6. Justice For All - Неизвестный

“You think he knows about us?” Dell leaned against the counter and crossed her ankles, her arms braced on either side.

Irina smiled. “He does after last night. I have fucked boys for the job, but I have never had a boyfriend before. He will be suspicious.”

“The bartender has seen us together before. He knows I was trying to get with you.”

“Yes.” Irina seemed to focus on Dell’s crotch. “They know I was playing with Mitch.”

“That’s good, then,” Dell said, acutely aware of not packing. She felt naked even with her clothes on.

“Very good.” Irina’s gaze drifted back up to Dell’s face. “When will we go out again?”

“Tomorrow or the next night. Unless something happens before then.” Dell thought it was time to bring up the other items they had to deal with. “We want you to talk to someone—a doctor—about these men, about how you lived. What they did. Where you went with them.”

Irina’s expression went blank. “A prison doctor?”

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“No. Just a doctor to talk to. A therapist.”

“No drugs.”

“No,” Dell said quickly. “No. Only talking. About the girls. About you. About things that have happened. It might help us figure out where to look for them, and for the other girls. And your sister.”

“Where is this doctor? I won’t go to the police.”

“I’ll take you to see her. At her office, okay?”

“Her?”

Dell nodded. “It’s okay. You can trust her. I promise.”

Irina studied her for a long time. “You will be there?”

“If you want.”

“When?”

“Monday.”

“Will I see you before then?”

“Sure,” Dell said. “I’ll come by tomorrow sometime.”

“Then I will talk to your doctor.”

v

“Hello?” Sandy took a cell phone call as she climbed out of a cab at the corner of Vine and Delaware Avenue. She handed the driver ten dollars and motioned with her fingers for him to give her back three.

“Lily said you were looking for some extra action,” a female voice said.

“Darla?” Sandy thought she recognized the soft Southern accent of a black girl about her age. She didn’t know her very well, only that she had a story like all their stories. A home she didn’t want to talk about, a family that didn’t miss her, and the new family she’d made with other girls like her, living in squats or four to a room in crowded walk-up apartments. But they were making it. And they were proud of that.

“Sandy? Yeah, it’s me. I wasn’t sure I had the right number at first.”

“Where are you, honey? The Blue D?” Sandy skirted through traffic and crossed to the far side of Delaware and hurried north.

“Nuh-uh. The Iron Fist.”

“Alone?” The Fist was a biker bar, and the clientele was into heavy-duty action. Sandy tried to stay away from there, even when

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she’d been working regular. She disliked sweating men mauling her and demanding she do things they’d be embarrassed to ask their regular girlfriends for. Somehow, giving blow jobs to some anxious accountant whose wife was too uptight to put her mouth on his cock was a lot different than having a drunken pig piss on her.

“A trick dropped me off in the parking lot,” Darla said. “I just ran in to use the phone, and I bumped into one of the guys as they were leaving. They said there’s a party tonight and they’d pick me up on the corner of Spring Garden and Second in ten minutes. Wanna come?”

“Which guys are these again?” Sandy asked, crossing back over Delaware. She was only a few blocks from Spring Garden. She wondered if she could reach Dell, and if Dell would even have time to get here before the guys showed up.

“I don’t know their names,” Darla said. “Foreign guys. Russians, I guess. They’ve got money. They promised me five large just to hang around this party.”

“Hang around?”

Darla laughed. “Well. You know. I figure that means put out a little bit.”

“Who else you got lined up?”

“No one yet. You’re the only one I could reach.”

Sandy couldn’t let Darla go alone. She could be walking into something she couldn’t handle. Even if Sandy didn’t want to get information for Frye, she couldn’t let any girl, even one she didn’t know that well, do something like this alone. Shit, Dell was going to be pissed. “I’m five minutes away. Don’t go without me.”

“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll tell them someone extra special is on the way.”

v

Dell tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder while she looked under the sink for a place to stash her empty. “You sound short of breath or something. Where are you?” She got a sudden cramp in her stomach followed by a very bad feeling. “San?”

Across the room, Irina sat up, watching her intently.

“I’m on Spring Garden. I’m meeting up with a girl who’s going to a party with some Russian guys.”

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“No!” Dell exploded. “Do not go. You hear me? Do not go. ”

“It’s just a party, baby. I won’t do anything, I promise.”

“I’m not talking about that. It’s not about that. God damn it, Sandy.

