Savage code, p.6
Savage Code, page 6
part #4 of The Porter Series
“Midnight,” Porter said.
“You don’t know your way around, do you?”
“Not from around here,” Rivera said.
“Take Park to 124th and go left. There’s a place I like to go over there.”
“Yes, Miss Daisy,” Rivera said.
The drive was quick and there were some open spots on Malcolm X Blvd. Rivera pulled in and turned the car off. “This the place?”
“Yeah. Best shakes in New York. Still open a couple more hours,” Daisy said.
“You had me at shakes,” Porter said, swinging his door open. He looked at the restaurant—Harlem Shake—with its baby blue door and big open windows. The street was sparsely populated, and Porter wasn’t sure if it was the time of day or because it was a weeknight. Regardless, he stepped over to the diner’s double door, pulled it open, and held it for Daisy and Rivera as they entered.
He stepped in after them and was hit with a wave of nostalgia. It looked like a diner in small-town America, plucked off Main Street and dropped into Harlem. The chrome was shiny and there were stools bolted to the ground in front of the bar.
“Help you?” the man behind the counter said.
Porter put his hand on Daisy’s shoulder and ushered her up. “It’s on me. Get what you want.”
The young woman proceeded to order a litany of things, including something called a Hot Mess burger.
Porter got a shake and Rivera said she wasn’t hungry.
The group moved to a table and sat while they waited on their order.
“Why’d you change your mind?” Porter said.
“I think it’s obvious you aren’t a cop,” Daisy said.
In the bright, shiny lights of the diner, Porter got a better look at her. She was younger than he’d thought, and still had the chubby cheeks of youth. Her black eye looked worse now, and he had to stop himself from staring at it.
“I said I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, well, you proved it.”
“Mind telling me how he did that?” Rivera said.
“He didn’t tell you? He beat Pavel’s ass and locked him in his own trunk.”
“His name’s Pavel?” Porter said.
“Yep.”
“I’m still wondering who the hell Pavel is,” Rivera said.
“The pimp.”
“He doesn’t like to be called that,” Daisy said.
“So?” Porter replied.
“Wait, you smacked a pimp around?”
“Hell yeah, he did. You should have seen it. Pavel likes to be a tough guy and beat up on us. It was nice for him to get some of his own medicine.”
Porter nodded. “He’s not gonna be happy when he gets out of that trunk.”
“Yeah, what else is new?”
The group broke up for a moment as Porter stepped to the counter and brought the big tray with their food on it back to the table. He set it down, pulling his shake off and pushing the rest of the tray toward Daisy.
The young woman didn’t speak for several minutes as she stuffed the various items in her mouth. Porter watched quietly.
“So what can you tell us about—”
Daisy cut Rivera off. “Come on, I’m eating. Do we have to right now?”
“You weren’t kidding when you said Pavel beats up on you, were you?” Porter said.
Daisy raised her eyebrows.
“Looks like your jaw is clicking when you open it too wide. You’re stuffing everything to one side when you chew. Broken jaw? Missing teeth?”
The girl nodded.
“Rough life,” Porter said.
She shrugged. “What am I supposed to do? I have to live.”
“Better ways to make a living,” Porter said.
“I’d need options first. You drop out when you’re sixteen, get locked up for selling for a couple years, then you come tell me what kind of job prospects you have.”
“Fair enough. Tell me about Camelot Jones.”
Mouth full of food, Daisy said, “Right now?”
Porter nodded.
She closed her eyes and nodded, then finished chewing. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“How do you know him?”
“Camelot? We all used to work for him.”
“All of you, who?”
“The girls you met tonight. A few others.”
“He smack you around, too?” Rivera said.
Daisy laughed. “Camelot never laid a finger on anybody. He was all about the business. Used to say we aren’t worth as much if we don’t look good.”
“Sounds better than Pavel,” Porter said.
“Yeah, but then he got a big head. Moved on to running some escorts. He basically sold his spot to Pavel. Now we’re here.”
“Why didn’t you go escort for Camelot?”
“He said we weren’t good enough. His clients expect ‘high-quality pussy,’ he said. Said no hard feelings, but we weren’t welcome.” Daisy looked down at her chili fries.
“A pimp with standards,” Rivera said.
“I don’t blame him. He’s got girls now, they make two, sometimes three grand a night. I’m lucky if I do that in a month.”
“The real question is, do you know where Camelot is? ’Cause I could use some help.”
Daisy was quiet for a few minutes. “He doesn’t really owe you money, does he?”
Porter shook his head.
“You gonna kill him?”
“I don’t think so,” Porter replied. “I just need to ask him a few questions.”
“Yeah, I think I can point you to Camelot. Should be easy enough. All you have to do is buy a girl.”
Twelve
“Do what?” Rivera said. “Listen, we can’t do that—it’s illegal.”
Daisy looked at her for a moment, then over to Porter. “Illegal? Man, I knew that bitch was a cop. I knew it. Only a cop worries about stuff like that.”
“If you call me a bitch one more time, I’ll give you another one of those shiners. You think Pavel beats your ass? Just wait.”
