George Pelecanos - Hell To Pay

“You tell her I was in Chinatown?”

“I don’t like lying to her.” Quinn’s eyes cut off Strange’s stare. “No, I didn’t say where you were.”

Strange had a sip of beer. “You met with Sue Tracy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you think?”

“She’s a pro. She’s nice.”

“Bet you didn’t find her all that hard to look at, either.”

“Knock it off.”

“Just wanted to make sure you still had some red blood runnin’ through your veins. While you’re sittin’ over there judgin’ me with your eyes.”

Quinn didn’t respond. Strange said, “Ron give you the sheet on the Marshall girl?”

“I got it.”

“What did it tell you?”

“She got popped for solicitation. It’s a no-paper, so we won’t be finding her in court.”

“She put an address on the form?” said Strange.

“A phony. But the spot where she wrote down her contact was interesting. A guy named Worldwide Wilson.”

“Worldwide.”

“Yeah, looks like she gave up the name of her pimp.”

“She give out his phone number, too?”

“She did write one down. But it’s got one of those number symbols after it.”

“Must be his pager.”

“Genius.”

“Just tryin’ to help you out, rookie.”

“Anyway, I’ll find out tonight.”

They watched the rest of Eve’s performance. The music programmer stuck with the Ohio Players and moved into “Far East Mississippi” and “Skin Tight.” Strange and Quinn ordered two more beers. Eve finished her shift and walked off through one of the doors behind the bar, accompanied by the stack-necked bouncer who had hard-eyed Quinn. A woman arrived, built similarly to Eve, and she began to dance in the same way Eve had danced, this time to a tune by the Gap Band. The woman’s behind rippled as if it were in a wind tunnel.

“This here must be strictly an ass joint,” said Quinn.

“And they asked me when I took you on, Will he make a good detective.”

“It’s like their signature dish.”

“Ledo’s Pizza got pizza. The Prime Rib’s got prime rib. Rick’s got ass.”

“You black guys do love the onion.”

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna get to that.”

Soon Eve came out of the back room wearing a sheer top with no bra and matching shorts showing the lines of her thong. She was going around to the tables, shaking hands with the men, some of whom were slipping her money in appreciation of her performance. The stack-necked bouncer was never far from Eve. He had braided hair and a gold tooth. Quinn thought he looked like Warren Sapp, that football player. He was big as one.

“She’ll be here in a second, Terry. I’ll ask the questions, you don’t mind.”

“My case. Let me handle it, all right?”

Eve was a large woman, in proportion with her backside. Her nose was thick and wide, and her lips, painted a bright red, were prominent; her hands and feet had the size of a man’s. She had sprayed herself with some kind of sweet perfume, and it was strong on Strange and Quinn as she arrived at their table.

“Did you gentlemen like my performance?” she said, giving them a shy smile, her hand out.

“I did,” said Strange.

Quinn extended his hand, a twenty-dollar bill folded in it so that she could see the denomination. He pulled it back as she reached out for it.

“C’mon back when you have a minute,” said Quinn. “My friend and I want to talk to you.”

Eve kept her smile, but it twitched at one corner. Strange noticed her bad teeth, a common trait among hos.

“Management says I can’t sit down with the customers,” said Eve, “’less they buy me a cocktail.”

“Bet you like those fruity ones,” said Strange, “loaded up with all kinds of rums.”

“Mmmm,” said Eve, licking her lips clumsily.

“We’ll see you in a few,” said Quinn.

The bouncer gave him one long, meaningful look before he and Eve went off to the next table full of suckers.

“That drink’s gonna cost you, like, another seven,” said Strange.

“I know it.”

“Won’t even have no liquor in it.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Make sure you get a receipt. We’ll charge it to your girl Sue.”

Eve returned after a while and pulled a chair over from another table, sliding it in between Strange and Quinn. She carried a collins glass filled with pinkish liquid and held it up by way of salute to her new friends before taking a sip. The bouncer had a seat on a stool positioned a table away and stared at Quinn. Kool and the Gang’s “Soul Vibration” played loud on the sound system. Strange watched the dancers bring it down a notch to catch the groove of the song.

“Thanks for the drink,” said Eve. She wiped her mouth and placed the drink on the table. Her lipstick had made a kiss mark on the glass. “You two wouldn’t be police officers, would you?”

“We’re not with the police,” said Quinn, pushing the yellow flyer he had taken from his pack across the table. He dropped the twenty on top of the flyer, careful not to cover the photograph of Jennifer Marshall. “You recognize this girl?”

Eve’s eyes held their neutral vacancy. “No.”

“You sure?”

“I said no. Was I talkin’ too soft for you?”

“I can hear you fine. I don’t believe you is what it is.”

Eve’s smile, like a death rictus, remained upon her face. “You’re cuttin’ me deep, white boy.”

Strange looked over at the bouncer, then around the room. He recognized one guy, an older cat with a cool-fish handshake he’d seen at church now and again. Anything went down, this cat would be no help at all.

Quinn leaned forward. “You never seen her, like at a bus station, nothin’ like that? How about over by P Street Beach?”

Eve’s smile faded, and with it any facade of love.

“Ever hear of a guy named Worldwide Wilson?” said Quinn.

Eve’s eyes were dead now, still on Quinn. She shook her head slowly.

“You steer girls over to Wilson, Eve. Isn’t that right?”

Eve reached for the twenty on the table. Quinn put a hand over her wrist and pushed his thumb in at her pressure point. He pressed just enough for her to feel it. But if she felt it, it didn’t show. In fact, the smile returned to her face.

“All right, Terry,” said Strange. “Let her go.”

The bouncer was still staring at Quinn but hadn’t moved an inch. Eve slowly pulled her hand free. Quinn let her do it.

“You know why you still conscious?” said Eve, her voice so soft it was barely audible above the sounds in the club. “’Cause you don’t mean a mother fuckin’ thing to nobody up in here.”

“I’m lookin’ for this girl,” said Quinn just as softly, tapping his finger on the flyer.

“Then look to the one who gave you my name.”

“Say it again?”

“Do I look like I hang on P Street to you?” Eve took the twenty off the table and slipped it into the waistband of her shorts. “White boy, you got played.”

Eve stood out of her chair, letting her eyes drift over Strange, then walked away.

“You done?” said Strange. “Or you want another beer?”

“I’m done,” said Quinn, looking past Strange into the room.

“We could buy the house a round. Sing some drinking songs with all your new friends, like they do in those Irish bars-”

“Let’s go.”

As they moved toward the bar, Quinn’s and the bouncer’s eyes met.

“Check you later, slim,” said the bouncer, and Quinn slowed his step. It was something you said to a girl.

Strange tugged on Quinn’s T-shirt. At the stick, Strange settled the tab while Quinn kept his back at the bar, watching the patrons in the house, many of them now staring at him. Some were grinning. He felt the warmth of blood that had gone to his face. He wanted to fight someone. Maybe he wanted them all.