Dave Zeltserman - Blood Crimes Book One

“Yeah, well, I got more than enough change as it is. And as my poppa used to say-”

He groaned. “Not one of your folksy little sayings, Lane. It’s too early in the day.”

“Funny you say that, cause my poppa-”

“Cut it out.”

“Well now, it’s too bad you feel that way. Cause, as my poppa used to say, maybe you would’ve learned something. But-”

There was no point going on. He had already shut himself off to me. As I moved away, his gaze shifted, staring into some godforsaken world that not too many people were privy to.

It bothered me that someone was complaining about me, and it didn’t make any sense. At least none that I could see. My one-man operation handles a large caseload, larger than most ten-man agencies, and the way I do it is by subcontracting my overload cases. Of course, ideally my clients want me to handle things personally, but they’re usually satisfied with knowing I’m involved, even if it’s only at a supervisory level. I guess it comes from the trust they develop reading about me over the years in the Denver Examiner.

Regardless of what Rude thought, the forty percent I pay when I subcontract a case is more than fair, especially when you consider that forty percent of my four-hundred-a-day charge is roughly what the smaller operatives can get on their own. You see, what my clients are paying for is my name, reputation, and expertise. Not for some nameless private dick they couldn’t care less about.

I decided I couldn’t help it if someone was going to be unreasonable, and I put it out of my mind.

The peep show Rude pointed out was a quarter of a mile further down East Colfax. There weren’t any parking spaces out front so I double-parked next to a Mercedes with an MD license plate. Before I made it into the establishment, a huge hog-like farm boy came puffing out of the peep show and blocked me.

“Hey, Buddy,” he said. “You gotta move your car.”

He wore a stained tee shirt and dungaree overalls that probably could’ve held ten forty-pound sacks of potatoes. They fit snugly on him. I told him I was just going to be a minute.

“Sorry.” He nudged me with his belly. I couldn’t help noticing his small pink rat’s eyes. “The cops will be down my neck if you block traffic. Go ahead and move your car. The girls will wait.”

He had a sick, oniony smell. I backed away from him and showed him Debra Singer’s photo. “I’m looking for this girl,” I said.

His eyes grew smaller and meaner. He moved towards me and bumped me again with his belly, pushing me back a foot. “She’s busy,” he said. “Why don’t you get lost?”

“She’s a minor. Bring her out here now or I’ll close your place down.”

“She told me she was eighteen,” he said stubbornly.

“Sorry, Tiny, she’s only sixteen. Look, your smell is making me nauseous. Why don’t you go get her?”

He stared at me. “I don’t like that name. You think it’s funny because of my size, huh?”

“Well now,” I said. “That didn’t have anything to do with it. I just heard some of the girls talking about you.”

He gave me a sullen stare as he tried to make up his mind about something. I guess he finally decided my crack wasn’t worth worrying about. He headed back into the peep show. I waited on the sidewalk for a minute and then stepped inside.

It was dark. It took a moment before my eyes focused on a sign indicating private booths in the back. As I turned the corner I walked into a room with about a half-dozen girls sitting on a cheap brown sofa, the oldest of whom couldn’t have been more than twenty. They didn’t look happy. One of them glanced up at me and licked her lips. Then I heard the commotion coming from behind them.

Tiny pushed his way through the red curtains separating the room from the private booths, dragging Debra Singer behind him like he was pulling a bed sheet. All she had on were a pair of panties. Tiny jerked her to her feet and shoved her into the middle of the room. She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing, pleading with him.

“Go on,” he said, a satisfied smirk twisting his little mouth. “Get her out of here.”

My hands balled into fists. “You could’ve let her put some clothes on,” I said.

Tiny took a small step back and wiped some sweat from his forehead. “You told me you wanted her right away, didn’t you? Now get her out of here! And I better never see your face around here again!”

One of the girls had run to the back room and retrieved a pair of jeans and a halter-top and was helping Debra into them. Another one had gotten her a pair of sneakers. Debra looked like a stick that could be broken in half by stepping on it the wrong way. I took a deep breath and felt my hands relax. Tiny stood cautiously watching me.

The two girls finished dressing Debra. One of them was rubbing Debra’s face with a towel. She had stopped sobbing. Her eyes were blotchy, the rest of her face, pale and bloodless. I walked over to her. “Come on, honey,” I said. “Let’s go.”

She let me lead her out. The way the sunlight hit her as she stepped outside, you could see her skull shining through her skin. There just wasn’t enough flesh on her. As she walked ahead I counted the vertebrae running down the back of her neck. She was so damn skinny and gawky. Her hips had barely begun to develop into a woman’s. Thinking about what she had been doing in there, I almost turned around and sought Tiny out.

As I started to drive off, he stepped outside, shaking his fist and yelling. I looked over my shoulder and caught his eye and then put the car in reverse. He disappeared back into the peep show.

Debra had been sitting quietly, pale blue eyes staring blindly at her feet. All of a sudden she tried to bolt. I grabbed her around the waist and reached across her and pulled the door shut. She resisted for about a ten count and then her body went limp.

“I’m not going back,” she stated in a barely audible monotone.

I drove until I was able to pull over. Then I turned and looked at her. A thin pale blue outline of veins crisscrossed her temples. “Honey,” I said. “Your parents are worried sick about you.”

She started to giggle and then bit her lip. “I’m not going back. I’ll kill myself if you make me go back.”

It was getting close to noon. Up ahead a couple of hookers were getting ready for the lunchtime crowd, disguising their sores with makeup and pulling their pants tighter against their crotches. I wanted to get Debra out of there as quickly as I could. “Why don’t we talk about it over lunch?”

She didn’t answer me.

I heard her teeth chattering and saw that she was shivering. “I got a jacket in the trunk. Would you like me to get it for you?”

She didn’t bother to answer. “What drugs are you doing?”

Still nothing from her. She had her hands clasped in her lap. I glanced at her arms and didn’t see any needle marks. I drove downtown, towards the Financial District, and was able to find a parking spot outside the Corner Diner.

Carol was working the counters. She waved us over, but I indicated I was going to take a booth. I noticed her eyeing Debra as we made our way to the back of the diner.

Carol came over with a couple of menus and a dishrag. “Hi, Johnny,” she said as she leaned her cute body forward and wiped the table. “I really enjoyed your column last month.”

“You didn’t use it to mop up spilled coffee?”

“No way. I saved it. Maybe you could autograph it for me later?”

“Sure. Thought I saw you working the counter today.”

“I am.” She started blushing. Red looked nice against her blond hair. “But it’s not busy yet, so I thought I could handle a table. Is this, uh, your niece?”