Look the Other Way

by Leigh Jones

  “What an ass,” he said when they were out of earshot of anyone who might have seen them talking to Reyes. “It’s hard to believe he’s the patron saint of Galveston.”

  “Well, believe it,” Kate said, her mouth twisted in disgust. “Did you catch the reference to ‘his’ island?”

  “Oh, yeah. Nice touch. And he seems to be enjoying the peaceful summer as much as the mayor.”

  Kate pondered that as Brian drove back to her apartment. Matthew Hanes basically owed his election to Reyes. What were the chances he had taken such a drastically different position on police and taxes without his friend’s blessing? Or better yet, at his friend’s direction.

  Kate had always assumed calling a truce with the police union was the mayor’s idea. But what if it wasn’t? She had never found a good explanation for what prompted the change. Maybe that’s because it was never about the mayor in the first place.

  But what interest could Reyes possibly have in meddling with police business?

  Chapter 14

  Kate slept until almost 10 a.m. the next morning. She didn’t even hear Brian leave before dawn for his shift. After throwing on running shorts and a T-shirt, and scraping her tangled hair into a ponytail, Kate headed for the coffee shop with a newspaper tucked under her arm—her Sunday morning ritual. The sun was already blazing when she emerged from the cool shadow of her building’s foyer onto the shimmering sidewalk.

  She walked slowly, watching families and people with dogs trudge past. She waved to a few fellow downtown residents she recognized. After eight months at the paper, she rarely went anywhere she didn’t see someone she knew, or who knew her. She had enjoyed her first few months of anonymity, when she could run to the grocery store at midnight in her pajamas. The last time she did that, she ran into the mayor’s wife, who was buying Tylenol to soothe a sick child. So much for anonymity.

  Despite the sultriness, the Sunday morning regulars already filled the tables outside the coffee shop. Kate raised her hand in a salute but didn’t stop to chat. After picking up her order at the counter, she slipped into an armchair in the back of the shop, well away from the bright sun streaming through the front windows. Unfolding the newspaper, she scanned the headlines, looking for something to absorb her attention. But she couldn’t concentrate on any of them. All she could think about was Slava’s story about the prostitutes at his hotel.

  If he was right, and Kate could prove it, she would have a great story on her hands. The police chief would have to explain why his officers weren’t doing the normal prostitution stings. And the mayor would be forced to admit everything on the island wasn’t as picture-perfect as he wanted people to believe. At best, he was trying to cover up a potentially serious problem to protect the island’s image. At worst, he had a specific reason for wanting to let the pimps work uninterrupted. Either way, Kate’s stomach churned at the thought he might get away with it.

  And besides, she had to renew Mattingly’s faith in her. Fear over her fate in the looming layoffs had started to keep her up at night. She did not intend to be the one cut out of the newsroom when the axe finally fell.

  As she folded up her mostly unread copy of the paper, Kate popped the last bite of her muffin into her mouth and stood up. Despite the blistering heat, this afternoon seemed like the perfect time to do a little hotel reconnaissance.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  An hour later, Kate wheeled her bicycle out of the storage closet off her building’s foyer. If she was going to work on Sunday, she figured she might as well get some exercise too. Plus, the limited parking on the seawall would be full of SUVs disgorging screaming kids and parents already looking harassed after the 45-minute drive from Houston. It took her just 15 minutes to pedal the 3 miles up 21st Street to the beach.

  About a dozen blocks to the east, The Clipper Motor Inn sat wedged between newer hotels that offered guests breakfast, beach towels, and complimentary cocktails at check-in. The Clipper’s most notable amenities were its vending and ice machines, both occasionally full. Kate guessed the hotel had been built in the early 1950s. Its two stories surrounded two sides of a rectangular swimming pool, forming an “L” that offered most guests an unobscured view of the Gulf of Mexico. In its heyday, it was probably one of the most sought-after hotels on the island. Kate could imagine children splashing in the glimmering swimming pool while moms in high-waisted bikinis and big sunglasses sipped lemonade and read Life magazine.

