by Sean Black
“I’ll keep this safe. Sure, there’s a bunch of stuff on here that the Feds might take an interest in. What do you think?”
That drew a rare smile from Andre. “I think there’s nothing on there that counts for shit in court. All I do is make the introductions. You think these hoes ain’t doing anything they don’t want to?”
Lock drew back a clenched fist and delivered a heavy overhand right to Andre’s broken nose. Andre yelped with pain as fresh blood sputtered from his nose, running down his chin and onto his already soaked shirt.
On the way out, Lock stopped to slash the tires on Andre’s prized possession.
9
Cold air from the Pacific whipped through the cabin of Lock’s car as he drove back down the 10 freeway, heading for home. He set the cruise control so he wouldn’t exceed the speed limit and risk being pulled over by CHP.
This time of year was prime DUI season. While all he had pumping through his bloodstream was caffeine and rage, there was enough blood spatter on his clothing to make for a potentially troublesome encounter.
Turning Andre’s phone over in his hand, Lock pushed through the front door and threw the dead bolts. Before he’d left, he’d extracted details of where he might find Hanger. It was a long list. He was hoping to use the phone to finesse a meeting via text or messaging. Failing that, he would start running down the list of locations. But first he needed to get some rest.
The home he shared with Carmen was quiet. He took off his shoes and left them by the door before padding through into the living room.
He took a moment to admire the Christmas tree they had decorated together. A silver angel, an heirloom passed down by Carmen’s grandmother, sat at the very top. they had decorated the tree together, drank some wine, went to bed and made love.
It had been set to be a perfect Christmas. Then Lock had decided to help Angie Garcia.
He stood in the middle of the living room and stripped off his bloodied clothes. He wasn’t sure if he should wash his shirt or burn it.
Probably burn it, he thought, letting it drop onto the polished wooden floor. He doubted there was enough stain remover in the house to leech out that amount of blood.
One thing he wouldn’t do was lie to Carmen about what had happened. That was something they had agreed from early on. No secrets. Sometimes she would ask him to invoke his right to take the fifth, to not tell her something, but that was always her call to make.
He stretched his arms up above his head. He could feel a couple of knots forming in his back from the day’s unresolved tension. He doubted they would loosen up much until he found Kristin Miller.
Pulling out Andre’s cell phone, he dropped a quick text to Hanger. He’d left Andre tied up, but he would free himself, eventually. Then he would alert his buddy. After that, if he was in any way smart, he’d patch up his tires or buy new ones and get the hell out of Los Angeles for a time.
Hanger would know Lock was coming. That was fine. It might be enough for him to throw Kristin back into the ocean of victims that Andre had pulled her from. It might not.
Lock prayed for the former, but he was primed for the latter.
In the kitchen, Lock filled the sink with hot water, poured in half a bottle of stain remover and threw his clothes in. Naked, he walked through into the guest bathroom and took a long hot shower. He finished with a thirty second blast of cold water that would lower his core temperature and help him get to sleep quickly.
He got out, dried off, and set the alarm on his phone to wake him in five hours. Five good hours of sleep was plenty for someone used to long draining months who had spent the last few months getting the most sleep he had in years. His battery, he figured, was charged enough that he could keep going on full tilt for the next few days.
Naked, he walked into the bedroom. Carmen stirred. She rolled over onto her side and smiled sleepily. Damn, she was beautiful, he thought, reminding himself how lucky he was to have found her and have her in his life.
“You find her?” Carmen asked.
“Not yet,” said Lock, deciding that he’d explain the clothes soaking in the sink in the morning. “Go back to sleep.”
She gave him another goofy, sleepy smile. “Okay.”
He pulled back the sheets on his side and got in, wrapping a protective arm around the swell of her pregnant belly as she scooted her body into him.
“Hey, Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas. Now go back to sleep or Santa Claus won’t leave you anything under the tree,” said Lock, kissing the top of her head, taking in the smell of her as he closed his eyes, thinking of this time next year when they’d be celebrating their first Christmas with a daughter.
10
Kristin tugged at the ultra-short skirt Soothe had given her to wear and shivered in the cold. The buzz from the Pornstar Martini and the joint they’d smoked in the car on the way down here was starting to wear off. She shivered again.
“You want to stay warm, you keep walking,” said Soothe as they turned a corner onto a downtown street.
“It’s not easy,” said Kristin, lifting one foot.
As part of the outfit that Soothe had provided, she was wearing five-inch heels that made it hard to walk without rolling her ankle.
Back in the apartment, as they’d drank and smoked and listened to music, it had all seemed fun. The vibe was like they were going out to a club, not to stand out on a freezing cold street corner in the middle of the night.
Kristin knew what was expected of her. Soothe had spelled it out. A handful of condoms crammed into her purse left no ambiguity.
“Remember,” Soothe had explained. “Guy doesn’t want to use a rubber, that’s extra.”
On the drive down here, Kristin had tried to block out what was next. Soothe made it seem normal, but the thought of what she would have to do made her feel physically sick. She’d never even so much as kissed a boy until Andre, and now she was expected to get in strangers’ car and have sex with them.
