The Second Girl

by David Swinson

  About an hour after I see the kid leave, I notice two men walking up Euclid from the area I saw him biking into. The two men meet up with one of the crew boys on the corner at 17th. The taller, fatter one looks like Cordell Holm, and the short, stout one looks like his muscle. Can’t make out his face, but I’m pretty sure it’s Little Monster. He was always like Cordell’s second shadow unless Cordell had him go off and do something he didn’t want to get caught up in, like beatin’ some crackhead, or someone else who couldn’t pay, senseless. They enter the row house without knocking, like they own it.

  I observe a few other men roll in and out throughout the night. At about one thirty, I see the fat one again. He stands on the stoop as if he’s surveying his land. That gives me enough time to focus in on him.

  It is Cordell.

  He’s put on a good hundred pounds since I last saw him. All that takeout his boys must be delivering. His hair is nappy, and he’s grown himself a goatee, but he still carries himself the same, despite the weight. He walks back down the stairs and then to Euclid, where he heads east, in the direction he came from. He walks like an inmate in control of the prison yard, but only ’cause his boys are nearby. I watch him until he cuts left and out of my line of sight. He’s gotta be going into the Ritz complex. There’s not much else in that direction and on Mozart except for a smaller apartment building on the east side, across from the rear of the school. But it’d be easier for him to get to that building walking north on 17th, then taking the driveway and cutting across the parking lot.

  He’s gotta be bedding down in one of the apartments at the Ritz. Probably even has himself a few units there, including a stash house. It’s a tough place to hit and even tougher to get a buy out of, so it’d be the perfect spot. Again, nothing I’d chance hitting. All of Cordell’s family and crew members would be breaking outta the walls if I got caught walking the stairs or any of the hallways in that building. Still, it’s tempting. I gotta remember why I’m here, though, and it ain’t to build up my personal stash.

  Damn if I don’t start feeling a little like a cop again.

  Fifty-nine

  The clouds are breaking up and daylight’s pushing through.

  It’s Saturday.

  Oh-six-twenty hours.

  The corner’s clear. A couple of lights are still on in the row house. Blinds prevent me from seeing any movement inside.

  Playboy’s car is still there. He might have his own girl, or maybe he’s dreaming of what Tamie might’ve been like. Who knows what the fuck Little Monster’s doing in there. Wouldn’t want to be in a room next to his, though.

  I don’t want to call it yet. I’d like to see who exits in the morning. They might be using a rear door, making this nothing but a waste of time, but I don’t want to chance trying to find a new location to set up. I wouldn’t be able to find a good parking spot anyway. It’s best to stay put.

  I’ve damn near snorted up most of what I brought with me. Flask is empty and I gotta take a mean piss. Fortunately, the Oxys I’ve been takin’ keep me constipated, so I don’t have to worry about that. I find an empty Gatorade bottle on the floor behind my seat. It’s still got the cap on it. I keep a couple of empties around for this purpose. They serve me well, since they have a big opening.

  I straighten up as much as I can, unzip my pants, pull out my dick, and aim the head in the bottle. It doesn’t take more than a second before the bottle starts filling up. Luckily, it’s a large bottle, ’cause I nearly top it off.

  When I’m done, I twist the cap tight so there’s no chance of spillage, and then set it back where I got it. I tuck my dick back into a comfortable position, then zip up.

  Minutes later, I see the door open wide. A few seconds after that, a girl steps out. She’s shouldering a large handbag. I check her out through the binos. She’s Latina. Looks young, too, maybe late teens, early twenties. Hard to tell. I see enough that I know it’s not the girl I’m looking for.

  She lights up a cigarette and walks down the stairs, turns toward the doorway, and says something in Spanish that I can’t make out. She continues toward Euclid, then walks in the same direction as Manny and Cordell.

  Just as I focus back on the house, two other girls step out; one of them sure as shit looks like Miriam.

  I quickly turn the key in my ignition, but don’t start the engine. I just want the battery juice so I can raise my seat back up to a driving position and power down the window so I can hear better.

  I go back to the binos as the girl who looks like Miriam zips up her puffy black coat and reaches into the right front pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taps one out, then lights. She waits for her friend to do the same, and then the other girl closes the front door and they both make their way down the front steps.

  I wait for them to make that turn onto Euclid just like the first girl. It’s a straight shot for me, so I start the car up and ease out. My heart is slamming. It’s only seeing her that I realize I never thought I’d find her; she was already dead.

  By the time I reach the girls, they’re walking side by side on the sidewalk near the end of the large row house on the corner of 17th and Euclid. The one that seems to be Miriam is on the other girl’s left, so I can’t get another good look at her face.

  The Latina girl beside her turns in my direction to check me out. I pull ahead of them and double-park alongside another car.

  I step out of the car and walk across the street at an angle to them, but I don’t look in their direction. I can see them enough to know they stopped as if they are expecting me to approach them.

  When I get to the sidewalk I turn and shoot them a smile and then look toward the Ritz, which is about a quarter of a block up. I turn back. They’re still standing there, about ten feet away.

