Page 10 of Gypsy's Lady
Rebel Wayfarers MC
Sometimes just knowing there was a single soul in the universe who understood was enough to get him through the day. Occasionally talking to Joel was a reminder to keep doing what resonated in his soul. As long as he did that, everything else would sort itself out.
Doug stared at the body of a woman lying in the alley behind a trendycoffee shop.
And sometimes it’s not.
After the fiasco that was his assignment in Chicago, Doug had picked up stakes and moved. Fort Wayne had been looking for seasoned detectives, and he happened to be one, so it seemed a good fit at the time. After six months in town, he was less certain of that fact.
Downtown revitalization, that’s what the political types called it. The rapid spread of new and revampedbusinesses combined with a growing presence of a new workforce meant pressure on established territory lines for the ones who’d owned the space before.
Hookers and pimps had to give way to loud, self-absorbed yuppies who laughed as they walked arm-in-arm up a street towards a restaurant which specialized in serving appetizers. No entrees, because a full meal was a commitment to a single somethingtheir clients wouldn’t appreciate. So they presented a menu filled with the idea of tiny bits of everything coming together to make a whole.Tapas? What the hell?
All the old hole-in-the-wall places had closed, their footprints razed to make way for the new businesses, and unemployment lines were the only future their less sophisticated workers saw.
Desperation stank worse than fear, and thisneighborhood reeked of it. Drug dealers who previously owned this area had been driven back to the shadows along the edges of the territory, which meant they were now butted up against yet another territory. More competition for a shrinking population. If that dealer pulled back to the next area…what you had was a contracting circle of misery, where the criminal elementwashelpless against thewill of the wealthy.
The woman—girl really—looked to be a hooker, and where she’d come to rest was about nine blocks from where she should have been these days.
Doug glanced around and eyed the predictable crew of forensic investigators. The coroner’s minions waited next to the yellow tape separating the active crime scene from the sidewalk.He also noted something surprising because the manwho served as the liaison between the PD and the city council was standing near the scene, but on this side, the wrong side of the tape, where he shouldn’t be unless invited—and since Doug was working this one and hadn’t extended an invitation, the man was out of place.He caught sight of two reporters out by the coroner’s van, also not something he expected because a hooker wasn’t something yournormal folks worried about. In fact, they’d prefer to not hear news like that at all, which meant the journalist presence was unexpected. Marking it down as something to do with the everchanging political climate, Doug returned to staring at the body.
She’d beenpretty,if you could see past the caked-on mask created out of makeup. Pretty and young, something that couldn’t be missed. Tiny breasts,tiny body, tiny face…everything leaned towards her being a young runaway turned to flesh trade to keep food in her belly. Probably underage.Such a waste.
Doug tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned, expecting to find one of the forensic techs, surprised to see his captain instead. “Sir.”
The captain stared beyond him and shook his head. “Damn, that’s sad.” He faced Doug. “Whatdo you have so far?”
Have?Doug had been on scene about ten minutes and hadn’t gotten close to the body yet because he was waiting for the techs to finish their jobs. All hehadwere the basics of the call. “Body was found about thirty minutes ago, called in by a woman walking her dog.” Their witness lived in the luxury apartments over the newest line of boutique shops across the street fromthecoffee shop. “Patrol found her where you see her.No IDon the body. We’ll know more once the lab boys get her on a slab back in their place.”And why exactly are you here?Unlike previous brass, this captain didn’t come to crime scenes. His focus was more on the schmooze partiesthrownby whatever council candidate needed the department’s backing.
“Sounds good.”No, it didn’t. It soundedlike I have shit. “Listen, we’ll want to avoid gossiping to the vultures on this one.” Captain made a vague gesture towards where the reporters stood, talking into the screens of their phones as they gave live updates back to their editors. “There’s interest in this one from up above.” That had to mean the mayor’s office, which explained the captain’s presence. “Keep me updated.”
Doug noddedslowly, not missing how the liaison was gone, the journalists’ circle had grown by two, and his captain’s forehead had a sheen of sweat. “Will do.”
***
“It was weird, Winger.” Doug lifted his glass and drained it, setting it down and nudging it towards the inside of the bar top. “Cap hasn’t shown at a scene since I’ve worked here. Why this one?”
Wingerwas the head honcho of a riding club herein Fort Wayne. Not anMC,and Doug hadn’t tried to explain why he knew the difference the first time he assured Winger he didn’t have to clarify for the cop that they weren’t a gang. But, he figured Winger had been around long enough he understood there was some level of experience in Doug’s background.
