Big City Heat

by David Burnsworth

  She said, “Cassie spoke highly of you and asked me to talk to you about her sister.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can I ask what experience you have with abused women?”

  Thinking about her question, Brack said, “I’ve dealt with a few situations in which women were kidnapped and harmed.”

  “What kind of credentials do you carry?”

  “Usually I don’t carry any. But I fought as a Marine in Afghanistan and have a licensed Colt forty-five locked in the glovebox of my car.”

  She sat back a bit, as if trying to add more distance between them. Judging by her reaction, his answer must not have been a good one. Or at least not one she wanted to hear.

  Brack tried to give her a friendly smile, but it didn’t seem to work.

  “Mr. Pelton,” she said, “we don’t condone violence here. Most of the women who come to us have seen enough of it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Cassie gave me the impression that you were a man who believed in justice.”

  Brack’s form of justice sometimes flew in the face of the legal system. He said, “I believe we should protect the innocent. There’s a difference.”

  “How so?”

  “If someone uses a gun to rob a store, there’s a chance an innocent bystander could get killed. I believe in taking out the robber before that happens, even if it means the robber dies. Justice would say the criminal should get five to ten years or whatever if they’re caught after the fact. Some would call me a bit extreme.”

  Clasping her hands together on her lap, she said, “What happens if someone innocent gets hurt because you are trying to stop the robber?”

  What Susanna Royce didn’t know was that something similar had happened only last year. He and Mutt had tracked a killer to an apartment complex. Riding with them at the time was a Charleston Police detective who received a partial shotgun spray and lost an eye. One could say it was due to Brack’s negligence. He was often reminded of the moment because since then, the detective had married Brack’s business manager, Paige. The man didn’t seem to hold a grudge, but who knows.

  Brack said, “There’s always a risk.”

  “Yes, there is.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I have to trust Cassie. Although when she talks about you, she gets a dreamy look on her face. I think her judgment might be compromised. But I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “She is a very nice person.”

  Mrs. Royce said, “She’s concerned about her sister.”

  “Yes.”

  “Her sister has been on the wrong side of things since as far back as I can remember, and I’ve known Cassie’s family a long time.” She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

  He waited for her to continue.

  “I’ve been doing this work for twenty years and it still gets to me.”

  “As soon as it stops getting to you, that’s the time to hang it up,” he said.

  Her eyes met Brack’s. “You’re giving me advice?”

  While she might have not meant those words as a compliment, he wasn’t offended. He believed what he said, and he thought she did too. He said, “I’ve seen a lot of death. In Afghanistan and elsewhere. More than most people will ever see.”

  Sniffling, she asked, “What’s supposed to be my takeaway from that?”

  “Eventually it stopped getting to me. That’s one reason I didn’t re-up. I came back with depression and a drinking problem. It’s taken me a few years to get a handle on both.”

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “No.”

  “And you say you’ve got a handle on your problems?”

  “Not all of them. Most days I don’t drink or sit around feeling sorry for myself. But a few other days are not worth repeating.”

  “Amen to that,” she said.

  “Tell me about Regan.”

  “Very pretty. Think of a taller, more slender version of Cassie. Mostly her eyes. Looks wise, the girl has it all.”

  “I’ve seen her,” Brack said, not really wanting to go into details of the night before.

  “From what I hear she’s Kelvin Vito’s woman.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  She straightened up as if taken aback. “Of course it’s a bad thing.”

  “I mean, isn’t it better than being in the trade?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Okay. So what does being Vito’s woman mean?”

  “She is at his beck and call, I guess.”

  Thinking out loud, he said, “I wonder if she gets to run some of the business now.”

  Mrs. Royce lowered her head, moving it from side to side. “I hope not. Bad enough she enlisted for this lifestyle. If she becomes someone who perpetuates it, I don’t know how Cassie will be able to handle it.”

  “Tell me about Vito.”

  “Born with a silver spoon up his butt, pardon my French. Handsome. Cruel.”

  “I met him as well. How come he isn’t in jail?”

  “In addition to most of the brothels in town, he has a line of what I’ve heard called top-shelf girls for his select clientele.”

  “By ‘select clientele’ you mean powerful men?”

  She nodded.

  “I see.”

  “I’m glad you do, because no one else seems to,” she said. “There’s something else too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Thanks to his connections, Vito’s got some type of diplomatic immunity.”

  That wasn’t good news. “How’s that?”

  “All I know is that it has something to do with his family. He’s not a natural born citizen.”

  Brack spread his hands open. “Okay. Where should I look first?”

  She straightened her skirt and stood. “If you’ve got time, I’d like you to talk with a few young women we have with us.”

  “How do you feel about someone from the press being present?”

  “You mean Darcy Wells? Cassie told me of your relationship with her.”

