Authors: Sue Barr
Chapter Eight
The airport in L.A. hummed with a steady cacophony of noise and
people. Continually jostled from all sides, my head throbbed and I felt like a
Mac truck had run over me. To top it all off, I found myself at a car rental
place arguing over what my fifty dollars would get me for the day, which was
almost over. This junior management executive, future pea-brain of some Fortune
500 company was adamant I pay full price.
Having no patience for this nonsense I decided it was time to bring
out the big guns.
Pretending to be super-duper hot, I unzipped my hoodie and exposed
the rounded tops of the ‘girls’. I fanned myself with one of his pamphlets and channeled
Polly. With a breathy twang, I sighed out, “Whooey! I’m not used to all this
heat.”
He gulped so hard I thought he’d get whiplash from his Adam’s
apple. I fluffed and squeezed, got great cleavage, then resumed negotiations. “So…”
I looked at his nametag. “Marvin. Where were we?”
He never knew what hit him. Twenty minutes later I wheeled out of
the airport parking lot driving a sporty Jeep truck with two days of unlimited
mileage for thirty-five dollars. I had no qualms using my ‘assets’ to get what
I needed.
Within reason.
Before checking into the hotel I cruised around looking for a good
costume store. I didn’t know who else may be looking for Harrison so I wanted
to be almost invisible to anyone staking the place out. I figured I’d go with a
hooker ensemble. No one noticed streetwalkers. They became part of the scenery
and you only saw them when they let you. Also, Harry was known to have liked cheap
tarts and I would just be another girl from the street.
I almost missed the costume place. A tacky little shop, it lay
tucked between two taller buildings that leaned toward each other like a couple
of drunken sailors. Next earthquake, even a 2.0, would make them topple. How
they passed safety inspections baffled me. With that thought in mind, I rushed
in, bought what I needed and got out of there.
In case the front desk clerk of my hotel spotted me, I changed in
the main floor bathroom and then slipped out one of the back exits. A big wig,
passion-pit red lipstick, tight dress, and three-inch stilettos completed my
disguise. The nightlife of downtown Hollywood was vibrant and I blended in
beautifully.
****
Driving slowly down the street, I kept a sharp eye out for Harrison’s
address. Big palm trees, flashy cars and the brilliance of neon lights
distracted me. Getting lost would have been easy. The streets became narrower
and more dingy the closer I got to his address.
Most hookers didn’t own sport utility vehicles, so I parked a few
blocks from Harrison’s apartment building, down a narrow back alley. Before
getting out of my vehicle I made sure I had the key to Harrison’s apartment and
a can of pepper spray in my purse. Not wanting to lose my hotel swipe card and
driver’s license, in case someone mugged me, I locked them into the glove box.
Feigning nonchalance, I casually strolled to Harrison’s apartment
building, unlocked the front door and entered. No one noticed me and I let go
of the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and moved to the elevator. I
pressed the up key a few times before noticing a sign with sloppy letters
advising the elevator was broken and a hand drawn arrow pointed to a door at
the end of the hall and fire escape.
Fortunately for me, Harrison lived on the second floor. There was
no way I could have walked six or seven stories in these shoes and I wasn’t
taking them off for anyone. I had no idea who or what had been on these stairs,
or who had done what in this stairwell.
I reached his apartment and after struggling with the lock, pushed
open the door. Surprisingly, Harrison’s condo was spacious and bright. And I
mean
very
spacious, as in empty. Not a dish, curtain, or stick of
furniture.
Clacking my way into the kitchen in my stilettos—w
ho makes these
shoes anyway?
—I grabbed the first drawer and pulled it open. Peering into
it didn’t reveal anything taped against the counter top so I gingerly felt
under each and every drawer (all four of them).
Please don’t let there be a
spider
. And I cringed a lot, not wanting to touch anything I might regret.
Maybe there was something in the bathroom. In the movies, there
were always packages of important papers wrapped in protective plastic. But no
hidden surprises there either and his bedroom contained no clues. I made my way
back to the living room and stood, hands on hips, surveying the apartment as a
whole. It looked like no one had lived here in a long time.
