The Last Innocent Man

3

Darlene Hersch was out of breath by the time she reached the squad room. The clock over the water fountain told her the bad news. She had sprinted from the car and she was still late. There was nothing she could do about it now. Only she hated to make a bad impression. All the other officers in the special vice unit had been on the police force for several years. She was new, and it looked bad to be the only late arrival.

The squad room was small. The dull-green paint on the walls was peeling, and the linoleum-tile flooring buck-led in places. Rows of clipboards hung from two of the walls. A bulletin board occupied the third. All the space in between was covered by cartoons about police work, bulletins about office procedure, and a large poster that gave instructions about what to do in the event of a fire.

A sink and a countertop ran along the outer wall. The countertop was littered with paper cups, and two pots of coffee steamed next to the room’s only window. The center of the room had been taken over by two long Formica-topped tables. Sandra Tallant and Louise Guest, the other policewomen on the squad, sat at the end of the table near the door. Darlene slid onto a metal bridge chair and hoped Sergeant Ryder would not notice that she was late.

“Have another rough night, Darlene?” Ortiz asked in a loud voice. Darlene flushed. Neale grinned and Coffin snickered. Sergeant Ryder looked up from the desk at the front of the room, and Darlene turned her head and glared at Ortiz. Ortiz winked. The bastard.

Ortiz perched on the countertop near the coffeepots. He was handsome, and he knew it. With his dark complexion, shaggy mustache, and thick black hair, curled and cared for like D’Artagnan’s, he played the lady’s man. Darlene thought he was an asshole.

Sergeant Ryder stood up and checked his notes on the clipboard he always carried. A big, insecure man, he was always rechecking his facts, as if he feared that they would change if he did not keep constant track of them.

“Are we all here?” he asked rhetorically. He had known the precise number of people in the room every minute since he had arrived.

“Okay, for those of you who have not been keeping up with the captain’s weekly bulletin on developments in the law, last week the public defender filed a motion claiming that the equal-protection rights of Vonetta Renae King were being violated…”

“They got us there,” Ortiz called out. “Vonetta’s been violated more than any whore I know.”

Coffin giggled and Ryder stared at him. Coffin covered his mouth and coughed.

“Is it all right if I continue, Bert?” Ryder asked in a tired voice. He knew there was no way to keep Ortiz from acting the clown. He also knew that Ortiz was one of his best vice cops. It all balanced out.

“As I was saying, the public defender is claiming that the prostitution laws are being unfairly enforced, because only the…er…females are being arrested. Since the statute makes anyone guilty who offers or agrees to have sex for a fee, the PD is saying that that includes the trick too.

“Chief Galton agrees. You ladies will work with a male cover. You are to stay within eye contact at all times.”

“Sergeant?” Darlene asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking about this. We’ll be dressing up like prostitutes, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what about entrapment? I mean, isn’t that planting the idea in the john’s head?”

“The legal adviser said it’s not, but it’s best to let him bring up the subject of sex and the price.”

“How far are we going to have to go to make a bust?” Louise asked.

“Yours is made pretty well already,” Ortiz said. Coffin laughed, then looked embarrassed and stopped.

“Come on, Bert, for chrissakes. This is important,” Ryder said.

And it was important, Darlene thought. And goddamn Ortiz and Coffin and Neale. Why wouldn’t they take the women seriously instead of treating them like secretaries in uniform?

“That’s a good question. The way the law reads, you don’t have to…er…uh, have sexual relations with the trick to make a case. The law is broken if the male offers or agrees to have sexual intercourse, which you ladies know what that is, or deviate sexual intercourse, which is, uh, as the statute says, contact between the, er, genitals of one person and the, er, mouth or, er, anus of another.”

Ryder blushed. Actually blushed! Darlene wanted to laugh, but it was too sad a state of affairs. Why wouldn’t he say “blow job” or “asshole” or any of the other words he used when women weren’t around?

“So if you get such an offer for money, you can make the arrest.”

“How are we going to work this?” Ortiz asked.

“I don’t want any arrests made alone on the street. We don’t want anyone freaking out on us. Bring the trick to your male cover. There’s less likelihood of trouble with a man there.”

