Consumed (13 page)

A car wash passed on the right, just beyond a gas station. I saw a large man standing outside a small blue Datsun pickup truck parked near the air pumps and vacuums. The man seemed to be talking with a female that appeared to be a prostitute, by her outfit—shorter-than-short jean shorts, cowboy boots, and a tiny yellow top.

“Datsun,” I said. “Don’t see those very often. We passed another girl walking down the parking lot toward a bank. Her short skirt and stumbling steps said she might also be in the business. “Let’s go another few blocks up, see what we see, and then loop back around.”

“Got it,” Tom said.

I looked over my shoulder at Beth in the back seat. She was staring out the window, looking for groups of prostitutes.

Tom drove another quarter mile up. A large church came up on our right. To our left was a pizza-chain restaurant. The area was starting to look a little better. “You can probably turn around,” I said.

Tom clicked on his turn signal and made a U-turn at the lights to head back in the other direction. We traveled back toward the area again. The motels sat off to the left, to our right the trees and underbrush. I spotted a woman walking ten feet off the sidewalk’s edge in the weeds, carrying a brown bag that I assumed to be a beer or other booze. I pointed up ahead and to the left side of the street. One of the trashy-looking motels had a bank out front and off to one side. We would be able to get a good view of the passersby on the street as well as anyone who frequented the motel.

“Park at that bank there,” I said.

Tom drove down the turn-only lane. We pulled into the bank’s parking lot and parked out of the light from the streetlights toward the back.

“Good here?” Tom asked.

“Should be fine, yeah,” I said.

Tom shifted the car into park and shut it off.

Beth pulled herself forward by the front-seat headrests so her face was between Tom and me in the gap between the front seats. She rolled a hair tie off of one wrist and put her brown hair back in a ponytail. “So are we just waiting until we see a girl and approaching her, or what?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“What’s our pitch?” she asked.

“I guess just ask if they could take a look at a couple of photos for us. We need to maintain the ‘we’re here to help’ angle. As soon as one girl tells another and another that there’s a couple of feds sitting around out here, this area will turn into a ghost town,” I said.

“Maybe I should go walk around a bit without you two?” Beth asked. “The girls might be more open to talking with a female as opposed to three people who are obviously law enforcement.”

“Up to you,” I said. “If you’re going to do that, stay where we can see you.”

“Are you worried about me, Agent Rawlings?” Beth asked.

I gave her a sideways glance over my shoulder to remind her of what had happened on our last investigation—Beth shrugged and looked away.

I looked forward out of the windshield. To the left, up the street past a patch of trees, was a Waffle House, directly across from us was what looked to be an out-of-business nightclub, and a bit to the right of the club was a gas station.

“Looks like we have our first customer,” Tom said. He pointed out the windshield at a woman walking along the sidewalk, waving at passing cars. She was maybe thirty yards away, lit by the streetlights. She wore knee-high black boots, a short blue dress, and a small black jacket. Her hair looked to be dark, and she was small in stature.

“Well, let me go see if she knows anything. You guys stay put.” Beth retreated to the backseat, grabbed her file of photos and opened the rear passenger door. The dome light in the car dimmed after Beth shut the door and started toward the woman on the street. I looked to my right at the motel back over my shoulder—a number of people rummaged around out front. My attention went back to Beth.

She said, “Excuse me, Miss,” as she walked.

The woman stopped and stared at her. Beth continued to talk, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. The woman was making quick movements with her hands, emphasizing whatever she was saying as she shook her head. Beth tried opening the file she held and showing the woman a photo. The woman pushed the file back toward Beth, turned, and continued up the street.

“Damn. This might be a short night,” Tom said.

“Yeah, that girl didn’t look like she was too interested in Beth.”

Beth headed back to the car and got inside. “Well, that didn’t go so hot,” she said.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“Well unfortunately, I no hablo español, so I have no idea.”

