Cop Town (15 page)

In some ways, Fox was glad. He wanted Jimmy away from Kate when his time came. She didn’t need to see that side of Fox.

At least not until he was ready for her to see it.

12

Maggie stared aimlessly out the window as she drove the cruiser along Ponce de Leon. The city was already locking itself down. There were no girls on the streets. The pimps were probably whiling away their time in lockup or getting the crap beaten out of them behind the jail. She guessed London Fog was the most exciting thing that was going to happen to her today. So far, they’d given a warning to a jaywalker and broken up a fight over a sandwich.

Beside her, Kate shifted in her seat. She moved stiffly, trying to get comfortable. Maggie could’ve told her it was no use. There were no shortcuts. You just learned to live with the pain.

Despite her better judgment, Maggie offered some advice. “You’re gonna be bruised tonight. It’ll look like some guy went at you. Hips, legs, back. It’s all the equipment. Don’t complain where anybody’ll hear you.”

“Of course not.”

Maggie felt her eyes narrow. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Gosh, I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

Maggie ignored the haughty Buckhead tone. What did she expect, for Kate Murphy to fall to her knees and thank her? She tried to remember what it was like to ride with Gail Patterson that first day. Maggie had known enough to tailor her uniform ahead of time, but like Kate, her hat had been too big and her shoes were roomy enough to rent out space. When Maggie wasn’t bored, she was terrified, and thanks to Gail’s sharp tongue, even when she was bored she was still slightly terrified.

She asked Kate, “You got any questions?”

Kate thought for a moment. “What happened six months ago?”

Maggie knew what she meant, but she still asked, “What?”

“During roll call, Captain Vick said we’re not going to have a repeat of six months ago.”

“The Edward Spivey trial.”

“Oh, the man who was found innocent of killing that police officer.”

Maggie chewed the tip of her tongue. She replayed Kate’s words, trying to analyze their meaning. No one she knew talked about Edward Spivey as an innocent man. No matter what the jury said, they all knew he was guilty.

Kate said, “He almost went to the electric chair. I wonder what happened to him?”

“He lives in California.” Maggie forced her hands to loosen around the steering wheel. “What else? What other questions?”

Kate had the wisdom to move on. She took out her spiral notebook. “Where do I hand in my notes?”

“You type them up and hand them in to the watch commander’s secretary within forty-eight hours of the end of your shift, sooner if something big happens.” Maggie hadn’t asked her about her morning with Jimmy. “Did something big happen?”

Kate flipped through the pages. “We visited Capitol Homes. We visited Techwood Homes. We visited Bankhead Homes. We spoke with an intoxicated gentleman on Carver Street. We visited an unnamed woman in an apartment off Piedmont Avenue.”

“That’s where Don lives. Lived.”

“Oh. Well, she wanted to know if Jimmy had the keys to a Chevelle parked out front.”

“Classy.” Maggie took a left onto Monroe Drive. “Did you get anything out of anybody?”

“I stayed in the car, but Jimmy didn’t seem like he had much luck.” She closed the notebook. “I failed typing in high school.”

“Most of us wouldn’t be here if we’d passed.”

Silence filled the car. They had the volume down on their radios so that only the occasional staticky signal interrupted the sound of wind rushing in through the open windows.

Maggie said, “You can get carbon paper from the supply officers. There’s two typewriters on the top floor that we can use for reports, but there’s always a line and the colored girls go first.”

“Why?”

“Ask the colored girls.” Maggie leaned her elbow on the open window. She wasn’t sure why she kept talking to this woman when nothing she said would matter in a week’s time. Still, she told Kate, “It’s easier to go to the library. You can rent time on a typewriter for ten cents an hour. It’s cooler at the downtown branch. You still live in Buckhead?”

Kate seemed reluctant. “The Barbizon Hotel off Peachtree.”

Maggie felt a stab of jealousy. Irish Spring was a regular Mary Tyler Moore. “Not with your folks?”

She shook her head.

“How’s your mother feel about you being a cop?”

“Concerned.”

Maggie laughed at the obvious understatement. “She’ll never forgive you. Stop waiting for it to happen.”

Kate turned her head toward the roadside. They were in a hippie section of town. The houses were painted every color of the rainbow.

Maggie asked, “What’s your father do?”

“He’s a gardener.”

