he called, there was no answer. He headed out of the precinct and stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the moon and enjoying the warm night air on his skin. Winters were rough here, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. But his worst enemy was monotony. The year-round warmth and sunshine of Los Angeles had worn him down until he was begging for a change.
He lit a cigarette and leaned against a streetlight. A few cars drove by, and he watched them. He opened the folder tucked under his arm and glared at the photos he’d printed off: close-ups of their Jane Doe.
When his cigarette was done, he flipped it into the gutter and drove up to the Motel 6 with his windows down. The wind whipped his face and hair. The more it whipped him, the faster he went until he was going almost ninety in a forty. He slowed down and rolled the windows up.
Several women were already on the corners. He came to a stop in front of a group and rolled down his window.
“Ladies,” he said.
“Whatchoo need, honey?”
“I’m looking for Candi Carlson. She out here?”
“You a friend of hers?”
“I am,” he said, flashing his badge.
“Oh, well, we ain’t seen her.”
“It’s not like that.”
“I don’t know where she is. We just out here chillin’, ain’t breakin’ no laws, Officer.”
Baudin put the car in park. He stepped out and leaned against it, watching the girls as he lit another cigarette. “So I guess if I search you girls I won’t find anything. No H or crystal, no weed. ’Cause you’re just chilling, right?”
She folded her arms. “What you want with Candi?”
“Just to talk. I swear it.”
She nodded. “She up in room 210.”
“Thanks.”
He got back into his car and drove through the parking lot. Room 210 was right above him, overlooking a small pool. He got out, watching the way the lighted water reflected off the walls, and took the stairs up to the second level. He slipped the folder into the back of his waistband.
The room had the blinds drawn but the lights on. He pressed his ear to the door and could hear a woman’s groans. He leaned his back against the wall and smoked, watching the pool below him.
When the groans reached a fever pitch, he heard a male voice, too, swearing. Then the voices calmed, and a minute later a man stepped out. He was wearing tight jeans and a trucker’s hat.
“She good to go, brother,” he said to Baudin.
Baudin waited until the man was gone and then peeked into the room. Candi was lying on the bed in see-through lingerie, a sheen of sweat covering her face. Her eyes drifted over to him, and she smiled.
“Officer, are you here for a freebie?”
He stepped into the room, the reek of sex hitting his nostrils, and sat down in a recliner.
“Could I have one of those?” she asked. He lit a cigarette and handed it to her. Her fingers caressed his hand a moment before she slid them up and took the cigarette, setting it gently between her lips. “So what exactly can I do for you?” she asked.
Baudin sat back down in the recliner. “How many johns you get in a night?”
“Good night? Twenty. Maybe twenty-five. Bad night, nobody.”
“Do you enjoy what you do?”
“I don’t think anybody enjoys what they do. That’s the curse of modern days, I guess. Nobody’s happy… Are you happy?”
He blew out a puff of smoke through his nose. “Do I look happy?”
“No. But you don’t look sad, neither. You look… angry. Like the world’s done you wrong and you got a score to settle.”
He raised an eyebrow, watching the red tip of her cigarette. “You out here without protection?”
“I got protection.”
“The woman in the car I saw the other night?”
She nodded, inhaling gently and blowing out in a whisper. “She’s got some gorillas on her payroll. Big beefy guys that just got outta the WSP. They look out for me.”
“How much do they take?”
“Fifty percent.”
“That’s a hefty tag for some protection.”
She shrugged. “I don’t
He lit a cigarette and leaned against a streetlight. A few cars drove by, and he watched them. He opened the folder tucked under his arm and glared at the photos he’d printed off: close-ups of their Jane Doe.
When his cigarette was done, he flipped it into the gutter and drove up to the Motel 6 with his windows down. The wind whipped his face and hair. The more it whipped him, the faster he went until he was going almost ninety in a forty. He slowed down and rolled the windows up.
Several women were already on the corners. He came to a stop in front of a group and rolled down his window.
“Ladies,” he said.
“Whatchoo need, honey?”
“I’m looking for Candi Carlson. She out here?”
“You a friend of hers?”
“I am,” he said, flashing his badge.
“Oh, well, we ain’t seen her.”
“It’s not like that.”
“I don’t know where she is. We just out here chillin’, ain’t breakin’ no laws, Officer.”
Baudin put the car in park. He stepped out and leaned against it, watching the girls as he lit another cigarette. “So I guess if I search you girls I won’t find anything. No H or crystal, no weed. ’Cause you’re just chilling, right?”
She folded her arms. “What you want with Candi?”
“Just to talk. I swear it.”
She nodded. “She up in room 210.”
“Thanks.”
He got back into his car and drove through the parking lot. Room 210 was right above him, overlooking a small pool. He got out, watching the way the lighted water reflected off the walls, and took the stairs up to the second level. He slipped the folder into the back of his waistband.
The room had the blinds drawn but the lights on. He pressed his ear to the door and could hear a woman’s groans. He leaned his back against the wall and smoked, watching the pool below him.
When the groans reached a fever pitch, he heard a male voice, too, swearing. Then the voices calmed, and a minute later a man stepped out. He was wearing tight jeans and a trucker’s hat.
“She good to go, brother,” he said to Baudin.
Baudin waited until the man was gone and then peeked into the room. Candi was lying on the bed in see-through lingerie, a sheen of sweat covering her face. Her eyes drifted over to him, and she smiled.
“Officer, are you here for a freebie?”
He stepped into the room, the reek of sex hitting his nostrils, and sat down in a recliner.
“Could I have one of those?” she asked. He lit a cigarette and handed it to her. Her fingers caressed his hand a moment before she slid them up and took the cigarette, setting it gently between her lips. “So what exactly can I do for you?” she asked.
Baudin sat back down in the recliner. “How many johns you get in a night?”
“Good night? Twenty. Maybe twenty-five. Bad night, nobody.”
“Do you enjoy what you do?”
“I don’t think anybody enjoys what they do. That’s the curse of modern days, I guess. Nobody’s happy… Are you happy?”
He blew out a puff of smoke through his nose. “Do I look happy?”
“No. But you don’t look sad, neither. You look… angry. Like the world’s done you wrong and you got a score to settle.”
He raised an eyebrow, watching the red tip of her cigarette. “You out here without protection?”
“I got protection.”
“The woman in the car I saw the other night?”
She nodded, inhaling gently and blowing out in a whisper. “She’s got some gorillas on her payroll. Big beefy guys that just got outta the WSP. They look out for me.”
“How much do they take?”
“Fifty percent.”
“That’s a hefty tag for some protection.”
She shrugged. “I don’t
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