with him. He pushed open a door to a stairwell that led to the underground garage. He knew sound would carry in the cavernous depths of the building, so his voice was still at a low hiss. "Wonderful. Are you telling me your husband is assigned to home and that by involving him we've jeopardized our whole case?"
I bit the inside of my lip and nodded. The truth of how quickly I'd let my haste to find Tiffany cloud my judgment and the realization of the consequences made me wish Travis had never shown up.
Rage simmered in my partner's eyes. "How did you let this happen? Why didn't you tell me Travis was on the rubber-gun squad before now?" He slid his hand across his bald head. "We've got to figure out how we're going to handle this."
"I don't know that it makes a difference. Pleasure agreed to call Drejohn and tell him she'd previously booked prostitutes for Cut Man. What difference does it make who got her to make the call?"
"Do you realize we both could lose our jobs over this? And this isn't just some little case that no one is going to pay any attention to. This is an eff-ing missing person's investigation involving the governor of California!"
The solemn timbre in his voice almost made me wish he'd been yelling at me. "Look, I'll think of something," I said. "But I think we need to get Pleasure booked as soon as possible. I've got a feeling things are going to start popping and this will go down fast."
"Okay, this is what's gonna happen. Patrol is going to take Pleasure to Valley Jail and get her booked. Send your husband home. By that time, I should be getting the name of the hotel where to rendezvous with Drejohn and the girls. I'll notify Larry-the-Wife-Beater and he can call in S.I.S., S.W.A.T. or the F.B.I."
I didn't say anything. I just nodded. I'd screwed up big time by not telling Darius about Travis's status and I wasn't sure how to fix it. I'd not only put my job at risk, I'd put Darius's neck on the chopping block as well. I suspect if I'd been a man, Darius might have punched me for being so stupid. Detectives are supposed to know better. I did know better. I'd just wanted to find Tiffany.
PILAR – 87
Marching into her private apartment, Pilar flung her high-heeled pumps off her feet. She'd been in a bad mood ever since her telephone conversation with Zepeda Sorriano. Who in the hell did he think he was, ordering her around?
He's the one who can cause your world to disintegrate if you're not careful. He's dangerous. You need to rethink your plan.
She'd begged out of the LAPD forum with a lame excuse. But she didn't like it. Women with power were always the targets of criticism; and ducking out of a scheduled meeting made her look flaky. It didn't matter that Chief Fryer didn't make a big deal of her missed appearance. Pilar knew that there were pundits who would.
After stewing for an hour or so, she'd decided it was too dangerous to meet with Sorriano again as the mayor. She'd returned to her apartment to don her 'bland citizen' disguise. She didn't have much time.
Quickly, she stretched the auburn wig over her hair. Yanking open the door of her walk-in closet, she moved inside and shoved hangers over the pole, assessing the garments for camouflage suitability. Knowing that jeans and a tee-shirt wouldn't do in the top dollar hotel, she finally settled on a boxy, black, jersey dress with black tights and a long pearl necklace. She'd look like any business woman visiting from out of town. She longed to put a wide red belt around her waist to give the dress some shape, but feared anyone taking too long of a look at her. As a finishing touch, she rummaged through her belongings until she found the tortoise-shell frames with clear glass lenses. She slipped them on. She might not be able to wear dark lenses, but the glasses were the perfect touch to her out-of-town executive unwinding after a hard day.
Grabbing her purse with the fake ID and bare minimum necessities, she called Sorriano.
He answered on the first ring.
"I'm on my way," she said.
"Very good, Pilar. I look forward to seeing you. I'm afraid we have a problem."
Her heart sank to her knees. This was not good. He'd assured her there wouldn't be any problems. No sense in yelling at him about what he already knew. Damage control. That was the answer. "I'll be there in about a half hour."
"I'll be waiting."
She snapped the throwaway phone shut and returned to her closet. She pushed a large trunk out of the closet and lifted the carpeting covering the floor, revealing a floor safe. Her nimble fingers easily operated the combination lock. When the door popped open, she reached far into the right corner, finding what she was feeling for. Pulling the snub-nose Smith and Wesson five-shot revolver out of the vault, she tucked it into her handbag.