“What if the trick wants you to get in his car?”

“Absolutely not. We don’t get into cars. I don’t want you ladies isolated from your cover. If a trick asks you to get in his car, tell him there are cops around, and they’ll make a pinch if they see you get in the car. Suggest a meet where your male cover is waiting. If the trick insists, brush him off.

“Okay, any more questions? No? Good. Now, I want good collars. There are certain judges, and you know who I’m talking about, who are going to jump at a chance to throw out these cases. You just wait until we bag a doctor or some big-shot attorney. So don’t give them the chance.

“All right, I want Tallant and Coffin to work the area around Ninth and Burnside. Louise, you and Neale take the area by the Hilton. And Darlene and Bert, you take the park blocks.”

Darlene straightened her tight black miniskirt and dipped her knees so she could adjust her blond Afro wig in the sideview mirror of the unmarked police car. The California-surfer-girl effect produced by her straight blond hair, large blue eyes, and deep tan had been destroyed by false eyelashes, tons of pancake makeup, and gobs of red lipstick. Grotesque, she thought, as she put the finishing touches on the wig.

“Not bad, Darlene,” Ortiz chuckled. “You may be in the wrong line of work.”

“Stuff it, Bert,” she snapped, still angry at him for the incident in the squad room.

“You know, Darlene, your trouble is you never took the time to get to know me. Now, if we had a drink after the shift, you’d get to see the real me.”

“Look,” she said, straightening and looking him in the eye, “I don’t have time for any of your macho shit tonight. Hand me my coat, please.”

There was heavy emphasis on the “please.” Ortiz laughed and pulled a cheap rabbit coat out of the trunk. Darlene was wearing a fire-engine-red sweater that left her little room to breathe. She kept the coat open so the sweater showed. Black panty hose and high black boots completed her official whore uniform. She checked her purse to make sure she had not forgotten her service revolver.

Ortiz had picked a darkened parking lot for his surveillance post. An office building occupied the other half of the block on the same side of the street. There was a jewelry store, a shoe-repair shop, a beauty salon, and an all-night cafe across the way. The only illumination came from a series of evenly spaced streetlights.

“What’s the plan?” Ortiz asked, suddenly all business.

Darlene looked up and down the street. It was a one-way street going south.

“I’ll walk down the block to the corner, across from the cafe. That way I can get the traffic on both streets. Will you be able to see me from here?”

“Yeah. Just stay under the streetlight on the corner. This building blocks a little of my view.”

“If I get a proposition that’s good enough for an arrest, I’ll pat my wig. Then I’ll have the trick come to the lot.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Darlene hadn’t thought about the story she would use to lure the trick to Ortiz. Ortiz leaned against the side of the car watching her.

“I’ll tell him I have a car in the lot and the keys to my room are in it. How’s that?”

Ortiz stood up and stretched.

“Good. There’s enough shadow here to keep me Kidden until you’re almost to the car.”

“Okay,” Darlene said. She turned her back to Ortiz and started across the parking lot. There were butterflies in her stomach, and she had a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. She always did when she was nervous, and she was suddenly nervous and a little scared.

“Darlene,” Ortiz called after her, “don’t take any chances.”

Darlene had been standing near the corner for fifteen minutes when the beige Mercedes drove by the first time. She got a fast look at the driver as he went by. Blond, good-looking. He had smiled at her. Darlene had smiled back, hoping he would stop, but he hadn’t. Darlene had no idea why she had brought the rabbit coat along. It was way too hot for it. If she didn’t get a nibble soon, she was determined to take it back to the lot. She glanced back toward Ortiz but couldn’t spot him in the shadows.

The Mercedes drove by again and pulled to the curb across the street. The man signaled to her and she walked toward him, remembering to swing her hips as she went. She had to concentrate to keep from stumbling in her high-heel boots.

“Nice night,” the man said. He was a little nervous, but trying to be cool, Darlene thought.

“Nice enough,” she said. “What are you doin’ drivin’ around in this big old car all by your lonesome?”

