Lake Shore Drive, the highway that ran along the lake. In the distance, the lights of the skyline of Chicago sparkled against the dark sky. Charles wanted to glance at her, but knew his eyes would go right to her legs and thought that wouldn’t be polite. She’d know he was staring.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked politely.
“Yes, fine. Thank you. So what do you do, Charles Lamb?”
He thought about how to answer that. She wouldn’t know if he made something up. For the moment he could be anything he wanted, but he decided on the truth.
“I don’t really do anything. I’m out of work.”
She turned to face him, crossing her right leg over the left. He stole a quick glance. The skirt wasn’t hiding much. The top of the nylons showed along with the end of a garter belt.
“I’m sorry,” she said with sympathy. “How do you get by?”
“Oh, it’s okay. My wife has a job and I work odd jobs. You know, fixing things, cleaning things. Whatever somebody needs. I was a maintenance man before they laid me off.”
She didn’t respond.
They drove past downtown and along the curve past Navy Pier. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw the red flash of the Chicago Harbor light standing like a sentinel watching over the entrance to the harbor.
The Drive continued north past Lincoln Park and the high-rise buildings that lined the west side of the road. Traffic was light.
Charles was wondering how far they were going when she said, “Make the turn at the end onto Hollywood and then turn right onto Sheridan. Stay in the right lane. You’ll turn right again onto Glenlake. It’s up four blocks.”
He didn’t tell her that he was familiar with the north-side neighborhood. He and Sarah had lived near Foster and Broadway when they were first married. And the north side was still where he did most of his drinking. She directed him to the end of a short block and told him to pull in the driveway on the right. The house was a two-story brownstone and was the last house on the block. On the other side was Lake Michigan. Charles turned into a cracked, concrete drive which led to an old, wooden garage that looked to be in bad shape. The house was built like a fortress with huge cornerstones and fancy, carved stone decorations. He stopped the car next to the back door, which was protected by a tiny awning. He turned to face the lady and tell her the ride was over when he realized she was looking at him strangely.