Pariah Read Online Free PDF Page A

strike lucky. As they approach a massage parlor on First Avenue, a tall Latino girl with startling red streaks in her otherwise raven hair comes
click-clacking out of the front door.
    ‘Hey, Floella!’ says Doyle. ‘You working indoors these days?’
    Floella Cruz chews her gum and blinks at each of the cops in turn, her expression both puzzled and wary.
    ‘When I can get it. They were short-staffed in there.’
    ‘Many hands make light work,’ says Alvarez.
    ‘You should try it,’ she answers, glancing down at his groin. ‘Take some of that stiffness out of your posture.’
    Doyle knows that most prostitutes would prefer to work inside where it’s safer and warmer, but that for many it’s not an option, especially for the crack addicts who find it almost
impossible to handle fixed hours.
    ‘And when you’re not here?’ he asks.
    ‘I’m in my Trump Tower apartment, checking my share prices. Come on, fellas, what’s this about?’
    When Doyle produces the photograph and holds it in front of her face, Floella nearly falls off her heels. As she steps back, her short leather jacket opens up and her large pale breasts almost
leap for freedom from the dayglo-pink bra.
    ‘Fuck!’ she cries. ‘Is that Scarlett? Fuck! What happened to her? Is she dead?’
    ‘She’s dead,’ Alvarez confirms. ‘You know this girl?’
    ‘Not real well. Scarlett is all I got for a name. Girl’s only nineteen. Shit, what’s the world coming to when a girl’s got to start turning tricks at nineteen?’
    ‘How’d you know her?’
    ‘Just from seeing her on the streets. Girl’s pretty new around here. I gave her some of the benefits of my extensive experience.’
    ‘When’d you last see her?’
    ‘About three, four nights ago.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Eleventh, Twelfth Street. Somewhere around there.’
    ‘She tell you anything about any of her johns?’
    Floella puts a finger to her temple as she thinks. A theatrical pose. Her jacket swings open again, affording the detectives another view of her plump assets.
    ‘Nobody in particular,’ she says finally. ‘I mean, we talked about some of the crazy shit we get from time to time.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Like this one guy she had, liked her to lick his bald head while they fucked. And then this black motherfucker, wanted Scarlett to put a cork up his ass and take it out with a corkscrew .
. .’
    ‘Okay, okay,’ Alvarez says. ‘But she didn’t mention any real psychos? Nobody she thought would try to hurt her?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What about cops?’ Doyle asks, and he catches the sidelong glance from Alvarez. ‘She go with any cops?’
    Floella smiles and jiggles her breasts in invitation. ‘Honey, do cops do that sort of thing? I mean, aren’t you highly trained to keep your weapons holstered and out of sight at all
times?’
    Doyle sighs and Alvarez says, ‘Speaking of which, do you have a carry permit for those?’
    As Floella laughs and turns toward Alvarez, Doyle feels a surge of irritation.
    ‘Who’s the pimp?’ he demands. Again he picks up on a glance from Alvarez, which tells him that the note of anger in his voice has not been missed.
    ‘I . . . I dunno,’ Floella says, and it’s clear that she too has detected the change in the air.
    ‘Floella, I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I don’t want to have to come looking for you again. We’re working a double homicide. Your girlfriend here was beaten until
the snot flew out of her ears, and then she had three bullets put in her head. The other victim is a cop. My partner, in fact. So you can guess how I’m feeling about that right now.
I’ll ask you again: who’s the pimp?’
    ‘Okay, but you didn’t hear it from me. Tremaine Cavell. Most know him as TC.’
    ‘Where can we find him?’
    ‘Prob’ly hanging with his boys. He owns an auto repair place on Houston. The Pit Stop.’
    Doyle pulls a card from his pocket. ‘Thanks. You think of anything else, give us a call. Oh, and put those