SERIAL UNCUT (21 page)

"
They're pretty much all perverts.
I'll say foot fetishist."

I actually didn't know what a foot fetishist
did. Something to do with feet, I assumed, but what? The Vice
training manual didn't explain that particular kink. I wasn't about
to ask Harry, because he'd make fun of me. It was hard enough being
a female in the Chicago Police Department. Being a young female who
did prostitution stings made me an easy target for potshots.

Not that I would be young for much longer.
Today officially began the last year of my twenties. I was going to
celebrate the happy occasion by watching TV and getting drunk. My
boyfriend Alan was out of town on a business trip, and so far he'd
neglected to get me anything. Big mistake. True, I didn't want any
reminders of my rapidly retreating youth. But we cops were big on
intent. And forgetting your girlfriend's birthday said a lot about
your future intent.

Not that I had any intentions myself.
His last name was
Daniels
,
for chrissakes. I had a hard enough time getting respect on the
Job. If my name was Jack Daniels, I'd be the laughing stock of the
city.

"
You in or out, Jackie?"

"
Fine," I said. "Ten-spot?"

"
Make it twenty. I got a
feeling."

Bald Guy honked again. I pulled up the
elastic top of one of my black fishnet stockings, pulled down the
hem of my hot pink spandex micro-mini skirt, and walked over to the
car on painfully high, strappy heels. His window opened, and I
stuck my head inside. The air conditioning bathed my face, cooling
the sweat on my brow and upper lip.

"
How are you tonight, sugar?" I asked,
smacking my gum.

Bald Guy appeared nervous, jittery. Most of
them did. Maybe because soliciting sex was embarrassing. Or maybe
because they were worried that the hooker they propositioned was
actually an undercover cop.

Imagine that.

"
How much?" he asked without looking
at me.

"
How much what?" I asked.

"
How much money?"

In order to make a clean arrest, and avoid
the dreaded entrapment defense, the suspect had to be the one to
bring up the subject of money. This guy cut right to the heart of
the matter. Now he needed to mention what he wanted in
exchange.

"
Depends," I said, playing coy. "What
is it you're looking for?"

"
Something special. Can you quote me
your, um, rates?"

"
Sure. Head is ten. Straight is
fifteen. Half-and-half is twenty. Round the world is thirty.
Anything to do with feet is fifty."

"
No fair!" McGlade yelled in my ear.
"You're price-jacking!"

I hoped Bald Guy didn't hear that, even
though it was so loud my eyes bugged out.

"
I've got kind of a strange request,"
Bald Guy said.

I leaned in further. The air conditioning
was wonderfully frigid, and the interior smelled like lemon air
freshener. After four hours on the street, this was a little slice
of heaven.

"
Kinky is extra. Tell me what you
need, big boy."

"
Actually, I'll pay you fifty dollars
if you just hold me for ten minutes."

"
Hold you?"

He nodded, his face puppy dog sad.

"
We can't arrest him for that," Harry
said. "Ask him if he wants to suck your toes."

I ignored Harry, which wasn't the easiest
thing to do. Especially with him in my ear. "That's all?" I asked
Bald Guy. "Just hold you?"

"
That's all."

His shoulders slumped. I felt kind of sorry
for him.

"
Tell him you've been on your feet all
day," Harry said, "and your toes are really sweaty and
stinky."

I wished I could turn the earpiece off.

"
That's kind of a weird," I told the
guy. "Don't you have a mother or an aunt or someone else who can
give you a hug?"

"
No one. I just got divorced, and I'm
all alone."

"
How about friends? Neighbors? A
church group?"

Bald Guy shook his head.

Harry said, "Try taking off your shoe and
sticking your foot under his nose."

"
I just need a little tenderness,"
Bald Guy said. "Will you do it?"

He looked so devastated, so desperate. Plus
his vehicle was air-conditioned and smelled nice. What more
prompting did I need? I walked around the front of his car/truck
and climbed into the passenger seat.

"
Dammit, Jackie! Find another john!"
Harry, in my ear. "There aren't any laws against cuddling! Don't
waste our time!"

The earpiece really needed an off switch. In
fact, so did Harry. The sad thing was, Harry wasn't as bad as some
of the other jerks I had to work with. What did a female cop have
to do to earn the respect of her peers in this city?

I guessed it wasn't dressing up as a hooker,
offering BJs.

"
Okay," I said. "One quick hug. On the
house."

I opened up my arms, ready to embrace this
poor clod, and he handed me a latex glove. I backed off a
notch.

"
Are you sick?" I asked.
"Contagious?"

"
No, no, nothing like that. While
you're hugging me, I'd like you to stick your fingers up my
bottom."

No wonder he was divorced.

"
And wiggle them," he
added.

"
Mirandize that pervert," McGlade
said. "I'll call the wagon and be right there."

I opened my silver-sequined purse, reaching
for my star and handcuffs.

"
I'm a police officer," I said, making
my voice hard, "and you're under arrest for soliciting a sexual
act. Put your hands on the steering wheel."

Bald Guy turned bright red, then burst into
tears.

"
I only wanted a little
tenderness!"

"
Place your hands on the steering
wheel, sir. And for future reference, fingers up the wazoo really
doesn't qualify as tenderness."

