Peppermint Soul (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  "You know as well as I do that those fucking cops gave up on the twins ages ago, Danners. Christ, they don’t even call the parents any longer. Them and their vaunted cold case unit... it's all crap."

  "Come on, Liza. You were with the department. That's how things go sometimes. They just get... old."

  "They were kids, Danners. They deserve better"

  "Hell, we all deserve better, Lizzi."

  They rode part of the way in silence. He told himself Liza was gathering her thoughts but he knew better. Why the hell did she have to get fucked up just out of bed in the morning, anyway? Couldn’t she at least wait until the interview was over? Christ, this was all her idea anyway.

  He'd planned on taking a few months off. They could well afford it. Maybe the two of them could take advantage of the downtime by going on a road trip. But Liza never liked to get too far from home. He thought part of that was her refusal to step outside her comfort zone. She liked the city, or so she said. On the other hand, she hated driving on the freeways so she stayed home most times. He imagined her habit had a lot to do with that. A road trip of a few days wasn’t a problem but any extended time away from the city was a strict impossibility for her. He knew she didn’t like

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  Talking about that shit. If he pressed her on it, she was liable to lock herself away in the bedroom and not come back out until long after he'd vanished. Not that he blamed her. So they'd kept an uneasy truce over her drug use... it wasn’t the best solution but he'd rather remain in Liza's good graces than to push her away over something beyond her control. It was funny. Once he quit badgering her, she opened up to him in ways he never imagined. One night they were sitting together watching some movie in which neither of them were interested. It was more like they were doing it for doings sake. She just started talking. At first he thought she might be asleep. Dreaming. Sleep speaking. Her eyes were closed. The lines on her face unfurled. But after a minute of listening he understood the real reason why. Her voice was low and melodic, the way it got after she'd just shot a load of white into her vein, that one high and blue upon her inner thigh, hidden, so no one would know.

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  "After Lissi died, I couldn’t cope, DanDan. I mean, I tried. Everyone told me how I had to move on... get with it, Liza... life doesn’t stop just because you lose someone you love. Even if it's another part of you. The better part. They said time has a way of obliterating old hurts and how one day I'd wake up and I'd be happy again. Only it never happened. At least not until I discovered... well... you know."

  "How old were you when you first got high, Lizzi?"

  Lizzi rhymes with Fizzy... that's what Lissi rhymes with sissy used to call her. And now, no one used that name but for him and only at these moments, the special ones, the tender times when she opened up about her past in ways she never did with anyone else, or so she said. And of course he believed her. He had ways of knowing.

  "I was sixteen. It was our birthday... my birthday. My first alone party. That's what I called it. Until then we always celebrated together, me and Lissi. My parents had split up not long after she died—by the time our birthday—my birthday—rolled around. Mother blamed my father for what happened... said it was the liquor. Maybe the fire was his doing. But I thought it was an accident. So I didn’t understand why she turned on him like that."

  He wanted to ask how Lissi died. Why was it their father's fault? Had he been one of those touchy feely types? So he drank. Did that have something to do with the death of Liza's sister? But he hated interrupting her when she started to talk like that, to really open up. So he leaned back, cuddled next to her, listened, and watched as a grimace wandered across her brow, like she was remembering rancid thoughts that somehow needed to be brought out into the open in order to excise them completely.

  "When the divorce was finalized, they gave me a choice... to live with him or to live with her. I didn’t want either of them in my life. Father'd become an alcoholic or maybe he'd always been one and mother... well, all she did was rage against the world, against me, against him. Like I reminded her of Lissi and she hated me for it. I knew if I lived with father I'd end up taking care of him for the rest of his life... he couldn’t do anything by then but drink... and if I chose mother, she'd make things miserable."

  Jesus, girlfriend... could I tell you some stories about living with dear old mother. You don’t wanna do that, trust me. That's all I had, at least for the first six years of my life... mother. I didn’t know. I thought all mothers were like mine... that they feasted on fear. That they struck out in anger. Well... maybe I did know, but I told myself I didn’t. Quiet, queer man... listen to the story.

