L.A. Confrontational Page 11

Emilio brought me the bill and I slid my credit card into the folder. He returned, reaching to pick up the bill, but I put my hand down on it to prevent him from escaping.

  “Emilio, I’m interested in some late night entertainment and someone told me you’re the man to see.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “What kind of entertainment you looking for?”

  “A companion. Blonde and young. Not too young. I don’t want anyone illegal, if you know what I mean.”

  His blank stare gave me no acknowledgement he understood my request. “Male or female.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me either sex would be offered, but it made sense. Junky wanted to make money and as a savvy businessman he would cater to his client’s particular tastes.

  “Female. Sorry, I should have specified.” I pushed my glasses up on my nose and gave him my best sheepish grin to demonstrate how inexperienced I was at this sort of thing.

  “Wait here.” He left with a condescending sigh. I sat there for an uncertain eternity before he returned.

  A waitress lingered at an adjacent table, gathering dirty dishes as Emilio held my gaze. “Can I get you anything else?”

  It sounded like he was dismissing me until he glanced furtively at the waitress, still within hearing range. After she left, he nodded at the bill folder. “Place three hundred dollars in with your bill in one minute.” He walked away.

  I extracted three of the six, hundred dollar bills from my wallet. What a bargain—I had anticipated it costing me more. I kept the bill folder just above my lap and kept my body turned toward the window to reduce the chance of being observed sliding the bills inside. I placed the bill folder back on the table. Like a falcon Emilio silently swooped in to remove it.

  He returned with my credit card poking out the top of the bill folder with a hotel key card and a note, “Royal Suites Hotel, Room 345” tucked inside. I signed the bill, returned the credit card to my wallet, and nervously left the restaurant. The hotel was located on the right side of Harbor Drive, a five-minute drive from the restaurant.

  I entered the hotel parking lot and descended into the garage just past the brightly lit hotel entrance. I removed the picture of Sarah from my jacket pocket. Junky would have an entourage of young blonde girls, so it would be sheer luck if the one I paid for turned out to be Sarah. But, the girls knew each other and I had plenty of cash for the right information.

  The elevator carried me up to the lobby. The wide space was elegantly lit with a multitude of recessed lights in the ceiling. I noted where all the stairways were located before returning to the elevators. I went up to the third floor. The sign on the intersecting wall indicated room 345 was down the hallway to my right.

  The thick carpet muted the sound of my steps in the quiet corridor. A brief muffled sound bite from a television broadcast came from one of the rooms I passed. Room 345 was at the end of the hallway. After a glance back up the hallway, I slipped the card into the slot. A green light and a soft click alerted me that the key worked. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. In the hallway light, the outline of a king-sized bed was visible inside the large bedroom that contained a doorway leading to a bathroom. I pushed the hall door fully open. A mirrored closet stood to my left. The remaining room corridor remained in darkness except for a dim light at the end where a sofa and two chairs faced the mounted TV. I pressed a light switch on the wall next to the door. No light came on.

  “Hello.” I called out as my conscious hoisted a red warning flag.

  “Come on back, honey.” A woman’s soft voice and a whiff of expensive perfume invited me to enter.

  I stepped into the room, but held the door open. A lamp stood on a bedside table on the far side of the bed. I memorized a route to the lamp, stepped forward and let the door close behind me. The room plunged into darkness. I edged my way towards the lamp.

  The first blow connected to the side of my head. I stumbled against the closet door as muscular arms engulfed me from behind. The strong smell of cologne and stale breath greeted me. I struggled to escape, sensing a figure coming directly at me. My powerful kick landed solidly prompting a deep male grunt followed by a string of rapid angry Spanish. I planted my legs and pushed the man holding my arms backward into the mirror. The glass door rattled in its tracks but held. The man doubled the pressure on my arms in response to my attempt to twist him down to the floor. My body hung suspended and vulnerable as the second man landed punches to my gut and head. Several more of my kicks connected, but the second man kept coming. I tried one last time to free the first man’s grip when another blow struck my head. Shooting stars zipped across my vision. A final punch launched me into a black hole.