The man smiled. Probably married, Darlene thought. Where was the little woman while Papa was out cavorting? Bridge club? Maybe home watching TV while hubby is at a “business” meeting. She could imagine how that pretty face was going to look when Papa had to explain to Mama that he had been arrested for prostitution.

“I’m just driving around, looking for a little fun. How about yourself?”

“I’m just hangin’ around, sugar. Lookin’ for a little fun myself.”

“I know a place where we can have a lot of fun. You want to come along?”

Darlene leaned over and rested her elbows on the window of the car. The top buttons of her sweater were open, and the blond man couldn’t keep his eyes off her cleavage. This close, she could smell the liquor on his breath. He had been doing some heavy drinking, but he appeared to be able to hold it.

“I’d love to have some fun, sugar. What kind of fun did you have in mind?”

“Fun. You know,” he said evasively.

The trick was getting more agitated. Maybe he was new at the game. Darlene was beginning to get impatient. She wanted him to say the magic words so she could make her first arrest.

“Are you thinkin’ of the kind of fun I’m thinkin’ about?” she asked with a smile that she hoped looked lascivious.

The trick looked up and down the street.

“Look,” he said, “why don’t you get in and we can talk about it?”

“You have any money, sugar?” Darlene asked, trying to speed things up. The blond looked startled.

“Why?”

“The type of fun I’m thinking about could get expensive.”

The trick seemed very agitated. His eyes were darting back and forth rapidly.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to stand around here. There are cops all over. If you want to get in, get in.”

Darlene patted the wig with her right hand.

“Why are you worried about cops? I don’t see any cops.”

“I can’t wait anymore. Do you want to do business or not?”

Darlene felt her stomach churning. So close. She didn’t want this one to get away. If she could just make him wait a minute. She was almost there.

Ortiz sat up when the Mercedes slowed down. He slouched back down in the front seat of the unmarked car when it sped up and drove on. This whole assignment was a waste of time, he thought. Busting some poor slob who wanted a little pussy and had to pay for it. That wasn’t why he’d joined the force. Why did they have to take him out of narcotics just as he was beginning to get some heavy action? And working with Darlene Hersch…Jesus H. Christ, if that wasn’t the luck of the draw. Miss Tight Ass herself. Then again, maybe she wasn’t such a tight ass. Sometimes it was the ones who gave you the hardest time that wanted it the most and just wouldn’t admit it to themselves. He wondered what she’d be like in bed. Good old Darlene. He chuckled to himself. Probably want to be on top. She sure acted like it most of the time.

There was that Mercedes again. And it was stopping. Ortiz sat up. Darlene was wiggling over and talking to the driver. He couldn’t see much of the guy from this distance.

She was leaning over now and resting on the ledge of the driver’s window. Must be a live one. Yup, she was patting her wig. Now all she had to do was get him to drive into the lot.

Ortiz was wearing a light jacket. His revolver was in a holster on his belt. He checked it. Someone who drove a Mercedes was probably going to be no trouble, but no use taking chances. Darlene was still leaning on the window. Nice ass. Even from this distance. Ortiz wondered what was taking so long. Christ, he was tired. He had a thing going with a cocktail waitress at the Golden Horse, and they had been at it all night. He yawned and shook his head. He should cut down. Too many women could kill you. Just like cigarettes. Still, he…What the-

Darlene was walking around to the passenger door and getting in. The car was driving off. Ortiz jammed his key into the ignition. The engine turned over and he started out of the lot. Shit! He remembered. The street was oneway, the wrong way. That dumb cunt. If he went around the block, he’d lose them for sure. It was late and the street was deserted. He made up his mind and wheeled right. His tires squealed when he made the turn. That stupid bitch. When he made his report she would be…Of all the dumb things to do. He picked up the radio mike. He might need assistance on this one if the Mercedes got too big a lead. He was about to make the call when he changed his mind. If he reported what was happening, it would be real trouble for Darlene. He didn’t want that. Besides, everything would be okay if he could keep the car in view.

