DUST

I stepped into The Gobbler late enough in the afternoon so I expected the lunch crowd to have gone.  I’d guessed right.  The front part at least was empty again except for Pat.  She was sitting at one of the tables reading something that looked suspiciously like a textbook.  She looked up when I entered and smiled when she saw my manly figure.  I joined her at the table.

She reached out and set one hand on my arm.  “Can I get you a beer?”

“No, not today.  Today I need to find out what you know that’ll help me.  Those questions I had.”

“OK.”  She closed the book, not bothering to mark the page.  Maybe she was just reviewing.  Big test coming up.  Memories stirred, and I shuddered at thoughts of over-caffeinated nights poring over textbooks.  “Let’s see.  You wanted to know about Jim.  He comes in occasionally.  Always sits at the bar.  Only talks to other men, never a woman.  Doesn’t look like he’s hitting on them, just talking to them.  They usually end up laughing a lot like men do when they’re talking about their sexual conquests and prowess.  I’ve overheard him telling the guys he talks to that his name is Jim.  Never heard a last name.  He dresses sharp, never sloppy.  He’s about your age, maybe a couple years older.  Clean shaven.  Handsome, but not terribly attractive.  I think part of that is his eyes; they’re sort of predatory.  Looks strong; like he could handle himself.  Sometimes he leaves with whomever he’s chatted up, sometimes not.”

She paused for a moment, and when she next spoke, I saw the pause had been to remember the next question I’d asked.  “I’ve never seen him with a woman.  The night you’re talking about, when the woman came in, she didn’t even acknowledge Jim.  She sat down next to Sam and only paid attention to him.  I’d never seen her before and didn’t hear a name.  I didn’t really notice when she left, or Sam either.  They might have left together, might not have.  Jim was still here after they were gone. 

“I can describe her for you, but that’s about all.  She was young, in her twenties.  Fairly pretty, but looked used.  I’m not sure a man would have seen that; there was a surface prettiness that men would notice instead. What I felt was that by the time she was thirty, she wouldn’t be pretty any longer.  Her eyes were kind of dead.  Her clothes were just a little too tight, her blouse a little too low cut.  The way she looked, the way she came on to Sam, it wasn’t that difficult to guess what she was.”

“Sam didn’t see it,” I said.

Pat just smiled.  I think I’d proved her point.

She’d been leaning over the table, talking softly, even though we were the only two people in the place.  Now, she sat back, but kept her eyes on mine.  It was easy to see the intelligence in them.  “That’s about all I can say.  Jim stayed on for about fifteen minutes, had another drink, then paid up and left.”

“Has he been back since that night?”

“Yeah, he was in yesterday.  He comes in probably four or five times a week.  Usually ends up talking to someone, apparently someone he doesn’t know; the body language always suggests that.  Now that you’ve told me what happened that night, I can guess what he’s doing.  He’s a pimp.  He’s trying to drum up business.  And he’s doing it here because we have a fairly affluent customer base.”

I nodded.  “And I think he made a mistake with Sam.  Because Sam was dressed well, he thought the guy would have some dough.  Turned out he didn’t.  So, when she found that out, the woman rolled him and took everything she could.”

“What are you going to do?”  Pat didn’t look upset at all about the events we were talking about.  She didn’t look eager, either, like one of those people who gets off on nastiness or other people’s problems.  She was just curious.

“The only thing I can.  I’m going to let Jim talk me into buying whatever he’s selling.”

I saw no reason to delay, so that night I was back at The Gobbler.  Pat didn’t have the night shift but had agreed to come in anyway for a short time to help.  She’d said Jim usually showed up around eight, but she’d call me when he showed.  She called at 8:30.  I was there in ten minutes, dressed in a suit and tie.  Looking prosperous.  Well, as best I could.

There were a few men at the bar, and about half the tables were occupied.  I looked around a bit, as if deciding whether to stay, then made my way to the bar.  I’d already picked out Jim.  He matched Pat’s description and was sitting by himself.  I took an empty stool to his left with two empty ones between us.  Pat came up to take my order.  I asked for a Bombay martini, very dry, up with a twist.  She said, “Yes, sir,” in a distracted sort of voice, not looking at me, and she proceeded to make my drink.

I took a healthy swig when it arrived, then let it sit on the bar and just looked at the bottles arrayed in front of me.  I took a deep breath and let it out, allowing my shoulders to fall.  Rather obviously relaxing.  I waited, then took a sip of my drink before glancing around.  Jim was looking at me.

“Tough day?” he asked, empathy coloring his voice.

I frowned, just slightly, then relaxed the frown as well and tried to look as if I was deciding there was no harm in talking to a stranger.  “They all are.  This was worse than usual.”

He didn’t ask what I did for a living.  It would have been too much, too fast, and I’d probably have turned away.  Instead, he said, “Yeah, I’ve had those, too.  Don’t normally have a drink to unwind, but sometimes it’s just what I need.”

He was leaving it up to me whether to continue or not.  I had to decide on the spot which course would be better.  I decided for reticence.

I nodded, then turned back to looking at the bottles.