  Mrs. Royce could go either way in her decision to allow Darcy to join him, he realized. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought of including her, besides the obvious reason, of course. Maybe that was the only reason.

  Susanna Royce said, “From what I’ve heard, Darcy is one of the best reporters in the city. She’s already broken several crime rings wide open. As long as identities are protected, I don’t have a problem. In fact, it might be a good idea to have a woman with you when you do talk to our clients.”

  She raised her bulk from the couch and led him outdoors to make his call. Cell reception in the building was not very good.

  Darcy answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

  He told her where he was and what he was about to do.

  She said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes?”

  “If traffic isn’t too bad.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday, mid-afternoon

  The wait gave Brack time to think about how to handle these fragile women. Normally he would smoke a cigar while he thought, but after the workout session with Tara he really wasn’t in the mood. Susanna Royce was right that having Darcy with him would be a good idea. So he sat in the front waiting area for Darcy to enter. There were no windows to look out of, probably for confidentiality reasons.

  Twenty-five minutes almost to the second, his favorite reporter entered the lobby. She looked as beautiful as ever.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Are you kidding?” she said. “I’ve been trying to get an interview here since I moved to town.”

  “So it’s worth something to you?”

  Stopping in her tracks, she asked, “What do you want?”
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  He had a whole lot of answers to that question. Actually, only one real answer existed, but he wouldn’t be offering it at this time. So he said, “My contact here says we have to protect the anonymity of the women we interview.”

  Darcy said, “I figured that.”

  “Good. And afterward you can buy lunch.”

  She gave him one of her trademark smiles, the fake one that she reserved for people she had to tolerate to get what she needed. It was okay. At this point Brack would take whatever he could get.

  They entered the reception room and he picked up the phone, again asking for Mrs. Royce.

  Within five minutes, she opened the locked door.

  Brack introduced the women to each other.

  Darcy said, “Thank you so much for this opportunity. Brack has explained to me the need to protect the identities of the women we talk with. I give you my word I won’t print names or describe their appearances in a manner that would divulge who they are.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Royce said. “I want you to know that the reason you are here is because of Mr. Pelton. And the reason he is here is because of my relationship with Cassie Thibedeaux.”

  Darcy nodded. “I understand, and you won’t regret it.”

  Holding the door open for them to enter, Mrs. Royce further informed them, “You are the only reporter I have ever allowed in here. I’m familiar with your work. If I didn’t feel you would handle this properly, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

  Another way of saying Darcy’s reputation was on the line. That shouldn’t bother her, because Brack knew it was on the line with every story she reported.

  Mrs. Royce led them to a generic room on the ground floor, with a table, four chairs, and a window that faced a fenced back lot. She said she’d return in a moment with the first woman they would get to talk with.

  To keep his eyes and thoughts off Darcy, Brack stared out the window.

  She said, “Like old times, huh?”

  “Almost,” he said. “Thanks again for joining me. I don’t think I’d have gotten this far without you.” It was a true statement that applied to most of the past few years.

  When she didn’t reply, Brack looked at her. She’d been watching him, then turned away.

  She said, “I heard you and Paige are opening up a second location.”

  “When did you talk to her?”

  Darcy said, “All the time.”

  Great. Paige neglected to tell him she kept in touch with Darcy. If that hadn’t struck a nerve, he would have focused instead on the second thought he had, which was to wonder what else she wasn’t telling him.

  He said, “I see.”

  Darcy gave him her trademark made-for-TV grin. “I’m guessing you’re out of the loop.”

  “Apparently for a lot of things.”

  “You said it,” she said. “So, what about the bar?”

  “It’s on Kiawah. Beachfront costs a fortune. We got a deal on a second-row property that needed a lot of TLC. Paige hired someone to run the Cove and has been working full time ever since to get the new place in shape.”

  “What are you going to call it?”

  “Reggie’s Shipwreck.” He didn’t have to explain the meaning behind the name. She knew his late Uncle Reggie had owned the Pirate’s Cove until a few years ago when Brack got it as part of his will. She’d helped Brack catch Reggie’s murderer.

  “Good choice,” she said. “And smart move giving it to Paige to run. You guys are set to create an empire.”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to grow larger than operating two bars. Even one was a lot of work. More than he’d anticipated. Though the money was great, some days he wanted to pack his things and move to Hawaii with Shelby. He still might.

  The door opened and Mrs. Royce entered with a young woman about twenty. Attractive but tired-looking, the client had natural olive skin, big brown eyes, and hair to match pulled back in a ponytail.

  Darcy introduced herself, looking the woman in her eyes and making sure to take her hand in both of hers. She said, “We don’t need to know your name. Give us something to call you.”

  The young woman visibly relaxed. “How about Sonia?”

  Her accent was from somewhere south of the border.

  Brack said, “Hi, Sonia. My name’s Brack Pelton.”

  The four of them took seats around the table.