He made the turn onto Morrison, and there it was. Two lights away, but there wasn’t much traffic. He relaxed and slowed down. He didn’t want the driver to spot him. Why did Darlene have to prove how hard she was? She wouldn’t be half-bad if she could get the chip off her shoulder. He’d bawl her out for sure once they made the bust. No, he’d have Sandra or Louise talk to her. She’d never listen to a man.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Darlene asked as they turned onto the freeway. The man turned his head and smiled. He had nice teeth. Straight and gleaming white, like a movie actor. A good-looking guy. She couldn’t figure out why someone that good-looking would have to pay for it.

“What’s your name?” the blond countered cautiously.

“Darlene.”

“A nice name. You shouldn’t wear so much makeup, Darlene. A pretty girl like you doesn’t need it.”

“Well, thanks,” she said, patting her hair as she looked in the rearview mirror. Ortiz was still there. Good. She had counted on Ortiz’s following her. She had been nervous until she spotted him when they turned off Morrison. He would be fuming by now, she thought with satisfaction. Well, fuck him. This was going to be an A-one bust.

“You look like you have nice breasts, Darlene,” the trick said without taking his eyes off the road. There was a hard edge to his voice when he said it, and Darlene felt uneasy for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said. “Do you have some special plans for them?”

The trick laughed but didn’t say anything. Ortiz was several car lengths back. A moving van changed lanes, and its width blocked the police car from view.

“Wife doesn’t treat you right, huh?” Darlene asked. The trick still didn’t answer, but he did turn and look at her. He was smiling, but there was no laughter in his eyes. They made her nervous and she felt a fleeting sense of desperation.

“Well, Darlene will treat you right. Now, just what do you want Darlene to do for you?” she said, making her voice low and sexy.

The truck was still blocking Ortiz’s view when the Mercedes turned onto the exit ramp. Ortiz swore and almost missed the turn. He still hadn’t got close enough to get the license plate, and he couldn’t afford to lose them. Traffic was heavy when he got to the end of the ramp, and the Mercedes’s lead was increasing. He finally pulled into the traffic and the Mercedes disappeared. He slammed his fist on the dashboard but continued to scan the neon-lit restaurants and motel parking lots on both sides of the street. Nothing. Nothing. Come on. Where are you?

Then he saw it. The Mercedes was just stopping in front of the office of the Raleigh Motel. Ortiz tried to read the license as he passed the motel, but the angle was bad and he was going too fast. Through the rearview mirror he saw Darlene getting out of the car. He pulled quickly into the McDonald’s next door to the motel.

“I don’t want to discuss business here, Darlene, but I can assure you that you will be paid well.”

They were off the freeway, and she couldn’t be sure that Ortiz had seen them exit. Damn that truck. There was something about this guy that was starting to bother her. He would not commit himself, and she was beginning to think that she had acted too hastily.

The trick turned the car into the parking lot of the Raleigh Motel. Darlene pressed the side of her purse and was comforted by the feel of the gun’s outline. Ortiz wouldn’t be frightened in a situation like this if he was busting a female prostitute. She looked out the back window. Where was he? She couldn’t see the police car anywhere.

“I want you to register for the room,” the trick was saying. “I’ll pull around and park.”

“I don’t…”

“There’s nothing to it,” he said, smiling and handing her a roll of bills.

Darlene took the money and slid out of the front seat. The trick drove toward the rear parking lot, away from the motel office. An old man in a plaid shirt was squinting at a used paperback through a pair of thick-lensed, wire-rim glasses. He looked up when Darlene entered.

“I’d like a room,” she said.

The old man slid a registration card across the desk without comment. She took a pen from a plastic holder on the desk and filled in the squares for name and address using her own name and the address of the North Precinct. It would be good evidence when the case came to court.

“Thirty-five bucks in advance,” the clerk said. He was looking at her breasts without the slightest attempt at concealment.

“How come you didn’t ask me how long I’m staying?” Darlene said as she laid down the money. The old man cocked an eyebrow at her, shook his head slowly, and took the money without answering.

“Second floor on the street side,” he said, handing her the key. The old man was reading again by the time the office door swung closed.