  Chapter 17

  I regained consciousness in a fetal position on the floor facing a large window. My head and ribs exploded with pain, and the heavy metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth. Light from a table lamp highlighted small blood stains on the beige carpet. Crusted blood covered my lips and chin.

  “Arch Caldwell. Well, well. What a surprise to see an old friend.”

  The familiar voice belonged to a large handsome bald black man likely dressed in an expensive pin-striped suit and a gold diamond stud in his left ear. From the floor, I swiveled slowly around to peer at Junky sitting in a pea green corduroy armchair.

  A hefty Hispanic man stood at Junky’s right side, hovering over me. The man’s hands showed signs of tenderness on the right knuckle from having worked me over. Junky never did the dirty work himself. The second man stood in the shadows just inside the hotel room door.

  I sat up straight hoping to reduce the discomfort in my rib cage and head. I moved normally so as not to give present company the satisfaction of seeing the degree of pain they had inflicted. “Hi Junky. It’s been a long-time. Thanks for the warm hospitality.”

  Junky let loose a deep resonating laugh that always reminded me of a baritone opera solo. He switched on a second table lamp to his right. “It’s the least I can do for an old, armed acquaintance caught infiltrating one of my establishments. You should have known better, Arch.”

  “You’re right, this isn’t exactly the working over I had in mind.”

  “Next time don’t use your personal credit card. I didn’t think there could be another Arch Caldwell, the guy who tried to put me in jail.” Junky gave me his best smile. His bleached teeth and prominent gold-capped incisor beamed, and made my head ache even more. “It’s a good thing you weren’t wearing a wire.”

  “Why would I be? I’m just a man pursuing a bit of fun while visiting his old haunts.”

  “You don’t fool me, Arch. You sneak around pretending to be a businessman looking for a prostitute. I make it a habit of knowing my enemies. Tsk, tsk.”

  “Well, I didn’t think I could just call and make an appointment to see you.”

  “No, you’re probably right. Well, you have my full attention now, before Manny and Mako throw your ass in the ocean.” He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees, an inquisitive sparkle in his eyes.

  I ignored the pain and pulled myself upright. “I came with what I hope is a lucrative business proposition for you.”

  He cocked his head in my direction and chuckled. “How intriguing. The least I can do is listen.”

  “I’m searching for a girl.”

  Junky nodded. “Aren’t we all, Arch? Is that really why you shelled out the dough? Who is this girl?”

  “Sarah Minor.”

  “Ah, a pretty one indeed. But if you need a girl, Arch, I can fix you up with someone more experienced, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sorry, I only have eyes for her.”

  “Is this what happens when the wife leaves?” Junky chuckled and glanced at his sidekick who didn’t smile.

  “She’s somebody’s daughter and I know you have her. I’ll pay to take her off your hands.” I got to my feet as the pain spread all over my body. I walked over to a desk chair, turned it around, and sat down gently. “You’re still an asshole, Jun
ky.”

  “Yeah, and I coulda put a bullet through your brain.”

  “Well, it would have been your loss.”

  “Since you retired from the force I was curious about why you decided to make a return appearance. What’s so special about this girl?”

  “That’s my business. I’ll give you fifteen grand for her.”

  Junky shook his head. “I’ll need twenty. She’s getting to be quite profitable.”

  “She’s seventeen and a drug addict. I’m doing you a favor by taking her off your hands.”

  “You have a good point. How about we compromise at seventeen-five? You got the cash?”

  “You’ll have to call my banker, Benny McAllister.”

  His baritone laughter erupted. After his raucous outburst subsided, he gave me his classic grin. “You must be fucking kidding, Arch. Benny? He’s an idiot.”

  “Didn’t stop you from doing business with him all those years, now did it?”

  His smirk disappeared. I’d hit the wrong nerve, putting my health in further jeopardy. “What’s that fool got to do with this?”