Daisy blinked several times, then stood up from the table. “Forget it. I’m out of here.”
Porter watched as she walked toward the front. “See, you are getting ruthless.”
“Bite me,” Rivera said. “That girl needs to watch her mouth.”
“No, she needs to tell us where the hell Camelot Jones is. Unless you aren’t interested anymore. Which suits me just fine. I’d rather go back to the room and get some sleep.”
Rivera looked at him for a few moments. “Fine. Yes, I want to find Jones.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, dammit, I’m sure. Go bring her back.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Porter said.
He jogged out the front door, looked left and then right, and caught a glimpse of Daisy walking away. It didn’t take him long to catch up.
“Usually when I take a girl out, she at least stays through dinner.”
“Yeah, well, I hate to ruin your record, but I don’t like that lady in there.”
“Why?” Porter kept pace with her as they crossed through an intersection. He shortened his long stride to keep pace with the girl, who was wobbly in her heels.
“Did you hear what she said to me?”
Porter shrugged. “You have been shit-talking her.”
“So? How can she bring that up? Like I don’t matter, like I deserve to get beat on all the time. I didn’t ask for this. You think I like it?”
“I don’t know what you like or don’t like. But if you want to tell me about it, I’ll listen.”
“Oh, stop. You sound like some of those douchey social workers. Always trying to get me to talk about my feelings. It’s gross.”
“I don’t want to talk about feelings. I just asked what you like.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a simple question.”
Daisy stopped walking. “I… I like to draw, I guess. Sometimes. When I have time.”
“That your thing?”
She pointed at her barely there top and skirt. “No, this is my thing.”
“What, you want to be the best hooker in America? Are there awards for that?”
She didn’t reply.
“Look, there’s still a shit-ton of food on the table. I need to watch my girlish figure. You want it?”
She nodded, barely visible in the soft street light.
“You can have it. No strings attached.”
“None?”
“Nope.”
Daisy was quiet for a few more seconds. “Fine, but only if the lady doesn’t talk to me.”
“I don’t own her, I can’t promise that. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t follow through and hit you. Deal?” Porter extended a big paw at the young girl.
She took it and shook it, with a surprising degree of firmness. Porter had been taught by his father, long ago, that a person’s handshake told you things about them that even they didn’t know. Anyone he’d ever met with a weak handshake, or clammy hands, he was distrustful of.
No exceptions.
The pair walked back toward the diner.
Moments later, Porter held the door for the girl and walked in behind her.
Rivera was drinking from his milkshake. “You know, that’s pretty damn good.”
“Truth,” Porter said. He reached out and pulled Daisy’s chair for her. She looked confused for a second, until Porter gestured toward the chair. She sat and he scooted her chair in for her.
“I might not give this back,” Rivera said. She looked at Daisy, who’d silently started to eat again, then to Porter, who shook his head.
Rivera nodded.
“So what kind of stuff do you draw?”
Daisy paused as she swallowed her bite. “You ever hear of anime?”
“Sure,” Porter said.
“What’s that, like cartoons?”
“I mean, there’s more to it, but yeah. Cartoons, I guess,” Daisy said.
“Don’t mind her, she’s not cool like me,” Porter said to Daisy. “I’m up on anime.”
“Yeah, right. Like you read that stuff.”
“I used to, sometimes.”
Daisy took a pull off her soda. “Then what’s your favorite?”
“Naruto,” Porter said.
“You’re serious?”
“What’s a Naruto?” Rivera said.
“A show I used to watch,” Daisy said. “When I was young.”
“You still are young,” Rivera said.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“How long you been in New York?” Porter said, slipping the question in.
“Like, a year.”
“What brought you out?”
“There’s not a lot to do in Youngstown, Ohio. My parents were great, but I was bored. Then I met a guy,” she said, “on the internet. He said he loved me. So, I hopped on a bus and came out. He didn’t really love me.”
“They never do,” Rivera said.
“What do you know about it, Miss Perfect Teeth? I’m sure they always love you.”
Rivera laughed. “You don’t have a clue.”
“Whatever,” Daisy said.
“No, not ‘whatever.’ I got knocked up in college. The guy told me one thing and did another and… I was stuck. Trust me, I understand.”
“Yeah, you don’t seem like you’re doing too bad.”
Porter didn’t interrupt the two women as they spoke. As the lone representative of the male gender at the table, he didn’t want to get in the middle of the conversation about the evil that men do.
“It wasn’t an accident. I worked hard. Had my son, finished school. Worked my ass off. Went to the Academy, graduated top of my class. Started working, had to deal with a male-dominated—”
“Wait, did you say Academy? So you are a cop?” Daisy started to stand.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to—”
“Sit,” Porter said. “Come on.”
Daisy hesitated.
“If you sit, I’ll tell you the truth,” Porter said.
The girl sat back down slowly, but stayed perched on the edge of her seat.
“She’s a cop and I’m not,” Porter said. “We think Camelot knows where a missing kid is, and if we find him, hopefully we can make him tell us.”