Soothe tugged at her arm, pulling her closer to the edge of the sidewalk. A car slowed down. The driver, old, old enough to be her grandpa, leered at them, most of his leering attention reserved for Kristin.
Thankfully, he didn’t stop.
From somewhere, Kristin found the courage to blurt out, “I don’t think I can do this.”
Soothe’s nails pinched into her bicep as she pulled Kristin back into a doorway. Her face had changed again. Fun, big sister Soothe was gone, replaced by someone who scared Kristin.
“Listen to me. You owe me. I’ve put you up. Fed you. Bought you clothes. Given you everything. So, you are going to get out on that track and do what you have to do to make the money you owe me. You feel me, bitch?”
Kristin swallowed. She was scared. She measured her fear of Soothe against getting into some stranger’s car and having to do whatever he wanted her to do.
Soothe’s hand came up and grabbed Kristin’s hair. She yanked it hard enough that her head snapped back.
“You want me to cut you, ho?” said Soothe. “Because I will.”
Kristin fought back tears. “No.”
Soothe let go. “That’s what I thought. Now, listen to Soothe, first time on the track is always the worst, but I’m here. And I’ll be watching. Now, take off your panties.”
“What?”
She said it without thinking.
Soothe slapped her face. “You heard me. Take ‘em off. You won’t be needing no panties tonight.”
Kristin looked into Soothe’s eyes. They were dead, devoid of humanity. She knew Soothe carried a knife. Soothe had shown it to her and told her stories of how she’d used it, either on Johns who wouldn’t pay, or on other girls who encroached on her territory.
Something happened in that moment. It was like Kristin was no longer there anymore. It was like she was up above, looking down, watching herself, as if she had somehow left her own body. She reached down
and steadying herself against the older woman, she did what she’s been told, took them off and put them into her purse.
Half pulled, half shepherded back onto the street by Soothe, Kristin walked over to a car that had pulled over. It was the old man who had been checking her out when they arrived. Her stomach churned, almost pulling her back into the present before she sunk back into a terrified daze.
“You date?” he said.
She followed his gaze down her body to see that Soothe had pulled up her skirt so that he, and everyone else on the street, could see everything.
“She dates,” said Soothe.
“Get in,” he said.
“Go on, girl,” said Soothe, letting go and pushing her off the sidewalk and toward the open passenger door.
Before she knew it, she was sitting next to him. His hand reached over, pawing at her leg.
“Drive around the corner,” she heard herself saying.
“You got it,” he said.
11
Woken by his alarm, Lock rolled over. Carmen was already up and out of bed. Patting her side to check for warmth, he guessed she’d been up for a while.
He really must have been exhausted because he usually woke when she did. Even if he went back to sleep afterwards.
Reaching over, he checked the phone he’d taken from Andre before his own, hoping there would be a message from Hanger.
There wasn’t. Just lots of notifications and messages, mostly from young women that Lock presumed Andre was working some kind of an angle on.
Glancing at his own phone, he hoped for a message from Jenny telling him she had a GPS pin location for Kristin. No luck there either.
He got out of bed, threw on some shorts and a faded old t-shirt and went through into the kitchen. Fresh baking and freshly brewed coffee with some kind of cinnamon Christmas spice hit his nostrils, making him suddenly hungry.
The sink was empty. He guessed he was going to have to have that discussion and as Carmen walked in wearing a robe and with her hair up in a messy bun, he guessed it was going to be now.
She looked at the sink. “It’s Christmas morning, so I don’t want to know what all that blood was from.”
“Believe me, it should have been a lot more.”
“They’re still breathing?” she asked.
“For now,” he said, pouring himself a mug of coffee.
She came up and behind him and rested a hand on the small of his back. “Just don’t end up in prison, okay?”
Lock took a sip of coffee. “The only good thing about this, traffickers usually don’t go to the cops. Listen, I may have to go out a little later.”
“Guess we’d better open presents then.”
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “I know this isn’t a great way to spend the holidays.”
“I would be mad, but I was the one who suggested you help out. I should have known only you could turn checking a few cameras into something like this.”
There was no edge to her voice, no sense of disappointment or recrimination behind the words, but he still felt bad. The problem was that the alternative, not spending the day trying to find Kristin Miller, would leave him, and Carmen, feeling infinitely worse.
They opened their presents and their stockings, drank coffee, and ate a little. Then Lock showered, got ready and kissed her goodbye. Carmen was going to her sister’s. Lock would join her there later.
He kissed her again on his way out.
“Be careful,” she said.
“Always,” he smiled. “I’ll see you later. If you need me for anything, then call. I shouldn’t be more than an hour away.”
The streets of Los Angeles were even quieter than the night before. Save for people heading to visit family or friends, the freeways were as close to ghostly as they would get all year, barring another stay at home order.
People were in their homes, enjoying time with their families, but not Kristin Miller, and therefore not Lock.