  But today, the pool was deserted, the chain-link fence around it and the water’s unmistakable green tinge both screamed “Keep Out.” A sign hanging askew from one hook outside the manager’s office advertised rooms for $59.99 a night. Heat radiated from the fissured parking lot. The Clipper was a step above the Sand Crab, where Johnson’s officers had made their last prostitution ring bust, but only slightly. Kate remembered cringing when Slava mentioned he and several other student workers stayed there. But they got a good weekly rate, and it was close to most of the places they worked. Despite Slava’s current claims, it wasn’t the kind of place known for catering to illegal activity.

  Kate pedaled up to a concrete bench across the street from the hotel and sat down, rolling the bike out of the way of tourists walking, riding or rollerblading down the wide seawall. A steady breeze coming off the water wafted the stench of dead fish and rotting seaweed. After 10 minutes, Kate had to wipe her forehead with the sleeve of her T-shirt to keep sweat from running into her eyes. After another 20 minutes, she couldn’t tell whether her arms were soaking up the heat or radiating it out. And not one car or person had come in or out of the hotel’s parking lot. Staking out the hotel in the middle of the afternoon suddenly seemed like a foolish waste of time.

  Pursing her lips in frustration, Kate stood up and stretched. At the corner of the building, outside the manager’s office, she spotted a soda machine. It couldn’t hurt to take a closer look and get something to drink while she was at it. She walked her bike across the four-lane boulevard during a temporary break in the traffic. While she fished for change in her saddle bag, an emaciated woman shuffled around the corner.

  “Hey there, darlin’. Got any change to spare?” she asked in a low, raspy voice.

  “Well, that’s what I’m looking for. I was going to buy a drink. Want one?”

  The woman’s almost toothless smile dissolved into what Kate guessed was her usual glum expression when she realized she wasn’t likely to get much more than a soda and a few coins. But she nodded anyway, setting down the bag she was carrying and taking out a dingy washcloth to wipe her face. Her wrinkled and gaunt cheeks and neck made her look well over 50. The scabs on her thin arms and her missing teeth suggested a meth addiction. Her skin, probably once a rich ebony now looked almost grey. Kate suspected she might be as young as her mid thirties.

  “What would you like?” Kate asked as she pulled a handful of coins from her bag.

  “Coke, whenever I can get it,” the woman rasped, cackling at her own joke.

  Kate fed the coins into the machine and two bright red cans already sweating rolled down the chute. She popped the top on the first one and handed it to the woman.

  “And here’s the rest of what I have on me. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to it.” The woman nodded as Kate dropped a few dimes, a couple of quarters and half a dozen pennies into her hand. After she slipped the change into the pocket of her shorts, the woman glanced into the hotel parking lot.

  “Slow today,” she said.

  “Is it normally busy?” Kate asked.

  “Most days, but not this early. Too hot today. No one wants to come out and play. Course, I’m not playing much these days anyhow.”

  While she talked, the woman nervously picked at the scabs on her arms. Kate watched her with a mixture of revulsion and pity. It was hard to tell, but she might have been pretty once. Meth, cocaine, and whatever other drugs she could get her hands on had wiped away any trace of appeal. Kate guessed she turned most of her tricks just to get the next fix.

/>   “Do you work around here?” Kate asked, after considering how to phrase the question.

  The woman looked at her sideways for a few moments before answering.

  “Used to. Used to be plenty business ‘round here. I had a special arrangement with the management, if you know what I mean. But now, new girls in town. Miss Kitty’s not welcome here no mo’.”

  “New girls, huh? That’s rough.” Kate wasn’t sure it was exactly appropriate to offer condolences for a prostitute’s drop in business.

  “Uh huh. And they’s organized too. Some young muchacho’s running the show. He’s real mean. Roughed me up once when I told him he had no right to chase me outa my own block. Said it was his block now. Didn’t used to be that way. All us girls looked out for each other. We had enough customers to share. Things a’ changed.”

