by DJ Steele
A black car with dark tinted windows screeched to a halt alongside her. Three large men in dark navy suits jumped out and surrounded her.
The smaller of the men said, "We need you to come with us."
"Sorry boys, but my ride will be here any minute. We’ll have to have a foursome another time."
The men moved closer.
"Pretty sure you know that’s not happening. We don’t want any trouble. Just get in."
One of the larger men opened the back door.
"Looks like I haven’t a choice."
She leaned over to climb inside when the tall man grabbed her arm and held out his hand. "Your weapon," he ordered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"You don’t actually believe a blind lady would know the perp was at the scene of the crime, do you?" asked Hauser as soon as he got back in the car with Shockley.
"I think she’s the best lead we got right now," said Shockley. Actually, she was their only lead at the moment.
Hauser shook his head, pulled the seat belt across his chest snapping it in the buckle. "Now let me see if I got this right. Moments before the explosion the blind lady walked up to a crowd of gawkers standing across the street from the motel and some guy who smelled like cigarettes…" He paused, turned his focus to Shockley and continued, "Almost knocks the blind lady down, snags her hand, and walks off in a hurry with some kinda limp. And from that she believes this guy is the perp. Come on Shockley, that’s bullshit and you know it."
Shockley understood Hauser’s frustration. He felt it. Right now, his ass was on the line to solve this case. Their potential witness was blind, but every hour that went by gave the perp more time to cover his tracks. He’d take any lead he could get.
"Sacha van Loo. Ever heard of him?"
"Nah. Should I?"
"Van Loo has been blind since birth. He’s a cop in Belgium."
"Huh? Now you think Minty should join the force?"
Shockley grinned and added, "From the purr of an engine, he can discern whether the car is a Peugeot, a Honda or a Mercedes. When the police eavesdrop on a terrorism suspect making a phone call, Van Loo can identify the number instantly by listening to the tones. The guy can hear the sound of a voice echoing off a wall and determine whether a suspect is speaking from an airport lounge or a crowded restaurant. My point is that even though Minty and Van Loo have lost their vision, their disability allows them to pick up clues you and I might miss."
Hauser mumbled under his breath like he always did when he was frustrated. "You want me to check the local gas stations and convenience stores in the area to see if anybody knows of a suspect who buys cigarettes and walks with a limp?" He didn’t give Shockley a chance to answer. "I could ask if any of them held hands with the guy."
Hauser let loose a deep grunt and leaned his head against the head rest. "What I’d like to know Shockley is how Minty knows you got rough hands? Sounds like you two got cozy."
"Probably the same way she knows your hands have never done a day of physical labor. Did you feel her hand brush against yours when you held out the cigarettes?"
"Damn, you’re right. Creeped me out." Hauser looked out the front and side windows and asked, "Where we headed?"
"Back to the station after I make a stop. I want to check on something."
Shockley pulled the car to the curb across from Willow Oaks Motel and stopped. When he opened the door and got out, Hauser followed. Shockley walked over to the motel and ordered Hauser to stand in the spot where the reporter, Susan Porter stood right before the explosion. He walked toward Hauser and counted the seconds till he got to the spot when the explosion occurred. Fifteen seconds. Another twenty to thirty seconds and Bull and T-Bone would have been in the room with the bomb. And dead. Why detonate the explosive early if you wanted to kill cops? Why even blow up dead bodies unless you wanted to conceal evidence? If that was the case, why not do it before the police arrive? At any rate this was a sick dangerous killer. He needed to catch this perp before he killed again.
"What’d you think, Shockley? Think the explosive was detonated by the guy in the crowd, like Minty suggested?"
"Don’t know. Maybe." Shockley headed to his car with Hauser in step with him. "But there’s a reason the guy in the crowd left before the bomb was detonated." He opened his car door and climbed inside. Hauser slid in the passenger side.
"Then your theory that the perp recognized somebody and detonated the bomb might be plausible," concluded Hauser.