I slowly finished my drink over the next several minutes without either of us speaking again.  Pat walked up, still showing no recognition, and asked if I’d like another.  I looked back at her, undecided, and Jim spoke up.  “Hey, let me get you one.  I’m going to have another and then take off.  I’ve had lots of nights myself where two were better than one.”

I looked over at him.  He was showing me as pleasant a face as he could, wearing a no-presumptions look.  Just being friendly.

I grimaced a bit, then nodded.  “Why not?” I said.  “Thanks.”

We both got a new drink.  When they arrived, he stood up to get his wallet out to pay, then sat back down with only one stool between us this time.  He took a sip, sighed, and said, “I don’t know which is better when I need to lose all the pent up tension I’m feeling: a good drink or a good woman.”

I laughed.  “Now there’s a question.”  I drank a healthy swig and gave the appearance of someone finally loosening up, the alcohol doing its job.  I sighed, wiggled my shoulders as though they’d been tight, leaned way back to stretch my back muscles, and then settled.  “Although, a good drink doesn’t ask for anything.  Never did meet a woman who didn’t.”

“There are some who don’t.  Some who just like sex, and do it just for the fun.  I know one…  But I’m sure you’ve got a good one at home.”

“Yeah, I do,” I said without hesitating this time.  “But she’s not as eager as I am.  You probably know how that goes.”

“I do, friend, I surely do.  If you’ve ever been with a lady who really likes it, I’ll tell you, there’s nothing like it.  Most women just give you the sense they’re supposed to like it, but…”  He wiggled his hand in the standard waving maybe, maybe not gesture.  “Someday you’ll have to get with a woman who’s even into it more than you are.”

“That does sound good.  Good for how I feel right now, in fact.  Probably sleep good tonight after that, and heaven knows I need that.  But dreams like that don’t come true—for me.”

Jim turned back so he was facing the bar rather than me.  He took another sip, then put his glass back on its coaster firmly as though he’d made a decision and turned back to me.

“You know, they can.  I told you I know this lady.  She’s hot, she’s good looking, and she likes sex.  She isn’t a pro, nothing like that, doesn’t do it for money, just likes the sex itself.  She’s just a lady with a high sex drive, but very selective in her partners.  You’re just the sort she likes: good-looking, successful, intelligent, and married, which means you’d be discreet.  She’s just fun and really gets into it.  You do look like you could use that.  No problems, either.  Just a great time, then you both go your own way.  Neither of you even knows the other’s name.”

“Well…” I said.

“No pressure.  Entirely up to you.  But this kind of woman…”  He let the idea build on its own.

“Tonight?” I said.

“I think.  Unless she’s busy.  I’d have to call her to find out.”

“Well…” I said.  I thought for a moment, then asked, “Could I meet her here?  First?  Just to see if there’s a spark at all?”

“Sure.  She’d like that better anyway.  Same with her, to see the…”  He stopped, and I said, “What?”  He sort of snickered, then said, “I was going to make a horrible pun.”

“What?”

“I was going to say, ‘so she could see the lay of the land’.”

I looked almost offended, then eased back and chuckled.  “That’s pretty good.  Lay of the land.  OK, call her.  We’ll see.  In the meantime, I’ll get the next round.”

I pulled a fat fold of bills from my pocket.  I had two hundreds on top, and handled the bills in a way so as to make it look like there were a lot more of the same hidden inside.  I took the top one off and laid it on the bar, putting the rest back in my pocket.

I didn’t want to sleep with the woman.  I wanted her to try to drug me, and it seemed if he thought I had a huge wad with me, that would be the way he’d want it played.

He made his phone call, turning so I couldn’t hear the conversation.  Then he smiled at me.  “She’s on her way.  She thanked me with some animation in her voice.  I think she’s horny.  You’re in for a great time!”

Ten minutes later a young lady walked in.  She was dressed demurely, nothing like what Sam had related.  I was glad Pat was there.  I needed to meet the same girl he’d been with.

The girl came up to Jim, and Jim introduced us.  Her name was Cynthia.  She took the stool between the two of us.  I asked her what she’d like and she said a champagne cocktail.  I waved at Pat and ordered.  Pat made the drink and put it on a coaster in front of Cynthia, using her right hand to set the coaster in place, holding the cocktail in her left.  That was the signal we’d arranged.  This was the girl who’d met Sam.  I guessed her name changed from time to time.  She’d been Doris a few days earlier.

When Cynthia had finished her drink, I asked her if what Jim had said was true, that she liked to make new conquests.  She giggled, then nodded.  I said, “I have a car.  I can bring you back here afterwards.”

“OK,” she said, acting almost coquettish, and we were off.

She didn’t recommend the Blue Heron.  She left the place up to me.  I thought about that.  But it wasn’t hard to figure.  She’d drug and roll me, then take my cars keys and I’d lose my car, too. 

I’d rented a car for the occasion, knowing my clunker would spoil the image I was evincing.  Even if she recognized the rental sticker, there could be many reasons I’d have a rental.  I drove us to a decent motel.  She insisted she stay in the car while I got a room.  She said to get one with a mini-bar as she wanted a drink first. 

