“Hey, fellas. What’s this?” said Lock. “Meeting of the Sex Traffickers and Badly Dressed Assholes Local 541?”
His jibe drew an acknowledgment of his presence. The conversation they’d been having died away. They looked down the alley towards him.
Lock heard the service door into the diner slam shut. He made a quick appraisal of the three men. One was short and squat, neck fat pushing its way out at the top of his shirt collar. He was on Lock’s left.
The guy in the middle was tall and lean and the most garishly dressed of the three. He was wearing a green suit that gave him a demonic leprechaun vibe. The third guy was carrying a cane and wearing, of all things, an old-fashioned monocle that was attached to a chain.
Three guys walking toward you in an alleyway when there was only one of you was rarely a good thing. Unless of course you had not just one gun, but two. In which case, the odds swung back strongly in your favor.
“One of you wouldn’t happen to be called Hanger, would you?” said Lock, taking this is an opportunity for further intelligence gathering.
The Leprechaun shook his head. “Don’t know that name,” he said.
“There’s a surprise,” said Lock.
“You come down here, it better not be to disrupt business,” Neck Fat chimed in, his voice surprisingly high for such a heavily built man.
“Unless you want to catch yourself a beating,” said Monocle.
“Oh, come on, fellas, it’s Christmas,” said Lock. “And I was just about to leave.”
That drew a few chuckles.
“Oh, you were,” said Neck Fat.
“That’s right, so if you wouldn’t mind turning back round, I’ll be on my way,” said Lock, his hand moving to his gun.
“Oh, you gonna shoot me?” said Monocle.
Lock took the question to be rhetorical.
There was a sound from behind Lock. He threw a fast glance over his shoulder. The service door opened and the two kitchen staff he’d spoken to a few minutes ago stepped back out.
“You okay?” the more helpful of the two said to Lock.
“Yeah, I was just leaving,” Lock told him. “As soon as these gents get out of the way.”
Now that the numbers were even, maybe he wouldn’t need the gun after all.
The two kitchen staff walked up behind him. The three pimps seemed to hesitate. Monocle took a step back.
“Okay,” said Leprechaun. “We just wanted to warn you that Hanger don’t like people asking questions about any of his girls. You feel me?”
“Oh, you mean the trafficked fourteen-year-old?” said Lock.
“Ain’t no hoes out here on the track who don’t want to be,” said Neck Fat.
Lock took a step forward. “You know I’m really growing to dislike that word.”
“That so?” said Neck Fat.
The two kitchen staff guys reached Lock. They stepped in front of him, flanking him on either side. Looking down, he saw one of them holding a cleaver, the other one had a large kitchen knife with a razor sharp seven inch blade.
With the odds suddenly even, the three pimps seemed to lose their resolve. Monocle jabbed his cane in Lock’s direction.
“You’d better not come back down here,” he said.
They turned and walked slowly away. Lock watched them go.
“He’s right,” said one of his newfound friends. “Those guys don’t mess about.”
“None of them were Hanger, were they?” Lock asked.
The men shook their head.
He thought about pressing them for more details, but he already owed them. They had to work down here, and he was merely passing through.
“We’ll keep an eye out for her,” said one of the kitchen workers.
Lock thanked the two men for their help, walked back down the alleyway and onto the street, scanning the girls walking up and down, but knowing that if Kristin had been here, she’d be long gone by now.
As he walked back to his car, he passed Neck Fat and Monocle. They ignored him as an LAPD patrol car cruised past. When it turned at the end of the block, Monocle called after him.
“Keep walking.”
Lock did. Now wasn’t the time to get sidetracked. There would be plenty of time for recriminations once he’d located the girl.