  Mrs. Royce began, “Um, Sonia, why don’t we start with your describing how you happened to come here?”

  Sonia looked down at her hands and fidgeted with a tissue. “I come to the city to find work. A man find me in bus station and tell me he can help. Two years later I am here.”

  “Who is the man who found you in the bus station?” Darcy asked.

  “His name is Levin, but I not sure if it is real name.”

  “Does he work directly for Vito?” Brack asked.

  “I not sure.”

  “When was the last time you saw Levin?”

  The fidgeting stopped. “About six month ago. He was one of my non-paying customers.”

  “Non-paying?” Mrs. Royce asked, as if that was a detail she hadn’t heard before.

  “Sí. We had paying ones and non-paying ones who worked for Vito.”

  Darcy said, “And you couldn’t refuse to work.” It wasn’t a question.

  Sonia looked at her, at first with a hint of anger in squinted eyes and clenched teeth, but then her face softened as she realized Darcy’s intention.

  “No. We would be punished.”

  “Like how?” Brack asked, almost immediately regretting his hasty question.

  “They would beat us, not give us food, lock us in a small box. Things like that.”

  Darcy asked, “If we showed you a picture, could you identify this Levin?”

  “Sí. I never forget him.”

  “What else can you tell us?” Brack asked. “Anything will help.”

  “I can tell you I am glad I got away. If they find me here, they kill me.”

  The need for anonymity became crystal clear.

  “We won’t tell anyone,” Darcy said. “We only want information that will help us take down Vito.”

  Sonia asked, “And Levin?”

  A smile tugged at Brack’s mouth, but he suppressed it. “If I find him, I’ll deal with him personally.”

  Sonia made no attempt to hide the hint of satisfaction that tugged at the corner of her own mouth. Brack had a feeling that her knowing of the dirtbag’s suffering would ease hers.

  The next young woman Mrs. Royce had them talk with came from Costa Rica. Her story was similar—except that her dirtbag was someone other than Levin.

  Outside, in the Deep South oven, Darcy and Brack stood talking by her car.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Sounds like a story we’ve heard before.”

  “Yep. So what do we do now?”

  “Not sure about you, but I’m ready to burn Vito’s house down, editorially speaking.”

  “You take care of the paperwork. I’ll bring the gasoline and matches.”

  “We can’t just blow up his enterprise,” she said. “People might begin to feel sorry for him. And the women he ‘owns’ might be hurt. We don’t want that.”

  “I never gave much truck to what others thought,” Brack said.

  “The police have got to come down on our side for whatever we do. Otherwise, well, you know how it could go.”

  He certainly did. They’d slap on the cuffs and throw them both in jail before they could finish what they started.

  Later that afternoon at Mutt’s house, while Darcy worked on her story, Brack explained to Mutt and Cassie what they’d discovered. Shelby lay by his side on a rug Mutt had given him.

  Mutt said, “I already knew most of that, Opie.”

 
Cassie said, “No, you didn’t. Not about Levin.”

  “You right about that. I say we go find us this guy.”

  “I got the impression Levin was pretty high in the food chain,” Brack said. “Might be hard to get to from the bottom.”

  “Then we gotta get ’im from the top.”

  Cassie stood. “I can’t stand to listen to any more of this macho talk. One or both of you is gonna get killed.”

  Mutt’s eyes met his. Brack knew what he was thinking and shook his head no. They would not remind Cassie that it was her sister they were trying to rescue.

  Brack reached down to give his dog a pat. “Let’s see what Darcy digs up. You know she’s the best investigative reporter around.”

  Cassie got them back on track. “Susanna was helpful?”

  “Yes.” As dangerous as all the other times were when Brack and Mutt had “looked into something,” they paled in comparison to what Vito and his band of bikers promised. Brack felt it as strongly as he felt the ground beneath his feet. Getting Regan back to Cassie would get bloody.

  Yet part of him looked forward to it—the part that he kept locked in a cage and released only for desperate situations like this one.

  “You guys aren’t thinking about going after Vito, are you?”

  That was exactly what Brack was thinking. However, something told him Cassie would not want to hear that at this particular time. He said, “What I want is to bring your sister to you.”

  Mutt said, “Yeah, baby. We ain’t gonna do anything stupid.”

  Not something Brack would have promised, but he was making a conscious effort to not lie. Mutt must be working toward a different set of goals.

  “Don’t you be shinin’ me on, Clarence Alexander,” Cassie said. “I will toss your black behind out the front door so fast you’ll wonder if time stopped.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday, afternoon

  Johnny Cash—Mutt’s choice—belted “Ring of Fire” through the Porsche’s stereo as they rolled through the steady traffic of the city.

  “You know this man got some brother in him,” Mutt said. “Ain’t no full-blooded Wonder Bread got that kind of anger. Same with you, Opie.”