This bar wasn’t on Doug’s way home, but he still found himself here more often than not, enjoyingthe easy familiarity of the bartender and men. Dixie, the barkeep, was a good woman who didn’t take bullshit from anyone and had sized Doug up on his first visit with one word as she’d set a beer in front of him. It’s what she’d called him since, and he heard it again now, “Another one, Lawman?”
He shook his head as he smiled at her, getting the same in return. “Nope. I gotta head out. Run mytab, honey.” She nodded, and he watched her move away for a moment before turning to see a conflicted look on Winger’s face. Something was there, just under the surface, blending unease and anger into a single expression. “What? You know something?”
“Anyone come forward who knew the gal?” They’d learned her identity today, fingerprints in the system as part of a middle school program. Fourteenyears old, a runaway from Indianapolis, which might be less than a hundred miles away but was a long fucking distance for a barely-teen girl to come without help. That help was what Doug had looked for all day, and come up dry, which was why he shook his head now. Slowly Winger said, “I might…know someone who saw her, once.”
Doug fought to stay calm, to not react as he knew a cop would, to notdemand the information Winger might be holding close to the vest, knowing there would be a reason. Casually, almost too casually, Doug asked, “Yeah?” Dixie was walking in their direction with his credit card and slip to be signed. He stalled her steps with alifted fingerand then flicked a glance at his empty glass, holding her gaze until she nodded. “Anything I need to know?” A moment laterDixie settled a full glass in front of him and then quietly moved along the bar. Doug lifted it and turned, looking at Winger over the top as he drank deeply, waiting.
“Yeah, you might need to know.” Winger squinted one eye as he took a deep drag on his cigarette, a stalling tactic before he spoke again. “Know what she ran from in Indy?” Doug shook his head. Her being a runaway was barely adjacentto the crime of her death, he hadn’t looked deeper. IPD handled the family notification as far as he knew. “Her daddy runs in powerful circles. I know, because some of those circles are the ones tightening down on everything.” He flicked his ashes into an empty beer can. “They’re even voting on whether I can keep smoking when I’m throwing one back or not. I understand he’s pissed off some people.I got friends there—” He grinned without humor. “—and understand the girl didn’t like some of the things her daddy was aiming for, and she was vocal about it. Seems her brother got a call from her about two weeks ago.” Two weeks ago would have been two weeks after she’d been reported as a runaway. “Said their daddy had put her in a tough spot. Before she could tell himwhere,they were disconnected.He called back, no answer. Called back the next day and found the phone was disconnected. It was a Fort Wayne number.” He stabbed out his cigarette. “That man called me, I rousted my boysandwe rolled to see what we could find. Found a couple of men who’d bought time with her.” He leanedforwards.“Let me tell you”—his voice dropped—“that wasnotwhat her brother wanted to hear.”
“I bet.” Dougempathized.
“We couldn’t find her, though. Damn shame. Turned that motel upside down, ran the side roads and ditches. Nada. Hated making that call back to her brother.” Winger shook his head. “But, I still got the names of those time-buyers, you decide you want ‘em.” He dropped his butt inside the ash can, shaking it until there was a brief sizzle as beer dregs extinguished the cigarette.
Douggrimaced. “I can’t use them. You’d have tomakethis official.” He wouldn’t make that kind of ask because he’d found some friends here and liked the vibe when he hung out with them. He gained a measure of comfort and confidence with every encounter. It didn’t hurt that Winger’s group walked the right side of the line, and Doug didn’t want to do anything to alienate them.I don’t want to jeopardizethe bit of good I’ve got.
“You decide you still want ‘em, itdoesn’thave to be official.”Wingerpicked up the fresh bottle Dixie had slid in front of him, eyeing Doug. “I gotta get goin’. It’s my night at the shelter.”Wingerdidn’t have to explain what he meant. Doug already knew the club stood as an unpaid and unofficial security at the local batteredwomen’sshelter. This was something theclub organized without the help or request of thefacility,because a member’s sister had been recovering there when her husband found out where she was. Three days later the club had ridden honor guardather funeral after taking up a donation to cover those final expenses. Whatever Winger gave him would be the truth as he knew it, and even if Doug couldn’t use it legally, he knew he’d use it.
“Know what? You’re right. I want ‘em.”