  “Aren’t the two of you a little young to be out so early?” I ask.

  “Fuck you,” the girl who I’m now almost positive is Miriam says.

  The Latina girl reaches into her bulky purse like she’s trying to scare me with what she’s going to pull out.

  “Hold on there, girl,” I say. “I’m a cop. See?” I pull out my wallet and flash my badge quickly.

  “Cops don’t drive cars like that,” the Latina girl says.

  “They do when they’re off duty.”

  “Why you stoppin’ us, then, if you’re not working?” the Latina girl asks.

  “I ain’t stopping you,” I say, walking closer.

  They don’t step back, but the Latina girl still has her hand in her purse.

  “But I might if you don’t take your hand outta that purse.”

  She does, but reluctantly.

  The other one is Miriam. I’m positive. But she’s definitely not the same little girl from the photo. She looks used up and a couple years older than she really is.

  “We’re going home,” Miriam says.

  “You guys have a sleepover or somethin’?”

  They laugh.

  “How old are you two?”

  “Old enough,” Miriam says.

  “Neither of you look old enough to be walking around this neighborhood so early in the morning. Give me your names.”

  They look at each other.

  “I ain’t playin’. Give me your names.”

  “My name’s Angie,” the Latina girl says.

  “I’m Justine,” Miriam says.

  I almost break into a smile.

  “No last names? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  I step closer. Miriam looks like she might bolt. I’ve seen that look enough times to know.

  I’m close enough to grab her by the arm. Instead, I look at her. “Justine’s a nice name. I have some friends who have a daughter named Justine. They live in Burke.”

  She looks like she’s just been stunned. She drops her cigarette and runs back toward 17th. The Latina girl quickly follows.

  It doesn’t take much effort to catch up to Miriam. I grab her by the left arm before she can make the turn toward the ro
w house. The Latina girl stops ahead, looks back, and then runs off toward the row house.

  Miriam’s struggling hard, then starts flailing her free arm, smacking me in the face.

  “Let me go! Let me the fuck go!”

  “Calm down, Miriam. Calm the fuck down.”

  “Help!” she screams. “Someone help me!”

  “Yeah, you call out like that. Get the police to show up. That’ll make it easier on me. Now calm the fuck down.”

  I grab her other arm and force her to face me.

  “I’m a friend of your parents,” I lie. “They sent me to find you.”

  “Let me go. You can’t take me.”

  “Either I take you or we wait for the police cars to show, and they will. That’d be tougher for you, ’cause they’ll take you straight to Youth Division. Either way, you’ll be going home.”

  I let go of her left wrist, hold tight to the other, and force her to walk toward my car. She tries to pull away.

  “Please, just let me go.”

  I stop again.

  “Why don’t you wanna go home? They abuse you?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Then why?”

  Before she can answer I see the other Latina girl at the corner, about twenty feet away. She’s pointing at us, looking back, as if she’s directing someone. Couple seconds later, I see Little Monster run up, with another Latino boy. A second after that, Playboy makes his appearance.

  I grab Miriam with my left hand now and pull her to my side. I pull my jacket back and grip my holstered weapon.

  “Don’t even fucking think about it,” I tell them. “She’s going home.”

  “Don’t let him take me, Playboy,” she cries.

  “Shut the fuck up, girl,” Little Monster orders her. He turns to the Latina girl and says, “Get yourself back to the house.”

  She runs back. Little Monster’s smart, but not that smart.

  He reaches for his back pocket. I draw my weapon and aim it at him.

  “Don’t go stupid on me,” I tell him.

  “Ain’t nothin’.” He smiles wickedly.

  He slowly pulls out a cell phone, holds it out for me to see.

  “Just back the fuck down,” I order. “There’s been enough commotion that the police’ll be showing up soon. Might be better if I wait.”

  Little Monster lifts the cell to his ear.

  I look behind me toward the Ritz, then start pulling her back toward my car. I don’t know who the fuck he might be calling, but I sure as hell don’t wanna see any more of them. Little Monster is speaking to someone on the cell. When he’s finished, he slips it in his back pocket.

  He shows me that wicked smile again.

  “Let me go. Let me fucking go,” she demands, but quieter this time.

  “Listen to me,” I tell her, and squeeze her wrist hard so she grunts. “You’ll get hurt much worse if I let you go back to them.”

  “They’re about to hurt you real bad, asshole. You’d better let me the fuck go.”

  “C’mon, now. Let me take you outta here. I’ll even take you to Justine’s if you want.”

  A couple more players show up, and I’m starting to feel like this is going to be a real clusterfuck. I’m hoping whatever good neighbors live on this block have already called the police. I’m sure as hell looking forward to hearing some sirens about now.

  “This ain’t a joke, Miriam. They don’t want you now that I’ve been here. I know you’ve seen what they can do.”

  She might agree, ’cause she doesn’t struggle anymore. I get to the driver’s side door and open it.

  Some of the corner boys start stepping toward me, but not Little Monster or Playboy.

  “You’re gonna step in first, and I’ll follow.”

