Page 11 of Gates of Tartarus

Turning back to Chantalle, I roll my eyes in mock exasperation. “Men,” I growl, and she smiles back at me.

“Yeah. So, like I said. There’s not a lot of info, and I don’t play in the game we’re talking about, so it’s all second hand. Word on the street is that girls have been going missing. And not like with Bianchi’s shit attempt. Like, one day they’re there, the next day they’re gone. And then they’ll show up weeks later, arms marked to shit with track lines, dead as fuck. And bad, bad things have been done to them. They’re bruised up, gaunt... These aren’t meth heads or coked-out girls. None of them are runaways, like someone who is maybe being looked for. No one who has concerned friends or family in the area, at least that we know about. These are the girls who get lost in the cracks. Just the ones who won’t be missed.” Chantalle swallows audibly, hands clenching the napkin in front of her.

I nod. “We’re following that. Do you have any leads? Has anyone seen or heard anything that could help us out?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know a ton,” she says slowly. “Other than they’re not interested inus.”

“What do you mean?’ I ask, confused.

“She means that, whoever is taking the girls, isn’t interested in what we’re selling. They don’t appear to be interested in bodies; they seem to be interested inbodies.” Terry interjects abruptly. “We don’t have to be worried about our girls at all. Not at all. And whoever is doing it has some serious clout behind them, becauseno oneis askinganyquestions. Which is fucking crazy. Some of them are kids, for Christ’s sake. I mean, how many times can people show up dead and then just... nothing. We thought–” he begins hesitantly, and Chantalle looks at him, alarmed, but he pushes through, “we thought maybe you guys were part of it.”

“Us guys?” I say in a strangled tone.

“Yeah, police or government or whatever. I mean, at some point shouldn’t you be concerned about dead bodies? And the one time Marco saw a person–”

Marco makes a noise that sounds like a short grunt to me, but the other two exchange long looks, then turn back to Marco, who frowns.

“I don’t want a part in this, Ms. Haven,” he says flatly, voice surprisingly gruff for someone I’m ballparking at 19 or 20 years old.Maybemid-20s with a real baby face.

Chantalle narrows her eyes slightly and sits back in her chair. “Marco,” she purrs. “You’re on my books, you’re on my time. Understand?”

His face darkens even further, but he nods and starts speaking, albeit reluctantly. “It was dark, yeah? So I don’t have much. I was checking on one of our girls who had been out of touch too long. They don’t go with blue collars, yeah? But the white collars are just as dangerous. They can make shit disappear, so sometimes they need some encouragement to behave.”

I level a long look at Marco, which Chantalle misinterprets. “He may not have the size of Terry or Jake, the guy at the door, but he’s twice as fucking dangerous, I promise you that.”

“Oh, I know,” I respond softly, and they both look at me, confused. “I can tell.”

It’s quiet for a second, and I see Chantalle cock her head, thinking, then understanding flashes across her face. “The Seattle Psychic?”

I hear Walker snort behind me, covering it up in a cough, and I sigh. “Yeah, I don’t really like that moniker.”

She nods seriously and says, “When Marco finishes, I have a question for you.”

I shrug, not willing to commit to a yes or no, and Marco continues, “So I was checking near our girl’s normal apartment – The Sky View – and I saw two people in the alley next door. Not a big deal, but I like to be aware of my surroundings, yeah? And they were hovering in the shadows, wrapped up in trench coats like spies or some shit. Like, I think they were trying to not be obvious, but they stuck out more, yeah? So one was an older chick and one was a dude, but that’s all I got.”

Chantalle rolls her eyes a little and adds, “You should know that, to Marco, an older chick could be 30 or 60 or 80. Anyone out of their teens really.”

“Did you hear anything? Or see any identifying characteristics? Height? Hair color? Anything?”

“Naw, man. I mean, the reason I remember them was because they were leaning over someone, on the ground. I thought maybe it was our girl, so I started toward them, but once I saw the shoes, I knew she wasn’t one of ours.”

I raise an eyebrow, and Chantalle says, “On the job, all the girls wear red bottoms.”

I whistle softly, and she continues, “We have a small library of them. The girls check them out, take care of them, bring them back. We can’t have our girls look like hookers – they escort men to business functions, dinners, etc. The girls have to be fluent in a second language, well read, and stay up-to-date on world events. We don’t turn tricks here, Kailani. You understand?”

I nod, impressed with the little empire Chantalle has built herself. “So once you knew she wasn’t yours, you left?”

He stiffens slightly, frowning. “I didn’t leave. My first responsibility was to our girl. What good does it do anyone if I get caught up in some shit that’s not my business and leave our girls out to dry?”

Voice soothing, I apologize: “I’m sorry, Marco, I didn’t mean to imply... It was a mistake on my part.”

Mollified, he continues. “So I walked toward them a little, just trying to figure out what was going on, yeah? And I hear the woman say, real soft, ‘This is a bad spot for dumping…’ and something about Walgreens or CVS or something like that, and testing. I couldn’t hear the rest, but the guy with her kind of kicked the body, and the way it moved – whoever that was wasn’t there anymore, yeah? So I just got out of there, checked in on our girl, and headed home. Maybe 1am or something.”

I frown, leaning forward. “Walgreens or CVS? Are you sure?”

“I dunno. Something like that. It’s all the same to me, and it was late... I wasn’t paying that much attention...”

Turning, I look over my shoulder to meet Walker’s hard gaze, and I know he heard everything.

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