Life Struggles (Life Stories Book 1) (4 page)

Call for help time.

“Flint.” Thank God it wasn't the other dumb cunt.

First things first. “What did you find out about Alex?”

“Alex isn't on the photo site. Photos were uploaded just before noon from the Lower Ninth Ward, a young African American boy in boxers. No other photos uploaded since yesterday.

“We found the rankings and photos. Some of the pictures are of sexual activity with minors. We've sent everything to the Feds. Come home, Ethan, it's not the video game. And, thanks. This is a huge help.” Flint sounded relieved. Well, I didn't feel that way.

“We got nothing on Alex, but there is a tiny dollop of good news. The Feds were so grateful for the sex-with-minors lead they offered some help. Tell me what you need.” Flint sounded genuine.

“First, fuck you for the GPS tracker. By the way, don't try following this phone, I'm done with it.

“Second, whatever you can get me in four minutes or less on the MV Ouagadougou out of Vera Cruz in four days.”

“Ethan, I'm sorry. The tracker wasn't a police idea.” Evidently Myra Hartag thought she could get away with putting me under surveillance if she did it through her own office. I sighed.

“Query off to the Feds, promised response in two minutes.” I was flabbergasted. They can get me whatever I want on an obscure ship out of a small port in two minutes or less. But they can't catch the Boston Marathon bombers even with a warning from the Russians. I love government efficiency.

Flint paused. “Ethan, the Superintendent of Police is meeting with the D.A. right now. Ms. Hartag told me a bit ago that you were in Baton Rouge. I asked her how sure she was since that's not part of your normal beat. She said 100% sure. That only left mind reading and GPS.

“One of the DA's investigators is a former cop, and I called him. Yeah, one of his colleagues was following a GPS that had stopped briefly in Baton Rouge, then started west towards Houston. The colleague gave up Hartag. Ethan, she's fucking toast.” Flint actually sounded happier than I felt.

“Thanks, detective. Anything from the Feds?” We're looking for Alex, not toast.

“Just came in. Entire ship was chartered by a European version of Wal Mart. They own everything on it. Getting Alex on and off that ship would be more work than I would want to do.”Danny sounded proud of himself. Well, he should.

“Danny, we haven't found Alex yet, but with Hartag out of the way we have a better chance. Look, I'll call you in an hour.” Time to toss the latest phone.

I parked in a city lot and took a taxi to the Pussy Willow. Fortunately, it was close to Canal so navigating the great sea of gay sex wasn't going to slow me down.

Word was that you could get any age of pussy you wanted there, but nobody was talking. The police had been trying to bust the place for years without success.

I paid the cover and walked in. Two naked women of probably legal age were gyrating on the stage, flirting with the customers. I wondered one more time what awful things had to happen in a woman's life to lead her to prostitution. There was little chance that these girls weren't putting out, because there were few singles in their wristbands.

I looked over the crowd and saw a guy with detective written all over him. He saw me walk in and suddenly looked away. Coincidence? Possibly, maybe even probably. I mean this place had daily police presence, despite law enforcement's inability to make anything stick.

Standing at the end of the bar surveilling the crowd was a monumentally ugly six foot five Oriental man. I filed that away for later.

I sat at a table and was immediately accosted by a Hispanic woman wearing a fake smile and little else. “You want table dance mister?”

I started to wave her away, then had another idea.

“Yeah, I want table dance. After the dance can I buy you a drink?” I sure hoped to shit this worked.

The dance was uninspired and, if truth be told, actually decreased my libido. A desperate woman pretending to be interested in a desperate man pretending to pay attention was just depressing. Finally, the table dance was done.

“Forty dollar for table dance mister.” I gave her sixty. It went into her wrist band as she sat down. On my lap. No fucking way.

“Ah, do you mind getting off my lap?” She didn't mind, apparently. She did want champagne.

“Something cheaper, honey. Gotta save my money for the big show later. Understand?” She probably understood because, when the waitress came by, I ordered a beer and she ordered some sort of tequila concoction that was a small fraction the price of the champagne. I paid and girded my loins. Or whatever you're supposed to do before stepping painfully on your own dick.

