Cop Town Page 12

  Kate seemed reluctant. “The Barbizon Hotel off Peachtree.”

  Maggie felt a stab of jealousy. Irish Spring was a regular Mary Tyler Moore. “Not with your folks?”

  She shook her head.

  “How’s your mother feel about you being a cop?”

  “Concerned.”

  Maggie laughed at the obvious understatement. “She’ll never forgive you. Stop waiting for it to happen.”

  Kate turned her head toward the roadside. They were in a hippie section of town. The houses were painted every color of the rainbow.

  Maggie asked, “What’s your father do?”

  “He’s a gardener.”

  Finally, things were making sense. Kate had grown up in Buckhead, but she had to have a job just like the rest of them. “He work on one of those big estates?”

  “Yes. We lived over the garage.”

  “Like Sabrina.” Maggie had always loved that movie. “What’d you do before?”

  “Secretarial work. I hated it.”

  “What made you sign up for the job?”

  “Stupidity?” Kate turned around the question. “What about you? Why’d you sign up?”

  “To piss off my family.” She figured she might as well go through the list. “Charlaine joined because her husband’s a drunk and she’s got three kids to feed.” Maggie slowed the car for a stoplight. “Wanda joined because she saw an article in the paper about female motorcycle cops.”

  “Wanda Clack,” Kate clarified, like she was just putting together the names. “I saw that article.”

  “There were lots of articles,” Maggie said. “Wanda wanted to ride a Harley. They told her, ‘Sure thing, little lady. Sign on the dotted line.’ ”

  “I was given the impression that the motorcycle instructors don’t train women.”

  “Your impression was correct,” Maggie confirmed. “She’s handling chicken bones just like the rest of us. Only time she sees a bike is when some jackass hops on one to speed away from her.”

  “What are chicken bones?”

  “Pointless calls where you get there and it’s just two idiots fighting over something stupid.”

  “Like a sandwich,” Kate noted. So, at least she’d been paying attention.

  They took a right at Ansley Mall onto Piedmont Road. Maggie waved to a couple of cops who were sitting in their cruiser eating a late lunch. They had at least five grown men jammed into the back seat. They were big guys. They had to turn sideways to fit.

  Kate asked, “Where are we going?”

  “The Colonnade Restaurant.” Gail had told Maggie to meet her there if she was interested in following a lead. At this point in the day, Maggie was interested in following anything that made her feel like a cop instead of a babysitter.

  “The Colonnade?” Kate repeated. “Isn’t that the place where mothers take their gay sons on Thanksgiving?”

  Maggie had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t think they allow gay people. Lots of cops eat there.”

  Kate got that funny smile on her face again.

  “We’re not going to eat, anyway. I need to meet up with somebody.”

  “A friend?”

  “A PCO. Plain clothes officer. She’s trying to track down the name of a pimp we can talk to.” Maggie accelerated to pass one of those funny-looking foreign cars. “The place where Don was killed—Five Points—that’s a main drag for hookers. Maybe one of them saw something. If she did, then we’ll need to get permission from her pimp to talk to her, otherwise she won’t give us the time of day.”

  “So, we need to talk to the pimp before we can talk to the street-walker who works for him.” Kate nodded slowly. “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for the weapon that was used in the crime? The Raven MP-25?”

  “The boys will look for the gun.” Maggie didn’t mention how much trouble they would be in if they crossed paths with the men who were working that side of the case.

  Kate asked, “PCO. Is that like a detective?”

  Maggie was getting tired of all these questions. “Only men are detectives.”

  Kate must’ve caught her tone. She looked out the window and kept her mouth shut.

  The scenery had changed from hippie hangouts to whorehouses. Piedmont was dotted with massage parlors, head shops, and stores that sold marital aids. Maggie felt a flash of trepidation about Kate meeting Gail. Not that Kate acted like she was better than everybody else. She just sounded like it. Hell, she looked like it, too. Her nails weren’t bitten to the quick. Her hair was shiny and full. She’d probably picked up her rich accent going to school with all those Buckhead kids, but still, next to Kate Murphy, Gail would sound like she was trying to clear the swamp from her throat.