"If this is our guy, I think he spotted somebody who could ID him and panicked. We need to find Max. See if he smokes and walks with a limp."
* * *
Due to heavy traffic, it took almost an hour to drive back to MPD headquarters. Shockley parked and got out. Hauser stayed inside the parked car to take a call on his cell phone. Shockley hoped Hauser was tracking down a possible lead.
A heavy-set man with balding brown hair walked in front of him, took his cigarette butt and flicked it to the ground. The man kept walking. A pet peeve of Shockley's was how people discarded cigarette butts. Just because butts are small, people think they can toss them anywhere without understanding they’re not biodegradable. Already frustrated by the case, he needed to vent and here was his opportunity. Shockley yelled at the man, "Hey you! Yeah you. This isn’t an outdoor ashtray." The man kept walking, pretending he didn’t hear him. Shockley turned up the volume, "Don’t be a piece of shit, pick up your butt before I chase you down and kick yours."
Hauser walked up and said, "Hey man. Careful. We’re standing in front of headquarters." He bent down, picked the butt up and started to walk over to the waste receptacle by the entrance to the station when Shockley grabbed his arm.
"Keep it. Place it in an evidence bag," ordered Shockley.
Hauser’s face contorted. "You want me to have DNA run on this? Shit. If it bothers you that much, I can chase that asshole down and make sure he won’t do it again."
"We’re going to use it to help find our killer."
"If you want the perp’s DNA, then why not go back to the area where Minty said the perp was before the explosion and search for cigarette butts?"
"It rained. Those butts won’t have DNA."
Hauser twisted his mouth to the side. "You think if we pretend we have evidence, somebody will get nervous and talk. Not sure we should do that."
"I’m short on time. Everybody you interviewed lawyered up. I want you to convince them we have evidence that puts them at the crime scene."
"How do we know they even smoke?"
"A lot of criminals smoke. The part of town we’re searching, it’s not hard to find a criminal. I want whoever calls himself Max and I want him yesterday. You start getting the word out. I want this perp to know we’re coming for him."
Hauser mumbled and headed to the door of the station.
Shockley started to follow when his cell rang. "Hi, Detective Shockley. We have patrol headed to the scene of a shooting. Male victim. They are requesting you respond." He tensed when the dispatcher read the address.
"On my way," he replied.
Shockley shouted, "C’mon Hauser, we’ve got a lead." He waved him to hurry back to his car.
Hauser stopped, turned and hustled over to Shockley’s car. He hopped in.
Panting, Hauser slammed the car door and asked, "Where to?"
"Mason Street in front of the closed down auto-shop. Two blocks from Willow Oaks Motel. Possible homicide."
Shockley threw the car in gear, accelerated in a hard turn causing the tires to squeal. This was probably Max’s territory. Maybe he was still in the area.
"Think it’s our suspect, Max, or coincidence?"
"I don’t believe in coincidences." Shockley felt a sense of urgency with the thought he could be responsible for another person’s life. He pressed the gas pedal harder and activated his lights.
"Me either," replied Hauser.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Her reflection in the bathroom mirr
or looked like a stranger.
Julia’s usual simple cosmetic routine consisted of mascara, blush and lip gloss. Heavy face paint, deep red lipstick and overdone hair gave her the look of an older woman ready to work the streets.
Earlier, Laquita had helped pick out clothes at the store that were provocative in the wrong way. Her short leopard pattern dress was a size too small. They argued about it in the store because she had to tug on the sides to keep the dress from riding up her thighs. Laquita told her to quit whining, she looked sexy. The four-inch spiked black heels raised her above Laquita’s 5’8" height. The shoes had already started to hurt her cramped feet.
When she entered the living room, Laquita quipped, "Strut yo' stuff, gurl."
"I thought this was a good idea when I had it," said Julia. "Now I’m positive, it isn’t."
"I’m beginnin’ to like it," chuckled Laquita. "Time to see how good ya work a pole."