  "So I ran away. I was pretty. Boys liked me. Men too. I discovered if I did certain things for them, they'd buy me stuff, give me money. I guess you could call me a slut. No, a whore might be more like it. But I had my rules. I didn’t want to get pregnant and I knew about sexually transmitted diseases so I was careful. Jesus... I can't believe I'm telling you this, DanDan. I've never talked about it with anyone. You must think I'm just a puta."

  "Oh God no, Lizzi. I think you're wonderful. Nothing you ever say or do could change how I feel about you. Go on. Tell me more."

  "Oh, you... I'm not all that great. But thank you, Danners. Thanks for listening. Sometimes it's good just to talk. And not to just anyone. You care. That makes all the difference. Anyway, I ended up on the street. I thought I was hot shit. All I had to do was look at a man and he'd fall all over himself to get me in the sack. I hated doing the things I had to do to survive but I told myself it was better than going home and facing either of my parents.

  "I drifted down to the Belltown neighborhood. That's where all the derelicts and hookers end up. The johns. The playas. The trash that society tries to throw away. The garbage polite people burn thinking it'll vanish into smoke but the ashes alight somewhere else and start growing again. That's Belltown. The police department is doing its best to run off all the bums but they're like cockroaches. Bust one and ten more take their place. A couple black guys tried pimping me out but I knew better. All they'd do would be to fuck me, make me work the street, and give them my money. I counted myself lucky when I met Allison Johns. She ran an escort service. Paid her girls top dollar. It was still a sucky way to make a living, Danners, let me tell you."

  "How'd you meet Allison Johns, sweetie?"

  "Allison found me. I'd arrived in the neighborhood three days earlier. No money. No place to stay. Nothing to eat. On top of that it was raining. Christ... it always rained in Seattle. Not like here. She came out of the corner delicatessen and saw me eying up the sweet rolls in the window. I must have looked the sight. Makeup running. Hair all hanging down. Wet to the bone. Anyway, she handed me the sack of donuts she just bought. Without a word. Just gave them to me, turned around, and went back inside to buy more. I waited for her. When she came back out again I thanked her. She asked did I have a place to sleep and I didn’t want to admit I didn’t so I just stood there with my head down, dripping. She said follow me so

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  "I did.

  "I knew something was up. A girl like Allison Johns doesn’t live in a place like Belltown without a reason. Miss pretty pants. A high roller. Anyone could take one gander at that girl and know right off that she had it going on. All of it, good and bad twisted all together. I tell you, though, DanDan... after three days of living in the streets and knowing nothing better was coming my way, I figured Allison might be my only ticket outta there. So I took a chance. I said the hell with it."

  "How old was she? Was she like, ancient? An old ruined hag? Or was she pretty?"

  "Allison? Oh, five years older than me. I suppose that seemed ancient to me at the time. She was more striking than pretty. Had that feral sexuality that seems to attract men, or repulse them. I never could figure out which. Turned out Allison owned a three story building that took up a whole city block. She rented the lower level to legit businesses... you know the kind, liquor
stores, dive bars, tobacco shops, real ghetto bender shit. The upper two stories belonged to her girls. We each had our own room.

  "She knew everyone in the city, or seemed to. Any time some big wig came to town and wanted some fresh ass, they'd call Allison. Lots of conventions in Seattle. All the fancy hotel concierges—and even the seedier ones—had her number and weren’t afraid to give it out. The johns would come around in limos and pick up us girls. Fuck us. And then drop us off again a few thousand dollars better for the experience. Half that would go to her. Half for us. Allison'd make a point of going to each one of her contacts every single day and paying them off with cash. Sweet talk 'em. That woman handed out hundred dollar bills like she was laying chocolate mints on pillows. She must have had a good fifty girls—and boys too—working for her at any one time.

