Blood & Tacos #2 (15 page)

"You look more beautiful than Dorothy Dandridge." Otis was driving
his Ford.

"I don’t, and keep your eyes on the road."

Dressed in his father’s suit, he was so handsome, it was as if she had
never seen him before. He wasn’t big, or strong, he didn’t play
ball, but something about his glasses and shy smile on this night was making
her feel different in a very good way.

1973, Los Angeles, Homicide Department. Jones hefted a stack of files. "Somewhere
in all this mess is an answer."

"Why can’t it be a coincidence?" Stark pulled up his tie.

"I don’t believe in coincidences. Two dirtbags get their heads
cleaned with a gauge, two days apart? No, they connected, just can’t see
how yet."

"You need me to stick around?"

"Nah, you gots a date with a dancer. Go on. I’m waiting for a call
from Smitty in the gang unit."

"Alright, I’ll get with her twice, once just for you Jones."

"Just check her ID first, hate to have to haul you in for staggi."

"She’s over eighteen."

"Maybe just."

"She dances at Pussycats."

"Oh yeah, that’s right, they never ever had an underage stripper."

"Screw you. You’re just bustin’ balls because she went for
me." Stark was sure Jones was wrong. Damn, she had to be eighteen. He
took his ’67 Firebird, six years old, but still badass. If this didn’t
get her panties wet, she was frigid.

Across town Sunshine was slipping into a white go-go dress. She had showered
and put on a wig, long and straight, just the way white men liked. She finished
her make-up and did a twirl in front of her mother’s bed.

"Baby girl, you look amazing. Your daddy be so proud of you."

"You sure about that, Momma?" Sunshine held a water glass with
a straw to her mother’s lips. Her mother was quadriplegic, she had been
for Sunshine’s entire life.

"Look at you, darlin’, you are amazing. Yes, he would be proud."

"Do you think he’s watching us?"

"Every moment."

Sunshine kissed her mother and went to wait in the living room. She watched
the phone. Begging it to ring. Finally, at a quarter to eight it rang. She had
it her hands on the second ring. On a pad she wrote down an address on West
Century Blvd. near Inglewood. She, hung up, and hoped her father looked away
sometimes.

Stark glided the Firebird to a stop. He splashed on liberal amounts of English
Leather. Lifting his lip, he checked his teeth, smoothed his mustache, and was
ready. The house was a GI home built for returning soldiers after WWII. The
lawn was longer than the neighbors. For a flash Stark saw himself pushing a
mower and Sunshine handing him an icy tea. Shook his head and cleared the thought.
Love them, leave them, move on. Sunshine opened the door and his resolve was
gone. When she took his hand, she could have led him anywhere.

"Momma, this is Detective Stark."

"Um, call me John, Mrs. O’Shay."

"We’ll save first names until we know each other better."

"Fine," he didn’t like her firm, cold eyes. Eyes that looked
like they could see through any snow job he wanted to run.

"Detective Stark?"

"Yes ma’am?"

"You take care of my baby girl. You keep her safe out there."

"Don’t worry, I’m packing, I’ll keep her safe."

"There is a bad man wants to–"

"Momma, no." Sunshine silenced her. "Sorry John, she is a
worrier. Now good night, Momma, I love you."

Stark waited until they were in the Firebird before he spoke. "Where
would you like me to take you? I know a steak joint up on Sunset."

"Older white cop with a younger Black girl? We better stay down here."

"I’m not that much older."

"Relax. I like it."

"You are eighteen, aren’t you?" He tried to sound casual.

"Are you planning to sleep with me? Bit forward, Detective." She
stared at him, her face flat of emotion. He stammered and started to blush.
She left him hanging then finally let out a laugh. "I’m eighteen,
turned a few months back. So if, IF, you get lucky you won’t wind up in
the pokey. Now why don’t you take me to Bertha’s Soul Food on West
Century. Feed me and we’ll see where the night takes us."

