The Redeemed (6 page)

“Parkman?”

“Yeah?”

“You sound like Thor.” She stepped away from the door and leaned on her crutch. “I’ll be okay. Chances are, I won’t scream.”

“I know.”

For two in the morning, the breakfast spot was busy. Over a dozen cars were parked in the lot. A couple walked by on the sidewalk. A man exited his vehicle and headed toward the restaurant. With the area this busy, it was smart of Bing’s to stay open all night.

Why am I here, Vivian?

A woman in a short mini-skirt walked alone through a darker part of the lot. She passed the last car and kept walking. At the bushes near the back, she stepped through a small opening and disappeared.

That’s interesting. And not very safe.

Sarah hobbled along on the crutch until she made it to the sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard. Out front, by a bench at the bus stop, two girls stood talking. The brunette wore a bikini top and Daisy Duke shorts, while the blonde sported a mini-skirt and a tube top too small to cover her breast implants.

What’s with the mini-skirts tonight?

Once the brunette noticed her staring, they stopped talking and turned to face her.

Either a sexy costume party just let out somewhere or streetwalkers roamed this area of Sunset Boulevard.

“What choo lookin’ at?” the brunette asked with a drunken slur.

Sarah started toward them. The brunette snickered as she passed them. Sarah had seen it a hundred times. The posing. The acting tough. It almost made her smile but she resisted. It was an illusion people fed themselves to feel safe.

“That’s right,” the blonde said. “You keep strutting your shit. I got it, I got it. You would think it a bit much … to have a lonely customer touch … the stupid girl with a crutch.” She laughed as the other girl chimed in on the improv sidewalk rap.

“Stupid girl with a crutch.” A slap cracked the air behind Sarah. “That’s a riot. Stupid girl. Good one, Stevie.”

Sarah stopped walking. She was five or six steps away from them now.

They quieted behind her. She pivoted on the crutch until she faced them.

“Wha’ choo gonna do, bitch?” the brunette asked, taking a step forward. “We’re working here. It ain’t good you walking around out here on a crutch. Bitch, you bad for business.”

“Why did she call you Stevie?” Sarah asked. “That your real name?”

They looked at each other. The brunette wrapped an arm around the blonde and leaned into her.

“Girl, you got no idea where you are. Go home to mommy. Go snuggle up safe in your bed. This ain’t no place for little orphan Annabelle and her broken foot.”

“Ankle.”

“What?”

“And my name’s not Annabelle.”

A car raced by. The door to the restaurant opened and two men came out, one laughing at something the other said.

Then two names popped into Sarah’s head. They came out of nowhere and everywhere. It wasn’t an original thought. More like someone planted it there. Just like those internal thoughts after she was shot in the head in Toronto.

Vivian?

“You gonna stand there all night and admire the inventory?” the blonde asked.

“Jessica Fremont and Vicky Chard.” The names came with an urgency. Like they were meant to be spoken. Both girls reacted as if punched. The blonde reeled back a step, her fake breasts not moving an inch. The brunette’s face displayed shock, but she challenged Sarah by stepping forward.

“You 5-0? You the cops? How you know our names?”

Sarah was hardly ever surprised. A feeling of lightheadedness accompanied the names. Perplexed, she stared at the two girls at the bus stop a moment too long.

The blonde pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. The brunette took another step forward as the blonde whispered into her phone.

“If Stevie isn’t your name,” Sarah said, “and you all go by a street name, then I’m looking for a girl named Mercedes.”

It all made sense. The message was specific. Sarah was at the right place, at the right time, searching for a Mercedes. But not a car. A hooker named Mercedes.

She had to tell Parkman. She needed to get back to the car.

“Where’s Mercedes?” Sarah tried again.

“No Mercedes here,” Brunette said. “What’s your business with her?”

“None of yours.”

“What?”

“Whatever.”

Sarah stepped forward, placed the crutch on the sidewalk, and hopped ahead. As she passed the brunette, she wondered if Vicky would get aggressive, then thought she probably would and prepared for it.

She was right.

Vicky’s hands came up to shove Sarah, but she stopped and spun around on the heel of her right foot. When Vicky’s hands came in contact with Sarah’s right shoulder, Sarah was already spinning and deflected the hands. Vicky’s forward motion, with nothing to stop or counter her, caused her to fall. She had stepped into it too far. The brunette’s heel on her six-inch pumps twisted and she dropped to one knee.

Sarah finished her spin by coming all the way around, facing forward again, the brunette on one knee in front of her. With a gentle nudge, she pushed Vicky over.

Jessica glanced up from her phone. “What the hell did you do?”

Sarah didn’t want the fight. She needed to get back to Parkman.

“You better get over here fast,” Jessica said into the phone as she stepped back to give Sarah a wide berth as she passed. “This crazy bitch with a crutch just laid Stevie out on her ass. Stevie’s bleeding and shit, man.”

Sarah picked up her pace while Jessica talked behind her.

“Bring everyone. I saw this bitch pull in with a guy. They’re probably cops.”

Sarah turned into the parking area and started toward Parkman in the rental. If both feet were good, Sarah would’ve knocked the phone out of Jessica’s hand, stepped on it and avoided her backup arriving by at least five to ten minutes.

Maybe they would leave and come back another night. But the place would be too hot, crawling with pimps and backup for weeks until she showed her face again. And why were streetwalkers in the parking lot of a breakfast joint in the middle of the night, anyway?