  Then again, maybe Maggie’s concern was misplaced. Gail could light up with laughter, but you had to remember that the thunder was never far behind.

  She warned Kate, “Lookit, don’t get clever with Gail. Don’t ask her a lot of stupid questions. Actually, don’t ask her any questions. She’s got a temper you don’t want to see.”

  “Like the colored girls?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “What?”

  Maggie stared at her.

  “Okay.” Kate let out an exasperated breath. “Gail is the PCO we’re meeting?”

  “PCOs work in sex crimes. They pose as prostitutes.” Maggie turned onto Cheshire Bridge Road. The massage parlors gave way to strip clubs and pawnshops with peep booths. “Gail catches all those suits who come down from Buckhead looking for strange.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Beats chicken bones.”

  “Indubitably.”

  Maggie slowed to make the turn into the Colonnade Restaurant parking lot. There was a hotel in the back that rented rooms by the half hour. Gail was standing beside the front office smoking a cigarette. Her blonde wig was tilted to the side.

  Maggie flashed her headlights.

  Gail took one last hit from her cigarette before pushing away from the wall. She walked over on spindly high heels. Her eyeliner was smudged. She’d chewed off most of her lipstick. Maggie wanted her to look prettier, more sophisticated, but all she saw was someone who was being slowly beaten down by life.

  Gail leaned down and rested her arms on Maggie’s open window. The car filled with the odor of whiskey and cigarettes. “Jesus Christ, mama.” She was looking at Kate. “How’d you get through roll call without them boys eatin’ you alive?”

  Kate stared blankly at the other woman. Maggie could practically see her playing Gail’s words back in her head, trying to cut through the South Georgia twang. She finally answered, “Golly, I guess I’m just lucky.”

  Fortunately, Gail missed the sarcasm. “Shit. I had a face like that, I’d be married to Keith Richards and popping out a brat every year.” She winked at Maggie, then told Kate, “Take off your hat, sweetheart. Lemme see is that blonde for real.”

  Kate stiffened her shoulders.

  “Suit yourself, China Doll. Not like I told you to drop your pants.” Gail turned her attention to Maggie. “I got a girl says she might have some information if we can clear up an outstanding for a dime bag.” She nodded back to the hotel. “She’s turning a trick. Shouldn’t be but another five minutes.”

  “Great.” Maggie tried to talk while holding her breath at the same time. Gail wasn’t just tipsy. She was downright drunk. Her words were slurring together. She obviously had to lean against the car to keep herself from falling over.

  Still, no amount of liquor could dull Gail’s perception. She studied Maggie. “Whass goin’ on?”

  Maggie shook her head. “You got an idea where this girl’s gonna lead us?” With hookers, it was always better to know the possible answer before you asked the question.

  Gail said, “I got some ideas, but my dough’s on a new one they’re callin’ Sir She.”

  Kate barked a laugh.

  Both Maggie and Gail looked at her.

  “
Sorry,” Kate apologized. “It’s funny. Circe?”

  Maggie struggled to keep the grin off her face. Kate had obviously misheard the name. Or worse, she assumed Gail was too drunk or too stupid to know the difference.

  Maggie decided Kate deserved some hazing. “You should know this, Murphy. Black pimps use names from Greek mythology. Whites use Roman gods.”

  Kate practically guffawed. “Are you serious?”

  “Hell yes, she’s serious.” Gail snapped her fingers. “Why ain’t you writing this down, gal?”

  Kate took out her notebook. She shook her head as she wrote.

  Gail said, “Jesus Christ. Girl ain’t learned a thing. You even go to them classes at the academy?” She opened the car door so Maggie could get out. She didn’t bother to lower her voice. “What the fuck is she talking about?”

  Maggie couldn’t answer without cracking up. She motioned Gail to follow her away from the car. “Was I ever that green?”

  “You were born wearing a badge and don’t you forget it.” Gail put her hand on Maggie’s arm to steady herself. “Lissen, this whore we’re gonna talk to, she ain’t exactly reliable.”