  I notice a black Ford Taurus stop at the corner on 17th, behind the crowd. These boys make cars to look like ours, so I’m thinking this looks like it might be a drive-by. I back up with her so we’re on the other side of the open door and she’s toward the front of my car.

  A few of them, including Little Monster, turn to take notice.

  “Get your crew off my fucking corner, Little Monster,” a man orders from within the car.

  Little Monster spits on the sidewalk toward the car. Stands his ground for a second or two, and calmly walks away. The rest follow and they disappear up 17th.

  I notice a red bubble light on the dash. It starts flashing as the cruiser turns onto Euclid and stops about two car lengths behind my vehicle.

  The driver’s side door opens and a large man steps out. A silver officer’s badge hangs around his neck.

  Plainclothes. That’s all the cavalry I need to see.

  Sixty

  Let me see your hands,” the large officer commands.

  He’s on the other side of his open door, weapon out and pointing at me. His view is obstructed by the open car door we’re standing behind, so it allows me to slowly holster my weapon without getting noticed (and possibly shot). I keep my hold on Miriam.

  “This girl’s a teenager, reported missing by her parents,” I tell him.

  “I said show me your hands. Now.”

  He’s calm and in control.

  He keeps his hair high and tight, like most guys who come on this job straight out of the military. He looks familiar, but too young for me to have known when I was on the job.

  “I’m not going to let go of the girl, because she might run.”

  “I’m not going to run,” she says calmly, maybe a bit too calmly given the circumstances.

  “I’ll slowly step from behind the car so you can see I’m not armed.”

  “Nice and slow.”

  I obey and sidestep from behind the car, with Miriam at my side.

  “Now let go of the girl until I can establish you’re a cop.”

  Establish I’m a cop? What the fuck’s he talking about? Unless he saw everything go down. Was he working an observation post too?

  Then it hits me and it’s like a mental crash.

  He’s one of the men I observed entering the row house late last night. It’s too early for day shift, so he has to be working midnights; I’ll bet that’s his little hoochie mama’s spot. I’m betting he’s the one Little Monster called. He got here quickly enough. He’s more than likely taking care of that spot for Cordell and he’s dirty as shit.

  Fuck.

  “Her parents hired me to find her. I’m a retired DC police detective.”

  “Retired?” Miriam blurts.

  “I got her real name and DOB. Go over the air with it. You’ll find she’s reported missing out of Fairfax County.”

  “Let her come to me. I’ll run her name in my cruiser.”

  “My name’s Frank Marr. I retired two years ago, out of Narcotics Branch. You can raise Detective Scott Davidson over the citywide channel. He’s on the case, and should be coming on for daywork about now. He’ll come down here and straighten this out.”

  He steps out from behind his door, weapon still on me. He moves forward a couple of feet like a well-trained tactical officer.

  “If you need to go over Detective Davidson, then raise your watch commander to respond. I’ll release the girl to your supervisor. I’m responsible for her; that’s all I’m saying.”

  He looks at me like he’s running everything through his head. The situation fucked all around, and the last thing I want is for him to realize he messed up and called me out as a cop. In fact, maybe he already realized that and he’s trying to figure out how to get out of this one—I’m hoping he wants to get out of it clean.

  “Officer, I know you’re all about doing the job right. This isn’t your normal run. This girl’s gonna bolt if I let her go.”

  “I told you, I’m not going to run. Just do what he says and let me go.”

  “So raise your watch commander over the air and you’ll be the hero for getting her home.”

  “Daywork’s about to come on. Midnight’s already rolled in, so walk her over to me and I’
ll sit her in the back of the cruiser for the shift change. We’ll call my supervisor after.”

  Somehow I doubt that, but what choice do I have? This is seriously fucked up.

  “Just come fucking get me, Tommy,” she yells.

  “Shut the hell up, girl. Shit.”

  I grip her wrist tighter.

  “Ow,” she says.

  “Officer, I don’t care what you got working here. I just want to get her home. You got a lot of lights coming on in a lot of these homes, and I’m sure a lot of residents watching all this through their windows. Units are probably already on their way. Just let me get her in the car and we’ll roll outta here.”

  “No. Don’t let him do that,” Miriam cries.

  “I said shut up,” he orders her again. “Now, you’re going to let her go and she’ll walk to me, and then you can get in your car and roll out of here.”

  I let her go, I’ll probably find myself kissing the pavement, maybe even kissing my own blood. We got ourselves a standoff here, because he’s not going to do anything stupid while I got her close. At least I hope he’s not. I sure as hell ain’t gonna let her go. I know that much.

  A fucked-up-looking hooptie with a loud engine, Virginia dealer tags, and tinted windows eases to the stop sign at 17th.

  The officer turns to watch it, his gun still pointing my way, but the hooptie doesn’t seem to bother him. He turns back to us.

  “This is the last time I ask; then I’ll come for her myself. You don’t want me to do that, so let her go.”

  The hooptie turns slowly onto Euclid and moves our way.

  I can see Playboy driving. The passenger is leaning back, so I can’t make him out.

  I start moving back to the front of my car for cover.