rough nights, and time.
These women talked two languages; sex and drugs.
So Mitch answered her, amused. "You know, Ferret's been doing us favors." He blatantly grabbed his crotch. "When the need arises."
I tried not to smile.
The second hooker spoke up. "You don't need Ferret for that, sugar. I could help you out right now.
Blowjobs are my specialty. Ten for one, fifteen for both."
I repressed a shudder.
Mitch wasn't so amused now. "Ferret? Where is he?"
The first hooker held out her hand, waiting. I handed her a ten, and she replied with a nod toward the end wharf. "He passed through before, 'bout an hour ago, I s'pose. Went that way."
"Wearin' a long brown coat," the second woman said. "'Bout two sizes too big for him. Musta borrowed it from some Joe."
I snorted at the likelihood of that. Yeah, borrowed.
Like he'd ever give something back.
68
Point of No Return
NR Walker
I handed the second woman another ten for her
troubles, and Mitch and I both headed toward the end wharf.
The old warehouses on these docks provided shelter for the homeless but were cesspools for drugs, hooking, and death wishes. The drug runners and dealers caught wind of us the second we pulled up and had disappeared, for now anyway. We passed a few other people, either too high to realize we were cops or long past the point of caring.
But we eventually found our man outside, along the far wall that faced the water, finalizing some deal with a guy who scurried off when we arrived.
Ferret was a small, scrawny guy with pointy,
pinched features whose nickname of Ferret described him perfectly. Just as the second hooker said, he was sporting a new brown coat, which made him look even more rodent-like.
Ferret was maybe in his early twenties and had been hooking since he was about sixteen. He was smart enough to have survived this long. He saw what went on, heard street-talk that rumbled underground, knew when to lay low, and knew when to run. He'd been our snitch, our eyes and ears on the streets, for over a year.
69
Point of No Return
NR Walker
"Gentlemen," he greeted us, nervously. "In your car tonight? Or shall I blow you both here?" he asked, loud enough for the listening ears to hear.
No doubt, someone was always listening.
Without answering, we turned, and he followed.
When we got back to the car, we sat on either side of him in the backseat. The windows were tinted enough, and we were far enough from the streetlight, prying eyes couldn't see what we were doing. To them, we might very well just be clients. In the darkened car, he might very well have been sucking our dicks.
He was all twitchy, adding to his ferret-like
features, and I wondered how much was drug-induced and how much was just him. He reeked. The smell was rank.
"Wassup?" he asked.
"Tomic," I answered, short and simple. "What's the word on the street?"
"You tell me!" the little man said. "He got hauled with all that ice, then twenty-four hours later, he's back out again!"
"What?" Mitch asked, as confused as me.
"All that money must have paid for some good lawyer," he said, still twitching, and his knees were bouncing.
70
Point of No Return
NR Walker
"Tomic isn't out," I explained. "He's still behind bars at County."
Ferret blinked twice, then twitched again. "I saw him," he said. Then he closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "I saw him."
I repressed a sigh. I wanted to ask him how many drugs he'd had today… or when the last time was he'd ate, or slept… or showered. Instead, I asked him, "Where did you see him?"
He scrubbed at his face. "Um…"
Mitch saw exactly what I saw. "Ferret, what day is it today?"
Ferret looked up at him sharply. "I dunno, man!" he cried. "How the fuck would I know? Don't exactly get the LA Times delivered round these parts."
"Ferret," I said his name slowly. "I can't pay you if you don't tell us anything—"
"Next block over," he said out of the blue. "Up on Fourth. That's where I saw him."
Mitch sighed,
These women talked two languages; sex and drugs.
So Mitch answered her, amused. "You know, Ferret's been doing us favors." He blatantly grabbed his crotch. "When the need arises."
I tried not to smile.
The second hooker spoke up. "You don't need Ferret for that, sugar. I could help you out right now.
Blowjobs are my specialty. Ten for one, fifteen for both."
I repressed a shudder.
Mitch wasn't so amused now. "Ferret? Where is he?"
The first hooker held out her hand, waiting. I handed her a ten, and she replied with a nod toward the end wharf. "He passed through before, 'bout an hour ago, I s'pose. Went that way."
"Wearin' a long brown coat," the second woman said. "'Bout two sizes too big for him. Musta borrowed it from some Joe."
I snorted at the likelihood of that. Yeah, borrowed.
Like he'd ever give something back.
68
Point of No Return
NR Walker
I handed the second woman another ten for her
troubles, and Mitch and I both headed toward the end wharf.
The old warehouses on these docks provided shelter for the homeless but were cesspools for drugs, hooking, and death wishes. The drug runners and dealers caught wind of us the second we pulled up and had disappeared, for now anyway. We passed a few other people, either too high to realize we were cops or long past the point of caring.
But we eventually found our man outside, along the far wall that faced the water, finalizing some deal with a guy who scurried off when we arrived.
Ferret was a small, scrawny guy with pointy,
pinched features whose nickname of Ferret described him perfectly. Just as the second hooker said, he was sporting a new brown coat, which made him look even more rodent-like.
Ferret was maybe in his early twenties and had been hooking since he was about sixteen. He was smart enough to have survived this long. He saw what went on, heard street-talk that rumbled underground, knew when to lay low, and knew when to run. He'd been our snitch, our eyes and ears on the streets, for over a year.
69
Point of No Return
NR Walker
"Gentlemen," he greeted us, nervously. "In your car tonight? Or shall I blow you both here?" he asked, loud enough for the listening ears to hear.
No doubt, someone was always listening.
Without answering, we turned, and he followed.
When we got back to the car, we sat on either side of him in the backseat. The windows were tinted enough, and we were far enough from the streetlight, prying eyes couldn't see what we were doing. To them, we might very well just be clients. In the darkened car, he might very well have been sucking our dicks.
He was all twitchy, adding to his ferret-like
features, and I wondered how much was drug-induced and how much was just him. He reeked. The smell was rank.
"Wassup?" he asked.
"Tomic," I answered, short and simple. "What's the word on the street?"
"You tell me!" the little man said. "He got hauled with all that ice, then twenty-four hours later, he's back out again!"
"What?" Mitch asked, as confused as me.
"All that money must have paid for some good lawyer," he said, still twitching, and his knees were bouncing.
70
Point of No Return
NR Walker
"Tomic isn't out," I explained. "He's still behind bars at County."
Ferret blinked twice, then twitched again. "I saw him," he said. Then he closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "I saw him."
I repressed a sigh. I wanted to ask him how many drugs he'd had today… or when the last time was he'd ate, or slept… or showered. Instead, I asked him, "Where did you see him?"
He scrubbed at his face. "Um…"
Mitch saw exactly what I saw. "Ferret, what day is it today?"
Ferret looked up at him sharply. "I dunno, man!" he cried. "How the fuck would I know? Don't exactly get the LA Times delivered round these parts."
"Ferret," I said his name slowly. "I can't pay you if you don't tell us anything—"
"Next block over," he said out of the blue. "Up on Fourth. That's where I saw him."
Mitch sighed,
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