  I had to convince him to play ball. “Call him.” Junky stared at me. “Go ahead and call him.” I tried to convey the seriousness of my proposition while hiding my nervousness over having to depend on such a half-witted crook like my ex-partner. Frank Minor would have agreed to pay the money, but having Benny shell out his dirty dough seemed like a good idea. I hoped it didn’t back-fire.

  Junky pulled out his phone and hit a button. “Okay, I’ll humor you, and then I’ll have Mako chop up your body and spread the remains as chum for the sharks.”

  I found it ironic a man named Mako would turn me into shark bait.

  Junky walked into the bedroom, his stern words barely audible as he whispered harsh warnings into the phone. Junky’s voice suddenly boomed. “What were you thinking? You sent this asshole here?”

  Junky listened for a long minute. I held my breath, which only aggravated my sore ribs. I searched the room for a weapon since my gun had disappeared. A lamp rested on one of the tables behind me. Given my physical condition, getting to it before Junky’s boy put a bullet in me was unlikely. He stood large and intimidating; his Hispanic features made me conclude he was probably Manny. He stared into open space, his arms bulged in front of him, his left hand clasped over the right one. A gold chain hugged his huge neck, tattoos adorned his muscular forearms. Mako, the potential butcher, must have been the one stationed at the door. Junky employed some tough characters.

  I had to hope my ex-partner accepted his role as my financial backer as the only way he could avoid jail. If he failed, things would get ugly. The odds were not in my favor to disarm Manny and get past Mako.

  Junky returned to the room with the cell phone still glued to his ear. “I’ll do it, but you’re both dead if the cash isn’t here by nine-thirty tomorrow morning.” He ended the call. “Well, Arch, it looks like we have a deal. But if Benny fails you better both leave town.”

  “I’m not leaving without the girl.”

  “I admire your commitment.” He paused. “How did you know about my boy at the restaurant?”

  “I still have some connections at LAPD. Besides what do you care? You’re making good money on the deal.”

  Junky rubbed his cleanly shaved chin. “Okay. Benny goes to the bank first thing in the morning and delivers the cash. You walk away with the girl.” He strode over to a small wood desk, picked up the hotel stationary, and removed a pen from his inside suit jacket pocket. He wrote something on the paper and handed it to me. “Be at this address, nine-thirty tomorrow morning. On time.”

  I left the room grateful to be alive, and walked gingerly down to my car in the garage. I cursed myself for being naive and inexperienced. Andy would never have alerted Junky by paying his restaurant bill with his own credit card. Had I used cash and a fake name, I might have been driving away with the girl instead of retreating with a bruised body and ego.

  I stopped at a Walgreen’s to buy several brands of painkillers and a gigantic bottle of water. I parked around the corner from my hotel just in case Junky had any last minute regrets about our deal. He might prefer to take me out for good and forego the cash.

  The street was quiet as midnight approached. I washed down some pain pills, reclined on my car seat, and waited for the pills to take effect. I woke an hour later and made the measured, painful walk to my hotel.

  A hot bath provided only limited relief to my sore muscles. The stench of Mako’s cologne persisted in my imagination. I checked the mirror—the hot water accentuated the cuts and bruises, and added a nice rainbow flush to my face.

  I collapsed on the bed and thought about my first encounter with Junky during my first year on the police force. After graduating from the academy with high marks and ignorant enthusiasm, I was anxious to make a name for myself, an attribute encouraged by a father and brother who preceded me in the profession.

  Could it have been only a year since I left the LAPD? It seemed such a long time ago. The bad memories combined with the painkillers coursing through my emotionally and physically ravaged body finally overcame the adrenalin of my encounter with Junky. The arrival of sleep relieved me from my disturbed reflections.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning my back and neck were frozen with tension and pain; my ribs hurt to inhale. Every muscle protested my slightest movement. The battle scars extended from my face down my chest to my waist.

  After a hot shower and painkiller breakfast, I drove to the address Junky had given me. The large frosted numbers were stenciled on the glass doors of a plain brown brick apartment building.

  The two men from the previous evening waited just inside the building’s entrance. They escorted me to a second floor office where Junky sat hunched over a black laptop perched on a small folding table. The cheap furniture made it obvious Junky didn’t spend much time here. “Wow Junky, I didn’t know you could use a computer.”