"Pole dancing? That’s not happening." Julia tugged on her dress. "Think they’ll believe I’m a hooker?"
"Hell no."
Not the response she expected. Laquita was the one who helped with her make-up and selected the outfit for her to wear.
"What’s wrong? You picked this out at the store."
"Yeah, I did. But you walk like ya got hemorrhoids…or somethin’ up your ass. You better practice walking fore we leave."
Julia had never owned a pair of stilettos and now she knew why. She walked across the room faster than her heels would allow, rolling her ankles several times. She had to catch her balance on a chair more than once to keep from falling. How on earth did women wear high heels all the time? They required balance. And more, demanded sacrifice in comfort.
"Slow down Julia. Take small sexy steps and lean back." Laquita stood and declared, "Watch me. Ya gotta believe ya got it and then flaunt it."
Laquita strolled across the room, head cocked to one side, shoulders back and chest pushed out. One arm rested on a hip and the other swung loosely as she swiveled her hips side-to-side, her large butt moving in rhythm.
"You want me to walk like that? You gotta be kidding?"
"It’s called confidence. Look like ya belong. Drive ‘em crazy. I guarantee 'em horny men will line up and tell ya where Max is at."
Julia slowed her pace, placed a hand on her hip, pulled her shoulders back and let one arm dangle by her side. It felt strange and unnatural to walk like this, yet she did feel sexy. She smiled.
"What’d you think? Better?"
Laquita’s eyes blinked, she pulled in her lips and shook her head. A beat later she said, "Better. Just keep working on your night moves. You gonna need ‘em gurl."
She walked slowly down the alleyway flanked with old brick walls and littered with trash. The deeper she went into the alleyway the harder her heart pounded against her chest. Straight ahead she saw the sign on a windowless building, Dark Alley Warehouse, which she thought was a fitting name. When she looked up, the afternoon light was giving way to dark threatening clouds. Laquita was waiting in the car down the street. If Julia didn’t check-in in thirty minutes, Laquita was to call the police on the pre-paid phone they got while out shopping.
Laquita told her she had gone to the Warehouse a few times with Max. She claimed Max had a business relationship with the owner. Laquita said he felt it was better if Laquita didn’t know what he did for a living, especially since she worked at an investigative firm. Drug trafficking and prostitution were what happened inside this sleazy dump.
Her knees tried to buckle as she moved toward the steps leading to a red metal door that was covered more in rust than paint. A tall dark hulking man posted in front of the door leered at her like a wolf observing its prey. For a split second, she considered kicking off her heels, turning and running back to the car. If Max had a business relationship in this dump, then Laquita was right. Max was not an upstanding citizen, he was a criminal.
When Julia hatched her original plan, Laquita was coming with her. Laquita, who at first didn’t like what she had planned, convinced her that since the people at the strip club would recognize her, it’d be better for her to wait in the car down the street. Max had made it clear she was never to come here unless he was with her. It made sense at the time, but the oversized doorman caused Julia to regret not forcing Laquita to come with her.
Julia approached the big man, flashing a private invitation on her smartphone. An invitation Laquita somehow knew how to find. The doorman was difficult to look at with his tattooed face and metal piercings. Silent, his eyes traveled from her spiked heels to her eyes. Her throat tightened. A Bluetooth device was stuck in his left ear. Seconds passed. A bead of sweat rolled down her back. She wasn’t sure what to do if he refused to let her in. Did he see through her veil attempt to be a hooker? Should she offer a cash bribe or try flirting? Flirt first then bribe. She pushed out her left hip, planted her hand on it trying to look impatient. She over exaggerated chewing the wad of gum Laquita gave her.
The freakish man pressed his lips together and let an audible snort escape his nose. His large hand reached for the handle and he opened the door. She glanced back down the alley before entering.
It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. The crowd was thin since it was still early. The air reeked of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume and body odor.
The place was just as Laquita had described.