It’s not safe.”

“I’ve been to a hundred of these things, baby. I know how to handle myself with party boys.”

“These are not just good-time guys. These are—”

“I can’t let her go alone.”

“Yes, you can! Yes, you fucking can! She’s not your responsibility.”

Dell turned in a fast hard circle. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she should run out the door and jump on her bike or if she should call Frye. What she wanted to do was crawl through the phone and shake Sandy until her teeth rattled.

“I’ll call you when I get there, okay? I’ll go to the bathroom or something and call you. I’ll be okay.”

“Sandy, please don’t do this. San—”

“I’ll call you, baby.”

Dell was left staring at the silent phone. The helpless feeling was so overwhelming she almost threw it across the room. For a second, she didn’t know what to do. “Jesus. Jesus Jesus Jesus.”

“Tell me what she said.”

Dell focused on Irina and her training kicked in. She held up a hand and punched in Frye’s number on her speed dial. Then she held her breath and counted. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four ri—

“Frye.” The lieutenant sounded hoarse and a little breathless, as if she were out running. Maybe she was.

“It’s Mitchell. Sandy’s gone off to a party with some Russians.”

“When?”

“Now. She just called me from Spring Garden.”

“Where on Spring Garden?”

Dell closed her eyes, wondering what the fuck kind of cop she was anyhow. “I don’t know. Jesus, I—”

“Tell me exactly what she said.”

Frye’s voice was calm and steady and Dell felt herself settle. She relayed the conversation, what little there had been of it.

“Where are you now?”

“In Queen Village. At Mitch’s apartment with Irina.” Dell checked her watch. Half past midnight. “Should I call her back?”

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“No. She might already be with them. I’ll raise Watts and we’ll pick you up. If she calls in the meantime, find out where she is and call me back.”

“Okay.” Dell took a full breath, the first one in what felt like a long time, and her brain seemed to click into gear. “Maybe Irina knows something that can help us.”

“Good idea. Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Dell disconnected and shoved the phone back into her jacket pocket. “Do you know where they take the girls to party?”

“There are a few places. Hotels, usually.”

“Names. Can you tell me names?” Dell searched through her jacket and came up with a takeout receipt. “Pencil? Pen?”

Irina found her bag, fumbled in it for a few seconds, and handed Dell a ballpoint pen. “I am not sure of all the names. I had no reason to look at them. This is your girlfriend?”

Dell clenched her jaw and nodded. “Just tell me anything you can remember.”

“They are not going to hurt her, Mitch. They don’t hurt the girls.

They need them. As long as they think she is just there for them to use, she will be fine.”

“Fine.” The word felt like ashes on Dell’s tongue. As long as Sandy let them use her, she would be fine. But Dell knew Sandy, and even when she was still hooking to survive, Sandy never let anyone use her. Christ, she had to find her. “Whatever you can remember.”

v

“I’m sorry about this,” Rebecca said, pulling on a pair of jeans.

“It’s all right. Is Sandy in trouble?” Catherine got out of bed and found a pair of silk pajamas. She handed Rebecca a black pullover that Rebecca shrugged on without even looking at it.

“Hopefully not. She could be with some college guys who are just looking for a few girls to liven up their weekend in town. I don’t have much information.” Rebecca opened the bedside drawer and pulled out her weapon and shoulder harness. “God damn it. What the hell was she thinking?”

“I imagine she’s thinking that she’s doing her job.”

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Rebecca stopped moving. “Her job?”

“She is your CI still, isn’t she? You pay her to find out things. To talk to people who won’t talk to anyone else. To go places no one else can go.”

“I don’t pay her to put herself in danger.” Rebecca realized as soon as she spoke that it was bullshit. Every time she asked Sandy to pump her sources for information, she was asking her to take a risk. If someone got suspicious and made her as an informant, Sandy wouldn’t live long. “Ah, hell. You think I’m wrong, don’t you, for using her.”

Catherine sighed. “Rebecca, I wish many things in this world were different. I wish Sandy had never had to sell her body to survive. I wish there weren’t men who use the misfortune of girls like her for their own pleasure. I wish you didn’t have to put the people you care about in danger to stop evil. We live with what we must, and you do what you must. You are not using her. Sandy is far too strong for that. Remember, she’s very resourceful. And very, very bright.”

Rebecca sat down on the bed next to Catherine and took her hand.

