Read Online A Hard Ticket Home by David Housewright - Free Book Online Page A

with the bartender. The bartender whispered something to her as I approached.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Hi, yourself.”
    “Busy?”
    “Depends,” she answered in a professional voice, waiting for the magic words that proved I wasn’t a cop.
    “I’m not a cop.”
    “If you say so, officer.”
    I set a fifty-dollar bill on the bar in front of her, a very uncoplike thing to do.
    “What do I get for that?”
    Satisfied, she went down the menu. “I get ten dollars for a hand job, twenty for a BJ, and forty if you want the motherlode. Anything else is negotiable.”
    “How ’bout conversation?”
    “You want conversation, dial a nine hundred number, two-fifty a minute.”
    I pushed the fifty closer to her.
    “Are you serious?”
    “Let’s take a walk.”
    “Why not?” She snapped the bill off the bar.
    “Wait.”

    “What the hell … ,” she said to my back as I juked and jived to the table where the three hookers sat scanning the crowd. I peeled off three one-hundred-dollar bills and dropped them on the table.
    “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure,” I announced and waved bye-bye. I was about to become a part of hooker folklore. “Did you hear the one about the trick who paid three girls a hundred bucks each just for listening to bad jokes?”
    Merci Cole waited at the door, posing more than standing, a puzzled expression on her face. A few moments later we were walking.
    “What do you want to talk about?” Merci asked.
    “Why did you become a prostitute?”
    “What are you, a social worker?”
    “No.” I held up a second fifty. “But I have another one of these.”
    Merci reached for it, but I pulled it back.
    “You’re Merci Cole.”
    “What about it?”
    “I’m looking for Jamie Carlson.”
    “Who?”
    “Right, you never heard of her.”
    “I haven’t seen Jamie in seven years,” she told me. If it wasn’t for the description given to me by the brother with the Lady Thumper, I might have believed her.
    “Then who was the woman who drove you to the apartment on Avon so you could get your stuff?”
    “That was someone else.”
    Calling Merci a liar wasn’t going to get me anything, so I decided to cut to the chase. “I need to find Jamie Carlson and I’ll pay you to tell me where she is.”
    “My friends aren’t for sale.”
    “A hooker with a heart of gold.”

    She went for my face but I grabbed her hands before she could dig her nails into me.
    “Let me go,” she snarled.
    I stepped back, waiting for her to resume the attack. She didn’t. Instead she stared at me with eyes wide with hate.
    “Merci.” I spoke soft and low, trying to sound sincere. What is it they say? Sincerity is everything. If you can fake that, you have it made. “Jamie’s parents asked me to bring her home.”
    “Yeah? Well screw ’em. Like they really care after all these years.”
    “Stacy is sick. She might die.”
    “Little Stacy?”
    I was astonished by how suddenly her manner changed from contempt to genuine concern. It was like she had flipped a light switch.
    “She has leukemia.”
    “Little Stacy?”
    “Her parents want Jamie to come home. They need her to donate her bone marrow. Otherwise, Stacy will probably die.”
    “Oh, I get it. They want to use her. Yeah, that sounds familiar.”
    “I don’t know why you’re angry about this and I don’t care. Just tell me where Jamie is.”
    “No way. I’m not going to tell you about her. I might tell her about you, though, next time I see her.”
    “Fine, do that.” I was getting nowhere fast and arguing would only make it worse. “You don’t have to tell me where she is. Just give her this.” I gave Merci my card. “Tell her about Stacy. Tell her to call me and I’ll explain. No problem. No hassle for anyone.”
    Merci read the card slowly.
    “Will you do that? There’s another fifty in it. Make it a hundred.”
    Merci smiled. And to prove just how concerned she was for Stacy’s well-being, she tore the card in half.

3
    I hadn’t