  “Are they ever?”

  Gail coughed. Her lungs sounded wet. “Problem is, she just about fucking hates me. I can’t blame her. I’ve been bustin’ her balls pretty hard lately.”

  Maggie wondered if Gail was talking literal or figurative. “Why?”

  “ ’Cause she knows better’n sitting around all day sucking cock and shooting speed.”

  “Speed?” Maggie didn’t like the sound of that. Speed freaks could cause a lot of damage. “She been using today?”

  “We’ll get her settled down.” Gail rifled her bag, probably looking for a cigarette. “I’m just sayin’ it might take some prying.”

  Maggie remembered how Gail pried. Usually, a nightstick was involved.

  “Shit, I’m outta cigs.” Gail looked up from her bag. “You really should start smoking.”

  “You make it look so glamorous.”

  “I didn’t love you so much, I’d pop you one for that.” Gail grabbed Maggie’s arm. She had almost lost her balance. “You know, even if we get a solid name outta this slut, you’re gonna need to talk to the colored girls about getting permission to work in Coon Town.”

  Maggie ignored how quickly this whole thing had fallen onto her shoulders. “I’ll get it from them.”

  “Good girl. We’ll take my car. You shouldn’t be driving your cruiser in CT anyway.”

  She had a point. CT was what everyone called Colored Town. The area wasn’t exactly welcoming to white officers. Even the blacks were nervous about taking calls there after dark.

  Gail said, “If China Doll’s still around, this’ll be a good lesson for her.”

  Maggie didn’t want to think about what kind of lesson Gail had in mind. “You ever hear of a bar named Dabbler’s?”

  Gail reared back in horror. “How the hell do you know about Dabbler’s?”

  “I’m a cop. I know about everything.”

  Gail shook her head, recognizing her own line.

  “You know where it is?”

  “Hell no, I don’t know where it is. And don’t you try to find out, you hear?” She nodded toward Kate. “Especially with China Doll over there. They’ll peel the flesh right off her.”

  “Don ever mention it?”

  “Of course he didn’t. What the fuck is wrong with you?” She looked disgusted by the thought. “This is taking too long. I’m gonna get some smokes from the restaurant, then go knock on the door.”

  Maggie started to follow, but Gail waved her off.

  “Just keep an eye out.”

  Maggie leaned against the car. She watched Gail walk toward the Colonnade. Maybe Don had gotten the matchbook off a suspect. Considering Gail’s reaction to the place, that made sense. Cops were always taking things off suspects. Maggie had yet to walk onto a murder scene where some homicide detective wasn’t going through the victim’s wallet looking for cash.

  Her bigger concern was Gail’s drinking. She was always a little lit, but this was different. She’d never been sloppy on the job before. Maybe there had been more to her relationship with Don Wesley than she was letting on.

  Kate’s door opened and slammed shut. She still had her notebook out. “She’s lovely.”

  Maggie said nothing.

  “Maybe she’ll let me buy her a drink.”

  Maggie ignored that, too. She watched Gail inside the restaurant. She was banging her fist against the cigarette machine.

  Kate said, “Can I ask you something serious?”

  “I guess it’s possible.”

  Kate took the remark in stride. “You already have this Circe’s name. Why do you need to trouble a prostitute for it?”

  Maggie bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d troubled a prostitute. “Because everybody lies. What you do is ask a bunch of people the same question, and if they all give the same answer, or most of them give you the same answer, then it’s probably as close to the truth as you’re going to get. And since I’m in the mood to give you the benefit of my wisdom, you need to go easy on Gail.”

  “Because of her temper?”

  “Because what you see when you look at her isn’t who she is.” Maggie turned, making sure Kate was listening. “That stuff they teach you at the academy, what you learn from the books—none of that matters out here. How you learn to be a cop is by watching other cops. Everything I know about the street came from Gail.”

  “Such as?” Kate held up her pen and pad.

