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Authors: Neal Griffin

A Voice from the Field

BOOK: A Voice from the Field
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About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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To Olga Diaz My wife and partner in life

 

ACT I

 

ONE

Gangsters call it the blade. The track. The
ho stroll.
Back in the day it was the red-light district, but by whatever name, the area of downtown Milwaukee hadn't changed much in twenty-five years. Pimped-out sleds loaded four deep with young men, brown or black but never both, patrolled the dark streets with windows down, bass-heavy music thumping out a steady urban pulse. The latest generation of crack whores wandered the streets or sat listless on the stoops of boarded-up brick apartment buildings, waiting for men who sought bargain rates.

One young woman stood out from the rest as confident, even willing. Damn sure worth the money. She leaned against the shot-out lamppost, listening as the nearby Allen-Bradley Clock Tower chimed out the midnight hour, knowing the corner belonged to her.

A sleek late-model Volvo pulled to the curb and stopped. The midnight blue metallic paint shimmered in the low light and the custom alloy wheels would pay her bills for a couple of months.
Nice ride,
she thought, shrugging herself off the lamppost, stepping to the edge of the curb. A skintight skirt and tighter T-shirt hugged her slight but chiseled body, leaving little to the imagination. Thick black hair seductively framed her eyes and mouth and curled down her back, stopping just above the silver chain belt wrapped around her slender waist. The night air was heavy with humidity and even at this hour a thin layer of sticky sweat coated her deep brown skin.

She caught the driver's eye through the windshield and her instincts kicked in. Thirtysomething white boy with a hundred-dollar haircut, manicured hands poised on the steering wheel, and a smug expression of confident superiority stuck on his face. She flashed a grin and sauntered closer, clicking four long, acrylic nails against the window. The driver touched his finger to the center console and the dark tinted glass lowered without a sound. Leather scent mixed with cologne floated out in a blast of cool recirculated air. She leaned in and gave him her best
come fuck me
look.

“Lookin' for a date, boss?” She communicated the essentials in a thick accent that said she wasn't long removed from south of the border.

His hard look moved across her body and the set of his jaw told her he was out to satisfy a desire a typical wife would not abide. “Maybe. You a cop?”


Shiiiit.…
Hell no. Just lookin' to hook up.” She let her eyes drift down, then back up. Her tone was meant to tease. “Party a bit.”

The driver leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Okay, get in, but hurry up. I want to get out of here.”

She stood up straight. “Do you one better, boss. Room twenty-two. Meet me in the parking lot. We'll walk up together. You got a fine ride and all, but come on now.…” Her fingers glided down her stomach and past her thigh. “How 'bout we get comfortable?”

She turned toward the motel half a block away. Its neon sign flashed a room rate of thirty dollars for three hours. The car door slammed shut behind her and she cast a glance back over her shoulder, catching the man's wry smile. “No thanks. Have a nice evening, Officer.”

“Eat shit, asshole!” She stepped off the curb and thrust her middle finger high in the air as the car sped away. A familiar voice came through her earpiece, laced with just a hint of impatience.

“Come on, Suarez. Get nasty with these guys. Try flashing a little up top.”

Maybe that would help,
Detective Tia Suarez thought, shaking her head. It had been a while since she'd been out on a vice detail and there was no denying that she was a little uptight. She gave a nervous laugh. The put-on accent vanished as she responded, doing her best to keep the tremor out of her voice, “Yeah, Sarge? Well, if I did, it'd be the closest you ever got to second base.”

“I never stop at second. Always head straight for home.” The corner of Tia's mouth quirked up at this reply from her assigned cover officer and boss, Sergeant Travis “TJ” Jackson. He was monitoring Tia's position from the alley across the street, inside a box truck marked “Leno's Panadería.” The two cops were assisting in a regional vice operation, on loan to Milwaukee PD from nearby Newberg.

Tia stood where she was sure the pole cam would have a good view and threw out her arms in invitation. “Well, feel free to come on out here. Just because the rules say U/Cs can't get in the car don't mean a stud like you couldn't close the deal, right?”

TJ's voice took on a challenging tone. “I don't know, Suarez. That gal Shelia from Milwaukee PD, she didn't have any problems working the corner. She bagged three. Maybe we ought to put her back out.”

“Bullshit.” There was no way Tia was getting shut out, not to mention shown up, by a rookie MPD cop working her first undercover detail. “Just keep your eye on the screen and tell the Milwaukee PD boys to be ready to roll in.”