Finally, things were making sense. Kate had grown up in Buckhead,
but she had to have a job just like the rest of them. “He work on one of those big estates?”

“Yes. We lived over the garage.”

“Like Sabrina.” Maggie had always loved that movie. “What’d you do before?”

“Secretarial work. I hated it.”

“What made you sign up for the job?”

“Stupidity?” Kate turned around the question. “What about you? Why’d you sign up?”

“To piss off my family.” She figured she might as well go through the list. “Charlaine joined because her husband’s a drunk and she’s got three kids to feed.” Maggie slowed the car for a stoplight. “Wanda joined because she saw an article in the paper about female motorcycle cops.”

“Wanda Clack,” Kate clarified, like she was just putting together the names. “I saw that article.”

“There were lots of articles,” Maggie said. “Wanda wanted to ride a Harley. They told her, ‘Sure thing, little lady. Sign on the dotted line.’ ”

“I was given the impression that the motorcycle instructors don’t train women.”

“Your impression was correct,” Maggie confirmed. “She’s handling chicken bones just like the rest of us. Only time she sees a bike is when some jackass hops on one to speed away from her.”

“What are chicken bones?”

“Pointless calls where you get there and it’s just two idiots fighting over something stupid.”

“Like a sandwich,” Kate noted. So, at least she’d been paying attention.

They took a right at Ansley Mall onto Piedmont Road. Maggie waved to a couple of cops who were sitting in their cruiser eating a late lunch. They had at least five grown men jammed into the back seat. They were big guys. They had to turn sideways to fit.

Kate asked, “Where are we going?”

“The Colonnade Restaurant.” Gail had told Maggie to meet her there
if she was interested in following a lead. At this point in the day, Maggie was interested in following anything that made her feel like a cop instead of a babysitter.

“The Colonnade?” Kate repeated. “Isn’t that the place where mothers take their gay sons on Thanksgiving?”

Maggie had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t think they allow gay people. Lots of cops eat there.”

Kate got that funny smile on her face again.

“We’re not going to eat, anyway. I need to meet up with somebody.”

“A friend?”

“A PCO. Plain clothes officer. She’s trying to track down the name of a pimp we can talk to.” Maggie accelerated to pass one of those funny-looking foreign cars. “The place where Don was killed—Five Points—that’s a main drag for hookers. Maybe one of them saw something. If she did, then we’ll need to get permission from her pimp to talk to her, otherwise she won’t give us the time of day.”

“So, we need to talk to the pimp before we can talk to the street-walker who works for him.” Kate nodded slowly. “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for the weapon that was used in the crime? The Raven MP-25?”

“The boys will look for the gun.” Maggie didn’t mention how much trouble they would be in if they crossed paths with the men who were working that side of the case.

Kate asked, “PCO. Is that like a detective?”

Maggie was getting tired of all these questions. “Only men are detectives.”

Kate must’ve caught her tone. She looked out the window and kept her mouth shut.

The scenery had changed from hippie hangouts to whorehouses. Piedmont was dotted with massage parlors, head shops, and stores that sold marital aids. Maggie felt a flash of trepidation about Kate meeting Gail. Not that Kate acted like she was better than everybody else. She just sounded like it. Hell, she looked like it, too. Her nails weren’t bitten to the quick. Her hair was shiny and full. She’d probably picked up her
rich accent going to school with all those Buckhead kids, but still, next to Kate Murphy, Gail would sound like she was trying to clear the swamp from her throat.

Then again, maybe Maggie’s concern was misplaced. Gail could light up with laughter, but you had to remember that the thunder was never far behind.

She warned Kate, “Lookit, don’t get clever with Gail. Don’t ask her a lot of stupid questions. Actually, don’t ask her any questions. She’s got a temper you don’t want to see.”

“Like the colored girls?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

Maggie stared at her.

“Okay.” Kate let out an exasperated breath. “Gail is the PCO we’re meeting?”

“PCOs work in sex crimes. They pose as prostitutes.” Maggie turned onto Cheshire Bridge Road. The massage parlors gave way to strip clubs and pawnshops with peep booths. “Gail catches all those suits who come down from Buckhead looking for strange.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Beats chicken bones.”

“Indubitably.”