  “So this ... muchacho ... and his girls, they work out of this hotel?”

  The woman suddenly spun toward Kate with a fierce glare. “Who’s askin’? Why you wanna know? You a cop or somethin’?”

  “No! I was just curious, that’s all.” Kate cursed to herself for not being more tactful.

  “Huh. That’ll get you in trouble, girl. People gets suspicious ‘round here. Don’t you go askin’ too many questions.”

  “Sorry,” Kate offered meekly, lapsing into silence and looking down at her feet while the woman continued to stare at her.

  When she sensed the woman’s gaze had shifted, she looked up again. Her companion was staring absently out over the Gulf. She was scratching at both arms now and one eye had started to twitch slightly. She must have been well past her need for another fix.

  “I s’pose you don’t mean no harm. Nobody mean no harm. I don’t mean no harm. No harm.”

  The woman’s voice had taken on a dream-like quality Kate recognized from her childhood. It always meant a psychological tide was about to turn.

  “But the men in white, they mean harm!” the woman hissed, turning slowly to face Kate with wide, vacant eyes. “They take you down, lock you away. They’s always after me.”

  She looked furtively over her shoulder, and Kate knew she was lost inside her own fantasy.

  “You look out, you hear? I can’t stay here. Can’t stay here.”

  With this, the woman snatched up her bag, threw down her empty coke can and shuffled off the way she had come, down a side street with alleys that often sheltered the homeless. Kate’s chest tightened as she watched the woman go, overwhelmed by a sadness too deep for tears. She had run into her fair share of the mentally ill during her time on the island, but it never got easier to see their suffering. It seemed so completely hopeless. They either couldn’t afford medication or just didn’t want to take it. So they took street drugs to self-medicate. The women turned tricks for drug money. And they always ended up like Miss Kitty, with periods of sanity punctuating a reality saturated with mania, depression, or hallucinations.

  Kate sighed as she picked up the discarded can, wheeled her bike around and headed for a trash bin half way down the block. Despite her apparent schizophrenia, Miss Kitty’s story about the new girls seemed believable. Kate was pretty sure she was trying to say they worked at The Clipper. It corroborated Slava’s account.

  A flutter of excitement began to drive away the sadness that had consumed her moments before. The afternoon hadn’t been a waste after all. She had enough information to start working on a story that would blow the lid off the mayor’s plan to cover up, or at least ignore, criminal activity. A thrill of electricity sent a tingle from the back of her neck all the way to her finger tips. He was up to something he didn’t want people to know about.

  Now Kate just had to figure out how to prove it.

  Chapter 15

  The patter of running water in the shower greeted Kate when she opened the door to her apartment. Brian’s keys sat on the kitchen table. Surprise and hesitation left her standing in the entrance, unsure what to do. She hadn’t realized how comfortable their relationship had become. When he walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, she considered telling him she needed some space.

  “I let myself in with the spare key. Sorry,” he said, keeping his distance as if he knew he was wading into deep water. “I called you, but you didn’t pick up. I wanted to be sure I caught you before you made plans for the night. I promise I won’t make a habit of it.”

  “Well, if you promise...” She suddenly wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She didn’t want him to stay. But she didn’t want him to go either. “What do you have in mind for tonight? Whatever it is, I’ll have to clean up.”

  Brian smiled. “Looks like you’ve been to the beach. I hope you have some aloe vera.”

  Kate glanced at her arms, which had started to glow a soft pink.

  “I was on a stakeout,” she said, purposely leaving out the details.

  “Interesting.” He drew out the syllables in inquiry but stopped short of asking more. “So, are you up for a little religious reconnaissance tonight?”

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “I ran into Uncle Bobby this afternoon. He was visiting someone in the hospital and stopped by the ER to hunt me down. I haven’t seen him in about a month, and he insisted I come to church tonight. I couldn’t say no.”

