Prison of Blood and Lies

Six

“Deal,” I said. Gemba smiled.

“Wonderful, just wonderful.” He dug his hand around inside the collar of his shirt and pulled out a long gold chain. On the end of the chain was a small, rounded key. He slid the chain over his head and it mussed his perfectly coiffed, dark hair. He smoothed it back down.

He pushed his chair back from the desk and bent down. I heard the key push past the tumblers of a lock. He pulled open a metal door and rifled through the contents.

“Ah, here it is,” he exclaimed as he slapped a manila folder on the desktop. He slid the folder across the polished wood surface of the desk toward me.

“Open it. This one should be easy enough for you. Heck, you might have even seen him around your usual haunts over the last few months.”

I grabbed the folder and opened it. The contents were arranged like a suspect’s profile in a bad TV police drama. A blurry black and white photo was paper-clipped to the left side and the papers were various pieces of information about him. The face wasn’t jogging my memory.

“Tucker Smith. Don’t think I’ve seen him before. What’s his story?”

“Werewolf. Some of the hookers have gone missing. I have a feeling that he might know something about it. The rest is in the file.”

Given our modern era, it seemed a little old-fashioned to keep that sort of information on paper where it could easily be stolen. An electronic file would be easier to hide. I moved to put the folder in my bag and Gemba slapped his hand on the folder.

“My info stays here, please.”

“Oh, okay,” I said.

“Just read what you need to find this scumbag. It’ll be here if you need to look at it again.”

I flipped through the contents one more time, making sure to absorb as much useful information as I could.

“Where’d you get all of this information, anyway?”

He laughed. “I already told you. I have connections and sources.”

I pushed the folder back across the table and he put it back in the safe.

“I guess I’ve got work to do.”

“Wait. Before you go, give me your phone number in case I need to reach you.”

I’d been off the communication grid. Uncle Sam probably wouldn’t look too kindly on a deceased person continuing to use their credit. I didn’t need those kind of questions.

“Ah, all I have is this burner. You can have the number, I guess.” I waved the flip phone from my purse. It was the most basic phone that anyone could buy anymore. Pay by the minute, no data, no bells and whistles.

I gave it to him and he punched the contact information into his smart phone. He slid the phone in the pocket of his trousers and moved his gaze back to me. “If you decide to work with me, I’ll get you an untraceable one. No more relying on that antiquated hunk of junk.”

I shrugged. It made no difference to me what I used. It’s not like I had anyone left to call. There were days I wished to call and speak to my mom. She could never know. She could never see me again.

“Guess I’ll get to work on our guy.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the office and back the way I came. I smiled and waved at Robert, the human security guard. “I’ll be back soon.”

Back in the red light district, I saw the woman I spoke to just yesterday. She strutted up and down the median under the street lights. Her walk was uncoordinated, like she was off balance. Tucker Smith’s profile said that he was often the pimp of newer girls in the area. She was the newest girl I’d seen on the strip.

Her fearful reaction the last time I approached her gave me pause. Approaching her again likely wouldn’t lead to a different reaction. Instead, I decided, I’d watch her from a few blocks away.

I found a spot in the shadows under a building’s awning, away from the streetlight, where I was relatively hidden. She paced back and forth for a while, growing all the more unsteady on her feet. The six-inch stilettos didn’t do her balance any favors. A beat-up black Honda passed by several times down the street. She wiped a tear from her eye and leaned against a telephone pole, eventually sliding down to sit on the median.

I watched her for a few minutes and thought about going to her. She had been sitting very still and I was worried that she needed medical attention. Just as I stepped out from under the awning, the black Honda buzzed by her. The reverse lights activated, and the car sped backward toward her.

The diver pulled the car halfway into the median and activated the hazard lights. The driver’s door flew open and a large man rushed out of the vehicle toward her. He pummeled her with blows from his fists and she shrieked. I ran down the sidewalk to them. By the time I arrived, the man had pulled her from her seated position, and she’d resumed her defeated walk up and down the median - this time she had a limp.

His attention was on her. He had his great muscular arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his bearded face. His stocky build and gruff appearance resembled the picture of Tucker that Gemba had given me. Fury boiled in my veins as I approached the scum bag.

“Ay! Tucker is a dog’s name, isn’t it?” I shouted as I neared them.

His eyes focused on me barreling toward him. He ducked into his car and closed the door.

“Get out here, you son of a b***h!” Anger had consumed all parts of my brain. I wanted only to get my hands on him and rip him apart. I pounded on the side of his car and tried the handle. He’d locked the doors.

The car lurched forward out of my reach he sped noisily away. “s**t, s**t, shit.” I stomped on the ground as I watched the tail lights go out of sight.

I spun around and looked for the woman. Instead, I found an empty median. I hoped that she would be able to stay away from Tucker and could find someplace safe away from here. I vowed to keep an eye out for her.

I cursed some more and got out of the median. I sat on the step of a closed business to gather my thoughts. Now that I’d scared Tucker away, I needed to re-evaluate my strategy for capturing the son of a b***h.