“Guessing that was probably her way of getting rid of you,” Tom said.

“Probably,” Beth said.

The girl Beth had just approached crossed the street and disappeared behind the gas station. I looked over my shoulder again at the motel, which still looked pretty active. “Maybe we should head over to the motel there. Looks like it’s the hot spot around these parts.”

“Whoever is outside is going to scatter like roaches when we pull up. Maybe we should have taken one of your rental cars instead of this.” Tom was referring to his dark-gray, fed-issued cruiser, complete with government license plates.

I shook my head. “Maybe that will give us some leverage.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Well, if anyone runs, we can chase a couple down. You’d have to think running from federal agents and getting caught is going to loosen your lips a little bit,” I said.

“I didn’t really think I’d be running people down this evening, I would have worn some better shoes,” Beth said.

“Let’s just take a quick little roll over there and see what’s shaking. Maybe we get some cooperation,” I said.

“Now?” Tom asked.

I looked at Beth in the backseat. “What do you think?”

“Yeah sure,” she said.

Tom nodded and fired up the car. We pulled away from the bank and made the next right into the motel’s entrance. We drove the short, S-shaped road until it expanded into the businesses’ parking lot. Tom kept the speed to a crawl. The parking lot was divided into two sections by a large curbed grass median. Most of the parking spots were full.

“Park back here for a second. Let’s see what we’re working with,” I said.

Tom pulled into the single free parking spot facing the front of the building.

I stared through the windshield. Beyond the car parked with its nose facing us across the grass median, I could see the two-story motel. The building was a light shade of yellow—the top story had a white railing and walkway. All the room doors faced the parking lot. On the lower level, a couple people sat out front on white plastic chairs that one could acquire from any store for a few bucks a pop. The motel looked to be the kind of place you could rent by the hour, week, or month. I saw a couple of girls walk over to the pair of seated men, hand them something, and then continue on their way. A few girls stood around the pair, appearing to just be hanging around. An empty wooden picnic table sat just a few feet from the group.

“Dealing from there?” Beth asked. She’d once again pulled herself up between the two front seats to get a better look.

“Maybe,” I said. I got a good look at our seated men. The guy on the right was white and wore a red baseball hat, a white T-shirt, and jeans. Tattoos ran down his arms. The man on the left looked Latino, his hair dark and short. He also wore a white T-shirt, long khaki shorts, and a pair of bright-red sneakers.

As we watched, a door of the lower level opened, and a man and woman walked out, one after the other. The man walked to a car, got in, backed out, and left the motel’s parking lot. The girl went to the two seated men, handed them something, and continued toward the front of the motel and street. Her style of dress suggested she was a prostitute.

“Looks like they’re bringing their Johns to the motel and handing off the cut to the guys sitting there on their way back to the street,” Tom said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Come on, let’s go shake our motel pimps down. We don’t really know what kind of a reaction we’re going to get here, so just be ready,” I said.

“Got it,” Tom said.

I looked over at Beth, her head directly to the left of my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” she said.

“All right. Let’s meander on over there,” I said.

Tom backed out of the parking spot, took us around the last parked car, and turned right, pointing the nose of the car directly at them. We approached. By a hundred feet away, both men had eyes locked on us. The one on the right, in jeans, grabbed the chair’s armrest, appearing ready to run. I unclipped my seatbelt. Tom stopped twenty feet from them and threw the car into park. The head of the guy on the left darted left to right. The man in the white shirt, jeans, and red hat, who appeared ready to make a break for it, did.

Beth threw the back door of the car open and put a foot down outside. “FBI! Don’t run!” she yelled.

He glanced at her quickly as he made for the side of the building.

