Port of Sorrow (2 page)

CHAPTER
2

Deputy Julia Rusk shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat of her Chevy half-ton and spat another sliver of well-chewed thumbnail out the window. It was a cool night, yet beads of sweat formed on the fading sunburn-blush of her freckled forehead.

Cringing, she thought of everyone back at the station house laughing over coffee, their favorite subject being the flat-chested rookie who looked enough like a boy to be stuck with such a lowly assignment.

Not for the first time, she wondered what her mother would say if she knew her daughter was going to be spending one of her first shifts for the Port Sorrow Sheriff’s Department sitting in a dock-side strip joint.

Although, thinking about it, to hear her mom say anything might actually be a comfort. She had barely spoken a word since Julia left the family farm nine months earlier to start her training.

The second-hand truck was a graduation gift from her father, so at least that relationship was still on solid ground.

Idaho had been the family’s ancestral home for over 120 years, and Julia had been only the second Rusk to leave the state in all that time. The first was her older brother, Billy-J, killed on duty in Iraq. Billy-J came home in a beautifully lacquered box with a neatly folded flag, thus he was forgiven.

Julia, on the other hand, was very much alive and suffering the silence only a mother can dish out. Now, she was adding more shame to the family name by preparing to enter what mom would surely call “a heathen’s brothel.”

After wiping moist palms on the front of her jeans, Julia climbed out of the truck and made her way to the neon-lit doorway of Tequila Shooter’s. Standing just a few blocks from the ferry terminal and anchoring the historic six-story Hotel Washington, Shooter’s was the most popular club in town. Its hook was naked women, cheap beer and to accept Canadian money at par, which brought in ferry loads of adventure-seeking university kids from Victoria and Vancouver every weekend.

According to the sheriff, most of the students were well behaved. They simply wanted to get drunk on American beer and see some American ass before their non-stop party tour continued on to Seattle before looping back across the border. The trouble was they were becoming easy prey for the transients who worked the docks, moving from ship to ship in search of backbreaking work and a quick exit out of state.

Six boys had been beaten half to death after visiting the club over the last six months, while four of them had also been brutally raped. Without any leads, the sheriff wanted Julia to find some evidence that would close the club on obscenity charges.

As he told Julia: “I don’t think my boys find anything involving naked women to be obscene. Hell, those girls could be doing doggie and donkey acts and those buffoons would clap and cheer instead of slapping on the cuffs. That’s why I thought you’d be perfect for the job. You might see something they’d ignore.”

Targeting the club rather than hunting down the rapists didn’t make a lick of sense to her, but Julia was too new to question orders.

With slim feet tucked inside cowboy boots, short copper-colored hair covered by a Seattle Mariners baseball cap, and the rest of her drowning inside a black-checkered shirt and leather jacket, Julia figured she could pass as a young man. The only real difference was an uncomfortable bandage binding her chest to make her even flatter than she already was, a silver shield in her left pocket, and a Glock 22 .40 caliber semi-automatic in a belt holster under her shirt.

After taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Julia opened the saloon door and walked inside. The air was yellow with cigarette smoke and the noise level was deafening. All the patrons were men, most of them sitting in groups around circular tables with jugs of beer and half-full mugs taking up all the elbowroom.

A few loners sat closest to the dark half-moon stage. Their eyes appeared more bloodshot than the rest, voices louder, hands greedily reaching out for any piece of flesh that happened to brush nearby. Scantily clad waitresses risked painful bruises as they squeezed between tables so tightly packed that the customers got a face-full of tits, ass or pussy with every delivery of beer.

The university kids were easy to spot. Sitting in large groups of ten or more, they preferred their beer in cans or bottles. Few of them smoked. The smarter waitresses were joking along with them, brushing up real close and bending so low the hint of exposed nipple was making them hard. It was tough to keep track of one’s change when your mind was on your dick.

Julia picked a stool along the bar at the back of the room. Not being close enough to the stage, most of the stools were either missing or unoccupied. A bald-headed bartender whose sour grin was shadowed beneath a tumbleweed beard approached her.

“What’s your pleasure?” he rasped.

“A glass of whatever’s on tap,” Julia replied, deepening her voice just a touch, feeling foolish as she did so.

The bartender poured a glass of beer so thin it struggled to form a head.

“That’ll be six fifty.”

Julia’s eyes popped open in disbelief. “For a glass of that?” she protested, her voice rising uncontrollably.

The bartender rolled his eyes. “It’s for the tits and beer, pal. Your wife doesn’t put out for free, so why should we?”

