Chapter 6: Anger

I’d never been poor, not once in my life. I was born into a solidly middle-class family. And my little business operation netted me enough to keep me in bon-bons, if not caviar.

But, working the beat that I do, I’d seen how poverty can grind down even the most well-intentioned people. The little girls in Sister Mary’s shelter, for example. None of their mothers intended for life to come to that point. And I would soon be reminded of the crushing effect that financial hardship can impose on otherwise average people.

Every so often, once Walk was off to school, I’d go by my parents’ house for a cuppa, and to catch up with them. I was driving past Matt and Lina’s house when I spotted Pantone, a pimp I, unfortunately, knew from back in the day.

As he pulled away, I saw he was accompanied by a woman who had to be at least 80-years old. I knew Pantone whored out everything from kids to grannies but what was he doing with Lina? Could it have anything to do with Pilar?

I canceled the coffee klatch, and pulled into Matt’s driveway. Lina was surprised and pleased to see me.

I went right to it, “What was Pantone doing here? And who was that granny with him?”

She scoffed, “Oh, Pantone. He was always trying to recruit me and Pilar. But that was before I got married, so I was a little surprised to see him today.”

“He came back for another try? I can have a word with him if you like.”

Even though Captain Dave was retired from Homicide, no Kansas City pimp wanted to be on the wrong side of Daddy’s girl.

“That’s okay, thanks. Pantone was just doing a favor for Estrella Ruiz.”

“And she is...?”

A long sigh, “Señorita Ruiz is ... she’s the abuela for the Noreste Olvidado.”

The Forgotten Northeast

“Okay. And what did this grandmother want with you?”

Lina paused to gather her thoughts, “We were comfortable back in Hondo. My husband was a dentist; I taught.”

“I remember.”

“And you know Sister Mary’s shelter, you know the vecindario.”

The neighborhood.

I nodded.

“That fucking trickle-down economy didn’t trickle down to Noreste Olvidado. And the dope scene is worse than ever. So, some mothers ... well Señorita Ruiz offers ... a specialized service. And the money is pretty good.”

“What service?”

Lina shrugged. And stated the obvious, “Sex of course.” She looked down, a little embarrassed; then squared her shoulders. The woman who survived that arduous trek to El Norte wasn’t going to let a frank conversation throw her off stride.

“What do you know about PedoMoms?”

My mind went blank for a moment. “Well, I hadn’t heard that term, but I can figure out what it means.”

“That’s why Señorita Ruiz came to see me. She wants to put me and Poppy in a video.” Another shrug, “Live shows too. And you can imagine the next step.”

“Pantone would whore you and Poppy out.”

“Of course. But Señorita Ruiz knew it was a long shot with me. No matter how much money they offered.” She grinned, “It would have been even more money if Poppy was a boy.”

I flashed on Walk and me. “Boys are in more demand?”

“Yeah, mother and son, that’s what’s hot.” She grinned, “You could have made a lot of money a few years ago.”

“But now I’m too old?”

“Oh no, you’d be fine. But Walker is several years past his prime.”

What a world.

I said, “And Señorita Ruiz is involved? At her age?”

“Si. Everyone knows that you can make good money — just go see her.”

“And the community doesn’t ostracize her?”

“Oh, no, Winter. Not at all. Some of those poor moms ... well, it’s the only way they can keep their little families together. Now, I’m not saying Señorita Ruiz is revered. Not like Sister Mary was. But she provides a service that when you need it ... well, you need it.”

Poverty.

I told myself to stop dicking around and face the facts. Actually, two facts, two sort-of related facts.

One, Clint Callahan.

Two, Flynn Gallagher.

I talked the situation over with Vanessa, then with Vanessa and Walk. They both adored Clint, but if the magic was no longer there...

This wasn’t something that could be handled over the phone. Oh, technically it could have been, but that would be unkind. And cruel. I flew into Newark again.

The official breakup with Clint went surprisingly well. We both were regretful, but not bitter.

He said, “I had sensed you were drifting away.”

“Nothing has gone on between Flynn and me, but...”

“What do Vanessa and Walker think about him?”

“They like him. Vanessa especially.”

“And Walker? You were really concerned about him when you and I were first thinking about getting involved.”

I grinned, “He’s getting so much pussy with Lina that he’s much more relaxed about me. About my love life.”

“Sex life.”

“Yes, alright, my sex life.”