  "Allison was like a surrogate mother to me in some demented way. She turned me on to my first hit of heroin. It was my birthday and I kept thinking about Lissi and how sad she'd be to see what I'd made of my life. How I was sleeping with strange men for money. Selling my body. I was so dejected. And Allison sensed that. Maybe that’s why she was so good at what she did. Anyway, she said, here, little Liza... come sit down with me. I have something for you that will make it all go away.

  "And she was right. God, Danners... I'd never gotten high... I'd never even smoked marijuana before. Once or twice I drank a little booze—drinks I stole from my dad—but I'd never gotten drunk. One little toot of that magic white powder, though, and I was feeling it. I said, honey baby, where the hell have you been all my life? And I meant it too. Allison had a good heart. She warned me not to like it too much. But I have an addictive streak a mile wide, just like my dear old daddy.

  "I started chipping, you know, take the edge off my nerves. I hated going out with strange guys. Most of them were old men in suits. Half of them couldn’t even get it up and they'd blame me. Start screaming at me. Getting mean. Just a real nightmare. Out there on the street lots of girls do a little smack just to get by. I figured as long as I just snorted, I wouldn't get hooked. Pretty stupid, huh?"

  "No, sweetie... you did what you had to do. It must have cost a lot of money, huh?"

  "Not at first. I'd buy a dime bag and it'd last me all week. At least in the beginning. But then I started liking it too much, I guess. Instead of getting high two or three times a week, it became an everyday affair. And then three times a day. Pretty soon I couldn’t even get out of bed without a little pick me up.

  "And then the police

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  "Rounded up all the girls working for Allison and charged us with prostitution. They caught me in one of the stings they run to get the whores off the street. Yep. That's what I was, Danners. A whore. When I went in front of the judge, he took pity on me. He told me since I was underage I had a choice. Either I could go home and live with my mother, or I would be remanded to the state until I turned eighteen. Foster care. My mother was in the courtroom. When I saw her I realized how fucked up everything had become. She started crying and then I bawled my eyes out and we hugged and I thought that everything would be okay again.

  "And it was, for a minute. Maybe even two. But as soon as we got home, she started harping on me. How damaged I was. That no man in their right mind would ever have anything to do with me... no good man, that is. That I was tainted. And everyone could see it just by looking at me. I believed her. She was my mother. She wouldn’t tell me something if it wasn’t true. She couldn’t. Could she?"

  "You're asking the wrong guy about that, Liza. So what happened?"

  "That evening after she went to bed, I packed a few clothes, crawled out the window, and ran away again. I remember how good the damp grass felt on my bare feet and how the night was warm and welcoming, like I could hide in it and no one could see how I'd wrecked myself. Seattle... that's where I grew up. Normally it isn’t so warm there. But it must've been eighty degrees that night. Like an omen.

  "I just started walking. I had to... well... you know... fix... myself. I'd always said I could quit anytime. I think that night was the first time I realized how much I relied on the stuff. I craved it. I'd broken open my piggy bank before I left home so I had several hundred dollars. I'd taken my father's insulin needles too. I didn’t know why at the time but now I do. Christ, Danners... I've got to be the biggest fuck up in the world."

  "We do what we have to do, Lizzi. We make a pretty pair, don't we. So how'd you end up joining the sheriff's department? That's a radical departure from hooking."

  "That's why I love you, DanDan. You don’t hold any punches. The second time I ran away, I made a conscious decision to do better. Instead of going back to live in Belltown, I bought a few packets to tide me over, purchased a bus ticket to

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  "Los Angeles, and rode that magic carpet south. I lied about my age and got a job as a waitress. That was the first real job I ever had. I thought I hated whoring but Jesus... try working twelve hour days for two dollars an hour plus tips.

