City of Angels. It’s just a matter of knowing which girls to approach. The desperate and totally broke – the ones that need to get a fix – the ones that craved the lifestyle D-King had to offer. If any of his girls wanted out, all they had to do was say it and a replacement would be just around the corner.
D-King sent his main bodyguard, Jerome, to find out what had happened to Jenny. Why hadn’t she called back? Worst of all, why hadn’t she turned up for her appointment with a client last night? D-King didn’t tolerate letting a client down. It didn’t reflect well on his business and even a crooked business depended on reliability. D- King suspected something wasn’t right. Jenny was his most reliable girl and he was sure that if she had run into any trouble, she would’ve called.
The truth was he had a soft spot for Jenny. She was a very sweet girl, always with a smile and a fantastic sense of humor – qualities that went a long way in her line of work. When Jenny first started working for D-King she told him she’d only do this job until she had enough money to stand on her own two feet. He respected her determination, but for now she was one of his most profitable girls, a very popular choice among the rich and ugly scumbags that made up his client list.
On Jerome’s return D-King was doing his morning exercise – twenty-five laps of his half-Olympic-size swimming pool.
‘Boss, I am afraid I ain’t got good news.’ Jerome was a scary looking man. African American with cropped Afro hair and a crooked nose that had been broken so many times Jerome had lost count. He was six-foot-three and weighed three hundred and thirty pounds. He had a square jaw and cotton-white teeth. Jerome had been tipped to become the next heavyweight champion of the world, but a car accident had left him almost paralyzed from the waist down. It took him four years to be able to walk properly again. By that time, his shot at the title had come and gone. He ended up working as special security for a nightclub in Hollywood. D-King offered him a job and a substantial salary raise after he saw Jerome single-handedly take care of a group of seven football players who were looking for trouble one night.
D-King stepped out of the swimming pool, grabbed a clean white bathrobe with the word ‘King’ in big golden letters on the back and sat down at the table by the side of the pool, where breakfast was waiting for him.
‘That ain’t what I want to hear, Jerome. I don’t wanna start my day with bad news.’ He poured himself a glass of orange juice. ‘Go on, nigga, spill it out.’ His voice was as calm as it’d always been. D-King was not the type of person to lose his coolness easily.
‘Well, you told me to go and check on Jenny, see why she’d disappeared for a few days.’
‘Yeah?’
‘OK, it looks like she didn’t only disappear from the club, boss, she simply disappeared.’
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’
‘It doesn’t look like she’s been home at all in the past few days. The building concierge hasn’t seen her either.’
D-King put down his glass of orange juice and studied his bodyguard for a few seconds. ‘How about her things? Were they still in the apartment?’
‘Everything – dresses, shoes, handbags, even her make-up. Her suitcases were all stacked up in the wardrobe too. If she split, it was in a fucking hurry, boss.’
‘She has nothing to be running away from,’ D-King said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
‘Does she have a boyfriend?’
‘Does she what?’ he asked, making an ‘I don’t believe you’ face. ‘You know better than that, nigga. None of my girls have relationships, it’s bad for business.’
‘Maybe she met someone that night at the Vanguard.’
‘And what?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe went back to his place.’
‘Hell no, Jenny doesn’t do freebies.’
‘Maybe she liked the guy.’
‘She’s a hooker, Jerome. She’d just come out of a five-night working week. The last thing she would’ve wanted was to go to bed with someone else.’
‘Private clients?’
‘Say what? All my girls know what would happen if I found out they were trying to run a little parallel business. Jenny ain’t the type, she ain’t stupid.’
‘Maybe she’s just staying with a friend,’ Jerome offered one more option.
‘Again, not like her. She’s been one of my girls for what, almost three years? She’s never given me any trouble. She’s always on time for her appointments. No, Jerome, this is messed up, something’s wrong.’
‘Do you think she might be in trouble, financially I mean, gambling or something like that?’
‘If she is she would’ve come to me, I know that. She wouldn’t just run away.’
‘What do you want me to do, boss?’
D-King had a sip of his coffee, thinking about his options. ‘First check the hospitals,’ he finally said. ‘We’ve gotta find out if something’s happened to her.’
‘Do you think someone might’ve hurt her?’
‘If someone did . . . that motherfucker is dead.’
Jerome wondered who’d be stupid enough to hurt any of D-King’s girls.
‘If the hospitals come up blank we’ll need to check with the police.’
‘Shall I call Culhane?’
Detective Mark Culhane worked for the Narcotics division of the LAPD. He was also in D-King’s dirty-cop pay list.
‘He ain’t the sharpest of minds, but I guess we’ll have to. Warn him not to go snooping around like a lost dog though. I wanna keep this on the “low low” for now.’
‘I’ve got you, boss.’
‘Check the hospitals first, if you come up empty – call him.’
Jerome nodded, leaving his boss to finish his breakfast.
D-King had a bite of his egg-white omelet, but his appetite had gone. After over ten years as a dealer he’d developed a nose for trouble and something didn’t smell right. He wasn’t only well known in Los Angeles, he was also well feared. Once someone had made the mistake of slapping one of his girls across the face. That someone was found three days later inside a suitcase – his body separated into six parts, head, torso, arms and legs.
Nine
Carlos Garcia was a young detective who’d worked his way up through the police ranks almost as quickly as Hunter. The son of a Brazilian federal agent and an American history teacher, he and his mother moved to Los Angeles when Garcia was only ten years old, after his parents’ marriage collapsed. Even though he’d lived in America most of his life, Garcia could speak Portuguese like a true Brazilian. His father was a very attractive man with smooth dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin. His mother was a natural blond with light-blue eyes and European-looking fair skin. Garcia had inherited his father’s olive-tone skin and darkish brown hair, which he let grow slightly longer than his mother would’ve liked it. His eyes weren’t as light blue as his mother’s, but they had definitely come from her side of the family. Despite being thirty-one years old, Garcia still had a boyish look. He had a slim frame, thanks to years of track and field, but his build was deceptive and he was stronger than anyone would’ve guessed.
Jennet Liams, Garcia’s mother, did everything in her power to persuade him not to pursue a career as a police officer. Her marriage to a federal agent had taught her plenty. It’s a dangerous life. Few human beings can endure the kind of mental pressure that comes with it. Her family and marriage suffered because of her husband’s profession. She didn’t what her son and his future family to have the same fate. But by the age of ten, Garcia had made up his mind. He wanted to be just like his hero – his father.