"Sounds good." Stark was glad to have it all out. His face cooled.
From the corner of his eye, he saw that she was scanning for a tail. She was
subtle, but it was clear she was afraid someone might be following them.

"Sunshine, you know you can trust me, if you’re into some kind
of trouble."

"I like you, John, no, really. But I have a past. If you knew …"

"Girl, I, well we all have secrets. I’ve done some stuff I wish
I hadn’t."

"My mother can’t work." Sunshine looked out the window. "I
was fifteen when she had the accident. We needed money. He said he was a good
man and he’d never make me do anything I didn’t want to."

"Who, who hurt you?"

"King Charles. He is a … he will… he gets girls for, you
know."

"He’s a pimp."

"Yes. Two months ago I turned eighteen and went legit. I started dancing
at Pussycats. I don’t work the cribs, just dance, you have to believe
me." Stark passed her a starched white handkerchief. She dabbed at the
tears running down her face. She slowed her breathing. She leaned her head on
his shoulder.

"I’m sorry, John, really I am. He’s still looking for me.
If he finds me, who knows what he might do. I know he’s killed more than
one girl. Had one of them drink Drano, another he ODed on smack and pushed her
off the San Pedro Bridge. If you want to take me home and forget we never met,
I’ll understand."

"Never happen. I got a feeling you are going to change my life. Now let’s
get to the eating; I am starving."

Bertha’s was a small house converted into a restaurant in the ’60s,
the name spelled out on the roof in ruby neon. With yellow and purple paint,
it was anything but subtle. Sunshine ordered chitlins, oxtails and gravy, mac
and cheese. Stark teased her about how skinny she was. He ordered the fried
chicken, greens, rice and beans. Bertha’s didn’t have a liquor license,
but there was a bucket of ice stuffed with bottles of beer under the counter,
not for sale. You took them and tipped accordingly.

In between bites Sunshine gave Stark an idyllic picture of her growing up.
Her mother and father had been the perfect couple. Dad worked helping to build
airplanes in Santa Monica. Her mother had been a nurse. Sunshine wanted to go
to college, be a teacher. "That dream died when I took my first trick.
And all that destruction because a drunk driver missed a corner. Killed my dad,
crippled my mother …. Shoot, here I am crying again. Sorry." She
dabbed her eyes, looking down at the handkerchief. "I covered it in eye
make-up. Sorry, I’ll wash it."

"Don’t worry about it."

"But I do." Reflected in the glass covering a print on the wall,
she saw King Charles enter. He was resplendent in his purple crushed-velvet
trench coat and matching slacks. Alligator shoes. A fur-lined fedora. He even
carried a gold-handled walking stick. Ray-Ray held the door for him, he was
in a simple pinstriped suit and a bowler.

Sunshine waited for them to sit. Then with a clumsy elbow, she dumped a bowl
of red beans and rice onto Stark’s lap. "Oh, I’m so sorry!"
Jenny May came out from behind the counter with a large white towel and a bottle
of club soda.

Sunshine watched the detective disappear into the rest room. Then she was up
and moving fast. Straight up to King’s table, she moved the waiter out
of the way. "They won’t be staying."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Me? I’m the one knows why your partners got smoked. Now you still
want this man standing here while we talk?"

King waved the waiter away angrily, "Get the fuck out of here. When I
want food, I’ll come see you."

"Certainly, Mr King." The waiter disappeared, probably checking
his underwear.

"Outside." Sunshine stood and walked out. King had to move to keep
up.

"Not him." Sunshine pointed at Ray-Ray. "He stays in the
restaurant."

"Nope. He goes or I go home."

"Boss, I’ll be a hundred feet away, max." Ray-Ray said, turning
away.

"Okay. Keep your damn eyes open and off the waitresses." King watched
Sunshine walking toward his Cadillac Brougham. He knew her from some place but
couldn’t place her.