There was a round stage with a pole in the middle. A young woman in heels, fishnets attached to a lacy garter belt and nothing else was swinging on the pole. Her long hair flying in the air. Circling the round stage were shabby purple velvet couches. A few men were sitting next to the stage. One loud, obviously drunk man kept trying to stuff money in the dancer’s garter belt.
A long bar lined one side of the room with a bartender serving drinks to men and women sitting on bar stools. Several girls were topless. She remembered Laquita’s warning not to touch anything covered in fabric which included the velvet covered chairs by the stage and the curtains that hung-over doorways with signs proclaiming VIP. Laquita told her that the VIP rooms were where strippers and clients engaged in open sex acts.
Julia gagged when she noticed what looked like a condom on the floor by one of the curtains. She wished she were wearing a hazmat suit instead of this skimpy tight dress.
A skinny girl with long wavy red hair was performing a lap dance on a man sitting in a chair near the stage. The man sipped a beer while the girl with make-up that glowed under the black light arched her back grinding away on his lap.
After scoping out the place, she headed to the bar to question the bartender. He was average height with sandy blond hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. He was busy drying glasses and putting them away.
"Excuse me," Julia said while slipping onto the barstool.
"What you need?" he said.
His question was odd. Maybe he thought she wanted drugs.
"I’m looking for somebody. My friend told me he works here."
The bartender threw the drying towel over his shoulder and leaned on the bar allowing her to see his biceps bulging against his t-shirt sleeves. "A lot of people work here. You got a name?"
"Max."
The bartender’s face did not reveal any recognition when she spoke the name. He straightened, pulled the towel off his shoulder and answered, "Never heard of him. You want a drink?"
"Nope. Never buy my own." She winked at him and started to slip off the stool when a server approached the bar and put several drinks on her tray.
"I was wondering if you might know somebody who works here. His name is Max," Julia asked the older woman who had bleach blonde hair with dark roots. The woman had on more make-up than clothes. She had winged eyeliner, bright blue eye shadow, thick false eyelashes and the same color deep red lipstick Julia was wearing. Julia worked hard not to stare at the woman’s Dolly Parton size breasts.
"Max? Is that short for Maxine?" asked the server.
"No. Just Max."
"Sorry, can’t help you honey," the server replied. She turned and strutted toward a table to deliver the ordered drinks.
Julia had a sinking feeling that her ploy to find Max wasn’t going to work. After a quick assessment of the place, she decided to ask the dancer who was leaving the stage when the Dolly Parton server returned to the bar. She heard the woman tell the bartender she needed to go to the restroom. He barked back that she needed to wait till her break. Julia heard, "Fuck you." The woman’s hand was by her side and out of sight of the bartender. She was waving a finger that seemed to say, follow me.
She decided to take the bait but waited a few moments and wandered around the club in the hope that it wouldn’t be too obvious she was following Dolly into the bathroom.
A man sitting at a table across the room smiled and raised his glass as a signal for her to come over. This was the opportunity she needed. She smiled back at the older man and carefully waltzed over with one hand on her hip, the other swinging by her side.
She stood in front of the seated man and asked, "How 'bout a sip of that drink?" Her tongue wet her lips followed by a sly wink.
"How 'bout you join me, and I’ll buy you whatever you want."
She held out her hand demanding he give her his drink to taste. "First I’ll taste what you’re drinking and then I’ll let you know what I want. You don’t want to let me get away. Do you?"
The man lips slightly parted as he straightened in the chair. He raised his glass toward her. She wrapped her hand around his hand holding the glass and pulled it next to her, leaned forward to distract him and tipped the glass over spilling the liquid on her dress.
"Shit," she yelled. "You spilled your drink all over me."
The man’s confused expression was pleading. He said, "I’m really sorry, babe." He took napkins and tried to wipe her dress.
"Forget it." She snatched the napkins out of his hands. "I gotta go to the bathroom and try to get this shit off my dress before it’s ruined." She didn’t wait for a response, turned and made her way to the door that Dolly had disappeared into.