As he drove, Lock imagined that this must have been what it was like fifty years ago, before the city bulged at the seams with people searching for fame and fortune, or simply blue skies and sunshine. He wondered if things like trafficking had gone on back then and concluded that they surely must have. Just maybe not on the industrial scale it happened now.
His cell rang with a call from his business partner, Tyrone ‘Ty’ Johnson. He and Ty were like peas and carrots, not just partners in justice but friends at a level most people rarely had.
“Merry Christmas, asshole,” said Ty when Lock answered.
“Right back at you,” said Lock.
“Just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas,” said Ty.
“Thanks.”
“How’s Carmen?”
“At her sister’s place.”
“And you’re not?”
Ty knew a little about Lock’s involvement, but he hadn’t yet brought his partner up to speed with the latest developments. Lock didn’t want his partner to think he had to get involved when this was something Lock had taken on off the books.
“Be careful, Ryan,” said Ty when Lock had finished giving him the broad brush strokes.
“Yeah, everyone keeps saying that. You haven’t heard the name Hanger, have you?” said Lock.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, but I can make some enquiries if you like.”
“Only if you have time.”
“What’s your next move?” said Ty.
“Well, I have his number so I’ll keep trying that, and in the meantime, I have a couple of places I can start looking.”
“Christmas Day or not, just holler if you need someone riding shotgun. And by riding shotgun I mean…”
“Sitting next to me with a shotgun?” said Lock.
Ty laughed. “You got it.”
“Okay, brother, appreciate it.”
“I’ll make some calls. See if anyone I know has heard the name.”
“Thanks.”
Lock’s first stop was a diner near one of the main tracks in downtown. A track was an area where sex workers solicited. Andre had said that Hanger could often be found holding court in a booth here with his girls. The girls would check in every few hours and hand over the money they had made out on the track.
As Lock got within a few blocks of the diner, he noticed the streets became busier. Driving through the rest of downtown, he’d been lucky to spot three or four cars driving on every block. Here it was four or five times that number and there was something else that stood out.
Almost all the cars on this block had a solitary male occupant, and they were all moving slowly. They weren’t passing through; they were cruising, checking out the scantily clad young women who were walking slowly up and down the sidewalk.
Lock guessed that he’d found the track, or at least the start of it. Embarrassed, even though he had no reason to be, he found himself slowed to a walking pace by the car in front, the driver of which was almost leaning out of his window as he catcalled a young black girl who teetered over to him on impossibly high heels that lent her the gait of a baby giraffe.
A hand tapped the glass of Lock’s window.
“Hey, cutie, looking for a date?”
For the first time since this started, Lock questioned what the hell he was doing in a place like this on this day of all days. He waved the woman off and she walked down to the next curb crawler.
Lock pulled around the car in front and kept moving. he could see the neon sign of the diner up ahead. There was a parking lot sign just before. He’d pull in there and get his bearings before he headed into the diner to see if he could spot Hanger or ask the people who worked there if they’d seen him.
Just as he pulled into the lot, the cell phone he’d taken from Andre rang. He pulled it from his pocket. The caller name read Hanger.
Lock hesitated.
Should he let it go to voicemail? Hope that Hanger texted him and he wouldn’t have to give away the fact that someone else was answering Andre’s phone.
<
br /> Or did Hanger already know about what had happened and that Lock was in possession of Andre’s phone. That had to be the more likely of the two scenarios, in which case it was a call Lock had to take.
He tapped answer.
12
Hanger had never embraced Pimp chic. He never strolled anywhere with a cane like a lot of them did. Rather than a garish, brightly colored fedora with feathers, the only hat he ever wore was a black or grey woolen beanie. Suits? Nope. A white Cadillac? Nope. He drove a black BMW. He kept his dress simple. Jeans or jogging pants and a t-shirt, a jacket if it was cold.
His only visual signatures were tightly braided cornrows and his rings, one on three fingers of every hand. Even then, they were both functional. The cornrows were to show he wasn’t some regular white boy that another man could mess with.
The rings? Well, they were for any time he needed to throw hands, or keep one of his girls in check, although that was rare. You lost your temper and hit a girl in the face, marked her up, and that put off the customers, which was never good for the bottom line.
Rings did the same job as a knuckleduster, but they were legal. Nastier, too. All points and ridges and diamonds that would slice through skin. You couldn’t be arrested for wearing rings, and thought Hanger, they added that little dash of swag that every Pimp had to have. You just didn’t want to make it too obvious.
To Hanger the old school Pimp style was like having a big ass neon sign over your head for the Feds to see. A sign that read ARREST ME.
So far in his ten years pimping, Hanger had never been sent to prison. Jail yes, prison no. He was too smart for any charges to stick. He did what he had to do to stay on the streets.
That was one of the reasons he wasn’t overly concerned about the guy tracking down this new girl. He’d had family come after him before. It had never presented an issue. He knew the game better than they did. He had a thousand tricks up his sleeve that he could use to either throw them off the scent or simply wear them down.