Twenty-four
When Matt got to the car, Sam placed her hands on his cheeks, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him lightly on the lips. He smiled and ran his hands through her hair. “Ummm, what’s that for?”
“For letting me come with you tonight.”
Shooter piped up. “Yeah, me too, Matt. But I’m not going to kiss you for it.”
Sam put her hand on Matt’s arm and pulled him closer as Shooter pulled out of the driveway. Matt glanced out the window, a feeling of being watched tickling the back of his neck, but he didn’t see anyone around, and missed the black Mercedes that pulled out of a parking space down the street and slowly followed Shooter’s car with its lights off.
“Shooter,” asked Sam, “what do you really think about all this? Do you really, deep in your gut, believe in the existence of a vampire?”
He arched an eyebrow and looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, Sam, I don’t know. I’m just a working stiff. I’ll leave all the thinking to you brainy types and just do what I’m told.”
“Don’t give me that ‘humble pie hick from the sticks’ routine. TJ told me about you going to night school to get your law degree.”
He turned and stared at her, then shook his head, a rueful grin on his face at the fact that the girls shared everything. “Yeah, well, it’s a long way off yet and no guarantee that I’ll make it.”
“That’s not all she told me. She also said that as soon as you pass your bar exam, you’ll be up for a promotion.”
He glanced at her. “Hey, let’s not count our chickens, okay? Hell, I’m just taking a few classes. Who knows if I’ll even continue.”
“Well, TJ has faith in you, and I do too. We both know you can do it.”
“Thanks, I hope you’re both right.”
Sam nudged Matt with her shoulder. “No doubt about it, Matt. We’re sitting next to the next F. Lee Bailey.”
Shooter made a face. “No way! If, and remember I said if, I ever do get a law degree, I’ll be working on the other side. I intend to try to put the bastards away, not get them off!”
“Okay, okay, so we’re sitting next to the future district attorney. They’ll probably call you Maximum Kowolski.”
“Jeez, Sam, I don’t know,” Matt said. “We’d better be careful. I hear the AMA has been known to take away doctors’ licenses to practice for fraternizing with lawyers.”
Shooter pulled up in front of Sam’s and TJ’s house and ran up to the door. Sam and Matt shifted to the backseat and Shooter was soon ushering TJ into the car.
Even before Shooter had the car started, Sam was excitedly telling TJ about where they were going and why. Shooter held up his hand and said, “Just a minute, ladies. In the first place, you’re not going to interview anyone. Matt and I will do all the talking. You girls will wait patiently in the car.”
TJ sat forward in the seat and glared at Shooter. “Rank discrimination, that’s what it is!”
Sam punched Matt on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s what it is. You’re not gonna put up with that, are you, Matt?”
Matt just shook his head. “Be reasonable, girls. How can Shooter do his job if he’s busy looking out for you two? This is not a very nice place we’re going to. Give us a break!”
Sam and TJ looked at each other and both broke into smiles. TJ said, “Okay, but it’s gonna cost ya.”
“Yeah,” echoed Sam, “at least dinner and drinks at Giorgio’s.”
Matt sat back in the seat, grinning. “Looks like we’ve been had, partner.”
Finally, they arrived at the area where the prostitutes and transvestites roamed, looking for tricks. Matt glanced around at their surroundings. They were parked on a busy downtown street. There were several nightclubs in the area with marquees announcing nude dancing, and every few yards there was a girl standing in the shadows or leaning up against a wall. Cars were cruising slowly by, and every so often one would slow and pull to the curb for a closer look at the merchandise or to strike a bargain for the evening.
Interspersed with the prostitutes were the drug dealers, who were almost like carnival pitchmen hawking their wares. When a car pulled to the curb, window down, the men would call out, “How about some nice Asian White, finest in the city,” or “Getcha Mexican Brown right here, special price tonight.”
Matt leaned forward, elbows on the seat back in front of him. “What’s Asian White and Mexican Brown, Shooter?”
“Heroin,” he replied, looking out his window at the dealers.
“You mean they have brand names for it?”
