The White Angel Murder

52

Stanton sat in a black Mustang with tinted windows. Jessica was next to him and a plain clothes officer from SWAT was in the driver’s seat. They were parked at a meter downtown in front of a strip-club called The Bush.

It was nearly ten at night and the lights of the city flickered around them. This was when the real residents of the city came out, the ones that never left, never transferred jobs, never vacationed. They were the blood of the city that kept it open and kept it functioning. During the day, they cleaned its streets, threw out its trash, served its food, mopped its floors and fixed its broken parts. But at night they were here, feeding on the youthful energy and bodies of young women and men that had been abandoned by life and thrown in a pit of vipers.

Stanton counted twenty-six prostitutes. Among them were nine young men, dressed in jeans and tight shirts. The rest were women dressed in little more than underwear.

They stood on corners in groups and waited for the cars to pull to a stop. There would be a brief conversation through the passenger side window and then they would get into the car and go to some hidden alley or parking lot. The smart ones had a motel room rented for the night around the corner, splitting their revenue with the motel owner or desk clerk.

He could see the progression of the career. On the last corner, farthest from the street lamps and the most out of the way for passerby in cars, were the newest and youngest ones. Their faces and bodies were flawless and they worked with an exuberance based on the perception that this was a temporary job to earn some cash and move on to what they really wanted to do.

On the other end of the block, taking up the prime location to make it easy for johns to pull up and pull away, were the experienced ones. The ones that had realized there was no leaving this life and had given up. Their faces were scarred and worn and their bodies sagging and unkempt. In between the two of them were the ones just beginning to realize what they had done to their lives.

“Angel One, I don’t have the target. Over.”

The driver picked up the sleek black walkie-talkie. “Copy. Witness on scene says he’s in the back getting a private lap dance. Over.”

“Copy that.” There was silence a few minutes. “Negative, Angel One. Two lap dances, neither is the target. Rest of the rooms are empty. Over.”

“Copy that. Hang tight.” The driver turned to Stanton. “Can you go in there and point him out?”

“He knows me too well. If he sees me in a strip-club he’ll know something’s up. We want to take him as quietly as possible.”

He exhaled loudly as if in protest of being asked to do something ridiculous. “Angel Two be advised I’m staking the first floor. Check the bathrooms and the bar on the second floor. There may be some private rooms up there that weren’t in the blue prints submitted to City Hall. If you can’t ID him let me know. Over.”

“Roger that.”

“All right,” he said, pulling his jacket on, “you guys wait here.”

Stanton watched as he left and went into the strip-club. He was not used to undercover work and it showed. He glanced around too much, looked at people just slightly too long. SWAT was a hammer and was not used to the razor blade work required in an undercover operation.

“I worked prostitution for awhile,” Jessica said. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“I was a uniform fresh out of the academy in Los Angeles and they needed new faces. New female faces. I was stuck pretending to pose as a prostitute at a Motel 6 near a Mexican bar. The bar would get people drunk and the bartender would set them up with the hookers across the street at the motel.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want to go back to that?”

“Because there were no victims, not in any real sense. Nobody got hurt. Even the johns usually just got a fine.” She looked out the window at the people passing on the sidewalk. “There was one time though where there was a young girl on the corner with me. She was maybe fourteen. I gave the arrest signal to get her off the street but they didn’t catch it. Some trucker stopped and picked her up before I could alert anybody and no one saw her again. I like to think she was just dropped off somewhere else, but I don’t think so. I talked to the other girls later and they said she disappeared.”

“What was her name?”

“I don’t even remember. How awful is that of me?” She pulled out a piece of Nicotine gum and unwrapped it. “Sometimes I don’t think it’s even worth it, Jon. The darkness is so thick. It’s like a blanket that covers us up and won’t let us out. And it just seems to get worse instead of better. I remember when I was growing up I had so many good people to look up to. Neighbors, teachers, local cops and firemen … I think now I could count how many good people I know on one hand.”

“They’re out there. They just don’t get as much attention as they used to.”

“Not sure I believe that.”

Stanton was watching the front entrance when he saw a man in jeans and a black sports coat leave. He turned and said something to the bouncer and they both laughed. It was Royal.

“Wait here,” Stanton said.

He jumped out of the car and caught up with Royal as he was walking through the parking lot next to the strip-club.

“Hey, Hunter.”

“Jon? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Now? Why didn’t you just call me?”

“No, not over the phone.”

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

There was only the slightest hesitation. A single moment in which Stanton’s mouth opened but no words came out. It was enough.

“Shit!”

Royal sprinted in between two cars and out of the parking lot and into the street. Stanton started running and shouting toward the Mustang for Jessica to call it in, but she wasn’t paying attention.

Royal ran into an alley and there was a chain-link fence behind a dumpster. He climbed up the fence and tore a cuff on his pants as he hopped over. He dashed for the intersection out the other side.

Stanton hopped the fence and felt the burning in his hands as he scraped the top on the way down. He saw Royal run through the intersection on a red light and two cars screeched as they tried to stop but both rammed into a large SUV coming from their right, the first one knocking it sideways and the second rear-ending the car and battering it into the SUV again. Horns were still blaring when Stanton got there. He maneuvered past the mess and got to the sidewalk on the other side and saw Royal run into an apartment high-rise.

Stanton ran in and instantly recognized the building. It was low-income housing and the cheap red carpet and tacky wallpaper of the hallways screamed government contractors. He’d been here several times previously on various calls.

There were a set of stairs at the end of the hall past the elevators and Royal was bounding up them two at a time. Stanton got there just as he was rounding a corner to the second floor. Stanton reached the top of the stairs to the second floor and looked down the hallway to his right and then his left. It was empty.

He closed his eyes and listened and all he could hear was his own heavy breathing. And then, almost as softly as the patter of mice, there was the quiet sound of shoes on carpet.

Stanton ran down the hall and came to a utility closet. He opened it and Royal bashed him in the face with a janitor’s mop bucket.

Stanton heard a crunch in his nose as blood instantly began to pour. He stumbled back as Royal tackled him. He felt his hands searching him for his gun and it gave Stanton just enough leverage to twist him off and onto his back. Stanton climbed on top of him, cradling him with his thighs and smashed his fists into his face until they were coated in blood, small droplets raining over his face and clothing.

Royal went limp; his breathing labored and gurgled with blood. Stanton collapsed next to him, his lungs on fire and his shoulders aching and stiff. Blood began to pool on the carpet and Royal stirred but was dazed and couldn’t focus. He waited a few moments without moving and then became more aware. His hand went to his face and he attempted to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the gap in his teeth.

“You knocked out my fucking teeth!” he stammered, out of breath. “I forgot you don’t carry your gun.”

“Why did you run from me?” Stanton said, his chest tightening from the exertion and making it difficult to breathe.

“You know why I ran asshole.”

Stanton realized no one had called it in. He had no help coming and was alone with no protection.

“Look, Johnny. I’m leaving. You’re not taking me in.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Royal climbed on top of him with a yell and pressed his forearm into Stanton’s throat. He was heavier than Stanton by at least fifty pounds and Stanton, out of breath and weak, couldn’t get him off. The world began to go black and little sparkles of color appeared in his vision.

There was the sound of a hammer cocking. Royal looked over to see Jessica pointing her firearm at his face. He waited to see if he could tell if she would actually fire and she steadied her arm and naturally fell into the Weaver stance. He put his hands up and Stanton choked and spit as air rushed back inside him.