“Somebody called this piece of shit motel at 3:47 this morning. We need to know who took the call.”
“I don’t know! I wasn’t here! I wasn’t here!”
“Who, then? Who was here?”
The kid said nothing.
Carlos grabbed the kid’s neck again.
The kid cried out.
“It wasn’t me!”
“We know that, asshole. You keep saying that. Who was here?”
“If I tell you, will you let me go?”
“That depends on how good your answer is.”
“I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Why would you go to jail?”
“I don’t know! Why won’t you let me go?”
Carlos took his hand away from the kid’s neck. The kid didn’t move for a couple seconds, as if he thought it was some kind of trick.
Ramon said, “This is important. We need to know about the call that came in this morning at 3:47.”
The kid touched his nose gingerly.
“Man, I think you broke my nose.”
Ramon said, “Tell us about the call.”
“I wasn’t working. I got here two hours ago.”
Carlos said, “Who did you relieve?”
“That’s the thing. I’m not really sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“When I got here nobody was at the counter.”
“Who was scheduled to be here?”
The kid looked again from Carlos to Ramon and back to Carlos.
“He’s not gonna get in trouble, is he? He’s a good guy.”
Carlos leaned forward. His body language made it clear he had no problem slamming the kid’s face against the counter again.
“Who’s a good guy?”
Fourteen
A minute after Ramon and his partner enter the motel, the girl detaches herself from the side of the building at the corner and starts to make her way up the sidewalk.
She takes her time, repeatedly looking back over her shoulder like she’s being followed. The officer standing in front of the motel sees her coming but doesn’t seem to care. Then the girl, looking back over her shoulder one last time, steels herself and approaches the officer.
I can’t hear what she says to him, not from where I am in the Civic parked a block away, but it looks like she’s desperate as she motions frantically at the motel. She has something in her hand, I realize, and she tries to give it to the officer who shakes his head and waves her off. He’s not being very patient with her, and it only takes a couple more seconds before he snatches whatever it is from the girl’s hand, crumples it, and tosses it past her into the street. The girl screeches, staring at the crumpled thing as if it were her own child. She turns back to the officer, steeling herself even more, and it’s clear that she intends to do something stupid—strike the officer, maybe, or spit at him—but the officer isn’t having any of it. He rests his hand on his holstered gun without a word, but the action speaks volumes. The girl hurriedly retrieves the crumpled object from the street and starts back down the sidewalk. She’s facing me now, so I can see the tears streaming down her face, and she takes the crumpled object and tries to uncrumple it the best she can, but clearly the damage has been done.
I slip from the Civic and cross the street. The girl’s desperation has piqued my interest.
The girl is so shaken up that she doesn’t even see me until I’m a few feet away.
“Are you okay?”
The girl jumps, startled. She wipes at her eyes. She tries to speak but the words don’t come and so she just shakes her head.
We’re at the end of the block. I’ve stationed myself behind the corner of a building so the officer down by the motel can’t see me.
“May I see that?”
The girl holds the crumpled thing in her hands. It’s clear it’s a photograph. Despite this, I can’t see it from how she’s holding it, so I start to reach for it.
The girl shakes her head, snatches the photograph to her chest.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to make it worse. I just want to look.”
The girl still doesn’t look convinced. She’s in her early twenties, but she looks maybe ten years older. Thin and frail, she doesn’t even bother trying to hide the needle marks. Instantly I’m reminded of Rosalina and all the other girls who had been locked up at the ranch outside of Las Vegas. This girl is also a prostitute.
I keep my hand out, welcoming.
“Please, let me take a look.”
Up the sidewalk, Ramon and his partner emerge from the motel. Ramon’s partner says something quickly to the officer, who nods, and then Ramon and his partner climb back into their pickup truck and drive away. The officer climbs into his car a couple seconds later and drives around to the back of the motel, where he’ll no doubt pick up his partner.
It all happens within a matter of seconds, and while I watch them I’m also aware of somebody stationed up the block across the street. Another young girl, only this one doesn’t look like a prostitute. She has a cell phone raised up to her head, but it’s not to her ear. It’s clear even from this distance that she’s taking pictures.
Ramon and his partner have turned the corner two blocks up. I should be in the Civic right now, following them, but it’s at that moment the girl decides to trust me enough to place the crumpled photograph in my hand.
“My sister.”
Her voice is barely a whisper.
The photograph shows a girl about the same age as the one standing right here in front of me. In fact, they look almost like twins, though the one in the picture isn’t quite as frail. She wears short shorts and a halter-top that exposes her thin belly. She’s alone and smiling at the camera, a real sincere smile. The lighting was bad enough that the camera needed a flash, which illuminates her belly ring.
“Where is she?”
The girl shrugs.
“She did not come home this morning. She always comes home.”
“She was working last night?”
The girl nods.
“We both were. She was on this block.”
“That’s why you
