Read Online Pure Hate by Wrath James White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wrath James White
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was gentle, tender, innocent, and vulnerable. He
wondered what would drive such a woman to play whore for a living.
“You are so different. The other guys
who come in here just paw and grope at me. But you . . . you cuddle and caress.
You’re almost loving.” She was still looking at him like she was waiting for an
explanation. James shrugged. He wanted this woman, not just sexually, though
that was definitely the largest part of what he was feeling, but he wanted to
hold her in his arms, fall asleep with her head on his chest. He wanted to wake
up and see her smiling up at him, and then make love to her all over again.
“You want to spend a little time with
me?” He spoke from his heart and immediately regretted it. He had pushed too
hard, too fast. He was afraid he would frighten her away.
“Well . . . see I’m married but . . .”
“But?”
“But I think you’re sweet.”
“What time do you get off?” He couldn’t help
himself. He wanted her; had to have her.
James didn’t normally mess with married women,
but he figured that any man who would let his wife work in a place like that
wasn’t worthy of his respect or consideration.
“I don’t get off until two.”
“I’ll be back for you.”
The detective stood up and handed her
$40 for the two dances. He kissed her forehead and walked out feeling
superhuman. He didn’t care if someone from the force saw him walking out of the
Star Bar. He was thinking about CC . . . and the Family Man. Malcolm Davis had
somehow leapt back into his head the instant he left the bar. By the time he
got back to the Intrepid, he was no longer
thinking about CC at all.
The 12th precinct was only about a mile
away, and he figured that it would still be
buzzing with the excitement of the latest murder. They were very close to
closing the most horrible murder case in Philadelphia. When he entered the
station, he was surprised and relieved to find
that Tight Ass was still out at the crime scene. First thing, James checked the
files to see if Malcolm had a criminal record. It took longer than he expected but the search came up negative. Just as
he suspected, the man had been careful. Knowing it was probably a waste of
time, he went to work scanning the prints lifted from the murder weapon into
the AFIS computer searching for a match.
The system they used for tracking
fingerprints was still fairly new and less than one-fourth of the fingerprints
they had on file had been entered into the computer. He wished he had access to
the FBI’s Automated Fingerprint Identification System, which contained not only
the fingerprints of every person ever arrested in the United States but also
everyone who had ever served in the military. As tedious as it was to search
through Philadelphia’s fingerprint records, he quickly realized that searching
the files of every felon in the U.S. would be one hell of a chore, high-tech
computer system or not. The AFIS could suggest possible fingerprint matches,
but the human eye, his human eye, had to make the final call. The computer
narrowed it down by weeding out the fingerprints that didn’t match at all, but
he still had to check each of the computer’s suggestions and that sometimes
took hours.
The detective bit the tip off another
White Owl cigar and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it. He quit smoking
years ago, but he still enjoyed the taste of tobacco and he still had that damn
oral fixation. His coffee was bitter and tepid. His shoulders ached. He could
barely keep his eyes open and his mind kept wandering back to the Star Club. He
considered calling the guys at the Bureau and asking them to run the print
through the VICAP computer, but he knew how stingy they could be with their technology
when they weren’t actually in on a case. Thanks to his stubborn ass, glory hog
of a partner, the FBI was not a part of this one, not even as consultants.
He knew they were monitoring the
case. The captain recruited them to help with a
wondered what would drive such a woman to play whore for a living.
“You are so different. The other guys
who come in here just paw and grope at me. But you . . . you cuddle and caress.
You’re almost loving.” She was still looking at him like she was waiting for an
explanation. James shrugged. He wanted this woman, not just sexually, though
that was definitely the largest part of what he was feeling, but he wanted to
hold her in his arms, fall asleep with her head on his chest. He wanted to wake
up and see her smiling up at him, and then make love to her all over again.
“You want to spend a little time with
me?” He spoke from his heart and immediately regretted it. He had pushed too
hard, too fast. He was afraid he would frighten her away.
“Well . . . see I’m married but . . .”
“But?”
“But I think you’re sweet.”
“What time do you get off?” He couldn’t help
himself. He wanted her; had to have her.
James didn’t normally mess with married women,
but he figured that any man who would let his wife work in a place like that
wasn’t worthy of his respect or consideration.
“I don’t get off until two.”
“I’ll be back for you.”
The detective stood up and handed her
$40 for the two dances. He kissed her forehead and walked out feeling
superhuman. He didn’t care if someone from the force saw him walking out of the
Star Bar. He was thinking about CC . . . and the Family Man. Malcolm Davis had
somehow leapt back into his head the instant he left the bar. By the time he
got back to the Intrepid, he was no longer
thinking about CC at all.
The 12th precinct was only about a mile
away, and he figured that it would still be
buzzing with the excitement of the latest murder. They were very close to
closing the most horrible murder case in Philadelphia. When he entered the
station, he was surprised and relieved to find
that Tight Ass was still out at the crime scene. First thing, James checked the
files to see if Malcolm had a criminal record. It took longer than he expected but the search came up negative. Just as
he suspected, the man had been careful. Knowing it was probably a waste of
time, he went to work scanning the prints lifted from the murder weapon into
the AFIS computer searching for a match.
The system they used for tracking
fingerprints was still fairly new and less than one-fourth of the fingerprints
they had on file had been entered into the computer. He wished he had access to
the FBI’s Automated Fingerprint Identification System, which contained not only
the fingerprints of every person ever arrested in the United States but also
everyone who had ever served in the military. As tedious as it was to search
through Philadelphia’s fingerprint records, he quickly realized that searching
the files of every felon in the U.S. would be one hell of a chore, high-tech
computer system or not. The AFIS could suggest possible fingerprint matches,
but the human eye, his human eye, had to make the final call. The computer
narrowed it down by weeding out the fingerprints that didn’t match at all, but
he still had to check each of the computer’s suggestions and that sometimes
took hours.
The detective bit the tip off another
White Owl cigar and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it. He quit smoking
years ago, but he still enjoyed the taste of tobacco and he still had that damn
oral fixation. His coffee was bitter and tepid. His shoulders ached. He could
barely keep his eyes open and his mind kept wandering back to the Star Club. He
considered calling the guys at the Bureau and asking them to run the print
through the VICAP computer, but he knew how stingy they could be with their technology
when they weren’t actually in on a case. Thanks to his stubborn ass, glory hog
of a partner, the FBI was not a part of this one, not even as consultants.
He knew they were monitoring the
case. The captain recruited them to help with a
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