by Sharp, Tracy
“Turn around,” I told him as I grabbed a halter-top from one of the drawers of a dresser I shared with the other girls.
When he turned his back, I changed into the halter-top, and stretched out on my stomach. “On my left shoulder blade, please.”
“What do you want it to be?”
“Surprise me.”
And he began. I closed my eyes and escaped into the sting of the needle penetrating my skin over and over. It was soothing. When he was done, the ache in my chest had faded.
“Do you have a small mirror so you can look at it?”
I went over to the night table beside the bed of another girl and borrowed her make-up compact, then went over to the mirror hanging on the wall next to the door. I turned my back to the mirror and peered into the little mirror.
“What do you think?” He put the tattoo gun down on a bed of paper towels next to him on the bed.
My breath caught in my throat. The tattoo was of me on a galloping unicorn, my black hair flying out behind. I was nude, my arm hid my breasts and the angle hid the area between my legs.
“I—” But the words died in my throat. I kept staring at the picture.
He stood up. “You don’t like it.”
I tore my eyes from the tattoo. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
A smile spread across his face. “Good. That’s good.”
I thought of the mess I’d made of the area surrounding my belly button with cigarette burns.
“Can you do it again?”
“Sure.”
Within an hour, I had a half-moon on either side of my belly button.
“Are they going to throw you out if they catch you with this stuff?” I watched him as he applied antibiotic ointment and gauze to my belly button area.
“Probably. If they find out what it really is. They think the tattoo gun is an airbrush and that the ink is paint. They know I draw and paint, so they didn’t give me any static over it. This isn’t exactly an art school so they don’t know the difference. Turn around.”
I turned my back to him. “I won’t say anything.”
He applied ointment to the tattoo on my shoulder blade. “Thanks. You know, sooner or later you’re gonna run out of skin for me to cover up for you.”
“I know. I’ll stop.” I’d told myself the same thing countless times before. For some reason, this time, I believed it. I gestured toward the tattoo gun and ink. “Did your uncle give you this stuff?”
“In a matter of speaking. He’s got a few tattoo guns. He won’t miss it.”
“You’re a thief?” I asked him as he applied the surgical dressing.
“Cars only. This was an exception. I’d worked all summer at a fast food place to buy my own tattoo gun. He said he’d hire me as an apprentice, you know? So I gave him the money for the gun but he never hired me and he never gave me my money back. Kept saying he’d hire me later.” He shrugged. “So I took it.”
“Why didn’t he hire you?”
“He hired a friend of a friend. Said he owed him.”
“That’s bogus.”
“Yeah. It is. It’s water under the bridge now. He wasn’t a real uncle anyway. He was my foster mother’s brother.” He paused to look at the dressing on my belly button. “I can draw and I helped him in his shop for two years. I know what I’m doing. I’ll open my own shop when I have the money.”
I nodded. “Yeah. You will. I can see that with you.”
He had. Only it wasn’t a tattoo shop. It was custom motorcycles.
Chapter Fifteen
It had been really good seeing Jack. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed him until I’d laid eyes on him again. It was funny with good friends, though. You could go years without seeing them, for whatever reason, but when you do get together again it’s like the years apart from each other had never gone by.
Now it was time to visit my new friend. I took Buddy with me.
Callahan beamed when he saw me but his smile dropped when he noticed Buddy standing next to me. “Did you have to bring the mutt?” Callahan’s face was wary as he eyed Buddy.
“He gets lonesome being by himself all the time.” I patted Buddy’s big block of a head. “Anyway, Woodard knew we’d been there. He must have friggin’ spies everywhere.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been that hard to spot us. We sat in that car for hours watching the house. Somebody’s bound to let Woodard know.”
When he said it so plainly like that, I felt like an idiot. “I know. I had to know what was going on in there. Now we don’t know where he moved those girls.” I looked around the room, feeling jittery and frustrated. We were sitting in Callahan’s bachelor apartment. It was neat and tidy and the hardwood floors practically shimmered.
“How do you find the time to keep this place so clean? I ought to hire you to clean my place.”
“I don’t know. I clean when I’m stressed, which is most of the time. Calms my nerves. I’ve been more stressed than usual lately. Gee, I wonder why.”
I fought the laughter that pushed to bubble up my throat. “Nice place.” I managed to keep a straight face.
“Thanks.” He stood a few feet away, looking uncomfortable with his arms crossed over his chest. I didn’t know if it was Buddy or me that made him more nervous.
There was a gorgeous mahogany desk in one corner of the room, behind which Cal’s undergraduate degree and law degree hung on the wall. I still had trouble picturing him as an attorney. Then, in my mind’s eye, I saw him walking down the hall of some stately courthouse, much like the one I’d been in many times in my youth, black robe billowing around him. He was so handsome in that vision that I almost caught my breath.
Then I realized that I’d been staring at him and I could feel my face and neck grow hot. He looked back at me as if he were waiting to hear what I was going to say. I glanced away and scanned the rest of the room. “No offense, but I guess I expected more from a former attorney. You know, bigger. Fancier.”