Dancer (or maybe Comet? Or Vixen? Who cares?) rubbed up against my body paying particular attention to places that might hold money. I turned to face her.

“How much …” I never finished the question.

“Two hundred dollar one hour good time party.” This was said with all the enthusiasm of a thermal underwear inventory in July.

“No, I have a friend…” Cut off again.

“Two men one girl $400 one hour, good time party. Two girl discount.” If I could get her to shut up for a minute I could get the offer out.

“I want two girls for ten minutes to pay attention to my friend.” I pointed at the detective.

“What mean pay attention?” She was calculating in her head, which was a good sign.

“You and another girl pull him up on stage and embarrass him as much as possible for ten minutes. Can you do that?” The question was actually rhetorical. I had heard about the girls embarrassing a guy on stage here, and this was clearly within their capability.

“Two hundred dollar two girl and friend on stage, yes?” Sold.

“How about two forty and you come back and see me after the show. It's his birthday and I want to play a joke on him.” Too much information? I thought not. If I'd told her the guy had just been elected Queen of Lithuania and I wanted to wish him happy faalaghuu she wouldn't have paid any more attention.

Dancer called over Prancer, a slightly older and significantly more well-worn Hispanic lady of the night. I spoke just enough Spanish to understand that the offer to the second woman was eighty dollars. Well, why not? Dancer was a business woman after all.

I watched while the reindeer tried to pull the guy out of his seat. He resisted until a rush of female flesh in his direction hid him from sight. He reappeared a few seconds later on stage quickly losing his shirt. The poor guy was terrified. Well, he should have done a better job of blending in.

With Dick Tracy occupied I walked up next to Rufus and ordered a shot of tequila. “Here, this is for you, Rufus.”

“How you know my name?” He was quite belligerent, but this was my son and I didn't give a shit.

“The same way I know a lot of things. Like you're moonlighting with other clients, something the Capelletis would not find attractive in an employee.” I winced when he grabbed my arm in a hand as big as a cantaloupe.

“What the fuck do you want? Do you know how dangerous it is to threaten me?” His face was inches from mine, and I refused to flinch.

“I want one piece of information and if I don't get the police here in thirty seconds. No, you can't stop me. And, give it to me and I don't tell the Capelletis you're stepping out on them.” I kept my breathing as steady as I could.

“What piece of information?” My heart soared.

“Who is the Oriental woman you've been helping out under the table with odd illegal jobs?” I had one shot, and hoped he didn't have two hundred female Oriental clients.

“I tell you and you leave now. If you say anything I will find you. I will kill you.” There was little doubt about his sincerity.

“Agreed. Now, who is she?” I got out pen and paper and held my breath.

“Korean lady, Kyung-sook Kim. Now, get the fuck out.”

Back to the internet café. I searched for her and found that she sometimes went by Animal or Creature. I had my target.

Last call from this burner.

“Flint.” Thank God it wasn't Hartag.

“Creechur is a Korean woman named Kyung-sook Kim. What did you find out about Alex?”

“Ethan, I'm sorry, we have nothing. Your neighbor, Luke Dupree, caught me and said he would put up original art work with a value of $80,000 as a reward. I told him to assemble the art work. We'll use it tomorrow if it's still necessary.” Danny sounded hopeful, like ‘no longer necessary’ meant that Alex was safe and sound, not dead.

“Tell Luke thanks. I'm done for the night.” I went to hang up.

“Ethan, you should probably stop this. When Alex turns up alive he doesn't need to contend with a dead step-father also.”

That got to me. Yeah, since Dana's funeral Alex never called me much of anything but douchebag. But, I was his step-father, he'd already lost both biological parents, and I wasn't sure my death would be a good thing for him. If I had to die to find him so be it, but if I died and didn't find him I deserved to burn in hell.

“I'll think about it, Danny. By the way is there any possibility Alex could be caught up in gay porn?” I'd already eliminated straight porn due to competition.

Danny's pause left frost on my heart.

Before I could hang up he got in the last word. “Oh, somebody named Cheryl called.”

Chapter Five

Fuck! I was supposed to go out with Cheryl tonight. I hadn't had any sex in so long I'm not sure I remember which part goes in which hole. I've got to call Cheryl.

