Criminal

They’s puttin’ down roots. They’s cashin’ they vouchahs from the Five.”
    Amanda said, “Until you tried to get their vouchers instead.”
    “Y’ain’t lissenin’ to me,” Jane insisted. “They all gone. Lucy been gone a year. She here one minute, then—” She snapped her fingers. “Poof.”
    Evelyn turned to Amanda, and in a deadly serious tone said, “We need to put out an immediate APB on a man wearing a cape and a magician’s hat.” She stopped. “Hold that. Let’s check to see if Doug Henning’s in town.”
    Amanda couldn’t help herself. She laughed at the joke.
    They all jumped when the front door slammed open. Wood splintered. The knob dug into the wall. Plaster shattered. The air seemed to shake.
    A well-built black man stood in the doorway. He was out of breath, probably from running up the stairs. His thick sideburns grew into a goatee and mustache that circled his mouth. His pants and shirt were a matching lime green. He was obviously a pimp, and clearly furious. “Whatchu honky bitches doin’ here?”
    Amanda could not move. She felt as if her body had turned to stone.
    “We were looking for Kitty,” Evelyn answered. “Do you know Kitty Treadwell? Her uncle is a very good friend of Mayor Jackson’s.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “That’s why we’re here. They asked us to come. The mayor’s friend. They’re very concerned that Kitty is missing.”
    The man ignored her, grabbing Jane up by her hair. She screamed in pain, her fingers digging into his hands as she tried to keep her scalp from ripping. “You been talkin’ to the po-lice, gal?”
    “Ain’t say nothin’. Honess.” Jane could barely speak from terror. “They jes’ show up.”
    He shoved her out into the hall. Jane stumbled, falling against the wall before she found her footing.
    “We’re leaving now.” Evelyn’s voice was shaking. She edged toward the door, motioning Amanda to follow. “We don’t want trouble.”
    The man shut the door. The sound was like a gunshot. He stared at Amanda for a few intent seconds, then Evelyn. His eyes looked as if they were on fire.
    Evelyn said, “Our sergeant knows we’re here.”
    He turned around and slowly slid the chain into the track. And then he locked the deadbolt. And then the next one.
    “We talked to dispatch before we—”
    “I hear ya, Mrs. Pig. Lessee can the mayor get here ’fore I’m through.” He took the key from the lock and slid it into his front pocket. His voice went into a deep baritone. “You a fine-lookin’ woman. You know that?”
    He wasn’t talking to Evelyn. His eyes were trained on Amanda. He licked his lips, his gaze lingering on her chest. She tried to back up, but he followed. Her legs hit the arm of the couch. His fingers touched the side of her neck. “Damn, gal. So fine.”
    Amanda fought a wave of dizziness. She reached down to her purse, fidgeting with the zip, trying to get it to open. “Call for backup.”
    Evelyn already had her radio in her hand. She clicked the button.
    The man’s hand circled Amanda’s neck. His thumb pressed under her chin. “Radio ain’t gone work up here. We too high for the antennies.”
    Evelyn furiously clicked the button. There was only static. “Shit.”
    “We gone have some fun, ain’t we, Fuzzy?” His hand tightened around Amanda’s throat. She could smell his cologne and sweat. There was a birthmark on his cheek. A patch of hair showed where his shirt was unbuttoned. Gold chains. A tattoo of Jesus with a crown of thorns.
    “Ev …,” Amanda breathed. She could feel the outline of the revolver inside her purse. She tried to force her finger into the trigger guard.
    “Mmm-hmm,” the pimp moaned. He unzipped his pants. “Fine-lookin’ woman.”
    “Eh-eh-ev …,” Amanda stuttered. His hand slipped under her skirt. She could feel his fingernails scrape her bare flesh, the pressure of him against her thigh.
    Evelyn jammed the radio back into her purse and zipped closed the bag as if she was preparing to leave. Amanda panicked. And then gasped as Evelyn gripped the straps with both hands, swung around and smashed her bag into the side of the man’s head.
    Gun. Badge. Handcuffs. Kel-Lite. Radio. Nightstick. Nearly twenty pounds of equipment. The pimp collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. Blood spurted from the side of his head. There were deep cuts across his cheek where the Indian tassels had sliced open the skin.
    Amanda grabbed her revolver out of her