“I still can’t believe Pilar dumped him.”

“Lina is making up for it.”

Clint got a faraway look in his eyes. Men!

It was around six in the evening and I was alone in my office and in fine company.

Walker called, which was unusual for him.

“Winter?”

“Walk.”

“You know how I bet Gregory I could give up chocolate for a month?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been 12 days and I’ve lost the hearing in my left eye.”

The Creed of the Apocrypha trail had led to Kansas City. Benny Chang and Bianca Uribe — neither of whom was a paying client — had gone missing in two seemingly unrelated events. However, one scrote — Bobby Ray Guthrie had told Flynn and me that he had ‘heard’ there was a contract delivery of a spic chick to KC.

I had volunteered to meet Flynn at the airport. The one where they’re tearing down the three terminals and building one new one. It’ll be an improvement if, for no other reason, they’ll then have better restaurants.

The new version will still be located about 200 miles north of town. And part of the urban landscape up there is littered with empty office buildings — built while the original airport was under construction. Developers were betting it would draw hordes of residents and businesses. Nope.

Flynn, taller than most of his fellow passengers, gave me a nice big grin. We hugged briefly, then he held me by my shoulders, took a step back, and looked me up and down.

I looked good, smelled fresh, and was feeling sassy. Wore one of the tees that Walk had ordered for me. That, and my sneakers were all the visible items of apparel.

Flynn did a double-take when the I swallow type registered. He started to speak, then closed his mouth.

He looked good too. Handsome in that black Irish way. White skin, piercing blue eyes, jet black hair. A tight blue polo and pleated khakis. Flat tummy, graceful hands with long, strong-looking fingers. I gave him the Winter Seal of Approval. Again.

He had just one carryon, and I led him out to Matt’s Audi. As we headed toward civilization, somewhere out there, I said, “First time to KC?”

He couldn’t wait any longer, “Do you? Swallow?”

“Oh, that’s just a gag gift from my boy. Thinks he’s a wiseass.”

I shifted lanes smoothly, not getting caught behind the slowpokes, not pushing it either.

“You didn’t answer me.”

I glanced over and winked, “What would you guess?”

He shifted in his seat, “Afraid of the question?”

“Okay, total honesty. It depends on my mood.” Total lie. “And who the guy is.” Mostly true.

“So. you do fool around?”

“And you used to be a detective.”

Flynn smiled and rested his hand easily on my shoulder. Not like he was marking his territory; more like an exploratory move. I patted his hand and smiled to myself.

To give him a partial tour of My Kansas City, I exited the highway, drove through River Market, down by the Missouri River. Then over those fucking freeways that raped downtown, through the Power & Light District, which is what our downtown is called. In the Crossroads, I pointed out the Wrigley, “Home sweet home.”

“With a husband and son.”

“You’ll meet everyone this evening.”

I drove Flynn through a blah area of midtown and on to the Country Club Plaza. He seemed to be impressed, “Not bad for a shopping center, not schlocky at all.”

I left the Audi with the Rafael parking attendant; inside Flynn went through the registration drill. I said, “I want to see which room they gave you. This used to be an apartment building and the rooms really vary.” Having been in a few of them myself. With a few different boys.

He tipped the bellhop a tenner — another checkmark in the positive column.

Actually, I knew which room he’d been assigned. The hotel was only about half full, and they had let me select the room when I stopped by to make the reservation for him.

This was a mini-suite with a small sitting room.

Flynn said, “Nice, I like it.”

He looked at me, all innocent, “Mind if I grab a quick shower?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Predictable. He came out of the bedroom wrapped in a towel. Looked good. In fact, looked damned good. Tall and slender, but well-muscled. “Wanna join me?”

“Please try to retain — in your tiny mind — that I am married with child.”

He walked up to me, completely at ease, and tugged the hem of my tee down. Which highlighted my bare nipples even more. He smiled that white, white smile, “As you said, I was a detective.”

“Probably over the hill by now.”

“I detect that you aren’t wearing a bra.”

I looked down in puzzlement, “Fuck, I was in such a hurry.”

“Another clue would be helpful in solving the Winter Jennings case.”

“Oh?”

He was still holding the hem of my tee, now moving it gently from side to side. Further exciting my very obvious nipples. Which were now even more visible as they reported for duty.

Flynn said, “What are you wearing under that tee? If anything.”