“You help me see things in ways I never have before. You don’t excuse me, and that’s okay. But you understand me, and that…that means everything to me.”

Catherine took Rebecca’s face in her hands and kissed her. “I love you. If you didn’t see the world the way you do, you wouldn’t be so good at your job. And you need to be good at your job to keep yourself and the others safe. And to do what’s right.” She brushed her fingers through Rebecca’s hair. “Go now. Be careful.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Rebecca kissed her swiftly and disappeared into the night, again.

v

Sandy made it to the corner of Spring Garden and Vine just as a Lincoln Navigator with blacked-out windows veered out of traffic and shot to the curb where Darla leaned against a signpost. Like Sandy, she wore a miniskirt that hit just below the crease of her ass, although her skirt was shiny red vinyl and Sandy’s was a black stretchy material.

They both wore cheap, skimpy jackets with oversized zippers and not much else underneath.

Darla waved to Sandy, relief showing on her face in the light of

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the street lamp just above them. The back door of the Navigator swung open and a man stepped out. He wore dark slacks, a black leather jacket, and sunglasses, which was weird, because it was the middle of the night. He didn’t look like a college boy. He looked exactly like what Sandy figured he was. A thug, probably a pimp. Not the ordinary kind of pimp who provided girls shelter and protection, ha ha, in exchange for the money they earned on their knees and their backs. No, this guy looked like he worked for some man who didn’t want to get his hands dirty, so he sent his men out to get what he wanted. And apparently, he wanted pussy.

“Hi,” Sandy said, swinging her ass as she hurried toward Darla.

She hooked her arm through Darla’s and kissed her cheek. Then she tossed her head and smiled at the man who stood watching them. “Are these our dates, honey?”

“I guess,” Darla said, looking a little uncertain.

Sandy figured this wasn’t the guy Darla had talked to in the parking lot at the Fist. Guys like the ones in the Navigator didn’t troll the streets for what they wanted. They had someone else do it. She tried to get a look at the rear of the car as she and Darla walked over, but she couldn’t see the license plate.

“Who’s your friend,” the man said to Darla in crisp English. He had an accent, but his speech was polished.

“This is—”

“Samantha,” Sandy said quickly, cocking her hips to give him a good look at her legs as the skirt pulled up almost to her crotch. “But everyone calls me Sam. Darla says we’re going to a party. I can’t wait.

I love parties.”

He looked them over for a long minute, then stepped aside and gestured to the rear of the SUV. Sandy looked down the street, but she didn’t see Dell’s motorcycle or anything resembling a cop car. Used to be Frye showed up in her Corvette, but lately she’d been in a standard issue. There was no sign of an unmarked. Which meant no one was going to know where they went. She took Darla’s hand. “Well, come on, honey. Let’s party!”

Sandy slid into the backseat where another man waited on the far side and Darla crowded next to her, as if seeking shelter. Then the door closed and the Navigator pulled out and headed north. Sandy tried to

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get a look out the window around the big guy sitting next to her, but all she could see was the sign pointing to the on-ramp to 95 North.

They could be anywhere from Trenton to New York City in an hour.

v

Michael reached out in the dark and switched on the bedside light when she felt Sloan get out of bed. Sitting up, she let the sheet fall to her waist. Sloan stood just inside the bedroom door, pulling on a T-shirt over her boxers. “Can’t sleep?”

“Hey,” Sloan whispered. “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

“Drifting. I didn’t drink because I was afraid it might give me a headache, so I didn’t have anything to dull the pain of the evening.”

Sloan laughed. “You too, huh?”

“It did seem endless. I’d forgotten how much I dislike these functions, even if they are for a good cause.” Michael shrugged. “I’m not altogether certain about this particular cause.”

Sloan sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t like the mayor?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know him, but I’m not entirely certain that he’s really the one making the decisions.” She frowned. “There was a very interesting assortment of people there tonight.”

“Some pretty high-powered ones,” Sloan said carefully, not wanting to alarm her unnecessarily. Even though Michael said she was feeling better, she’d only begun to put in regular workdays and she still seemed pale and fragile. The last thing she needed was to worry about things that might not even involve her. Not when Sloan had a feeling she was the one who really interested Zamora. If he didn’t want her attention, why send those photos to her computer? They had to be a warning. And if they were, then it was Sloan they wanted, not Michael. “Your neighbor tonight—Zamora. I understand he’s pretty influential.”