Goddess of Justice Dwayne Clayden (i read book .TXT) 📖

Sadie grinned. “Yup.”

“I’m not that complicated. Just a cop doing his job.”

“You would have made a great marshal in the old west.”

Brad smirked. “Funny, just the other day I thought that about someone else.”

Sadie set her napkin on her plate and pushed it farther onto the table. She finished her coffee and slid to the edge of the booth.

“I should get going.”

“What? No further interrogation?”

“Nope.” She beamed. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Brad glanced around. “Listen. A drug dealer was killed Saturday night in Vic Park. It didn’t get any press. It might be a story worth pursuing. Then check back about two months ago. You might find something similar.”

Sadie slipped on her red jacket, black fur pom beanie and gloves, then grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “That’s not much of a tip.”

“The best I have. Thanks for buying breakfast.”

“Wait, I bought it last time.”

“True, but I gave you a story to follow.” He sipped his coffee and went back to reading the paper.

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday night, Dice parked across from the federal building and headed to Third Avenue, known as the hooker stroll, the worst-kept secret in Calgary. While Dice had done surveillance over the past two weeks, dozens of police cruisers had slowly driven down the avenue, stopping to talk to the hookers, exchanging jokes, and on a warm night, some hookers lifted their shirts and flashed their tits. It wasn’t unusual to see an ambulance cruise by occasionally.

The bus bench had been the perfect place to sit and watch. That bus stop was used by at least a half-dozen different bus routes, so it was normal for someone to sit there for a while waiting for the bus they needed. Dice wore dark oversized pants, a dark T-shirt, a dark hoodie and a dark baseball cap with the bill pulled down low. Sitting in the open, Dice was invisible.

The hookers gathered in groups across the street. Maybe for safety. Some hookers were young, so perhaps the older hookers were looking after the young ones. Motherly, in a disturbing way. Old or young, they were the victims as far as Dice was concerned. Victims of the men who brought them into prostitution slavery. Victims of the men who preyed on them.

They were victims, but Dice had no interest in them. The plan wasn’t to save every hooker, but to eliminate men who abused them. It was close to eleven—shift change for the cops. Police presence in the area would be limited for the next twenty to thirty minutes.

Dice picked up a garbage bag of bottles and cans and lumbered to the intersection. When the light said walk, Dice ambled across the avenue toward a trio of hookers. The oldest, likely early twenties though she looked late thirties, stepped toward Dice.

“You want a lady or three for the night? We’ll give you a special deal.” She glanced at the other girls who laughed.

Dice had watched them on other nights when it was slow, teasing the homeless men who wobbled past digging in the garbage for cans for recycling and their next drink.

“No thanks,” Dice said. “I’m looking for a guy.”

“A guy.” The hooker put both hands over her mouth. “Well, break our hearts, right, girls?”

The girls laughed again. The youngest one said, “Give us a chance. You won’t regret it.”

“Thanks.”

“You change your mind, you know where to find us.”

The black Lincoln Town Car was easy to find; there weren’t that many of them downtown at this time of night and just one on the hooker stroll. Dice waited in the shadows for a couple of minutes. The driver’s window was open a few inches, and smoke floated out into the night. The driver was having his every-half-hour cigarette.

Dice pushed away from the wall, staggered toward the car and placed a hand on the hood. Dice choked with a sound like vomiting.

“What the—” The driver opened the door. Before he could exit, Dice pushed off the hood and fired two shots into the driver’s head. The blast propelled him back into the car, leaving a red stain on the passenger seat and window. Dice leaned into the car and fired two shots into the back-seat passenger. One shot entered under his chin and exited through the back of his head, shattering the rear window and creating an explosion of maroon with bits of bone and hair on the remaining glass. Dice tossed the driver’s legs back into the car and closed the door.

Chapter Fifteen

Briscoe had just left headquarters after the evening briefing for the Saturday night crews when the call came in.

“All units downtown. Third Avenue and First Street SW. Not sure what to call this, but caller from payphones says, to quote, ‘something hinky goin’ on in a Lincoln Continental.’”

A couple of units booked on the radio, and Briscoe figured he would head that way. Sergeant Caterina Toscana was going to be late, and Briscoe was covering her area and his own. It wasn’t unusual for ‘something hinky’ to be going on near the stroll on the weekend. Hell, every night. That was part of the charm.

Briscoe was the second unit there. He slipped out of his van and jammed the fake fur hat onto his bald head. He slid on gloves as he ambled over to the Lincoln. Constable Robson arrived at the Lincoln first, had a baton out, and was about to tap on the driver’s window when he stopped, groaned, and stepped back. Briscoe shoved past him. “You never seen a hooker and her john—”

“Ah, shit.” Briscoe was not prepared for the two frozen red spatter patterns on the car glass. The two dead men were a lot different from a hooker servicing her client. Way different. Briscoe was a veteran cop, and he made the adjustment instantaneously.

He keyed his mic. “Dispatch, 401. We’ve got a double homicide at this location. We’re gonna need additional