Hopefully, she wouldn't have to use the gun, but damage control came in all shapes and sizes. And sometimes controlling damage could be costly…very costly.
TRAVIS – 88
Sitting in his den, Travis mindlessly watched another supposedly realistic cop television show. He couldn't forget the anger emblazoned across his wife's face when she'd pulled him out of the interview room where he'd been talking to Pleasure and told him to go home. Confused, he'd wondered what had happened. One minute Maddie was thrilled with the job he'd done, and the next, she couldn't get him out of PAB fast enough. When he'd asked what was going on, she'd just said she was trying to keep them both from getting fired, and she'd be taking Pleasure back to the office in Chatsworth.
"When will you be home?" he'd asked.
Her reply had been less than satisfactory. She thought the case was coming to a head, so she wasn't sure.
A burst of gunfire from the flat screen TV jarred him from his melancholy deliberations. He groaned aloud as, on the television, one cop shot at an armed suspect running a zigzag pattern away from the lawman, and the gun dropped from the bad guy's hand and he stopped and put his hands up.
Travis stabbed the 'off' button on the remote. "It doesn't happen like that!" he yelled at the screen in his empty house. "Shots get fired, and your partner's face explodes right before your eyes!" Pissed at himself for even turning on a cop show in the first place, he stomped to the kitchen to grab a beer. His cellphone in his pocket chimed, indicating he had a text message.
Sorry I was a bitch. Cutter yelled at me.
Using his thumbs, he typed back, Tell ur partner to go fuck himself. Luv u. Coming home?
Maddie replied, Stuck 'til this goes down.
His thrill at the fact he and Maddie seemed to be improving their communication skills was tempered with disappointment she might not be home for many hours. He channeled his discontent into anger at Cutter for yelling at her. He made a mental note to have a chat with his wife's partner.
Then, a few seconds later, another message came through. Y don't u come here. Temple Street Towers – lobby bar.
His first instinct was to turn her down, but he immediately reconsidered. She was offering an olive branch, and it had been so long since she'd reached out to him.
Enr, he texted using cop shorthand for the word en route. Snatching his keys from the kitchen counter, he whistled the old Buck Owens classic, Together Again, as he headed out the door.
TIFFANY – 89
Tiffany didn't know who Pleasure was, but would forever be grateful for the person's impeccable timing in calling Drejohn. Listening to Drejohn's side of the conversation, Tiffany gathered her captor was gaining information about the john who wanted a virgin. This Pleasure person seemed to be vouching that the client was a regular or known client. After Drejohn hung up, he turned to Brenda and her.
"Okay, I've made my decision. I'm going to offer the client the both of you."
Hope caused Tiffany's heart to race. They were going to get off this property and out into the world. A world where she and Brenda could escape. Maybe they could tell the client they'd been kidnapped and he would help them.
"But," Drejohn continued, "I'm going to tell him I can't get you down to L.A. for a couple of hours." Her captor leered at her. "We'll have our fun, then you can go pretend it's your first time all over again." Grinning as th
ough he'd just won the lottery, he poked at his cell phone again. Punching in some numbers, he visually undressed her while waiting for someone to answer his call.
"Yo, Cut Man. I've got it all arranged. Only problem is, it will take about two hours for me to get the merchandise downtown."
Tiffany strained to hear the client's reply through the phone.
"Great. You check into the Temple Street Towers and I'll call you when the girls are on their way up to your room." There was a pause in the conversation. "Don't worry about it. There's nothing to worry about."
There was another bout of silence. "Yes, I'll be sending my associate, Big M to collect the money and deliver the merchandise. The largest bill I want is a C-note. You're a lucky man Mr. Cut Man. All those revolutionaries blowing themselves up for forty virgins and you're getting a bargain for two and you'll live to brag about the experience."
Drejohn ended the call and frowned at Brenda. "Go find something to do. Me and your girlfriend are gonna have some fun."
Brenda offered Tiffany a look filled with sympathy before she turned and walked up the stairs. Once she was out of sight, Drejohn grabbed Tiffany and pulled her to his broad chest. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he jerked her head back and ground his lips into hers.
Tiffany was not new to kissing, but this was an assault. The pressure Drejohn forced onto her face was clearly to
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