“None taken. I just don’t see the need for anything more. This place suits me just fine.”
His bed sat on the left side of the room. It was queen-sized and made up with a red, green and white tartan pattern. Very masculine. I wondered how comfortable it was. Feeling him watching me, I pulled my eyes from the bed and turned back to him.
He grinned. “Wanna try it out?”
“Yes, I do. Right now we have bigger fish to fry. There actually is a reason I showed up here other than wanting to jump your bones.”
He sighed. “I thought you’d say that. A guy can hope. You want coffee or a beer or something?” He was fumbling through niceties, clearly not used to having guests. Either that or he just wanted me the hell out of there. This was entirely possible since I’d caused him nothing but trouble since the day he’d met me.
“No, thanks.” I bent and unclipped Buddy’s leash from his collar, signaling to him that he could wander freely if he so chose.
“What are you doing?” The pitch of his voice rose.
“It’s cool. I’m just letting him know that he can relax.”
He watched Buddy take himself on a tour of his one room apartment, sniffing and inspecting various objects.
“He’s not going to pee on anything, is he?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never taken him visiting before. But so far he’s been very well mannered. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Hope for the best.”
Callahan failed to see the humor. He reluctantly looked away from Buddy and his gaze landed on me. “So what’s up?”
“I got a call from Woodard. That’s what’s up. He thanked me for sending the cops over to that house, but said that they didn’t find anything. He also threatened my brother.”
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, that was my reaction, too. Maybe not so subtle. I went to see an old friend. He thinks Woodard’s bluffing about hurting Jesse. None of Woodard’s minions woul
d be in the same type of prison as Jesse. So I don’t think he can really get to him as long as he’s in there. My friend thinks it’s just a terror tactic.”
“Let’s hope so.”
I let out a long breath. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish Jesse was in longer. I’m going to have to watch him like a hawk when he’s out.”
Callahan nodded, remaining silent. He looked bothered, clenching and unclenching his jaw as his eyes skittered around the floor.
I continued, “Anyway, the cops didn’t find anything. So they haven’t seen any evidence of the women who were smuggled over.” I took a breath to slow my heart. I was getting really pissed off again. “Cal, you know he’s using those women as prostitutes and for porn.”
He nodded slowly, his face resigned. “I know.”
“I can’t let it go. Can you?”
He was silent for a long moment. In his face I could see some kind of inner battle going on. I was pretty certain his conscience was putting up a hell of a fight.
Finally he spoke, his jaw set. “No.”
“Okay, then.” I reached around and pulled my 9 mm from where it rested between the snug waistband of my jeans and my lower back. I held it up for a moment before putting it back. “Let’s go.”
“No,” Callahan said, crossing the room to his desk to open the top right hand drawer. He reached in and pulled out a leg holster and a shiny .45 caliber automatic which he rested on the desk top. He strapped the holster to his lower leg and tucked the .45 into it as if he’d done this a hundred times. He grinned at me. “Well, don’t look so shocked. I told you that being a defense attorney was dangerous.”
“Apparently.”
He pulled the leg of his jeans over the holster to hide the gun. He straightened up, the grin gone from his face. “Now, let’s go.”
* * *
This time we parked the red ’99 Mustang several blocks away and hoofed it to Jarrett Street. We knew he couldn’t have moved the Asian women far, since Woodard was like a spider and didn’t move away from his familiar territory. We crouched on the rooftop of an old abandoned movie theater which sat facing kitty corner to the house the women had been brought to. The rooftop afforded us a clear view of almost the entire street, so we figured it wouldn’t be long before we discovered where the women had been taken.
We sat with binoculars pointed to the street and slowly scanned both sides of the road carefully. It was pretty much status quo for the most part, hookers getting into cars and coming back ten or fifteen minutes later, drug deals going down. I imagined that Woodard owned several of the buildings on this street. In addition to being a drug lord and pimp, he was also the neighborhood slumlord. The abandoned theater rooftop we crouched on was probably one of the few buildings he didn’t own. I shuddered to think what other activities occurred in the other buildings he did own.
There was movement at Woodard’s house. One of his underlings came out and called the pit bull guards away from their stoop on the front stairs. He took them around to the back of the house where he closed them in the backyard behind a metal gate.
He then went back into the house. After a moment, Woodard emerged with another underling in tow and they began their trek along the strip, gathering the day shift’s earnings.
“Well, that’s interesting,” I said. “Looks like Woodard’s afraid of his own dogs.”
“Aaaw, maybe he was bitten by one as a kid,” Cal offered. That could traumatize a person, you know.”
“Apparently so.”
The longer I watched Woodard, the hotter my blood boiled. I got so angry that despite the fading daylight, the colors on the street became so bright I could hardly stand it. My head began to throb. I dug into the fanny pack I’d strapped around my waist and pulled out a tiny bottle of aspirin. I shook two into my hand and tossed them into my mouth, chewing and swallowing them dry.
Callahan pulled his binoculars away from his face and grimaced. “That’s gross, Leah.”
“Yeah? So’s a gaping head wound. Keep watching the street.”