  Bob Gage pastored Galveston’s First Baptist Church and had been friends with Brian’s parents since Brian’s father was a medical student. He was Brian’s godfather, and usually managed to guilt him into coming to church every time he saw or talked to him. Brian grew up in church and took the pastor’s gentle prodding in stride. After his last visit to church, Brian admitted he had a lingering sense of guilt over his lapsed spiritual condition. Kate guessed he accepted his godfather’s invitations as a form of penance. She had gone with him several times, but only when he begged. Churches were for weddings and funerals, as far as she was concerned. And even those made her squirm.

  She was about to tell him no when she remembered that one of the church’s deacons worked with the island’s homeless population. He probably knew Miss Kitty and might be able to tell Kate whether he’d heard any of the other prostitutes talking about the new girls in town. She smiled at the prospect of some true reconnaissance.

  “Let me just jump in the shower,” she said. “I’ll be ready in half an hour.”

  Brian’s eyebrows rose in surprise, confusion filling his wide eyes. But he smiled back and waved her toward the bathroom door.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  A small crowd had already gathered in the church’s chapel when Brian and Kate walked in the back door. The pastor spotted them right away and strode down the aisle to meet them.

  “You came!” he boomed in a deep voice Kate always thought had dictated his career choice. He was destined to become either a radio announcer or a preacher. While still grasping his godson’s hand, the pastor turned to Kate.

  “It’s always good to see you. After all the excitement you had last month, you must be getting a little bored at the newspaper. I never thought the mayor would worm his way out of that one.”

  Kate smiled. Next to God and his congregation, Bob Gage loved local politics best. He’d served on the school board in the early 1990s and still couldn’t get enough of the machinations that turned the wheels of local government. He’d told her once it served as a good reminder of the pervasive nature of original sin. She’d had to research what that meant. She decided later that was probably his intent.

  “It’s definitely been a slow few weeks,” she said, glancing around to see if she could spot the deacon she wanted to talk to. “But you never know what might be coming up. The news has a way of surprising you.”

  “That’s because people make the news,” Gage said, winking at her. “So I guess nothing should surprise us, eh?”

  The chords of the service’s first hymn saved Kate from having to reply. Gage left them to return to the front of the chapel, stopping to shake a few hands as he made his way up the aisle. While the rest of the congregat
ion stood to sing the first stanza of “‘Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus,” Brian led Kate to an almost empty pew halfway up the room. An elderly woman in a pillbox hat patted Kate’s arm as she slipped in beside her.

  The words and notes of the hymnal Brian held open in front of them blurred as the familiar tune began. She recognized it from her mother’s funeral. Nausea churned in her stomach, and black spots swam before her eyes. She clutched the back of the pew in front of her. How could anyone trust in a God who allowed suffering and evil to rage unchecked? If such a God existed, his cruelty knew no bounds. Kate preferred to think of God as a myth desperate and weak people clung to because they couldn’t face the reality of life’s meaninglessness.

  She made it through the next four hymns with gritted teeth. Her rising indignation and hostility to the words that rang out around her made her dizzy. When the last note finally sounded, she sat stiffly back in the pew and tried to tune out the sermon. Gage preached from the Book of Matthew and talked about how much Jesus loved “the least of these.” Kate thought about Miss Kitty and her mother. The closing hymn, “I surrender all,” went on for five stanzas while Gage, singing at the top of his lungs, waited at the front of the chapel for someone to join him. No one did. Kate tapped her foot with impatience through the entire hymn and sighed with relief when the pastor raised his hands to offer the benediction.

  At the end of the service, the small congregation migrated into the fellowship hall next door for coffee, punch, and cookies—a Sunday night tradition. Brian had given his arm to the little old lady sitting next to Kate, leading her to the refreshments and offering to get her something to drink. While he stood in line to fill up three cups, Kate spotted the deacon, caught his eye, and smiled. She had interviewed David Lyons several times for stories about homelessness, and as she hoped he would, he ambled over to say hello.

  “I met someone you probably know this afternoon,” Kate said. “She called herself Miss Kitty.”