“Sir, that’s a rather personal question.”

“Do I need to show you my badge?”

“I know what you wanna show me.”

“Wanna see it?”

“See Marriage Contract, subparagraph B.”

“B as in boobs?”

I laughed and pushed him in the chest, “Go shower.” God, was he solid.

Flynn headed toward the bath, looked back over his shoulder, undid the towel, and hung it over that same shoulder. Winked at me, and closed the door. Talk about cheek.

I answered three or four text messages, and looked up when I heard the shower turn off. A couple of minutes later, he came out wearing a white pair of bulging boxer briefs. My mind went right to the gutter, wondering if he’d fluffed himself up.

He said, “What does one wear for dinner, Chez Winter Jennings?”

“No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

“Direct me.”

I followed him into the bedroom and flipped through the closet. He’d hung everything up neatly. I handed him a blue dress shirt and an ivory pair of slacks. Watched him finish dressing.

He smiled easily and looked me in the eye as he zipped up, “I still don’t know what you’re wearing underneath.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t go commando.”

“Of course you didn’t; you’re married with child.”

“Okay, just so long as you remember that.”

I used both hands to inch my tee up. Slowly up. The bottom of my neon green thong peeked out. I kept going until my shirt was bunched around my waist. Then I gave him a little pirouette.

He whispered, “Fuck.” And adjusted his slacks.

In the elevator, I smiled to myself. I seemed to be doing a lot of that around Mr. Gallagher.

I parked in the Wrigley garage and led Flynn into the hotel lobby. Nature Boy, nude and erect, “Floor please.”

“Seventeen. No, make that twenty-two.”

I hadn’t expected the ex-NYC cop to be disconcerted by our naked elevator operator, and he wasn’t.

But, Vanessa startled him. He’d, of course, been expecting a husband. But even making an instantaneous mental adjustment ... well, Vanessa wasn’t someone you could digest all at once.

She tsunamied the awkward moment by teasing me, “You’re right, Winter, this one is a hunk.”

I hadn’t told her that, although it was an accurate assessment, hunk-wise. Flynn glanced at me with interest.

I said, “Flynn Gallagher, this worthless lump of humanity is my son, Walker.”

They fist-bumped. Both were about the same height. And both were handsome, but the comparison ended there. Flynn had black hair, the kid was a natural blond. However, the differences were more than superficial.

Flynn was a fully-formed grownup. Walk ... well, his teen-agedness was never more apparent than standing next to such a mature man. My mind skittered off ... maybe getting to know Flynn would help me — would allow me — to put Walk into a more realistic perspective.

The evening unfolded comfortably with Vanessa’s bemused understanding of my casual flirting. Walk was trying not to be obvious as he studied Flynn — he knew I had a certain degree of interest in the New Yorker. And, since the lad was now scoring adult pussy on a regular basis, the idea of my involvement with a new man didn’t seem to perturb him. In fact — if and when — Walk would demand to know all the details.

As for me, I felt oddly comfortable that evening. After introducing Flynn, I had showered and changed into white, skintight leggings that didn’t seem to reveal much. Until you looked closely. For a top I wore one of my ex’s Turnbull & Asser dress shirts. But I tied it off for that bare-midriff look. Which, made it less revealing because the unbuttoned section adhered more tightly.

I bent forward toward the mirror for a cleavage check. Hmm ... no nipple sightings. I undid another button. There, crisis averted. I checked the rearview — my butt was clearly outlined — two taut baseballs. About-face — the sides of my boobs were clearly on display. My gaze traveled south, past my flat, tanned tummy to the juncture of my thighs. My tiny pussy lips were barely visible, if you knew where to look.

I ran a brush through my hair, applied a little concealer and blush, good to go.

I had long-ago admitted that Flynn Gallagher gave me a certain tingle. How did I recognize it? Experience. I wasn’t exactly an éminence grise when it came to the male species, but I’d enjoyed similar quivers with Matt Striker, and later with Clint Callahan.

The difference this time, though, was intensity. Flynn made my heart go pitter-patter more than either of those other splendid chaps. Uh-oh.

Walk did a double-take when he saw me. Flynn was more reserved, but still examined me for clues. Vanessa smiled a little knowing smile.

Walk fried up some vittles using Pilar’s recipes for empanadas — ground beef, ham and honey, potato, chicken, etc. Served with Dorada Pils in frosty mugs straight from the freezer.