  Maggie’s mind went blank, but then she remembered, “There are always exceptions, but pretty much it’s like this: White people tend to kill white people. Black people kill black people. Black men rape black women. White men rape white women.”

  Kate said, “Therefore …?”

  “Therefore, don’t be scared going into bad places. You’re probably in more danger in your own neighborhood.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “Golly, isn’t it?” Maggie could do sarcasm, too. “You could do worse than having Gail Patterson back you up.”

  “I’m certain you’re right.”

  Maggie gave up. She had better things to do than kick Kate Murphy off her high horse.

  Gail was walking across the parking lot to the hotel. She tapped a pack of cigarettes against the heel of her palm. Her trajectory wasn’t that straight. Maggie wondered if she’d grabbed another drink in the restaurant.

  Kate asked, “What about the Shooter?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The man who killed Don Wesley last night.” Kate clarified, “Your brother said he was black, right? I’m assuming Don Wesley was white.”

  Maggie walked to the front of the car. Gail had reached the hotel. “Like I said, exceptions.”

  Kate obviously wasn’t satisfied by the answer. Still, she closed her notebook and joined Maggie. They both leaned against the hood of the car. It took a few seconds for Kate to get comfortable. Her hat kept slipping down to the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t get her nightstick and Kel-Lite out of the way at the same time.

  Maggie scanned the area, making sure Gail wasn’t about to be ambushed. The hotel consisted of four two-story buildings with four rooms on each floor. The parking lot was shared with the restaurant. The buildings were as run-down as you’d expect. Some of the windows were broken. Others had plastic taped over them. Chips of paint had fallen off the siding. The structures were depressingly similar to the Lawson home.

  Gail lit her cigarette as she walked past the first building. She stopped at the second building, second door, lower level. She was a good fifty yards away, but Maggie had a straight line of sight. Gail’s fist went into the air. The door opened before she could knock. A surprised-looking man in a suit stood in front of her. They were both silent for a moment, then the man scampered toward the parking lot.

  Kate said, “Jimmy told me that if anybody e
ver runs away from you, you should chase them.”

  “He’s not running away from us. He’s running home to his wife.” Maggie kept her eyes on Gail, who was watching the man, too. She looked annoyed, and then she looked startled as a high-pitched scream filled the air.

  Maggie had her revolver in her hand and was running toward the hotel before she knew what was happening. Her brain put it together on the fly. Someone inside the room was screaming like a banshee. The whore came into view. Her mouth was opened wide. She was naked from the waist up and high as a kite. A tourniquet was still tied around her arm. She kept screeching as she tackled Gail to the ground. Her arms started flying. She windmilled her fists into Gail’s face.

  “Stop!” Maggie screamed, rushing toward the women.

  The whore didn’t stop. Gail’s face was bloody. She was barely fighting back.

  Maggie jumped over a pothole. They were still thirty yards away. “Stop, goddamn it!”

  The whore looked up. Her breasts were small, like a second set of eyes. She seemed shocked to find Maggie gunning for her. For Maggie’s part, her only shock was that Kate Murphy was keeping pace beside her. She had her elbows locked, gun straight out in front.

  “Fan out!” Maggie said, pointing Kate to her right. “Don’t let her run.”

  But of course she ran. The whore weighed the odds and ran to Maggie’s right, figuring Kate couldn’t catch her. Not exactly a genius-level deduction. Kate had already lost a shoe. Her pants were coming unhemmed. One of her sleeves had unrolled so that it flapped behind her like a pennant.

  Still, Kate chased after the whore full on as the bare-chested woman headed into a service alley between the hotel and the restaurant.

  Gail was already up and running after them. “Thass’a dead end,” she slurred. Blood streamed down her face, but she was running so hard that Maggie struggled to keep up. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill that cunt.”

  They both rounded the corner into the alley. The whore had started screaming again. Kate was still chasing her. They were each locked in their own kind of tunnel vision. Kate’s hat had slipped down to the bridge of her nose. She probably couldn’t see more than three feet ahead. Neither of them had yet to notice that there was nothing but a cinder-block wall at the end of the alley.