Back to the nearest internet café. I'd now used this one twice, couldn't keep doing it. As I walked to the front door a familiar smell caught my nose. Pot. Well, most places had stopped arresting people for using. They just went after the harder drugs. Fuck Shit Fuck Damn!

Harder drugs. Getting caught up in that was fucking dangerous. I needed more cellphones. And a shitload of information before I tried looking into drugs. Tomorrow I get the info.

Thirty minutes on the internet taught me everything I wanted to know about gay porn and a whole lot I would rather not have learned. I was surprised to learn that straight guys did gay porn sometimes. This did not reassure me. Well, drugs are more likely anyway, so it's off to another convenience store.

With five new burner phones I ditched the last one and chose another at random. First call had to be to Cheryl.

“Honey, it's Ethan. I'm sorry about tonight.” She always recognized my voice, so I'm not sure why I introduced myself every time.

“Ethan, where's Alex? I called your house and some guy with no name answered. I called Luke and he said Alex was missing and you're out trying to find him. Please be careful. And don't worry about tonight. If you blew off Alex's disappearance to keep a date with me I'd never forgive either of us.”

Cheryl was good people. Probably twenty years older than I, the trauma nurse had a personality that took a while to get used to. She always said whatever was on her mind. I found that attractive in her, as I had in Dana. My (limited) dating experience before Dana had really been with girls, not women. And the girls (some as old as thirty) were always saying one thing and meaning another.

“I don't know where Alex is, honey. Look, I'll come by your house tomorrow. It's your day off, right?” We weren't in love, but we were in lust. After Dana's death it had taken me five months to even look at another woman. I was doing a column on emergency room trauma and had interviewed four or five people at St. Swithin's. The slightly plump brunette watched me like a hawk. She was the head trauma nurse.

“Hi, I'm Cheryl, the head trauma nurse.” Nice, a woman actually spoke to me first. “I heard you say your name is Ethan. Well, Ethan, I'd like you to interview me, too. I get off in twenty minutes, maybe we could meet for a drink?”

We arranged to meet at a nearby bar. New Orleans might just have more bars than people. Surely it had more bars than traffic lights. Not long after I'd gotten there she walked in. She'd changed out of the shapeless nurse's uniform and into a short dress that fit her curves nicely. Slightly plump is seriously under-rated.

I ordered drinks and her first question was whether I was married or an axe murderer. I'd never thought of using that as a pickup line. I reassured her that my multiple murders had never involved an axe, and that I was recently widowed.

“I like your sense of humor.”Cheryl was smiling at me. “Now that I've got my questions answered, let's hear yours.”

We spent three hours at the bar, at the end of which we were both slightly tipsy. I told her my story about Dana and how lonely I was. Dana was the love of my life and now she's gone. Cheryl commiserated with me, said she'd never been in a serious relationship with anybody so she had no way to understand my loss. I appreciated her honesty. “Cheryl, I feel so sad for you. Dana was my one and only serious relationship, and I'm fortunate that we had time together. I'm unutterably sad that she's gone, but that experience – becoming one with another person – is one I wouldn't trade for anything.”

Cheryl said that she had been independent so long she wasn't sure she could compromise enough to get into a serious relationship. Then she told me she thought I was cute. I recommended a visit to an ophthalmologist. “Cute and funny” was all she said.

Cheryl admitted she wasn't looking for love or companionship, all she wanted to do was find a friend. Preferably a friend with benefits, and I was in the running. We could take it from there. We arranged a second date, which went marvelously well. She was smart, funny and most important available. And, she invited me back to her place.

She was true to her profession. The first time we had sex she took three vials of blood from me. She told me if they came back clean we could do away with the condoms. Until then, buy stock in Trojan.

We got along amazingly well. Where Dana was perfectly proper every second of every day, Cheryl could be cruder than an aircraft carrier full of sex-starved sailors. Her coworkers and patients adored her. Well, most of them, anyway. Patients arriving in handcuffs and escorted by police discovered that not every nurse gets the vein on the first try. Or the second. Or the thirteenth.