What the hell, Vivian? Could’ve given me a heads up.

Parkman opened the door and got out as she neared the car.

“Did you find the Mercedes?”

“It’s not a car,” Sarah said. “It’s a woman.”

Parkman frowned. He had one hand on the roof of the rental and one on the top of the open door.

“A woman?” he asked. “How is a Mercedes a woman?”

“A hooker. It’s her stage name or whatever they call it.” Sarah stopped at the hood of the car and leaned on it to catch her breath. “Whoever Mercedes is, we need to find her. I suspect we’ll discover why when we locate her.”

Jessica still watched them from the sidewalk by the street.

“What’s with her?” Parkman asked.

“Nothing really. She got freaked out when Vicky tried to push me.”

Parkman snapped his head around. “What? Tried to push you?” He closed the car door and moved closer to her. “You okay?”

“Parkman, I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, I know that, but your foot.”

“Ankle.”

He grunted. “Sarah, seriously. We’re supposed to be leaving L.A. You should be at home, your foot in the air—I’m sorry—ankle in the air, drinking wine or something. Not out here hunting priest killers and tracking down a prostitute named Mercedes.”

“Parkman, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Sarah turned to watch Jessica, but she was gone. The parking lot was suddenly quiet, with only the distant hum of the Hollywood Freeway.

“What’s going on?” Parkman asked.

“No idea, but I think someone knows we’re here.”

“Someone who?”

“Someone who employs Jessica and Vicky.”

Parkman turned to her. “You got their names?”

She pushed off the hood of the car and got to her feet. “Yeah, I guess so. In a way.”

“In a way?”

“I think Vivian whispered it to me.”

“However you explain it, Sarah, that’s amazing. You know that?”

“Don’t tell anybody,” she whispered with half a smile. “I’ll deny the whole thing.”

Bushes rattled seven cars down. A tall man stepped out from the same spot where the girl in the mini-skirt had disappeared earlier. As he headed towards Sarah and Parkman, another man emerged from the bushes behind him. Then another.

“Parkman, we may have a problem.”

“I see that.”

The three men formed a line. All three wore chains that glistened in the streetlights. Gold watches, rings, even the teeth of the tallest man reflected the light. Pimps in their classic attire. Hoodlums and street gangs were all the same after a while. The kind of people that made others stay home at night but didn’t intimidate Sarah. They only made her want to bring their ego down a notch with a broken nose, or worse. Gang or not, pain didn’t discriminate. The only difference was a man’s pain tolerance, and when it came down to reality, most men hated the dentist.

Sarah scanned the rest of the parking lot for others. Parkman stepped back and opened his car door. He was probably going for the hammer.

“Don’t,” the tall one shouted. “Just don’t.”

Parkman froze. Light reflected off the handgun in one man’s hand. As the threesome advanced, it became clear all three had handguns out and ready.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. Neither Jessica nor Vicky was in sight.

“What now?” Parkman whispered. “We can’t fight guns with hammers.”

“Just be cool. They’re not going to shoot us because one of their girls fell down.”

At least I hope not.

“They probably just want to check us out,” Parkman agreed. “If it gets bad fast, I’ll drop in the car and speed dial 911.”

“Like we need more police attention.”

The men stopped a few feet in front of Sarah. The tall one, clearly in charge, stared at her up and down, his mouth drawn back in a snarl, his pearly whites shining through with one gold cap. His black hat covered his ears, and his white T-shirt was two sizes too big, his jeans hanging low off the waist. His two minions wore similar clothes. The forehead of the guy on her left had street tattoos like the ones she’d seen in Toronto on a street gang.

There was no question these three were street fighters. They were strong and ready to fight in seconds, but the rest was for show. They wanted to make sure everyone knew whose territory this was and who owned the girls.

“You here looking for work?” the tall one asked. The expression on his face told her he already knew the answer.

Miles Johnson.

Sarah shook her head to clear the voice.

What the hell?

She looked around as if someone was whispering in her ear. Parkman was still by the car door. Sarah stood by the car’s hood, exposed and at a disadvantage.

“I hope your pretty little ass is here looking for work, because if you’re not, why the fuck you be up in here messin’ around with my girls?”

“You got it wrong, Miles.”

He looked at his backup and then at Sarah. “How you know my name?” He clicked something on his gun, then let it fall back to his side. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name?”

“Where’s Mercedes? Stevie didn’t want to tell me where she was. If I don’t know in—” Sarah pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch—“five minutes—” she let her sleeve fall back into place—“more people are going to get hurt, just like Stevie.”

“Get a load of this bitch,” Miles said as he laughed for his friends’ benefit. The laugh stopped abruptly. His face turned serious.

Then he rushed her.

She detected Parkman jumping as Miles reached around to grab her hair with his left hand while jamming the tip of the gun under her chin with his right hand. With her head angled back, she looked down her nose at the other two men. Both had their weapons aimed in Parkman’s direction.

There was no more movement behind her.

“I love it when a stupid whore talks back to me,” Miles said, an inch from her face.

She could smell the burrito he ate for dinner. Too much guacamole, she almost said to him.

“It reminds me,” Miles continued, “of my past when I would beat my mother for being such a stupid whore.”

His grip tightened on her hair, the sharp pain reminding her of the days when she would pull her own hair out. There was something about getting her hair pulled that would always feel comforting, even through the pain.