Without warning, the crowd exploded into applause. The rapper stood on stage with his arms raised, lapping up the enthusiasm, hands moving like flippers. Now was the time to leave his hunting blind and search for an ally. The police captain, mercifully, had retired to the pool tables, distracting himself with raising the stakes on the next game’s outcome. Richard spotted Russell just a few yards away, past a clump of hipsters wearing a lot of black, even by the strident standards of this club. He caught a few words from one of them, a young lady with thick dyed gray stripes in her hair, clapping furiously: “Wow! Great! … It’s finished.”
He crept closer to Russell, taking advantage of momentary gaps left by faster-moving patrons. Before long, Richard was standing just behind him. “Hey there,” he spoke just as he tapped Russell’s shoulder.
Russell jumped as if someone had dropped an ice cube down his shorts. “What the…Dick! Damn…don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I can’t help it,” Richard smirked. “It’s one of my gifts.” Although that was hardly needed in such a loud, chaotic environment. He could have probably sneaked behind the bar and poured himself a stiff one, if he was so inclined, and if the place had anything decent to drink.
Richard caught Russell’s gaze. “I need your help,” he intoned solemnly.
“Sure thing,” Russell cheered. “I saw our dealer show up. What’s the plan?”
“It’s not that simple,” Richard shared. “He’s a police captain.”
Russell froze like an amateur lawyer that just asked a witness a question whose answer he didn’t already know. “Oh, hell,” he finally managed to say. “That’s heavy.”
“We’ll have to get him outside, by himself,” Richard explained. “We can’t do anything about him here.”
Russell’s stunned gaze slowly gave way to a smirk, then quickly spread like an oil slick into a wide, leering grin. “I have an idea,” he shared. “I’ll get my people ready. Heck, Harmony might even want to get in on this. And I have the perfect setup.” His eyes burned as gleefully as a toddler that had finally reached the cookie jar. “Oh, man…I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
“What?” Richard half-expected Russell to start rubbing his hands conspiratorially.
“Leave it to me,” Russell assured. “Stay here; I’ll be right back.”
“What are you doing?” Richard asked, but Russell had already left. Richard watched him bound onto the stage, remove something from a pile of equipment, and return quickly, neatly dodging the slow-moving patrons on the way back. “Take this,” he said as he thrust something into Richard’s hand.
Richard gawked at the object, a metal ballast with a fluorescent bulb. “What is this?” he asked.
“A battery-powered black light,” Russell answered. “It reveals things not normally visible. If you turned it on in here, you’d be appalled by the ancient layers of filth all around you.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I’m appalled by that without the light,” Richard burbled.
“Just be ready to leave on a moment’s notice. You’ll know when.”
“But what do I do with this?”
Before he could answer any more questions, Russell was gone, disappearing faster than a fratboy asked to clean up after a rager.
Richard eyed his surroundings nervously, slowly making his way back to his temporary sanctuary. Right on time, the next performer had taken the stage, ready to show Harmony how well the Pelf Punks could make up random insults about them. The welcome distraction let Richard beat feet back into the shadows. He stopped a few feet away from his hiding spot; someone else had gotten there first.
A pair of forlorn eyes looked up at him. “Got a quarter, mister?” She looked way too young to be in this club, despite her tattered clothing and disheveled appearance matching the patrons’ collective lack of style. Her haunted gaze broke down Richard’s barriers faster than a runaway transcontinental bus, and he fished around in his pocket. “Sure, kid,” he mumbled as he grabbed one of his precious parking-meter tokens, handing it to her.
She hesitated. “Really?” When Richard didn’t yank it away, she shyly pulled the quarter from his fingers, her face suddenly glowing with gratitude. “Wow. Didn’t expect you to say yes.” Turning from him quickly, she picked up the handset, deposited the quarter, and quickly punched out a local number. Despite the onset of the next performer’s display of alleged talent, he could hear the conversation clearly. “Hello, Mom? Yes, it’s me. Look…look, I know, I’m sorry…no, I’m OK, but…no, really, I’m…can you come pick me up? I’ll be outside the Beat Street Lounge. It’s near Broadway and 24th St. No, I’ll be safe, there’s a crowd here. No, at the side exit, on 24th Street. OK, see you soon…no, I understand, you’re right. OK, bye.”
She turned around and unexpectedly gave Richard a hug. “Thank you,” she cried. “You’re literally the first person to help me in weeks. Everyone else just wanted to…abuse me.” She looked up to see Richard’s startled face; demurely, she backed away.
“What the heck happened to you?” Richard couldn’t help asking. Then the ripeness of her homeless stench hit him. Somehow, the emotional outpouring gave him enough strength to avoid a disrespectful coughing fit.
“I ran away from home,” she admitted. “I thought I wanted freedom…but there’s no freedom out here. Just anarchy.” She looked down, ashamed. “And much worse things.”
“Are you going to be OK?” he asked. Richard searched furiously for his cool, level-headed detachment, but it had bolted from him and flung itself from a cliff, heading belly-first to the sparkling waters below, as tourists cheered the sudden spectacle.
“Yeah,” she revealed. “My mom’s a really good person. I was the problem. I can admit that.”
She stared up at Richard, tears streaming from her eyes, doing their impression of a flooded creek during monsoon season. He gazed back, not knowing what to say. Finally, she dropped her eyes and stared at the ground. “I should get going,” she announced. “But thanks.” A moment later, she had scampered out the front door.
As Richard’s attention returned to his surroundings, the sound of light booing flitted by his ears. He turned around to see the Pelf Punk struggling with his recital. Taking a deep breath, he spit out several lines that had nothing to do with his opponents, or the club, or anything within twenty miles; they came across as something rehearsed and woefully out of place. Finally, he hung the mike back on its stand, gave the crowd a wave, and bolted from the stage. Richard hoped this wasn’t his fault, that Russell’s offer of help hadn’t decimated the ranks of their team’s supporters. On the other hand, it was just a stupid rap battle.
As Richard watched the master of ceremonies announce the next act, his thoughts turned to the young girl he had just helped. In a way, he was grateful – the continued existence of pay phones was now less mysterious. Sadly, there were probably enough teenage runaways in Tucson alone to keep them in business…just as long as there were enough saps like him to front the quarters. Still, it felt good, if clichéd…the hard-boiled detective, under his rough exterior, had a heart of gold. Too bad he couldn’t use that on his promotional material.