"
I'm so lonely!" he sobbed.

"
Buy a dog." An unwelcome image popped
into my head, of this pervert with some poor Schnauzer. "On second
thought, that's a bad idea."

Bald Guy moaned, wiped his nose with his
wrist, and then flung open his door and ran like hell. Which didn't
make much sense, considering that in jail he could probably find
someone to fulfill his request for free.

"
He bolted!" I yelled to Harry.
"Coming your way!"

I pushed open my door and scrambled after
him. Three steps into my pursuit I broke a heel and almost fell
onto my face. I recovered in time, but my speed was drastically
reduced. A penguin on stilts would have been faster, and looked
less clumsy. I wasn't about to kick my broken pump off--this wasn't
the nicest part of town, and I didn't want to step on a dirty
needle.

"
He ducked down the alley, Jackie!"
Harry said. "It lets out on Halsted. Run around and block his
exit!"

Easy for him to say. He was wearing gym
shoes.

I rounded the corner, hobbling as fast as I
could, my spandex skirt riding up and encircling my waist like a
neon pink belt. My purse orbited my neck on its spaghetti strap,
and each time it passed in front of my face I reached for it and
missed. Inside was my 9mm Beretta, and I didn't want to be charging
into any alleys without it firmly in hand.

Honking, from the street. I wondered if it
was the squadrol--a police wagon that picked up and booked the
suspects we caught on this sting. No such luck. It was a carload of
cute preppy guys. They hooted at me, pumping their fists in the
air.

"
What's that sound?" Harry said. "You
watching Arsenio?"

I skidded to a halt at the mouth of the
alley, tugged down my skirt, and tugged out my Beretta.

The hooting stopped. I heard one of the
preppies yell, "The whore is packing heat!" and their tires
squealed away.

"
Where is he?" I said into the
mike.

"
If he didn't come out on your side,
he's hiding in the alley somewhere."

"
I'll meet you in the
middle."

"
It's dark. Don't shoot me by
mistake."

Harry didn't mean it to be condescending,
but he wouldn't have said it if I were a man. I set my jaw, gripped
my weapon in both hands with my elbows bent and the barrel pointing
skyward, and crept into the alley.

The decaying garbage odor got worse with
every step, so bad I could taste it in the back of my throat. I
moved slowly, letting my eyes sweep left and right, looking for any
place Bald Guy could hide. I came up to a parked car, checked under
it, behind it.

"
Jesus, the stink is making my eyes
water." Harry said. "It smells like some fat guys with BO ate bad
cheese and took a group shit on a rotting corpse."

Harry wore so much Brut aftershave I was
surprised he could smell anything.

"
You're a poet, McGlade."

"
Why? Did I rhyme
something?"

I stuck my head into a shadowy doorway,
didn't find Bald Guy, and went deeper into the alley.

Then I heard the scream.

It came from ahead of me. A man's voice,
with a hollow/echoey quality to it.

Something horrible was happening to Bald
Guy.

My whole body became gooseflesh. I just
joined Vice two weeks ago. Even though I was still a patrol
officer, and made the same pay, I jumped at the chance to wear
plainclothes and ditch the standard uniform. But plainclothes
turned out to be hooker-wear, and I felt especially vulnerable
without my dress blues on. It wasn't easy being tough when you're
wearing a micro-mini.

Another scream ripped through the alley. The
little girl in me, the one who still woke up scared during
thunderstorms, wanted to turn around and run.

But if I gave in to my fear, Harry would
mention it in the arrest report. Then it would be back to riding
patrol and answering radio calls, where I got even less
respect.

I forced myself to move forward. Now my gun
was pointing in front of me, toward the direction of the sound. The
Beretta was double action and protocol dictated it stayed uncocked.
The harder pull meant less accidental shootings. Theoretically, at
least. My finger was so tight on the trigger that a strong breeze
would have caused me to fire.

"
You see him?" Harry asked. I heard
him in my earpiece, but I also heard him in the alley, somewhere
ahead.

"
Not yet."

"
Maybe he's screaming because he can't
stand the smell."

I didn't think that was the case. I'd heard
my share of screams on the Job. Screams of joy. Screams of sorrow.
Screams of pain.

This was a scream of terror.

A clanging sound, only a few yards away from
me. A Dumpster. I held my breath, heard whimpering coming from
inside.

"
He's in a Dumptser," I told
Harry.

"
Probably sitting in a big pile of
rats."

I approached quickly. It was dark, but I
could see the Dumpster lid was open.

"
This is the police!" I shouted,
hoping my voice didn't quaver. "Raise your hands up where I can see
them!"

Bald Guy complied. But there was something
wrong. Rather than two hands, I counted three.

I moved closer, and realized the third hand
wasn't his. It belonged to a woman.

And it wasn't attached to the rest of
her.

I felt someone touch my shoulder and jumped
back. It was Harry.

"
Looks like he got you a birthday
present, Jackie. Quite a handy guy."

My stomach seized up, then I bent over and
vomited, soaking my broken shoes and getting it caught in the fake
curls hanging in front of my face. When I heaved for the final
time, the transmitter popped free of my bustier and plonked into
the puddle of puke.

"
Happy twenty-ninth," Harry
said.