Harrison’s mysterious disappearance had taken an interesting turn.
When you eliminated everything probable all that’s left was the improbable. It
was beginning to look like Harrison had been moved...by experts. The question
remained—willing or unwilling?
The second probability, and the one I suspected as bang on, was
that Harrison had never lived here. This place was cleaner than a brand new
whistle. A complete dead-end and I had no idea what to tell the Grants. I
decided to go back to the hotel. Tomorrow I’d try to find some hookers who knew
Lulu and with any luck, Harrison.
Carefully I re-locked the apartment and exited the building. I’d
gone only a few steps when a familiar flashing red light bounced off the grimy
walls of the adjoining building. Sure enough, I turned around and an unmarked
squad car glided to a stop, the little flashing light perched precariously on
the dash. Must be a quiet night if I’m the one they’re stopping and not the
actively working ladies of the night. But then again, I was a new girl on this
street and they could just be checking me out. I waited for the cop to get out
of his car.
A rugged plain-clothes cop unfolded himself from the driver’s seat,
a badge clipped to his belt. The subdued lighting in the alley made it
difficult to see if anyone else was with him. The cop approached with a polite
smile on his face.
“Do you have identification, ma’am?” he said with a pleasant
Australian accent.
“No, I don’t have any on me, officer, it’s in my vehicle.” I tried
my best to be demure. Hard to do when the dress left nothing to the
imagination, but the last thing I needed was to cause trouble and bring
attention to myself.
“Would you please face the wall and keep your hands where I can see
them.” I shrugged, turned around and waited... and waited. I looked from side
to side.
Jose loves Maria
was scrawled on the side of a building in
broad loopy letters. Some kind of green goo slid down the wall from a second
story window. I did
not
want to know what it could be.
As I shifted from one foot to the other, the balls of my feet
aching in these stupid shoes, I head a car door open and a heated, whispered
conversation. I strained everything I had to hear what they were saying. The
car door opened and closed again.
The cop cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to take you
downtown.”
Why would Crocodile Dundee what to take me downtown?
I turned and faced him. “For what cause? Wearing uncomfortable
shoes?”
He took my arm at the wrist and elbow and led me to the back of the
cruiser.
“Wait, what about my rights?” A bubble of panic rose in my throat
and I tugged against his grip. What if he wasn’t a cop and this was an
elaborate ruse to kidnap me into a sex trade ring? The unmarked car looked
legit, but anybody could buy a flashing red light and slap a fake badge onto
their belt.
“We’ll discuss that at the station.” He took a firmer hold on my
arm.
Tugging again I said, “This is wrong. You have no grounds.”
I tried to twist and grab my purse which kept swinging out of
reach. My intention was to pull out the pepper spray, but we’d reached the car.
“I could say you’re resisting arrest and causing a disturbance. Now
be quiet and get in the car.” With his hand covering the back of my head so it
wouldn’t bang the doorframe, he pushed me into the rear seat. Stunned, I could
only watch as he climbed into the front of the car.
What just happened? My heart hammered in my chest a million miles
per minute. Why hadn’t I screamed? Why hadn’t I done a more defensive move and
disabled him? I shifted to plead with his partner and smelled peppermint.
“Get me out of this car, now!” I pulled on the door handle, as well
as kicked the back of the seat where Tank sat. “What gives you the right?”
Anyone watching from the streets would have thought they had a real
hooker in the back. The air boiled with the kind of language that would have
made a sailor blush. We drove three or four blocks before backtracking to the
alley where my rental was parked and I screeched like a fishwife the whole way.
The unmarked cruiser stopped beside my truck.
Furious over this new turn of events, I think I had a mental
breakdown. I watched Tank get out of the car and come around to open my door. A
red haze misted over my eyes and in slow motion I reached into the purse, closed
my hand around the little silver canister of pepper spray. Seething, I waited,
index finger twitching on the nozzle.
He leaned down and held out his hand to help me out of the back of
the car. Whipping out the can of pepper spray, I hit the button. Instead of a
broad mist, a thin stream squirted out and hit him beside the eye. Tank instinctively
stumbled back, which gave me a chance to push by him and make a run for my car.
