“She’s the same, Mort.” Well, not really, but he didn’t have time to go into it. “She’s on her way to see you. She should be there soon. If she doesn’t make it, let me know.”
“She’s coming here alone?”
Guilt nudged in, but Luther snuffed it beneath other priorities. “I couldn’t go with her. I have things to do.” Important things. Urgent things. “She’ll be fine.”
“Shit. Which way is she coming? I’ll meet her halfway.”
Bemused, because a near-death experience had neatly matured Morty into a man almost overnight, Luther told him her direction. “You be careful, too, Mort. Stay in the light.”
He laughed. “I’d never find Gaby if I did. She’s a woman who clings to shadows. But yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks, Luther.” The call disconnected.
Didn’t he know it? When she chose to be, Gaby was an adumbration of humanity, every bit as obscure and hazy as the shifting shadow of a half-moon. Gaby could be there one minute, and if he dared to blink, she disappeared. Part of Luther believed she’d wanted him to find her; if not, he probably never would have. Gaby had many talents, among them the ability to blend into nothingness, to be no one, to . . . not exist.
Putting the phone back in his pocket, Luther headed toward the motel where he’d bet Gaby lived. It was an eyesore, a den of iniquity, but unless summoned, the police turned a blind eye to the crimes committed there.
He’d deceived Gaby on purpose, pretending he had no clue where she resided. For that he wouldn’t feel a single iota of guilt. He didn’t trust her.
He couldn’t.
If he got a chance to talk to the call girls, maybe the manager of the motel, without Gaby aware of it, he might get some new insight on her.
At least, that was the plan.
The building sat close to the street with only a broken, littered walkway separating it from the curb. Most of the windows were painted black or shielded with dark coverings. The red paint on the front door peeled away like blistering skin from a harsh sunburn.
In raunchy poses that exposed overused body parts, three women lounged around. As Luther approached, they sized him up with guarded cynicism—and intuitively recognized him as a cop.
That didn’t convince them to close their legs or their mouths. Lewd comments, void of any real offering, would have brought a blush to a man unaccustomed to such human dreariness.
Luther stopped in front of a redhead wearing layered makeup and smoking a cigarette with ravenous appetite. “I have some questions.”
After blowing smoke in his face, she grinned wide enough to show two missing side teeth. “This ain’t the information desk, sugar.”
“Is the manager inside?”
She laughed. “Now, sugar, you know he ain’t gonna talk to you neither.”
Looking up three stories, Luther guessed that Gaby would be up top somewhere. “I’m looking for Gabrielle Cody’s room.”
“Yeah?” She took another hungry drag on her cigarette. “Who’s that?”
Luther could be patient when need be. “Tall, thin girl. Quiet. Deadly.”
The whore shrugged. “Don’t ring no bells.”
“What’s your name?”
She eyed him. “Betty.”
“Well, Betty.” Luther pulled out his badge, and finished by saying, “Either you start talking, or I bust all three of you.”
Flicking away the cigarette and straightening with apprehension, she demanded, “For what?”
Using the edge of his badge, Luther tapped the inside of Betty’s fleshy thigh. “Indecent exposure, for starters. You’ll probably be held up for hours—and that’ll make it tough to reach your quota for the day, now won’t it?”
In rapid succession, sounding like a pack of pissed off banshees, the women told him to fuck himself in ways unimaginable, and surely impossible.
“Fine.” Luther pulled out his radio. “Have it your way.”
From behind him, a man said, “Hold up, cop.”
Luther turned, found a tall, lean, and muscled man behind him. Given certain traits, he likely had a mixed racial background. Given his clothes and attitude, Luther knew he was a pimp.
“And you are?”
Through narrowed eyes partially concealed by blue-tinted sunglasses, the fellow watched him. “An innocent bystander.” He grinned to show off a gold tooth. “What do you want with the girl?”
Sensing an ally, Luther moved closer. “Actually, Ms. Cody is a friend more than anything. I want to know what she’s up to, that’s all.”
Luther stiffened when the man withdrew a knife from his back pocket, but he only flicked it open to clean his nails. “Tell you what, cop. If you’ll get her out of my hair, I’ll help however I can.”
Viewing his assistance as traitorous, the women started grumbling and grousing to themselves. The man shouted, “Shut the fuck up! Get off your lazy asses and head up the street a ways.”
“I was taking my break,” Betty protested.
Jaw locked, the man took a threatening step toward her. “You want a break, bitch?”
“No, Jimbo.” She ducked, covering her head until she realized he had stopped short of reaching her. Then she hurried away.
“Stupid bitches,” Jimbo spat as he moved back to rest his spine on a lamppost. “Lazy sluts, every fucking one of them.”
Rage simmered inside Luther. He detested men like Jimbo, men who abused those smaller or weaker than himself. “Just so you know,” Luther told him, “I wouldn’t have let you touch her.”
They stared at each other until Jimbo grinned.
“Don’t need to knock Betty around much. She knows her place.” He examined the knife blade. “The bitch you’re talking about don’t, though. She’s fucking psychotic.”
The rage threatened to boil over, but Luther kept his tone calm. “Why do you say that?”
“She bought a shitload of stuff to barricade her room. Got reinforced locks on everything—and that was before I said shit to her.”
“Before?” If Jimbo had given Gaby one second of grief, Luther would take him apart. Oozing menace, disregarding the knife, he crowded into Jimbo’s space. “What exactly did you say to her?”
Jimbo sized him up, and saw more than Luther meant to share. “I only asked her what she was thinking, moving into a whorehouse. But she don’t say much. And when she does, she wants to talk with her fists.”
“She
Jimbo laughed. “Nah, man, I don’t fight with the bitches. Besides, she doesn’t work for me.”
“If I thought she did,” Luther said quietly, “I’d kill you.”
Jimbo paused, rethought his position, and went back to his nails. “She moved in, took over, and turned that piss-hole she calls a room into a fortress.” He folded the knife and slid it back into his pocket. “Makes me wonder what kind of trouble she’s expecting—and how it might affect my working girls if it shows up.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
Scoffing, Jimbo said, “Prickly bitch don’t talk to me. She just looks at me like she’d like to skin me alive. But I know why she did it. She figures Carver will be after her, on account of the way she cut him up and all.”
Worse and worse. Just how much trouble had Gaby gotten into since Luther last saw her? With growing exasperation, he asked, “Carver?”
“Yeah. Raggedy-ass hillbilly punk used to work this corner.” He eyed Luther, looked around. “I don’t want trouble with Carver.”
“You should worry more about me, and less about him.”
“My man.” Jimbo grinned with amusement. “I’m not worried ’bout either of yas, but I’d sooner make money than have a hassle. And with you, I think we can work out a deal.”
“I don’t deal with the likes of you.”
