“Just tell me the first name that comes to you.”
“That seems a bit silly, don’t you think?”
“Humor me.”
“Um, all right. How about—Angie?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” she said without a laugh.
“Well, that’s the first name that came to me.”
“Do it for real.”
“Okay, okay. Um—Stella.”
“Stella? Really. That’s about as WASPY as it gets. Did you even look at the picture? This girl is Italian, or Greek, or something. I’m thinking Lydia or Carissa.”
“Where the hell did you get those names from?”
“Greek girls I went to middle school with.”
“Hey, hold off on naming that girl a second. You see what I see?”
Angie peered out the windshield at a thin man in a bowling shirt with a fedora hat on his head, strolling down the street with two white guys in business suits close on his heels. Street lamps illuminated details in their faces and bodies. These three didn’t look like bosom buddies to Angie. Fedora Hat made no eye contact and initiated no conversation with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum as he escorted them down the same alley that had swallowed Markovich.
This wasn’t Angie’s first rodeo. She had a pretty good sense what might be going on inside that apartment building.
“If those three are pals, I’m the Pope,” Mike said.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“You thought if those three are pals, I’m the Pope? What are the chances of that?”
“Mike, please. Not now.”
“What do we do?” he asked.
“Do? We watch and wait. See if Nadine comes out.”
“What about trying to get inside that building?”
“What about we might get shot.”
“Good point. Police?”
“Not until I see Nadine. If this place is what I think it is, these guys could have a direct line to someone on the force.”
“Ah, the Thin Blue Discount.”
“I’ve seen it before. If this is some sort of brothel, and we’re too hasty, Markovich could make the girls disappear in a heartbeat. No, this is a wait and see game.”
“Katie’s got the kids, and my next rental gig isn’t until the weekend. I’m all yours until then.”
“Good. ’Cause this might take awhile. Nothing like a wet wipe shower to make a girl feel beautiful.”
“Hey, I don’t care how badly you stink, Ange. You’ll always be beautiful to me.”
Angie made a smile Mike couldn’t see. “You sure do know how to charm ’em. I’ll give you that, Mike Webb.”
An hour passed and nothing happened. Fedora Hat and Markovich hadn’t reappeared. Neither had the two Tweedles in business suits.
Angie was getting restless. She called Mike. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“I need to learn how to aim better when peeing into a travel mug.”
“TMI, Mike. TMI.”
“What does stretch really mean?”
Angie knew that Mike knew what she was really about to do. “I’ll be careful.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you watch the front of the apartment in case Nadine comes out.”
“You know what I’ve watched? A lot of cop shows, that’s what. And the partner-separating thing is never a good idea. You know what else? Forget cop shows. You might as well have a red shirt on.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a Star Trek thing, from the original series. The Red Shirts always get killed. It’s kind of a running joke throughout the series.”
Angie frowned. “A, I’m not laughing. B, I’m a lot younger than you and I’ve never watched any old Star Trek episodes, sorry to offend your inner geek again. And C, I’m just going to do some poking around. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s what every Red Shirt says.”
CHAPTER 25
Exhibit D: Excerpts from the journal of Nadine Jessup, pages 39-43
Here’s what I know about this life of mine. It’s big business. There’s no supply and demand problem. None at all. I learned about supply and demand in my economics class. It’s funny to think about economics while I’m here, doing this, this effed-up life of mine. School seems like something that happened to me a million years ago. This journal is my classroom now. It’s where I can be Nadine again. You can learn by observation. Mrs. Lockard taught me that in eighth grade science. So I’m observing myself, learning about me. But deep down I know Nadine is dead. Jessie Barlow took her place and went from being a future starlet to a present day slut. Harsh words, but I am what I am. I do what I do. I screw guys for money. I don’t think this business (yeah, it is what it is) could exist without the Internet. The guys answer ads in places like Craigslist and Backpage and there are ways to make sure they aren’t cops. I don’t know what Buggy, Casper, and Ricardo do to make certain, but the only cops I’ve seen here are paying customers.