As I fumbled with the purse to find my keys, I realized— too late—I was running
in three-inch stilettos.
The sound of pounding feet echoed behind me. Air whooshed out of my
lungs when he tackled and twisted mid-air so I wouldn’t get crushed when we
landed. My legs swung in an arc, like a pendulum. One shoe sailed through the
air, landing somewhere past the back of my vehicle. We hit the ground with a
thud and he flipped again, pinning me under his body. I pushed the wig out of
my eyes and wriggled around until I lay on my back.
His red-rimmed green eye watered where the spray had caught, and a
muscle clenched along his jaw line. The only tell-tale sign he was angry. Maybe
beyond angry. Any sane person would be. I’d doctored his drink not more than
twenty-four hours ago, called him every vile name I could think of, pepper
sprayed him, and tried to run away.
When he released his hold and stood, I fully expected him to berate
me like a child. I almost didn’t accept the hand he held out.
“You all right, mate?” His buddy called out from the cruiser as I
rose to a standing position.
Without turning, Tank nodded. “Yup. Thanks, Dango.”
I pulled my hand from Tank’s grip. “What is this all about?”
I heard the Dundee’s car reverse and he left us there to scrap it
out. Smart cop.
“I figured you were up to something, so I talked to Polly.” He crossed
his arms across his chest. “I flew here and waited. We thought we’d give you a
scare, teach you a lesson.”
“I didn’t need to be taught a lesson. You don’t have to babysit me.”
A slow boil of anger started in my belly. I stepped back, continuing to brush
and pick garbage off my clothes.
“Are you sure? Dango’s eyes almost popped out of their socket. What
are
you doing in this outfit anyway?”
“Harrison likes call girls. I figured neighbors wouldn’t notice a
new hooker going to his place.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You know, hide in
plain sight.”
Realizing I had only one shoe on, I removed the strappy, torture
device and looked around for the other one. It probably was in the pile of
garbage behind my car. No way would I go back there to find it. There could be
rats, or worse – spiders. The shoe could rot there.
Tank uncrossed his arms and took a step in my direction. Anger rolled
off him in waves. “You could have gotten hurt. What if it hadn’t been
me
in that car? What if it had been some psycho jerk wad who had his paws all over
you? Did you even think about that?” His voice grew louder. “You need a
handler.”
The anger within bubbled up a bit more. There was no way I’d tell
Tank those very same thoughts crossed my mind.
“I don’t need anybody,” I yelled back, jutting my chin forward. The
wig fell into my eyes again, which proved to be the last straw. Mount Shelby
erupted. Every frustration, every hurt I’d suffered because of him coursed
through my voice. I pushed the wig out of my eyes and we stood toe to toe, nose
to… sternum.
“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing great since you left.”
We both knew I meant more than my job and this recent escapade.
“You still need a handler!” Tank bit out.
I shook my head and turned toward my vehicle. Truth be told, what
happened in the alley had scared me right down to the bottom of my sore feet.
I’d go back to the hotel, call Polly and check in. Tomorrow I’d locate
some hookers who may have known Lulu and Harry. And then—I paused in my
thoughts—then I was having my head examined.
“I’m outta here.” I called over my shoulder to Tank. He could find
his own way back to wherever it was he was staying.
He muttered behind me, “Well, if that’s the way it’s got to be,
then okay.”
I didn’t even have a chance to squeak before I was tossed over his
shoulder like a sack of flour, one large hand spread across my derriere. He
rifled through my purse, which swung with each angry stride and pulled out the
car keys. Before cramming his big frame into the driver’s side, he unceremoniously
dumped me into the passenger seat. He stopped only long enough to ask me where
I was staying and then revving the motor, tore up the alley and raced toward my
hotel.
****
The desk clerk’s jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide when we barreled
through the lobby. Tank, grim-faced, carried the back pack and I stomped alongside
barefoot. One shoe dangled from my fingers, the other lay forgotten in the
alley. Hotel guests stared openly and gave us a wide berth. Probably because we
looked like a hillbilly wedding gone bad.