Maggie slowed to make the turn into the Colonnade Restaurant parking lot. There was a hotel in the back that rented rooms by the half hour. Gail was standing beside the front office smoking a cigarette. Her blonde wig was tilted to the side.

Maggie flashed her headlights.

Gail took one last hit from her cigarette before pushing away from the wall. She walked over on spindly high heels. Her eyeliner was smudged. She’d chewed off most of her lipstick. Maggie wanted her to look prettier, more sophisticated, but all she saw was someone who was being slowly beaten down by life.

Gail leaned down and rested her arms on Maggie’s open window. The car filled with the odor of whiskey and cigarettes. “Jesus Christ,
mama.” She was looking at Kate. “How’d you get through roll call without them boys eatin’ you alive?”

Kate stared blankly at the other woman. Maggie could practically see her playing Gail’s words back in her head, trying to cut through the South Georgia twang. She finally answered, “Golly, I guess I’m just lucky.”

Fortunately, Gail missed the sarcasm. “Shit. I had a face like that, I’d be married to Keith Richards and popping out a brat every year.” She winked at Maggie, then told Kate, “Take off your hat, sweetheart. Lemme see is that blonde for real.”

Kate stiffened her shoulders.

“Suit yourself, China Doll. Not like I told you to drop your pants.” Gail turned her attention to Maggie. “I got a girl says she might have some information if we can clear up an outstanding for a dime bag.” She nodded back to the hotel. “She’s turning a trick. Shouldn’t be but another five minutes.”

“Great.” Maggie tried to talk while holding her breath at the same time. Gail wasn’t just tipsy. She was downright drunk. Her words were slurring together. She obviously had to lean against the car to keep herself from falling over.

Still, no amount of liquor could dull Gail’s perception. She studied Maggie. “Whass goin’ on?”

Maggie shook her head. “You got an idea where this girl’s gonna lead us?” With hookers, it was always better to know the possible answer before you asked the question.

Gail said, “I got some ideas, but my dough’s on a new one they’re callin’ Sir She.”

Kate barked a laugh.

Both Maggie and Gail looked at her.

“Sorry,” Kate apologized. “It’s funny. Circe?”

Maggie struggled to keep the grin off her face. Kate had obviously misheard the name. Or worse, she assumed Gail was too drunk or too stupid to know the difference.

Maggie decided Kate deserved some hazing. “You should know this, Murphy. Black pimps use names from Greek mythology. Whites use Roman gods.”

Kate practically guffawed. “Are you serious?”

“Hell yes, she’s serious.” Gail snapped her fingers. “Why ain’t you writing this down, gal?”

Kate took out her notebook. She shook her head as she wrote.

Gail said, “Jesus Christ. Girl ain’t learned a thing. You even go to them classes at the academy?” She opened the car door so Maggie could get out. She didn’t bother to lower her voice. “What the fuck is she talking about?”

Maggie couldn’t answer without cracking up. She motioned Gail to follow her away from the car. “Was I ever that green?”

“You were born wearing a badge and don’t you forget it.” Gail put her hand on Maggie’s arm to steady herself. “Lissen, this whore we’re gonna talk to, she ain’t exactly reliable.”

“Are they ever?”

Gail coughed. Her lungs sounded wet. “Problem is, she just about fucking hates me. I can’t blame her. I’ve been bustin’ her balls pretty hard lately.”

Maggie wondered if Gail was talking literal or figurative. “Why?”

“ ’Cause she knows better’n sitting around all day sucking cock and shooting speed.”

“Speed?” Maggie didn’t like the sound of that. Speed freaks could cause a lot of damage. “She been using today?”

“We’ll get her settled down.” Gail rifled her bag, probably looking for a cigarette. “I’m just sayin’ it might take some prying.”

Maggie remembered how Gail pried. Usually, a nightstick was involved.

“Shit, I’m outta cigs.” Gail looked up from her bag. “You really should start smoking.”

“You make it look so glamorous.”

“I didn’t love you so much, I’d pop you one for that.” Gail grabbed
Maggie’s arm. She had almost lost her balance. “You know, even if we get a solid name outta this slut, you’re gonna need to talk to the colored girls about getting permission to work in Coon Town.”

Maggie ignored how quickly this whole thing had fallen onto her shoulders. “I’ll get it from them.”

“Good girl. We’ll take my car. You shouldn’t be driving your cruiser in CT anyway.”