  “Good morning, Arch. Don’t be a wiseass. I take it you slept well.”

  “No thanks to your goons. I’ll take my gun, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” He reached into a desk drawer, removed my gun, and tossed it to me. The sudden movement to catch the weapon stunned my ribs. “Your buddy Benny made the payment. Mako here will take you to the girl.” He nodded to a large black man sporting a dark well-trimmed afro and goatee.

  An inaudible sigh caught in my throat.

  “I’m a businessman, Arch. I do keep my word.” Junky gave me a mischievous smile.

  “That’s comforting.”

  Junky studied the gun in my hand. The bullets were probably in the drawer. Otherwise, I might have shot all three of them right there, cleared Sarah and the girls out of the building, and torched it. How many more women were trapped in this building, locked in hopeless permanent servitude with no hope of career advancement? The safety was on. I stuck the gun into my waistband. My only desire was to get Sarah home. It would be a risk to step over the line without a loaded weapon.

  I followed Mako to the door, but stopped and turned to the imposing figure whose huge stubby black fingers attempted to type on the diminutive keyboard. “I’ll see you soon, Junky.”

  Junky flashed me the familiar warning stare. “Have a nice trip back to the Land of Chantment or whatever it’s called. Nice doing business with you. I hope she’s worth it.”

  I swallowed the temptation to ask about his relationship with Marconi to determine how their human trafficking enterprise functioned. My mind still worked the detective angle. Could I tie him to Andy’s murder? I had studied Junky long enough to know it would have given him great pleasure to tell me, hoping to incite a violent reaction and give him the excuse to kill me, keep the money and the girl, and have my body pickled in the brine of the Pacific Ocean.

  Andy would have walked out with the girl and not looked back. My plan had been clever enough, but the execution had been less than perfect. Retaliation would have to
wait. I turned and slipped through the door.

  Mako escorted me down a narrow dimly lit corridor with drab yellow walls. I noted the stairwell locations in case a quick exit was required. After several turns, we stopped and Mako pushed in a flimsy freshly-painted wood door. A double bed, small dresser, and a cheap wire lamp with a plastic shade on a nightstand filled most of the room. The drawn window drapes made it difficult to recognize the body lying on the bed. Mako turned on the lamp.

  Sarah slept on her side in the fetal position, dressed in a sky blue terry cloth robe. Her breathing was shallow and raspy. Her mascara had splattered into random paint blotches around her eyes to resemble a Jackson Pollack painting. Despite the dark hair, her resemblance to Jesse was evident in the lamp’s glow. The girl’s youth had vanished, a result of too many drugs and too much time serving the sexual whim of strangers.

  Mako shook her awake. She mumbled something about needing her rest. I bent down close to her ear. “Hi Sarah, my name is Arch. I need you to get up.” She gazed at me with tormented blood-shot eyes, not the kind of eyes that should have belonged to an innocent teenaged girl.

  “Leave me alone.” She fixed me with a distrustful stare.

  “My name is Arch Caldwell. Your father hired me to bring you home. Do you have any clothes?” She raised her head and glanced toward a small beige carry-all at the edge of the bed next to the nightstand. The oversized purse probably contained everything she owned.

  I turned to Mako. “Can you grab that bag for me?” He turned unsuspectingly. I grabbed the gun from my waist and hit him as hard as I could on the back of the head. He collapsed, knocking into the nightstand. The lamp crashed onto his back. I hit him a second time and grabbed his gun, confirmed it was loaded, and put mine away. Mako deserved to wake up with a nice headache. Pretty sloppy of Junky to return my gun.

  “What are you doing?” The activity seemed to get the girl’s attention.

  “Your mother wants you to come back home.”

  “My mother?”

  “You remember your family back in New Mexico? Come on, I need you to get dressed.” I shoved Mako’s prone body aside to retrieve the bag, removed a blue denim dress, and handed it to her. I turned towards the door to give her some privacy.