Daisy was quiet for several seconds before reaching out and taking a french fry. “Camelot doesn’t do the kid thing. It’s not his style.”
“He knows who took the kid.”
“He knows a lot of people,” Daisy said.
“So I hear. That’s the truth. If you help me find Camelot, you might help save someone’s life.”
“No bullshit?”
“Nope,” Porter said.
Daisy looked at the pair, then dug into her bra cup and pulled out a hair tie and spent the next thirty seconds pulling her badly dyed hair into a braid. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Rivera said.
“Okay.”
“Good,” Porter said. “Earlier, what did you mean when you said we’d have to ‘buy a girl’?”
“Just what I said. When Camelot sold his corner to Pavel, he went uptown. He works mostly incall. Has a big loft where he has clients come in and meet the girls.”
“A loft?”
“Yeah. I’ve never actually been, but I know that’s what he does.”
“Do you know where he lives, or anything like that?” Rivera said.
Daisy shook her head. “No. All I know is the loft.”
“You have his number?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we need to buy a girl,” Porter said.
“That’s what I told you ten minutes ago. You acted like I was telling you to rob a bank.”
“Is there anything else about Camelot you can tell us?”
Daisy stood, holding half a burger in her hand. “He's a different kind of guy. Not real bad with us girls, since we’re his product, but he has a mean streak. If you go talk to him, you may want to be careful.”
The girl looked around the table for a second, then walked up to the counter, returning moments later with a Sharpie marker. She pulled her phone out of her waistband and unlocked it, then she reached out and took Porter’s hand, pulling it palm up and scribbling a phone number on it. “That’s his number.”
Porter looked at it and then up at the girl. “Thanks.”
She shrugged. “I figure if it can help a kid, then why not, you know?”
“Can we give you a ride?” Rivera said.
“Nah, I’ll walk. I probably need to take some time getting back there. I’m sure one of the other girls let Pavel out. As pissed as he’ll be, he needs time to cool down. I’ll just pretend I’m with a john.”
“What’s that run?”
“Forty bucks.”
Porter winced. He peeled off several twenties from a small wad in his pocket. “Here. Say you had a couple extra johns. Really take your time. And, you know, maybe not go back?”
She smiled, revealing a crooked front tooth. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think about it.”
Then Daisy was gone.
Thirteen
The man stared at the ceiling, for the hundredth time, his mind racing with everything that should have been. He pushed himself off his bedroll, and waited for the alarm to sound.
The shrill report of the alarm was instantly silenced, and he dutifully rolled up his bedding and set it on his counter. He made the same meal as always, tuna and eggs, and then cleaned his plate and the pan.
A quick trip to the bathroom later and he was ready for the day.
Instead of hanging the heavy bag and throwing himself into endless hours of practice, he retrieved his black bag with the hand wraps. He rifled through it, ensuring the rest of his gear was in place.
Then he reached his arm through the strap and secured it to his chest. Bag tight, he laced up a weathered pair of New Balances, and stepped out the door.
A quick walk down a smoke-filled hallway and he was outside, tasting the marginally cleaner air. One more check of the bag and he was off, setting out at a slow jog.
He needed to go to the Bronx, but he had several hours until he was expected, so he went the opposite direction, sticking to the sidewalk, pavement pounding underneath his feet as he did.
He passed the people, in their rush to go nowhere, oblivious to the things that were important in life.
Their health, the man thought, his fist clenched—the only time it didn’t shake now.
Their families, he thought, remembering the picture that he kissed as often as possible.
The man ran hard through the city, lost in the exertion, until the morning turned to midday, and the midday turned to late afternoon. He was careful to end his run at the right time, and did exactly enough work to get his conditioning for the day, but not enough to tire him out.
Osito had told him he had a fight, and while he was sure to win, he didn’t want to put on a bad show—getting too tired wouldn’t do.
The last block he walked, a cool-down, and stepped off the sidewalk, toward a brick warehouse. The door was open, so he let himself in, walking past the groups of people moving around, setting up tables and moving liquor bottles from one place to another.
He walked all the way to the back, to the room where he always set up. He ran the water in one of the industrial sinks and took his soaking-wet shirt off, splashing the fresh water on himself to clean off.
The man paused for a moment, cupped hands full of water, and stared at the small ripple in the middle of the tiny pool. He concentrated as hard as he could to keep the water calm and still, but it was no use. He smacked himself in the face with the water and turned the nozzle.
“Hermano,” a voice called from the front of the room. Brother.
The man looked up, keenly aware of whom the voice belonged to. “Osito.”
“You look good. Strong. In shape like a brick house. You feel ready? I got you a real contender tonight.”
“Estoy listo.” I’m ready.
“That’s what I like about you, Harsh, you’re always ready. Sometimes I think you just wake up ready. Like all this is easy for you.”
Harsh smiled but didn’t answer.
“Tienes un nuevo tatuje?” You get a new tattoo?
Harsh shook his bald head. “No.”
“Hard to tell, you got so damn many. Mi madre used to say too many tattoos means you have an unsettled spirit. Think she was right?”
