The Fort (Aric Davis)

face.
    “I need to ask you some questions, Candy,” said Dr. Martinez, taking the picture of Molly from Van Endel and slipping back in front of him. She handed the photo to the working girl. “This girl’s named Molly Peterson, and she’s been missing for almost five days. The detective and I are trying to find her. Can you help us?”
    “Probably not,” said Candy. “She don’t look like no girl that would be down here. She look like she still in school. She could make some money, though. She’s pretty enough.”
    “All right,” said Dr. Martinez. “We felt like this was kind of a long shot to come down here, but it was nice to see—”
    “Hold on,” said Van Endel. A thought had struck deep as an ice pick into his brain. “Have you heard of anything weird happening down here with any high school kids? Not the usual things, like being assholes and throwing garbage around, but just sort of being around?”
    “Actually, yeah,” said Candy. She paused, and Dr. Martinez made a ten-dollar bill disappear in Candy’s hand. “Yeah, now that I remember it, another girl workin’ these streets, Bambi, told me she saw a shitload of teenagers out here fuckin’ around a few days ago. Not like fuckin’ with the girls or johns or nothin’, just fuckin’ around and shit. You know, like kids.”
    “Where does Bambi work usually?” Van Endel asked, trying to mask the elation in his voice. We might actually be getting somewhere, so relax, don’t blow it.
    “She usually over by Cherry, like a block back that way,” said Candy, then held her hands up. “But I ain’t helping you find her. I gots to make money, and I don’t need to be seen with no police. No offense, Dr. Martinez.”
    “None taken, Candy,” said Dr. Martinez with a smile. “Before we let you get back to work, can you tell us what Bambi looks like, how she usually dresses?”
    “I’ll tell you how she look, but you don’t need to worry about how she dress. You’ll know her as soon as you see her. She pretty as hell, even for a pale-ass white girl. She tall, almost six foot, and she wears them heels that’ll break your leg if you ain’t careful. She got long, almost white hair, and she keeps it in braids.”
    “All right,” said Dr. Martinez, slipping Candy another ten-dollar bill. “Thank you for your help.”
    “Shit, Doc, thanks. You know, since you being so cool and all, even if you travel with bad company, watch out for Bambi’s man. I don’t know if he’s all pimp or just a guy who rents his lady, but he’s a mean son of a bitch. Shit, if he didn’t mark her up so bad, she’d make more money.”
    Dr. Martinez gave Candy a wave as she got in the car, then saw a frowning Van Endel as she sat. “Is there a problem?”
    “Not yet there isn’t,” said Van Endel. “I just want you to make sure that you follow my lead if we find this girl. If I tell you to get back in the car, or to get down, I’m not doing it to show off. If this boyfriend is even half the asshole Candy says he is, I want to make sure we’re both ready to deal with him.”
    “All right. I can do that.”
    They saw what had to be Bambi less than fifteen minutes later, and did the same thing as before. Dr. Martinez came first, followed by Van Endel, who had already unsnapped his holster. Bambi looked exactly as Candy had described her. She was wearing impossibly tall stiletto heels, had nearly white braids down to her backside, and was very clearly strung out on something. Had Van Endel been forced to guess, based on the lack of visible sores on her arms and legs, he would have guessed cocaine.
    “Can I have a word, Bambi?” Dr. Martinez asked. “I need to know if you’ve seen a friend of mine.”
    “Get the fuck away from me,” said Bambi. “I’m trying to work, bitch. Go talk about Jesus to somebody who gives a shit.” She turned quickly, and impressively, considering the footwear, but Dr. Martinez circled ahead of her. Van Endel kept pace, his hand in his jacket, his fingers on the butt of the Glock 17 he carried. Van Endel had taken shit for his dismissal of the typical wheel gun most cops carried, at least at first. Once the other officers had seen what he could do with it on the range, though, a number of them had switched to the Austrian semiauto.
    “I just need a second,” Dr. Martinez assured Bambi. “I have money. All you need to do is answer a couple of questions for me. Five minutes, tops, OK?”
    “Or I could run you in for