“I got him,” I said and threw the door open. The man was thirty yards from me, running in a wide-footed fashion with one hand on the waistline of his jeans, trying to keep his pants from falling. I pulled my service weapon and gave chase. The distance between him and me closed with each of my strides. His red hat flew from his head as he turned left at the corner of the building, where the faded blacktop parking lot turned to grass. After making the corner, I was on him in two steps. The floodlights mounted to the top of the motel lit the area. I could see the man was unarmed, and I reached out and grabbed him by the back of his white T-shirt. He spun back toward me when he felt me catch him, and his shirt ripped from my grasp. He took his hand from holding up his pants, seemingly trying to surrender, but fell over backward as his pants fell to his ankles. He hit the ground backside first, staring back at me. He held up his hands, which were empty.

I put my gun on him. “You done?” I asked.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said.

“Then why are you running, genius?”

“I was scared.”

“Sure,” I said. “I have a feeling you know the drill. Knees with your hands interlocked behind your head.”

He said nothing and assumed the position. I linked him up and pulled him to his feet.

“I’m going to pull your pants up and check your pockets. You have anything in there that I should know about?” I asked.

“A little weed. That’s it.”

“Pipe, knife, needles, anything like that?” I asked.

“No, nothing,” he said.

I yanked the guy’s pants back up around his waist and removed everything from his pockets.

“Out to the front of the motel,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I walked him back to the front to sit him back in the plastic chair next to his friend, who was no longer in the chair but against the motel wall, getting linked up by Beth.

“So how far away yet?” the girl asked.

Richard looked over at her. The hooker had told him her name was Crystal. She sat on a blanket covering the bloodstained front seat of his pickup truck. She wore a tiny pair of jean shorts, the pockets hanging lower than where the shorts were cut, a tight yellow top with an exposed black bra, and knee-high cowboy boots. The girl had dyed blond hair. Her face looked young—Richard imagined she couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

“Just a couple minutes or so, and we’ll be there,” Richard said.

“And you’re going to drop me back off in the morning?” she asked. She twirled her hair in her finger and stared over at Richard. He imagined she was trying to appear seductive.

“Yeah, I’ll drop you somewhere,” Richard said. His mouth turned into a smirk.

“You heard me when I said two hundred an hour, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“That means drive time too,” Crystal said.

Richard fished his wallet from his pocket, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and handed them to her. Crystal tucked them into her bra.

“I’m probably going to have to eat something,” she said. “I mean, if I’m going to be gone all night.”

“Yeah, I’m planning on eating in a little bit,” Richard said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Um, okay,” she said. “So what is your house like?”

Richard had never actually brought a woman into his house while she was still alive. Getting the girl’s reaction would be entertaining, he figured.

“Um, the place is okay, I guess. Bachelor pad, for the most part.”

“Are there going to be other people there? I charge more for parties,” she said.

Richard thought for a moment—Mark said he might stop by to check in on him. He pushed the thought away, figuring his brother had just said that to make sure he stayed put.

“It should just be you and me.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ve never had a guy want me all night before.”

Richard looked over at her, and she smiled.

“We’re going to have a real good time,” he said.

Richard turned left, drove a mile up the dark street, and turned left again into his gravel driveway. The long driveway led him over a bit of a hill before the new house came into view. The old house, further back, was pitch black and not visible. Richard didn’t see a sheriff’s SUV or his brother’s personal car—Mark wasn’t there.

“This is the place, I take it?” Crystal asked.

“Yup.” Richard said.

The two got out of the pickup, and Richard led her to the home’s backdoor. Richard pulled open the aluminum screen door and put the key in the door to unlock the main one. He pushed it open.

“Oh God, what is that smell?” Crystal asked. She pulled her head back and covered her nose with her hand before she even stepped foot into the house.

“Just come on in,” he said.

The girl kept her hand over her nose and mouth and followed Richard along the path between the garbage into the kitchen.

“What the hell?” Crystal yelled. She tried to turn and run for the door.

Richard grabbed her and pulled her in front of him—her back to his chest. He held her with an arm under her chin, across her throat. Crystal kicked and flailed, her fingertips pawing off the refrigerator.