The Second Girl(60)

“No. He was a name just like all the other names we’re working.”

“This Playboy might work the area of Sixteenth and Park, maybe even live somewhere in 3D. He has short-cut hair and drives a newer-model two-door Lexus. That ring a bell?”

“Can’t say it does. I haven’t worked that area since you left.”

“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Remember that crackhead we used to use for over-the-phone okeydokes ’cause she had such a sweet young voice?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Tamie Darling. You’d never guess such a sweet voice’d come out of something like that.”

“You’re right about that. You still working her as a special employee?”

“Occasionally.”

“I used her once a few months ago to sweet-talk this witness into a meet so I could drop some papers on him. Then I did some spring cleaning and sorta misplaced her number.”

“And now another favor. Man, they are piling up.”

“This isn’t a favor. I told you, you’re the one that’s gonna reap the rewards. Let me do it the way I do it, and if it’s what I think, you’ll be buying the rounds at Shelly’s.”

“Go on, then.”

“I have good information that this Playboy is distributing narcotics to minors and soliciting minors for prostitution. Also, I know he personally likes his girls very young. I believe he’s either the supplier or connected to whoever was supplying Angelo and company. So I’m thinking why not pull the same game we used to back in the day when we needed to lure in a drug boy for a buy?”

“If he was supplying Angelo and his boys, then he’s a lot more than a little drug boy. I don’t think he’d fall for something like that.”

“I agree he might be a bigger player, but he’s got this weakness.”

“And if he bites?”

“I have a good description and know what he drives. Our girl won’t be there, but I will. All I do is follow him back to wherever he might go.”

“You’re assuming a lot.”

“If it doesn’t pan out, then it’s my waste of time, not yours.”

“So you follow him back to wherever—then what?”

“I don’t know yet. Gonna have to play that part by ear.”





Fifty-four



I set up the meet with Tamie Darling at a safe spot I’ve used with her in the past. It’s a vacant lot on Sherman Avenue, near Howard University. A construction company working in the area uses it to store some of their larger trailers.

I get there early and drive in and park between two of the trailers.

Drug addicts are unpredictable, but they usually make the best confidential informants. Darling makes her living as a special employee for the police department, so she’s generally more dependable than most users and takes what she does seriously. Her habit depends on it, so she’s very good at what she does, especially role-playing. I was the one to originally sign her up and give her a number, so she still does the occasional job for me. Only difference is I pay more for her services than the department does.

She shows up after about twenty minutes. I notice her in my rearview mirror walking across the lot toward my car. She’s still thin as a rail and moves like a drunken model walking on a narrow runway.

I hit the button to unlock the doors. She slides into the front seat with a “Hey, sweetie,” and sets her overloaded fake Gucci purse on the floor between her legs.

“How’re you doing, Tamie?”

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

She pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, taps one out.

I fire it up for her with my lighter.

She takes a long drag and blows the smoke toward the partly open passenger’s side window.

For a crackhead she doesn’t look so bad. She’s not homeless, so she wears clean clothes and takes care of herself most of the time. Her dark skin is smooth and relatively blemish free, but she still has that distinctive smell that can only be associated with smoking crack. It’s slightly nauseating and sweet and finds its way into their skin, like what they’re smoking up is seeping back out from the inside.

“Appreciate you getting here on such short notice.”

“No problem, sweetie.”

She scoots herself so that her back is leaning against the doorframe and she’s facing me.

“You lost some weight since the last time I seen you. Or maybe it’s just that I never seen you outta a suit before.”

“I’m going casual for a bit,” I tell her. “Also might be sitting in this car for a while.”

“Starting to feel more retired, huh?”

“That, too.”

“So what do ya need from me today, honey?”

“A simple phone call is all, and for that sweet voice of yours to sound like a cute suburban teenager. You think you can manage that?”

“You mean something like this, sweetheart?” she says, trying too hard to sound cute.

“Minus the sweetheart and maybe a little more Caucasian.”

“I can do white girl.”

“You’re gonna be talking to a DC drug boy who goes by the nickname Playboy. He’s got a thing for white Virginia high school girls. I’m thinking the more innocent you sound, the better.”