night with a couple of the guys from Vice trying to apply pressure. The working girls were terrified of Gino and with good reason. They didn’t want to end up dead like Star. “Being used, abused, and treated like shit is better than being dead.” Yeah, those words actually came out of the mouth of one of Gino’s working girls.
Which reminded him. He grabbed the middle desk drawer and yanked it. Damn it. Nothing happened. He grabbed the right top desk drawer, violently strong-armed it, and then shoved it back in. The desk moved several inches away from Jordan’s, but it popped the middle drawer open. He reached back and patted around until he felt the stack of business cards he wanted and reloaded his jacket with the cards. Tara McBride, Sean’s sister, was a social worker. She didn’t necessarily handle prostitutes, but if he could get the women to call her, she could plug them into programs. It was better to try to help than to do nothing and admit defeat like the women who worked the streets. He shoved the remaining stack back into the drawer and closed it before he reached for the folder on the drive-by.
His phone vibrated. He grabbed it and groaned. He thumbed the slide on the face of the phone. "Hi, Mom."
"I saw you on the news this morning. You looked tired. You've lost weight. What's wrong? Have you been sick?" Hannah King's questions fired as rapidly as machine gun bullets.
"I look tired because I was called out at midnight last night, and I was wearing a coat, so you can't tell if I've lost weight. Which I haven't."
"Your face is thinner, and they say television puts ten pounds on you. If you had a woman in your life, you'd look more relaxed. I wouldn't have to worry that you look like a walking skeleton. What did you have for breakfast?"
"Mom, please. I gotta get back to work." He scrubbed his neck and sent a furtive glance around to make sure no one was overhearing this conversation. Several detectives were staring at him with shit-eating grins. Fuck him standing. His mother, he loved her, but damn...
"Fine, but I want to see you, in person, not on the television."
"I'm coming over for dinner on Sunday."
His mom tsked. "I've heard that before."
"Mom, I'll be there as long as the case permits. If you've seen the news, then you know this one is going to be difficult." He leaned forward and stared at the coffee ring on his calendar, trying hard not to hear the snorts and chuckles around him.
"I miss you, sweetheart. It's been forever since we've talked. I need to know you're okay. You may be my oldest, but you will always be my baby. Please come see me."
God. He dropped his head to the desk. "I know, Mom. I'll try. It's the best I can do."
"All right honey. Be safe. I love you."
"Love you too, Mom." He hung up and dropped his phone, his head still on the desk.
"Yo, King, you die over there? Should we call your mom?"
His arm elevated over his head, and he flipped the detective across the pen the finger. The entire room erupted in laughter. Fucking bastards.
He sat up and buried himself in the specifics of requesting a task force to go into The Desert to search for their shooter when his phone rang. He picked it up without looking at the caller ID. His mom had never struck twice in one day. “King.”
“Miranda said you called?” Cliff’s gravelly voice cut across the connection. His old Recon commander was the toughest son of a bitch he’d ever met. No, strike that, second toughest man he’d ever met. His dad had the first slot firmly cemented.
“Yes, and she said you wanted to talk to me. How about you go first?” Brock closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. He needed more coffee.
“I’ll get to that in a minute. What did you need?” Cliff’s demand was reminiscent of bygone days and barked orders that Brock followed without question.
He exhaled a long stress-filled lungful of air. “I have a dead body. The vic’s name is Samuel Treyson. I want to use the information on his phone to determine why the man woke up dead. I went to his residence to speak with his wife but was met at his door by a concrete wall of lawyers. The press was swarming the crime scene. Although his name was never