We got to the room and she went in first.  As soon as we were both inside, she turned and kissed me.  Used lots of tongue.  Pressed against the front of me.  Wiggled.

When we stopped, she was panting, and her eyes were large and bright.  She started stripping as we walked toward the bed.  In a moment, she was naked.  I had my tie and jacket off.

“I’ll make us drinks while you’re getting ready,” she said.  She walked to the mini-bar and asked what I wanted. 

“Anything,” I told her.  “I don’t really need anything.  I’m pretty loose already and kind of horny.”

“It’ll relax us.  Loosen any inhibitions.  Take away any nervousness that’s there because we don’t really know each other.  Makes it better.  Trust me.  I’ve done this before.” 

She kept turned to me so I could see her body as she walked to where the glasses were.   They had real glass ones here.  Classy joint.

She turned to pour the drinks into the glasses and while doing so asked me to turn the lights down so only one bedside light was on.  I did that, and when I was turned back around to look at her, she came up and handed me a glass. 

She took a good drink from hers, smiled, and said, “Drink that and I’ll show you things you never dreamed of.”  Her voice was throaty.  She was really good.  No one would have guessed it was all an act.  She reached for me and ran her fingertips up and down my arm, raising goosebumps.

I raised the glass to my lips, she smiled more broadly, but instead of drinking, sniffed.  Smelled like gin.  Nothing else.

I lowered the glass and walked over to where I’d left my suit jacket.  From the inside pocket I took a folded paper bag and a small jar with a lid.  I opened the jar and poured as much of the drink into it as it would hold, then capped it up.  I put the jar and the glass into the bag and folded the top.

“What are you doing?” she asked, and the throatiness was missing from her voice.

“Evidence,” I said.  “Collecting evidence.  Fingerprints and drugged liquor.  Felony intent.”

“You’re a cop?” she asked, now sounding scared, and much younger than she had before.

I ignored that.  Instead, I said, “Put your clothes on.  Then sit in that chair.  You’re going to tell me some things.  If you’re cooperative, I’ll go easy on you.  Jim’s going down.  Whether you go with him is up to you.”

She got dressed.  All her sexiness was gone.  She now looked five years younger than she had a few minutes earlier, too.

Getting dressed gave her time to think.  When she was seated, I told her I didn’t know whether Jim had some hold on her, or whether she was working with him voluntarily, but it didn’t matter to me.  What mattered was finding out what was what, and she didn’t have to worry herself about any retribution because Jim wouldn’t be causing anyone any trouble for the next few years.

I can sound sincere when I want to, and my manner made it clear I was telling the truth.  I guess she believed me.  She talked.

She lived with Jim in an apartment on Marshport Avenue in a good section of town.  Jim had recruited her, making her think he loved her.  She’d moved in with him, and he’d got her hooked on heroin.  Then turned her out to do tricks.  He’d withheld the heroin, then slapped her around when she’d balked.  She had no one to go to for help.  If she went to the cops, there’d be no more heroin, and she needed that.  Working for Jim had got better recently since he stopped having her trick for him and was now running the drugged-John scheme.  Now she only had to sleep with him.  She didn’t like that anymore now that she knew he was just using her, but it wasn’t all that bad, and she did get her fixes regularly.

She remembered Sam and his ring.  She had no idea what Jim had done with Sam’s ring.  She always gave him everything she got from a John, and she never saw any of it again after that.

I asked how many whores Jim was running, and she said she didn’t know, but didn’t think he had many.  She’d never met any others; no one else lived with them, or at least not until just this week.  Just the other day Jim had found and brought in a newbie.  Never been on the streets but would be soon when trained.  She said Jim told her she’d help with the training. 

I asked her if she had anywhere to go, now that Jim wouldn’t be around, and she said no.  I asked about her parents, and she started crying.  I hate that.  So we talked some more, and eventually she came to the conclusion, with a little urging from me, that maybe calling her parents and going back home for a spell might be her best plan.  Maybe getting off the H was a good idea, too, but she wasn’t sure she could. 

She called her parents while I watched.  Woke them up.  But her mother was delighted to hear from her, and delighted that she wanted to come home.  I made Cynthia tell her mother she was hooked on drugs and would need some rehab time.  If that wasn’t a secret to the parents, she’d have a much better chance.  She didn’t want to tell her mother, but I can be persuasive.  She finally did.  And so it was all settled.

If not for the heroin, I’d have trusted her in the room for the night alone.  But with an addict, you can’t be trusting at all.  So, I stayed with her.  She slept on the bed under the covers, I slept on the bed over the covers.  In the morning I drove her to the train station, bought her breakfast, bought her ticket, and saw her onto the train.  I told her to get in a detox program when she got home.  Otherwise she’d only live a few more years.  I would have given her my last C-note, but it would have made it too tempting for her to jump the train at the next stop and buy some H. 

I stayed on the train until the ‘All Aboard’ call.  She was in a seat, looking very small.  I patted her shoulder, and got off just as the doors were being closed.