Tia's reputation was that of not only a first-rate detective but also a talented undercover operative who could slip into the role of “wet hooker” pretty quick. The average john figured she'd just recently crossed the border and never suspected she might be a cop. But tonight the fish just weren't biting. Or was it something else? After all she had been through, Tia couldn't help but wonder.
Is it me? Is it too soon?
Again the buzz in her ear.

“All right, but remember. You're representing Newberg PD.” His voice was firm and Tia knew the chiding was only partially lighthearted. “Gotta show these city cops we can hang with the big boys.”

She made sure she sounded unconcerned. “You know, maybe you should come out here, Jackson. I'm starting to think you'd make a better queen-whore than I do a straight-up hooker.”

“Bullshit, girl. You make a great hooker. Hell, if I was driving by I'd be all over your tight little–”

In mid-sentence, TJ went from somewhere beyond flirtatious to dead serious. “Okay. Get in character. You got one slowing down. He's looking at you from the parking lot on your six.” Tia picked up on the tension as well as the excitement in TJ's voice. “He drove off camera, but he's back there somewhere.”

She turned and saw a man standing just outside an idling panel van, taking a hard look at her. She set her hands on her hips, putting out the attitude of a working girl who was all business. Looking her up and down, the man kept his distance. Tia sauntered half a dozen steps toward him and the earpiece crackled. TJ's voice was no-nonsense. “Okay, I got no visual on him and you're right at the edge of the window. Bring him to you, Tia.”

The john took a few steps in her direction and Tia looked him over, glad she wouldn't have to actually touch the guy. Bald and pasty white, he was wearing a sweat-soaked flannel shirt with cut-off sleeves. Tia guessed he was way north of three hundred pounds. His thick red beard could use a good combing. He didn't strike her as a guy who showered with any frequency and just the thought of physical contact caused a shudder of revulsion that was hard to hide.

He stopped and called out, “Slide on over here, girlie. Let me talk to you.”

Tia walked forward a few paces but kept her distance. With her fake accent back in place, she put out the standard bullshit line that would tell anyone listening she had made contact with a john and was trying to reel him in. “What up, big man? You lookin' for a date?”

The voice in her ear was edged with frustration. “You've gone offscreen, Suarez. Move back into the op area.”

The john closed in. “More than a date, honey. You work for somebody or you out here on your own?”

Tia ignored TJ's warning and edged closer to her intended target, making sure she maintained the attitude of a girl ready to get on her back. “I don't peddle this ass for nobody. Now, you wanna get with me or not?”

Her ear buzzed with an angry whisper. “Damn it, Suarez. Get back on camera,
now
.”

She knew she'd hear about this later, but she also knew TJ wanted the score as much as she did. After a pause, he continued, this time addressing the rest of the team. “Okay, guys, stand by. Suarez is working the john. I've got no visual but good audio. Sounds like he took the bait.”

The big man walked toward her, taking a hard look around the parking lot. He didn't show the typical apprehension of a john, more the menacing disposition of a seasoned crook. Tia decided she was out far enough—she'd reel him in from here or cut him loose. He stopped about five feet in front of her. The heavy odor of his perspiration wafted through the air and his gaze darted over her body, sizing her up.

“Where you come from, darlin'? You just get in from Mexico or further south than that?”

“Just tell me what you want, boss man. You're lookin' for something special, I think.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he flashed a yellowed grin, raised one arm above his head, and waggled his fingers. Tia heard the van drop into gear and looked up to see it driving forward. The van stopped just behind the john and the driver, a skinny, pale-faced loser with a scraggly ponytail, stepped out. The deep red speed bumps of a hard-core tweak coated his face.
Forget this. Game over.

“No go, man. I'm not doing two guys.” She ran both hands through her wig to signal distress, then remembered she was a good ten feet off camera. She managed one step toward the safety zone, but that was as far as she got.

One vise-like hand circled the back of her neck and another clamped down over her mouth. Meaty fingers pinched off her nostrils and the sudden lack of oxygen filled her with a drowning panic. The big man pulled her by the head, nearly lifting her off the ground, pushing and dragging her toward the van. Her four-inch stilettos put her at a distinct disadvantage and he was able to get her within two feet of the vehicle despite her struggles. His partner flung the side door open and stood by, wearing a shit-eating grin that made Tia wonder exactly what they had planned. The fat man spoke up. “In you go, girlie.”

BOOK: A Voice from the Field
8.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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