The office was separate from the motel rooms. Darlene crossed the parking lot and walked up the stairs past an ice machine. Her heels clanged on each metal stair and stopped when she reached the concrete landing that ran the length of the second floor on the outside of the building. Her trick was nowhere in sight. She paused outside the door of the motel room and looked down the length of the landing. She thought she saw someone standing in the shadows at the other end, but she wasn’t sure. She was starting to feel nervous again. This guy could be a freak. She decided to keep her hand on her gun. She could do it by simply putting her hand in her purse. She’d have to keep some distance between them.

She opened the door and flipped on the light. The combined odor of cleaning fluids and stale air assailed her. Where was the air-conditioning unit? Motel rooms always depressed her. They were so sterile and so impersonal. She often thought that hell must be a series of motel rooms where people sat, alone and unconnected.

There was a queen-size bed covered by a faded yellow bedspread. Two pillows were tucked under the spread and two cheap, natural-wood-colored end tables with matching lamps flanked the bed. A dresser with a large mirror faced the bed. A color TV perched on one corner of the dresser; a phone, with instructions for dialing out-of-town and local calls, sat on the other. Two sagging Scandinavian chairs were the only other furniture. Darlene sat in the one facing the door and put her hand in her purse. The door opened.

“Hi, Darlene,” the trick said. He was of average height, maybe a little under six feet. His slacks were light brown. The flowered shirt looked expensive. So did his polished shoes. She noticed that he locked the door when he closed it, and she tightened her grip on the revolver.

“Why did you do that?” Darlene asked nervously. The trick grinned.

“I thought we could use a little privacy,” he said. He had been moving toward her, but he stopped when he reached the bed.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off?” he asked quietly. “I want to see those breasts we were talking about.”

Darlene decided everything had gone too far. She had made a mistake and she wanted to get out. Maybe the guy was a freak. Maybe he just wanted her to get nude, then he’d beat off. There’d be no violation of law. Just some sick bastard whose wife didn’t satisfy him. She’d be a laughing-stock. She felt ill. Why hadn’t she followed instructions?

“Look,” she said, “this isn’t a peep show. If you want to have sex, say so, or I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go, Darlene,” he said, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

His voice was husky now. She could almost feel his sexual desire. He was moving again. Almost to her. Darlene made her decision. She was going to end this right now. She would say he propositioned her. She had to. She’d make up a story. The trick would cop a plea anyway. He’d be too embarrassed to go into court for a full-blown trial.

“Forget the money, mister,” she said, standing. “You’ll need it for a lawyer.”

The trick froze.

“What?” he said.

“You heard me. I’m a cop and you’re under arrest.”

From the corner of the McDonald’s lot Ortiz watched Darlene climb the stairs. She walked to the door near the far end of the landing and looked around before entering one of the rooms. A few seconds later a blond man walked out of the shadows at the other end of the landing and walked quickly to the door. It was too far to get a good look, but the man was slim and athletic looking. He could see the flowered shirt and tan slacks pretty clearly.

When the door to the motel room closed, Ortiz started to worry. He should be up there, but he didn’t want to ruin her bust. He tried to decide what to do. Ryder had paired them because of his experience. If anything happened to Darlene, it would be his fault. Ortiz made up his mind. He sprinted across to the motel.

Ortiz heard the scream as he reached the stairs to the second floor. He froze and there was a crash and a second scream. The lights were on and he could see the man’s blurred silhouette through the flimsy motel curtains. It was all happening very fast. He realized that he was not moving.

The lights went out and he took the stairs two at a time. Someone was moaning in the room. Someone was breathing hard. He crashed the heel of his shoe into the door just above the lock. There was a splintering sound, but the door held. He swung his foot again and the door crashed inward. The globe lamp that hung outside the door turned the room a pale yellow. Darlene was sprawled like a rag doll against the side of a chair in the far corner of the room. Her head hung limply to one side, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. There was a jagged red slash across her neck, and the floor around her was covered with blood.

Something exploded across Ortiz’s eyes and he dropped his gun. He was propelled into the room and he felt a burst of pain in his neck and upper back. His head crashed into the metal edge of the bed as he twisted and fell. He slumped against the bed. There was a man standing in the doorway, in the light of the globe lamp. Standing for a moment, then bolting like a startled deer. Ortiz felt consciousness slipping away. He tried to concentrate on the face. The blond, curly hair. He would never forget that face. Never.