Vanessa and Walk tried to flatter Flynn, tried to get him talking about himself, his time on the NYPD. But this Irish cop, from an Irish cop family, knew how to handle himself. He got Vanessa talking about her Indianapolis days. Working in the St. Elmo Steakhouse, even her reign as Miss Indiana.

Flynn drew Waker out on the subject of girlfriends. The lad was at least circumspect ... admitted he enjoyed the female form, but didn’t brag, didn’t name names.

After we cleared the table, I was rinsing the dishes and heard Vanessa, laughter in her voice, say, “Walker, your mom is so sexy — look at that butt.”

Studied indifference, “Maybe. I dunno.”

I felt both of his hands on my cheeks; I wriggled my butt and said, “Unhand me, you brute.”

“That’s not what you said last night, Winter.”

I understood that Vanessa and Walk were partly teasing me, partly trying to get a rise out of Flynn.

The four of us repaired to one of our conversation areas — our favorite one centered around our green leather sofa. Flynn and Walk sat in yellow Barcelona chairs facing Vanessa and me.

As I recall, four individual vaporizers materialized from somewhere. The laughter grew louder, the innuendos, naughtier.

Vanessa and I were side by side on the couch, our feet up on the coffee table. Flynn and Walk had their feet up on the same surface. Once, when Flynn was in the bathroom, I whispered, “Walker,” spread my thighs a little, and stroked my pussy with my middle finger.

He shook his head in sorrow, “Role model.”

Vanessa nudged me, “I like him, Flynn Gallagher.”

Around 11, Walk stood, shook hands with Flynn, and said goodnight. He walked over to us and kissed Vanessa on the lips. Flynn stared. Then Walk put his arms around me and kissed me on the lips. He was blocking Flynn’s line of sight, so the tongue exchange wouldn’t have been obvious.

As he strolled back to his room, I said, “Walker Jennings.”

He turned, curious.

“After you brush your teeth, jack off.”

Vanessa played along, “Too many wet dreams lately.”

Not that long ago, Walk would have been mortified. He just said, “Winter, my body is my temple. Please keep your gutter mind out of my pants.”

Not bad, kid, not bad.

When he was in his room, Vanessa leaned toward Flynn and lowered her voice, as if imparting a state secret, “Sixteen is such a challenging age, especially for a boy.”

Flynn grinned, “I can barely remember.”

I said, “I bet you were hell on wheels.”

“I had my moments. So what’s the biggest challenge with Walker?”

Vanessa said, “Getting him out of bed in the morning.”

I nodded, “He sleeps the sleep of the dead.”

Vanessa winked at Flynn, “And he has morning wood regular as clockwork.”

Flynn laughed, “I do remember that.”

I said, “Remember, as if it no longer happens?”

“Oh, I have my moments.”

Vanessa, sounding as if she just thought of it, said, “You know, Winter, you should measure Walker one of these mornings. Just for the fun of it.”

“Vanessa! I am his mother, you know.”

“Precisely. Don’t you agree, Mr. Gallagher?”

The guy didn’t miss a beat, “Absolutely. It’s simply showing a normal maternal concern for her offspring.”

I gave him the finger, “Offspring this.”

The three of us burned a little more herb. I heated up a batch of Walker’s house-made chips when we got the munchies. Vivaldi was tinkling in the background. The soft ambient glow from the streetlights added to the mood.

Vanessa returned to the subject of morning wood and held her hands about six inches apart, “Walker’s like this, Flynn.”

He turned to me, a question in his bemused expression. Feeling no pain, I moved her hands a couple of inches further apart. Simply setting the record straight.

Vanessa, as casually as fuck, slid her hand into my shirt and started playing with one nipple, then the other. She smiled sweetly at Flynn, “Winter is the sexiest broad in town.”

To his credit, Flynn didn’t get the vapors. He’d seen it all working the mean streets on his beat. He just smiled, “No argument.”

He was a little too comfortable. Plus, Vanessa had gotten me a little heated up. I drew my right foot back so the heel was touching my butt. I moved my knee to the right, aiming my pussy right at Flynn. He pulled a Walker and tried to nonchalant it.

Vanessa was having none of his casualness, “Winter, did you remember your Brazilian appointment this morning?”

My voice was a little raspy, “Oh sure. You know, out of town company flying in.” I shifted my right knee a little further apart. Then back. Then open again.