Callahan looked so cute when he was shocked. I guess I’m not the type of woman he’d be interested in. I figured that was a good thing, since we had to work together and mixing business with pleasure rarely worked out for the best. Besides, we couldn’t afford to get distracted.
After about an hour of watching the street below, I’d become increasingly more interested in the old Victorian the women had been brought to. There appeared to be the same amount of traffic coming and going from the place and it wasn’t the typical traffic that a drug house might have. Many of the men were the same men who’d come and gone when we’d sat in the car watching the house.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I lowered the binoculars and looked at Cal, my pulse speeding up as realization dawned on me.
“Son of a bitch.” Cal kept peering into his binoculars. “He’s moved them right back into that house.”
“Why risk losing business by causing your clients the inconvenience of having to find the other house, when all he had to do was move them back to that one.”
“He’s bold. He’s really fucking bold.” He lowered his binoculars and looked at me with unbelieving eyes.
“Yeah, well sometimes being too bold gets you into trouble.”
“You can say that again.” The voice came from behind us and sounded amused.
We both whirled and stood at the same time, bringing ourselves face to face with three of Woodard’s favorite cronies. There wasn’t much light on that rooftop, except for moonlight and a little thrown from the street lights, but by now we’d have known Woodard’s friends in pitch blackness, by the smell if not anything else. The leader of the pack, short and stocky with a buzz cut, reeked. The man had the worst taste in cologne I’d ever smelled, so strong he must have bathed in the stuff. His two friends stood back aways, obviously just back-up. Buzz-cut was the one to administer punishment, it seemed.
I couldn’t believe it. How the hell did they get up there so fast? How did we not notice? Woodard and friends seemed to know where we were at all times and he could appear and disappear like smoke. It was almost supernatural.
Buzz-cut’s laugh had the gleeful ring of a child’s laughter, high pitched and a little crazy. I had the feeling he was more than a little tweaked. He was completely off his nut.
“You shouldn’t of fucked with Mr. Woodard.”
Shouldn’t of fucked with him? Jesus. The guy needed grammar lessons. Being a thug was no excuse for slaughtering the English language. I just hate it when people slaughter the English language. Whether you’re a crook or a doctor, we’ve all been taught the basics. It’s weird how even in a bad situation, little things like that can bug you.
Even though Buzz-cut and his minions were mostly just silhouettes, I could see the shape of something long and cylindrical in Buzz-cut’s hand. A crowbar. I was sure the two other men were holding guns in their hands. I guessed Buzz-cut wanted to have a little fun before they shot us dead. He was the kind of guy who liked his murder to include a lot of pain. He brought the crowbar down lightly on his hand several times, and the tap tap tap tap sound was having the desired effect on me. I was nervous. The weight of my 9 mm against my lower back kept me from getting really scared. Only problem was, Buzz-cut’s buddies already had their guns drawn.
“You know, you’re one tenacious chick. First you take Woodard’s car, and then he hadda threaten you. Then you send the cops after us, and he threatened you again, with your brother’s health, no less. And here you are, still fucking with us.” He shook his head. “So tell me the truth. You can’t be surprised to see us.”
“No,” I replied. “But I am surprised that you know what tenacious means.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Callahan shaking his head slowly.
“Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this. A lot,” Buzz-cut said, advancing toward us.
“Time to play,” I said to Callahan. He got my drift and I felt his arm brush ag
ainst me as he reached down toward his leg holster.
The ever-gathering dark was a friend to us, giving me cover as I reached behind myself and grasped my gun, feeling the heat of the metal against my skin. Cal and I cocked our guns almost simultaneously and pointed them toward Buzz-cut. He stopped walking, crowbar suspended just above his palm.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” Cal’s voice was low. I’d never heard him sound so deadly calm and serious.
“What, we gonna have us a regular Wild West shoot-out here?” Buzz-cut sounded amused.
“Well, chum, we might, but you won’t be around to see it,” I said.
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“Because we’re going to shoot your ass up first, then we’ll go after the two other stooges.”
I could see the two other stooges shifting from leg to leg. They hadn’t expected us to have guns.
“Fuck you. You’re not gonna shoot me.”
I took a step toward him, then another, until I was a foot away from him and could smell stale booze and cigarettes, even urine. “You so sure?”
“Yeah, bitch. I’m sure.”
“You’re right. I’m not going to shoot you. Not right now, anyway.”
He laughed too loudly, tossing a look back at his buddies. He looked back at me, his eyes shining in the light of a neon sign below. “I know you’re not, cuz you’re just a useless whore. Just like all women are. Hey, Mr. Woodard could give you a job.” He looked me up and down. “You’d bring in a pretty penny.” He brought his crowbar up between my legs and moved it back and forth.
“I said I wasn’t going to shoot you.” I brought my knee smashing up between his legs. “But I am going to fuck you up.”
His eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. He bent over, retching and gagging. I moved to stand beside him, watching him and enjoying the show. I looked over at his friends who stood staring in disbelief. Their guns were held much lower than they’d been before. “Just like a bully. All talk. Your buddies aren’t helping you. Have you noticed?”