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She took them. “Wow, don’t get many johns who offer to pay before we get to the room.” Daniel watched as comprehension slid over her face. “Ah, man, you’re cops. I shoulda known. Ah, you gonna bust me, aren’t you? I knew it was too good to be true. You’re clean, you smell good, and you got nice fingernails. You probably carrying your own protection.”
She shook her head, looking amazingly disappointed.
Daniel almost felt sorry for her—almost. “We’re not looking to bust you. We just want some information.”
“Of course, if you don’t feel like cooperating, we can take you in.” Samuel flipped out his badge for her to see.
“SAPD. I should have smelled it on you.” She sounded bitter now, but she relaxed on the seat. “So what do you want? A freebie? I’m not giving you the sixty bucks back.”
“I’ll write it off.” Daniel twisted in the seat so he could read her face. “We’re looking for your brother. His last known address is a motel on Zarzamora Street. He hasn’t lived there since before he went to jail.”
“Man, I didn’t even know he was out.”
“I don’t believe that.” Samuel’s voice was hard. “You visited your brother at the jail a number of times. You hired his lawyer, didn’t you?”
“He ain’t much, but he’s blood.” Rita pulled a cigarette from a crevice Daniel had avoided looking at throughout the conversation. “He’d do the same for me—maybe.”
“So, you have talked to him.”
She shrugged and lit the cigarette, taking a long drag. The plumes of smoke turned the inside of the truck into a hazy space worse than a nightclub. Samuel plucked the cigarette from her fingers and tossed it from the window. “Sorry, this is a no smoking establishment.”
“So you’re playing the bad cop.” She gave him a slow grin. Daniel wanted to laugh, but he was afraid he would vomit. The stench of cigarette smoke sent his nausea off the charts. He clenched his jaw, breathing in short spurts through his nose.
“Yeah, so either you talk or I arrest you. That pretty much covers it.”
“He used to dig a chick who lived over off Martin Street. West side. I think they worked together. Her and her brother and Juice.”
“Worked together?”
“Yeah, worked together. Had a little business going. Entrepreneurs.”
“Name. Address.”
“Hmmm.” Rita pursued her lips. “Let me think. You ain’t gonna arrest me, right?”
“You have my word.”
“Okay. Her name was Mica. Mica Jordan. He was, let me see, let me see, umm, Seth. That was it. Seth Jordan. The address. I don’t know. Off of Martin and Thirty-Sixth Street. Up in that area. Okay. Becker. That’s it Becker. 1012. 1011. 1112. Something like that. The ten-hundred block. Like that.”
“Thank you.”
Daniel shoved the door open, relieved to get her out of the truck. Relieved to have something to go on. Anything. She leaned into him and sniffed. “You smell really good, officer.”
“I’m not an officer.” Technically.
Her hand drifted up, touched his chest. “Then you smell even better. Sure you don’t want a taste of me?”
“I can still arrest you.”
“Oh, well. Your loss.” She smiled, swiveled, and sashayed across the street, tossing glances his way every few steps. Daniel stood there, frozen, thinking about losses, not seeing her anymore.
“Daniel, get in.” Samuel’s voice penetrated the gloomy reverie. “I called dispatch. They’re looking up that address for us. Let’s go.”
“Yeah.” Yeah. Benny. They were getting closer.
No outside lights illuminated the house at 1011 Becker. Samuel called for backup. The wooden porch creaked under their weight. Daniel stood for a second, listening. A dog barked continuously in the backyard of the house next door. “Nobody home?”
Samuel jerked his head toward the driveway. Somebody had parked a VW bus with gray primer on the trunk across the sidewalk. “Wait or go?”
