‘You got any complaints?’ Rooney had asked.
‘No, no complaints,’ she had said, quietly and firmly. She never complained or put any man on the line, even when she found out they were having free fucks from the hookers. She was so tough no one would have believed she would plummet out of control. Rooney wondered now just how long she had hidden her drinking. He had liked Lorraine, admired her tenacity. She had proved her guts too. As he drove Rooney remembered how he and his partner had been called out to an affray in a down-town bar. Neither was prepared to confront the young Mexican holding a waitress by the throat. He’d already knifed two men, everyone was hysterical, and crowds were gathering on the pavement outside.
Rooney called for back-up which arrived in the shape of the young rookie Page, and her beer-gut partner, Brian Dullay. Dullay waddled over to Rooney, bellowing for an update. Suddenly there was a single terrible scream from inside the bar. They needed a decoy: someone to go in the front, distract the Mexican, so they could unarm him from behind. No fucking way, Dullay said. Just as Rooney was about to order him inside, Lorraine stepped forward. ‘I’ll do it. We can’t leave that girl in there,’
While Dullay and Rooney’s partner headed for the escape at the back, Lorraine opened the door to the bar. The terrified girl was held by the deranged barman, a knife already cutting through her neck, blood streaming down her dress. Her legs were buckled, she had pissed in her pants with terror, and her face was stricken, frozen, her mouth open wide.
Lorraine walked in holding her hands above her head. ‘I’m alone, Roberto, just let her go and you and me can talk.’
The man pushed the girl down to the floor and stamped on her head, holding her firm with his foot. He grinned crazily as he lifted the knife. ‘It’s too late, no talk now, no more talk.’
Lorraine held her gaze, never flinching when he switched the knife from his right to his left hand. Then he snatched a gun from his belt and pointed it at her. She stood still, without taking her eyes off him. ‘It’s never too late to talk. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on?’
‘They kick me out my place, they take my kids, they got no right to do that, I work hard, I pay my taxes, they got no right, I been to the right people, weeks I been goin’ an’ they say it’s okay, nobody can take your place, but they—’
Rooney fired first, then Dullay. The bullet blew the back of the Mexican’s skull apart, his blood and brains splattering Lorraine, his body falling over the sobbing waitress.
The girl clung to Lorraine. Even when the ambulance came she wouldn’t let go, so Lorraine sat with her until the sedatives took effect then slowly stepped out of the ambulance.
Rooney was talking to Dullay as Lorraine approached him. ‘There was no need to kill him,’ she said flatly.
Rooney had glared at her. ‘He would have used this. You got a complaint?’ He had shoved the dead Mexican’s gun under her nose.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘No complaint.’
Rooney was still thinking about her when he let himself into his home an hour later. He remembered Lubrinski. He was sure there had been something going on between them. They were real close, used to drink together after duty. Thinking of the dark, handsome officer Rooney felt sad. He was one of the best he’d ever come across, bit of a loner but a real man’s man. When Rooney had partnered Lorraine with him, he had expected fireworks but instead she and Lubrinski had formed one of the strongest teams he’d ever had. He wished he had a twosome like them with him now but they only come once in a blue moon. Page and Lubrinski, chalk and cheese and yet...
Lorraine kept on walking after seeing Rooney. Then she took a bus to Sunset and set off towards the hookers’ hangouts and on until she got to the gay quarter. She stopped outside a coffee bar with a few tables planted on the dirty street. She was looking for Nula or Didi but couldn’t find them so asked around for Curtis and was told he would be in the Bar Q further along the stretch. The bar was dark, with music so loud it was deafening. There were only a few customers dotted around, none Lorraine knew, so she sat at the bar and ordered a Coke.
‘How you doing?’ smiled the black bartender. ‘Not seen you in a long while.’
Lorraine grinned. ‘Is Curtis out back?’
‘Yeah, he’s got a game going.’
Lorraine could see a few men in the small pool room. She strolled in and stood sipping the Coke, watching Curtis play with three other dudes in snazzy suits and flash ties. Printed silk was the rage among pimps, reminiscent of Micky Spillane. She knew better than to interrupt, but Curtis looked up suddenly. ‘You want me, sugar?’
‘When you got a second.’
Curtis chalked his cue. As she moved away, he asked one of the players, ‘Who’s that?’
The man couldn’t put a name to the face. Curtis continued the game.
Lorraine went back to the bar and ordered another Coke. A few more customers had drifted in and a bleached blonde with heavy breasts was perched on an end stool, talking to a boy in leathers. She was all of forty, her tight leather skirt up round her crotch. He leaned forward as if hanging on her every word but his eyes were focused on her deep cleavage. Her breasts were pushed up by a wired bra and burst through the clinging Lycra. Lorraine was almost amused to watch the old pro at work. Every move was sexual — she didn’t even reach for her drink without the carefully orchestrated swing of her hips, or opening her legs further, constantly touching her breasts, and licking her thickly painted lips. The boy moved closer, desperate to touch her, and Lorraine waited, knew Blondie would talk money any second. Sure enough, she saw her whisper, then lean back, resting her elbows on the bar, and the boy was hooked.
He passed some bills and the come-on act dropped. Blondie downed her drink, slid off the stool and, arm in arm, they walked out. Lorraine reckoned she’d have a room in one of the motels close by and that the boy was probably a college kid high on grass and desperate to get his rocks off. Well, he would, but he would probably not have reckoned on it being so fast.
Curtis leaned on the bar next to Lorraine. He ordered a beer.
‘You know some friends of mine, Didi and Nula. I’m lookin’ for them, but they’re not on the strip,’ she said.
‘Bit early for them. What do you want?’
‘I’m a friend of Art’s.’
‘You want some videos?’
‘Maybe.’
Curtis suddenly moved close to Lorraine. ‘So you know Didi and Nula.’ He stripped her with his eyes, then focused on her crotch. ‘But you’re not one of them. You want to turn a few tricks?’ he asked casually, as if offering her a drink.
‘No, I want to see them and I don’t like goin’ to their place in case I interrupt a session.’
Curtis tilted his head back and laughed. ‘Not party to that, girlie, not with kids, not my scene.’
Lorraine smiled back. He was relaxing, trusting her, and even more so when a skinny black hooker, Elsa, breezed in and saw Lorraine.
‘Hey, how you doin’?’ she screamed across the bar, then wiggled over and slipped her arms around Lorraine. ‘Long time no see, an’ you cleaned yerself up. Baby, you’re lookin’ great.’
Lorraine was entwined in strong skinny arms and the thick black curly wig tickled her face as Elsa kissed her on the lips. Curtis looked on, as Elsa, still clasping Lorraine tightly, told him how many good times the two of them had had together. She traced the scar on Lorraine’s face with her thumb, its long, hooked, bright-red nail like a claw. ‘Oh, Jesus, do I remember that night.’