“Sorta. The name tells you where it’s from, which also tells you what quality and price it is. Asian White is from the Golden Triangle in Laos and is the premium stuff. Mexican Brown is from Mexico or Colombia and is less pure and therefore cheaper.”
Sam leaned across Matt to look out the window. “Aren’t they afraid someone will rob them?” she asked.
Matt was wondering that too, considering the type of clientele these men dealt with every night. They looked vulnerable as they walked out to the curb and leaned in the car windows.
Shooter smiled. “Naw.” He tilted his head sideways and said, “Look in the doorway just behind that dealer over there.”
In the darkened doorway, Matt could see the intermittent glow of a cigarette, followed by a cloud of smoke swirling in the breeze.
“The real dealer is in that doorway. He keeps all the money and the majority of the drugs on him, and believe me, he’s heavily armed. The pusher out front only has one or two dime bags on him and only enough money to make change. After every couple of sells, he’ll go to the doorway and exchange the money he’s collected for more dope.”
Matt had been treating patients from this area for years, both male and female, but this was the first time he’d ever really seen it. Prostitutes lead lonely, dangerous lives. He knew that most were addicted to drugs and alcohol, but he hadn’t realized how they were preyed on by everyone in the system, from their pimps and customers to policemen. “Is this where the girl worked who was killed?” he asked.
Shooter took a cigarette out of his coat pocket and stuck it in his mouth. While he searched his pockets for a match, TJ reached over and flicked his cigarette out the window. “That’s gonna stop, big boy. Those things will kill ya.”
Shooter gave her an exasperated look, then glanced back at Matt. “Yeah. Her street name was Blaze, and she’d been on the streets for about two years.”
He reached in his coat and took out his revolver, flipped the cylinder open and spun it before returning the gun to his holster. As he leaned over and kissed TJ’s cheek, he said, “Don’t open the door or leave the car. We’ll check around and be right back.”
TJ grabbed his coat. “Wait a minute! Maybe the girls’ll talk more freely if Sam and I are with you.”
He looked at Matt, who shrugged. “Okay, but let us bring them over to the car.” Looking over his shoulder at the dark streets, he added, “I don’t want you on the street. Like I said before, it’s not a place for nice girls.”
After watching them cross the street, TJ leaned back and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. As she opened her eyes, she noted a movement to her left.
She glanced over and saw a shadowy form materialize in the driver’s window. She opened her mouth to scream a warning to Sam, then gasped as the shadow grabbed the door handle and jerked the door open, tearing it partially off its hinges with a grinding squeal of tortured metal.
Before she or Sam could move, a hand reached in and grasped her by the throat, dragging her out of the car. She tried again to scream, but the hand tightened, cutting off her breath. Gasping for air and struggling to free herself, she grabbed the wrist holding her and was terrified by the cold, clammy feel of it.
Sam swallowed her terror long enough to reach over the seat and grab the man’s arm, trying to break his hold on TJ. He let go long enough to backhand her in the face with a closed fist, shattering her nose and knocking her unconscious. TJ pulled frantically at the door handle, but the door was locked. She sobbed hysterically in frustration as she felt the hand entwine itself in her hair and pull her backward out of the car.
As she was dragged across the pavement kicking and twisting, she tried to get a look at her assailant. He was wearing a dark overcoat with the collar pulled up and a snap-brim hat pulled low over his eyes. She dug her fingernails into the wrist, peeling the skin back and creating tiny furrows as if she were plowing a field. Her last thought before the darkness swallowed her was to wonder why the furrows did not fill with blood.
* * *
Matt admired the way Shooter reverted to the language and mannerisms of a tough “street cop” persona in order to mix in with the people hanging around the street. Sometimes in the emergency room, dealing with a semiliterate street person, he did the same thing . . . trying to talk the talk and walk the walk so he could form some sort of meaningful communication with a person who seemed to be from another world entirely. Matt had never realized that the cops had to do the same thing.