Julia grudgingly handed over a ten, pondered whether or not to ask for a receipt, and then turned around to focus on the stage. One of the waitresses, a curvy young thing with honey-blonde hair and an enviable chest, smiled over at her. Julia automatically smiled back, appreciative of the friendly gesture.

The girl grinned wider and winked as she lifted the bottom of her T-shirt to flash a pink-tipped, milk-white breast. The crowd roared with approval and instantly a dozen fingers were pointing at Julia, the laughter quickly following.

Julia turned her back to the crowd, embarrassed by the attention. Her flushed face didn’t return to normal until the lights dimmed. Turning front again, Julia noticed a lone hot-white spotlight focused on an oddly shaped, glass-enclosed cabinet off to one side of the wooden stage.

A thundering bass beat filled the room, effectively drowning the last of the conversation. A polished voice announced, “She’s given you a peek, but I bet she’ll give you more. All you gotta do is let out a roar.”

The crowd roared with anticipation.

Julia swallowed hard.

The white spotlight brightened and the blonde waitress stepped into the transparent cabinet. She seemed to be staring directly at Julia as she licked her lips and gyrated her hips to the rising beat of the music. Suddenly, Julia knew what the cabinet was, and she also knew the guys back at the station would be pissing themselves.

The waitress turned on the shower and smiled seductively as the cold water cascaded over her, instantly making her nipples hard and her T-shirt transparent.

Julia silently prayed to the ghost of James Doohan that it was time for her to be beamed up.

CHAPTER
3

“There’s a female cop out there,” Selene told Finn as she dried her hair in the green room behind the stage. “I think she has the hots for me.”

Finn looked up from the mirror where he was putting the finishing touches on a radiant, shoulder-length red wig.

“What did you do to her?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Selene answered slyly. “I only flashed a titty.”

“And what if she’s Vice?” he asked.

“Then she’s bound to have seen titties before, ain’t she? Besides, they can’t lock you up for being naked in a strip club. That’s what we’re here for.”

“That’s what you’re for,” Finn protested. “I, on the other hand, provide a touch of class.”

“Ooh, la, la.” Selene giggled as she lifted a large pink bath towel off the coat rack and wrapped it around herself.

Finn stood up to adjust his saline-filled bra as the DJ outside began his introduction.

“Do I look lop-sided?” he asked, nervously pulling up the elbow-length gloves that matched his low-cut emerald green dress to perfection.

“You look fantastic,” Selene answered with a smile. “What I wouldn’t give for a butt like yours, not to mention removable titties.”

Finn blew her a kiss and made his way to the empty wing beside the stage. Selene followed obediently behind.

The announcer was just wrapping up with, “. . . and now, without further delay, Tequila Shooter’s, the only club in all of Washington State with all-day shooter specials and our own brand of bacon flavored tequila, is proud to present that luscious singing sensation, Miss Veronique de Toulouse.”

Finn shuddered at the pronunciation of his stage name. The announcer made it sound like ‘Too Loose’. With a professional smile on his face, Finn stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand, to lap up the lascivious cat calls of the room. His spine tingled with excitement as he struck a provocative pose and heard the hormone level of the room rise to a deafening height. They knew beauty when they saw it.

“Before I begin my first song,” Finn breathed in a sexy, French-accented voice. “I would like to bring back to the stage for another ovation, and if possible another peek . . . ,” he flashed a conspiratorial wink at the wide-eyed students in the front row, “the lovely and talented, Sweet Charity Ball.”

Selene skipped out from the wings, still wrapped in the pink towel, to take her bow. But, as rehearsed, Finn grabbed the corner of the towel and tugged, spinning her naked toward center stage.

The crowd howled with appreciation at Selene’s wide-mouthed horror over her defrocking as she tried to cover her voluptuous body with her hands — the effect no less erotic than if she were fondling herself. Finn flashed the audience his widest smile in preparation for his tried-and-true, but it always made them laugh, one-liner, when an ear-splitting boom shattered his world.

The audience’s cheers collapsed into shock as Selene’s body was thrown across the stage, a geyser of blood erupting from her chest. Noise and fright filled the room, trapping Finn in its panic. His feet were frozen, his eyes disbelieving. It passed in an unbearable instant, finally freeing him to rush to Selene’s side.

Finn collapsed to his knees and gently lifted Selene’s head to his bosom. The noise evaporated around him until all he could hear was Selene’s strangled breathing.

“Oh, God,” he cried, tears falling down his cheeks. “Don’t die. Please don’t die.”

Selene looked up at him through glazed eyes, blood flowing from her mouth as she said, “It hurts, Finn. Make it stop hurting.”

