Page 23 of Dark Angel
Beth moved to the back of the elevator and handed him his jacket. “You go first and I’ll meet you down the block. Where did you park the van?”
“Opposite the diner. I’ll meet you there. I’ll go inside and grab some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.” He gave her a searching look and shook his head. “I must be crazy agreeing to this plan.”
Beth stuck one foot in the elevator door and counted to one hundred before following Styles out of the hotel. She found the van, a gray Ford Transit, suitable and nonthreatening, opened the passenger door, and slipped inside. When Styles joined her, she turned to him. “I have a burner phone. Give me yours and I’ll put in the number. My name is Silver, so if you call, make like you’re making a date with me in case anyone is listening. If I say I’m busy tonight, I’m fine. If I tell you to call back later, I need help. If I call you, come running.” She took his phone and added the number to his contacts list. “I’ve checked out the area and there are alleyways all through. I figure if we take one of the side streets and you drop me at the opposite end of one of the alleyways, I’ll be able to walk through and mingle with the other girls.”
“I still think you’re crazy.” Styles headed toward the sleazy end of town. “How about here?” He indicated to a twenty-four-hour fast-food restaurant. “If I park here and make like I’m eating takeout, I won’t look so conspicuous.” He pointed to an alleyway. “That one there will come out in the right area. I checked on my phone and they all go right through on this block.”
Beth slid out of the seat. “That works for me.” She gave him a smile, tossed back her long hair, and falling into character, strutted across the road.
TWENTY-FOUR
The negative reception Beth received when she walked down the trash-laden sidewalk didn’t surprise her. To the other women trying to turn a trick, she was invading their territory. After negotiating through the miasma of cheap perfume and rancid sweat, she tried without success to speak to a few of them. Ignoring the derogative threat-laced comments, she made her way across the road to a greasy spoon obviously used by the streetwalkers. She went to the counter and ordered coffee and then sat on one of the high stools, beside a young African American woman with needle track marks up each arm. She’d added these telltale signs to her own arms and the dark circles under each eye. She turned to the young woman and nodded but said nothing.
“Are you the new girl?” The woman gave her a lazy smile. “You know this is the end of the road, don’t you?”
Beth shrugged. “Are you with Spike?”
“Me?” She laughed. “I’m way too old for his stable. No girl, I’m with Brutus.”
Beth nodded slowly. “Is he here? Billie Jean called me and said he had an opening.”
“You sure you want to be involved with Spike?” The woman blinked slowly as if trying to focus on her. “You do know his girls have got a best-by date and then they end up in the bay or in one of the dumpsters? I could speak to Brutus. You’d do better with him and he doesn’t keep his girls locked up.”
Thinking on her feet, Beth shook her head. “I have the feds after me. I need to be hidden for a while, maybe I could make a deal with him?”
“Spike?” The woman waved a hand dismissively. “Honey, he ain’t gonna make any deals with you. He’ll keep you working and high until you die.” She indicated to the door. “There he is now. “Hey, Spike. Look here, some prime real estate just walked in looking for you.”
Spike stood at least five-ten, a handsome solid brick wall of African American manhood. She turned to look at him under her lashes and waited for him to speak to her.
“You looking for me?” Spike moved his gaze slowly over her. “You look like a cop to me.”
Beth lifted her gaze. “Do I? Well, I’d consider that a compliment. It would be good to be on the right side of the law for a change.”
“Stand up.” Spike moved closer. “If you’re not a cop you’d allow me to search you, before we have any dialogue.”
Sliding off the chair, Beth handed him her purse and waited while he checked her phone.
“You don’t mind if I turn this off now do you?” He lifted out the tarot card and flipped it over in his fingers and then searched her face. “The Grim Reaper. I have a tattoo of him on my back. Now why do you carry that?”
Beth shrugged. “Some preacher gave it to me, to remind me that drugs kill or some shit.” She wanted to grin. She’d never touched that card and now his fingerprints were all over it. “Keep it.”
“I will.” He slid it inside his jacket pocket and then turned back to her. “Lift up your arms.” Spike did a very thorough body search and then stood back and nodded slowly. “Why do you want to speak to me?”
Beth took the phone from him and slid it back inside her purse. “I need to hide for a time. I mentioned it to Billie Jean and she said you had just lost one of your girls. I figured I would ask you if I could join your team for a couple of days, maybe fill in until you find another girl?”
“My team?” Spike flashed a white smile and scratched his cheek with one finger. “I noticed you have a bottle of liquid heroin in your purse, so why do you need me? I pay my girls in H.”
Beth shrugged. “That won’t last long and I’m desperate. I’ll do anything to be off the streets right now.” She shrugged and made to turn away. “Don’t worry, I’ll go and ask Brutus if he can help me.”
“How old are you?” Spike grasped hold of her chin and turn her face from side to side. “You still look fresh but you’re too old for my clients. They like them young, but I am a girl short, and they might just take you if I offer them a discount. Maybe if I turn down the lights in your room, you might fool them.” He shook his head. “I have a reputation to uphold but you are kinda cute.”
Avoiding the question, Beth smiled at him and wet her lips. “I’ll make them happy. I always leave them wanting more. Trust me, no one leaves me disappointed.”
“Okay, I’ll give you one night’s trial and that’s only because I have a full house tonight. If they like you, we’ll see what happens next.” Spike grasped her by the arm and pushed her out the back door of the greasy spoon.
She stumbled down the alleyway tripping over garbage. Her heart raced as he pressed her against the wall and pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket to open a metal door. Pushed into a hallway with open doors leading to rooms each side, she tried to slow down to take in the group of men inside. She didn’t have a chance to see more than a glimpse before he opened another door and thrust her down a flight of steps and into the cellar. A blast of cheap perfume and sweat hit her in a wave. She blinked at the brightly lit room divided into sections and each with its own door. At the top of each door was a window, and as she passed by, she could see young girls and their clients.
“This is your room. Sessions are timed at fifteen minutes max and then I give you ten minutes between clients to clean up. Make sure you look good. I have a reputation for clean merchandise.” Spike grabbed her purse and rifled through it. “I’ll keep the phone.” He slipped it inside his pocket, opened a door, and waved her inside. “Welcome to Spike World.”