“Hey, babe, you can talk to me here and now and get back to bidness, or—” Shooter paused for dramatic effect and lit a cigarette and let it dangle from the corner of his lips as he talked. “Or, you can give me some shit and spend the rest of the night makin’ bail and then tryin’ to explain to your pimp why you didn’t make any money tonight.”
The black transvestite’s eyes rolled in his head as he looked over at Matt, then around at the other girls on the street. His resolve crumpled when he noticed they were looking anywhere but at the cop and were doing their best not to draw attention to themselves.
“Shit, man, why you pickin’ on me?”
Shooter reached up and patted the man on the cheek. “I’m not pickin’ on you, ma man.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked the ashes down the front of the other’s bright red dress. “I’m just givin’ you a chance to do your civic duty.” He looked around, then put his arm over the man’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Just tell me what you know about the trick that Blaze left with the other night, and I’ll get outa your face.”
The black man, sweat dripping from his face, licked his lips, smearing his fluorescent lipstick over his teeth and making his sickly grin glow in the dark. He looked around before answering, “Hey, man, all I know is it was some dude in a big, black Mercedes sedan. He pulled over, she talked to him for a minute, then she got in the car and they left.”
“That’s it? Ya got nothin’ else for me?”
The black took a handkerchief out of his purse and wiped his face, further smearing his makeup, then said, “Naw . . . except there was one thing . . .”
“What?”
“Well, a couple of the girls nearby said Blaze acted like she knew the guy . . . nothin’ definite, just a feelin’ they had from the way she acted when she talked to ’im.”
Shooter handed the man a card. “Here’s my card. I want ya to ask around and find out if she called him by name, or if any of the other girls saw or heard anything that might help us land this dude. Then give me a call.”
“Hey, just a minute . . . that’s right. One of the other bitches said Blaze called the dude Doc.”
“Doc?” Shooter asked. “You sure?”
“Hey, man, I try to mind my own bidness and not mess around with other people’s problems, but that’s what the gal said she heard.”
Shooter took out two cigarettes and put them in his mouth. He lit them both, then took one and stuck it between the black’s lips. “You did good. I just want ya to know that I owe ya a big one.”
The man glanced at Shooter’s card and stuck it down the front of his dress. “Don’t you worry. Next time you pigs bust me, I’ll be sure an’ mention yore name.”
Shooter looked around at Matt. “You want to ask this scumbag anything?”
“Yeah. Did Blaze have any . . . illnesses, or diseases lately, and did she do drugs?”
The man screwed up his face. “Shit, man, how would I know if the bitch had the clap or not? I never sampled the merchandise.”
Shooter stuck his finger in the man’s face. “Just answer the questions. Don’t bother with the smart-ass jive.”
He shook his head. “Naw, Blaze didn’t do no drugs, leastways not no heavy shit, just a little grass now n’ then.”
After another twenty minutes spent alternatively cajoling and threatening the other girls on the block, Shooter and Matt learned nothing new. They decided to return to the car and fulfill their promise to take Sam and TJ out to eat.
Matt’s heart began to beat faster as they approached the car and he didn’t see the girls in it. Oh no! he thought, his mouth going dry. He was a little ahead of Shooter and ran around to the driver’s side. His stomach did a slow roll when he saw the twisted, misshapen door hanging loose from one hinge.
Flashes of the house in Bellaire played across his mind. Please, God, don’t let him have them. He leaned in the open door, being careful not to touch anything, and looked inside. TJ’s purse was lying open on the floorboard with the contents partially spilled.
Shooter grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him out of the way as he looked into the car. He raised up and looked around at the shadows, then threw his head back and screamed into the night, “No-o-o!”
Matt felt as though he was choking. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly too dry. He ripped open the back door and was horrified to see Sam lying sprawled on the floorboard, her mouth open and her face covered with blood. Oh no, oh no, oh no kept running through his mind like a mantra as he reached down and pulled her up onto the seat where he could examine her.
Thank God, he thought as she moaned and shook her head from side to side, spewing blood and mucus from her flattened nose. “Call nine-one-one and get an ambulance here, fast,” he called over his shoulder to Shooter while he cradled Sam against his chest.