“I get that same sense from you, hotshot. What’s up with you and the boys in blue?”
She’d hit another raw nerve, one she hadn’t expected. He was definitely protecting a woman, but the cop thing got a reaction from him, one she’d file away for later.
“Talk to me, Seth. We’re almost out of time.”
“Look, you don’t need to know everything, Jessie. If I don’t remember making it to that bar, I probably didn’t. And if that’s so, then having her name won’t help. She’s not a part of this.”
Jess sat back in her chair. Harper had a stubborn streak and had been a real pain in the ass. The whole experience had been like looking in a damned mirror.
“You know I won’t narc for the cops. If this friend of yours wants to steer clear of the law, I’m okay with that. But we need all the pieces to the puzzle, and with your memory being Swiss cheese, we gotta start somewhere.” She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on him until he returned her stare.
“You gotta trust me, Harper. Give me her name and where I can find her. We won’t know what kind of help she’ll be unless we ask. Maybe she can fill in the gaps of what happened that night, lead us somewhere worth going. Please…trust me. None of this is going to the cops. I’ll keep her name out of it. I promise.”
She’d finally struck a chord with him or had worn him down. She saw it in his eyes.
After a heavy sigh, he said, “Her name is Amanda Vincent, Mandy. But her street name is Desiree.” He gave a general description of how to find the woman and what she looked like. A waiflike blonde who sold her soul every time she wanted to get high.
“And, Jess, be careful when you cross over into her world. It ain’t safe there.”
“Thanks, Harper, for trusting me.” She reached into a pocket for her cell phone. “Now I need something from you. Try not to look like a booking photo.”
She raised her cell phone to take his picture. She’d need it for her stop at Dirty Monty’s. Someone might remember seeing him last night. After she got a reasonable likeness, she wanted to press him for more, but a loud knock interrupted their session. The on-duty cop opened the door, telling her what she already knew.
Her time with Harper was done. But as for his mystery blonde, Mandy “Desiree” Vincent—well, that was another story.
Given Harper’s word of warning about the dangerous world Desiree lived in, she’d have to come up with a backup plan to make sure she walked away with all her body parts. Jess knew what to expect, but she’d need more than that to face it.
CHAPTER 5
South Side of Chicago
8:20 P.M.
Jess knew something about Desiree’s world because she lived on its fringes, one of many reasons she didn’t go alone. Her Colt Python made good company, plus she’d brought an unexpected surprise if she got cornered. Not being known for her subtlety, she firmly believed one thing.
Stun grenades made righteous icebreakers.
Englewood Police Station covered the 7th District, an area that ran north and south from 55th Street to 75th and west to east from the Penn Central Railroad to the Dan Ryan Expressway. The district had a vibe to it, even in daylight. But after dark, the place took on the razor’s edge of a war zone. Street gangs protected their turf—boundaries defined in spray paint—each vying for control of their slice of the shit heap. Its seedy underbelly sprouted from every sidewalk crack, reflected off every shard of glass strewn down murky alleys, and snaked like caustic smoke from every discarded cigarette tossed on the street.
She equated the ’hood to a hostile living thing that stirred when provoked. And tonight had given her more faith in that analogy.
Jess had started with those she knew and trusted, then eventually hit the danger zone, resorting to a flash of cash to get someone talking. A calculated risk. In the ’hood, money had a way of multiplying influence like a modern-day miracle of biblical proportions. Sure, it would get her noticed, but not always by the right people. She had wanted information bad enough to pay, and that meant someone else could barter for the flip side of that morsel. After all, everyone had to eat. But not all negotiations were about money.
Favors could get someone in tight with the local powers that be. Long after she’d gone and taken her meager bankroll, others more influential endured. Information was king in most places. The ’hood was no different.
She had spent a few hours working her street connections. But no matter how cautious she’d been in her search, she suspected the word had leaked that she was looking for Desiree. Cooperation had dried up, and things had gotten real quiet—the eerie dead calm found in the eye of a storm.
Dirty Monty’s would be her last stop of the night. By the time she’d get to the sleazy bar, it’d be in full swing. On her way there, she cruised the side streets around the bar looking for Harper’s ’65 Mustang, but came up empty. She made a mental note to try the crime-scene parking lot later—the last place she wanted to find his vehicle. Even though the cops probably weren’t looking for Harper’s Mustang, locating it at the scene of a grizzly murder would be another damning nail in his coffin.
So far tonight, she’d discovered nothing that would help Harper. And frustration closed in tight.
After she’d found a prime spot to park the blue van, a block down from Dirty Monty’s, she hoped her luck had changed, but that didn’t happen either. Not one waitress recalled seeing Harper, but a young bleached blonde shared her thoughts on what she’d like to do to the boy after seeing his photo on her phone.
“Thanks, honey,” Jess raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let him know. And just between you and me? Nothing says true love like a ball gag and paddle.”
Oblivious to her sarcasm, the woman grinned, but before she walked off to serve drinks, Jess asked, “I need to talk to one of the bartenders. Which one?”
The waitress pointed to one of the guys behind the bar. “Try Jake Cordell. He’s a prick, but he’s in charge.”
“They usually are.” She tossed a tip on the woman’s serving tray. “Thanks.”
Jess claimed a barstool nearest Cordell and started a conversation with him. At first, the stout spiky-haired man with a nose ring had no recollection of the night Seth had been there. The guy hardly looked at Harper’s digital photo when she held up her phone, but he kept up his end of the conversation as he served drinks.
“I see a lot of faces in a night. Sorry, lady. Don’t remember him.”
Money might jog his memory, but she opted for a cheaper tactic—lying.
“The kid got into a car accident leaving here,” she said. “I do investigative work for his insurance company. They hired me to look into his DUI. I’m only trying to save you the hassle.”
The bartender stopped and gave his full attention. “What hassle?”
“I’ve seen this before. A kid has too much to drink and everyone comes lookin’ for the guy who let him get that way. Insurance is one thing, but civil lawsuits can get real ugly, man. When they arrested him, his blood-alcohol level was off the scale.”
“No way, he only had a few beers.” The man’s memory suddenly became crystal clear. He tossed a wet rag onto the counter, ignoring a patron tinkling his raised glass for a refill. “And besides, he had a buddy take him home. I saw ’em leave.”
“What did this buddy look like?” she asked.
“Oh hell, I don’t know.” He nudged his head to the other bartender, getting him to handle the insistent man with the hoisted glass, and kept talking. “The only reason I remembered your guy in the photo was because he made a scene. He nearly passed out, but someone came forward to help. He acted like a friend, but I never got a good look at him. Last I seen ’em, they were headin’ out the door, and your guy was walking…sort of.”