“You’ll be all right, Sweetie,” Finn promised. “We’ll get an ambulance. You’ll be okay.”

Selene’s lips parted in a final gasp, eyes open wide in shock and pain as her last breath hissed from shredded lungs.

“Don’t leave me,” Finn moaned, crushing Selene closer to his chest. “Please don’t leave me.”

JULIA HEARD THE
thunderous roar of the shotgun a split second before she saw the gunman’s back disappearing through a fire exit on the far side of the room.

Adrenaline surged in her bloodstream as she leapt off the bar stool, unholstered her gun and gave chase. The Mariners baseball cap flew from her head as she burst through the crowd of stunned students to hit the exit door with the full force of her shoulder.

Darkness filled the cluttered alley outside and the piercing tone of the exit alarm covered any fleeing footsteps. There were only two ways to run: toward the docks or toward town. Julia picked the docks.

Gravel crunched underneath her feet as she ran further into darkness, her training telling her to call for backup but her instincts telling her she only had one shot to get a visual on the suspect.

When she finally broke free of the alley, she found herself in a park with a hundred black eyes focused on her through the muddy darkness, their ghost white faces illuminated by the half-lit moon and a scattering of dandruff stars. She knew the community of beachcombers by reputation only. They lived on the beach, keeping away from the main populous of town, grateful for the charity of a few friendly fishermen, wary of police. Neither gypsies, nor homeless, they were a tribe unique to these parts.

Julia stopped, her breathing labored as she surveyed the inert forms: some were sleeping, some standing by driftwood fires, most staring directly at her.

“Where did you go?” she asked herself, her eyes ripping apart the unfamiliar night.

Then she saw him, just a glimmer of movement at the opposite end of the park, racing for the dark outline of a truck.

Cursing, she rushed after him again, leaping over cardboard shacks and smoldering fires, desperately trying to keep the suspect in view.

The gunman made it to his truck before Julia was halfway across the park. As he opened the door and climbed inside, the dome light flicked on to show a dark smear above his mouth. Julia was too far away to see any more detail before the light abruptly snapped out.

The truck roared to life and its headlights flashed on high as Julia reached the edge of the park.

“Freeze!” she screamed, but knowing it was pointless.

Tires spun, gravel spat, and the truck roared straight towards her.

Pig-headed, Julia stood her ground. Positioning her feet shoulder-width apart, Julia gripped her gun with both hands and locked her elbows. The headlights blinded her as the truck bore down, forcing her to squint. But with the same accuracy that won her both the academy’s marksman trophy and sacksful of gopher tails (worth $1 each) every summer, she shot out both lights with single shots.

Taking the hint, the truck spun around in a desperate retreat, the force of the spin causing its rear to fishtail and its tires to kick up a dangerous cloud of stones and gravel. Cursing, Julia was forced to dive for cover as the biting granite peppered around her. As she hit the dirt, shotgun thunder filled the air once again, tearing a chunk from the side of a nearby tree.

By the time Julia got back on her feet, the truck was moving faster than she could hope to catch. But as it passed underneath a street lamp, she caught the last two words of a bumper sticker:
Loves Me
.

Julia stood still for a few seconds, trying to absorb everything she had seen, before dusting herself off. It was the first time she had ever been shot at, yet strangely, she felt quite calm. Brushing gravel crumbs out of a bloodied left cheek, she holstered her gun and walked back to the silent crowd. The eyes of the beachcombers followed her every movement and she could hear the muffled cries of frightened children.

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked, knowing the spread of the shotgun blast could have reached well beyond the splintered tree.

Nobody answered.

She walked closer to a huddled group standing in the middle of the makeshift camp. “I can get help if anyone is injured.”

Again, nobody answered.

Julia pulled out her badge and held it over top one of the small cooking fires, allowing the embers’ glow to catch its shiny silver plating.

“I’m a deputy. There’s no need to be frightened.”

The silence was plain.

With an audible sigh, she asked, “Did anyone see that man’s face?”

It was useless; no one was going to answer her. In a last-ditch effort she pointed to the alley. “He murdered a woman back there, don’t you care?”

An enormous woman, dressed in a rainbow-colored dress and black woolen shawl, walked forward on legs the width of tree trunks. She must have weighed 400 pounds, yet her face glowed with a youthful vigor in the dancing flame of the fires.

“Nobody saw nothin’,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “You best leave.”

The crowd opened a path to the alley and it was only in their parting that Julia saw how many of them there truly were.

Knowing she was wasting time, Julia pocketed her shield and jogged back to the club. It wasn’t until she re-entered the alley’s cold embrace that she wondered with trepidation what the sheriff would say about her eventful debut.