  "I was lucky, though. The coffee house where I worked had a free tuition program. So I started taking night classes at the community college. At first I planned on nursing but then I found out how much I detest being around sick people... plus they do drug checks, and I was pretty heavy into the smack by then. Had no intention of quitting. So I decided on a career in law. But to be an attorney would take too long. Instead, I went to criminal law classes. They said how that would allow me to score higher on the civil exams for the police department.

  "Yep... Liza McNairy, junkie extraordinaire became Deputy McNairy, do-gooder cop. That lasted about a minute too. I wasn’t cut out for police work. I knew it the first day I started with the department. But the pay was ten times better than I was getting at the coffee shop. I told myself I'd grow into it. I was wrong. So what do you think of me now, darling? Am I all you thought I was?"

  "I'm proud of you, Liza... not many girls could do what you've done."

  "Well, I guess you didn’t listen closely enough to what I was saying, Danners."

  He wanted to disagree. To yell at her. To tell her to quit that goddamned whining. But he couldn’t. She trusted him... trusted in his... what... availability? His sense of forgiveness? His sentimentality? Did the fact that he'd spent ten years in prison for a crime he never committed give her the impression he'd commiserate with her on her addiction? He didn’t. It pissed him off that she treated life with such distain... that she'd risk not only her health and freedom but his as well while procuring an illegal drug of such potency that nearly everyone who tried it came under its thralldom. Hell... she even wrote poems to it, like an erstwhile lover might.

  And here she was, still living dangerously, dipping into the shit any time things got a little rough. Hell, he didn’t want to talk to the parents of those girls who'd vanished so long ago no one remembered them. He ought to be home in bed yet. Getting up so early rattled him. He felt shitty. He'd feel like that all day long. If only he had half a sack he'd have told Liza to make the appointment at a decent hour. Christ... why did she enjoy taunting him like that?

  A black Ford Explorer cut him off. Normally he wasn’t a road rager but today with the aggravation of waiting for Liza and the driving to talk with the mother and father of those twins who disappeared twenty years ago and the memory of that confession of hers all coalesced together into a hard and brilliant braid inside his stomach and he laid on the horn and shot the bird at the startled woman in the Explorer as he swerved around her and then hit the brakes, hard enough to cause her to nearly spin out.

  "DanDan! What're you doing? There's a baby in that car!"

  He just shook his head. What could he say? Sorry? The thing was, he felt so much better after his little tantrum... he always did... the knots in his intestines had come untied and the resentment over being made to do something he'd rather not be doing—hearing something he'd rather not be hearing—vanished along with the Explorer.

  Chapter 5—Now and Again

  (
The Two Dicks)

  She had that look in her eyes again... that hurt, the pain, the not-knowing. He'd grown used to seeing it there for the better part of ten years and one day that haunted gaze simply vanished, as if his wife had somehow made peace with an impossible situation. Once again he wondered if his contacting those psychics was a mistake.

  Missy and Melinda were gone. The odds were they'd been slaughtered and buried in shallow graves ages ago and them stirring all this shit up again wasn’t going to help anybody. But then again, who knew for certain?

  "Did you read this, Allen? This boy they just found... he's been missing nearly thirty years."

  Of course he'd read it. How could he not. Paula knew that he kept tabs on everything concerning kidnapped and runaway children. His files were probably more extensive than those useless pricks that called themselves police officers. He did it for them... for the girls.

  "Yes, dear, I read it. I need to talk to you about something."

  When Liza McNairy called, he thought at first it was another in a long line of reporters tracing down a cold case that might well have happened when they were still wallowing in shitty diapers and sucking on momma's flabby tits. He'd been drinking too much again and forgot that he was the one who called her. He'd seen something on what purported itself to be a news website concerning how McNairy'd been instrumental in solving another case even older than the one involving his daughters and being drunk and not really caring that it was five o'clock in the morning he'd searched for a number, called, and left a message. Then he promptly forgot all about it. Alcoholic amnesia or something suspiciously like it.