We headed to a very nasty section of the city where massage parlors lined the streets, and he took me straight to where Jessica did business—Vivi's. The sign on the door read ALWAYS OPEN.
"Guess you know Jessica pretty well?" I asked.
"I know 'em all," Marty said. "But my view is kind of one-dimensional. She might be nice and helpful and all those things normal people are. I've never bothered to find out and don't give a shit, to be honest."
His attitude reminded me how much I had to learn about crime, despite long talks with Jeff—but then Jeff was as different from Marty as sugar was from salt. Not that Jeff was sweet and soft. He just had something Marty might have lost along the way. Compassion.
When we walked into the very small, very rundown portable metal building, a woman at a front table jumped up.
"Cool your jets, Bitsy," Marty said. "I'm not here on a bust. Where's Jessie?"
Bitsy was a bleach blonde with lips painted as red as Twizzlers. She was about as "bitsy" as a longhorn steer. "She's, um, busy. Guy with a really bad back needed help."
"Yeah, right," said Marty. "You go fix his back and get her out here. Now."
"Sure. Whatever you say."
While she hurried down a small narrow hall, I said, "I'll bet for every one of these you shut down, another springs up."
"Every fuckin' day. This used to be the Ocean Club. Looks like a club, doesn't it?" He offered a wry smile.
I just shook my head.
Less than a minute later Jessie appeared, wiping her hands on her spandex pants. I sincerely hoped that white stuff she was shedding was massage lotion.
She stopped short of us. "I'm losing money by the second. What do you want, Marty?" Despite her lifestyle, Jessica Roman had aged well. She still had the kinky red hair and high cheekbones in the photo— not to mention a very nice body. The boobs, however, were bra-busters, probably not original issue.
"Let's go out to the car. Have a little chat," Marty said.
She looked at me with skepticism. "Who's she? An assistant D.A.? 'Cause I'm clean. Off the crack, doing real massage—"
"Save it for some rookie, Jessie. Let's go."
We went out to Marty's unmarked Ford, and Jessica and I slid into the backseat. He started the engine and turned on the air-conditioning over Jessica's protest that it was cold in the car already. He pulled a turkey sandwich from a brown bag and started eating while I explained I was a PI and needed her help.
"And why should I help you?" Jessica asked.
"Because I said so," Marty answered with a full mouth, his icy stare catching her in the rearview mirror.
"Okay, okay," she said. "Shoot."
"A long time ago," I said, "you belonged to the Church of the Reverent Life."
"When I was fifteen. So what?" She lifted her chin, her hostility evident.
"Hey, this has nothing to do with religion or the lack of it, if that's your problem. Don't get all bent." I had to thank Will for the vernacular one of these days. Helps with the job.
"In return for me talking to you, I don't get busted? Is that the deal?" she asked.
"That's right," Marty answered over his shoulder.
Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed. "What do you want to know?"
"There was a kid in your group, Lawrence Washington. He ended up in jail."
"Yeah. Lawrence. Killed some girl. Not what I expected from him. He probably had an IQ bigger than Pastor Rankin's. He was one smart dude."
"You thought Lawrence did the murder?" I asked. "To tell you the truth, no. But everyone's got a dark side."
"Yeah, including you," Marty said.
"Shut up," Jessie shot back.
"Back to the youth group," I said. "What do you remember about the pastor's daughter?"
"Sara?"
"Yes."
"Oh. This is about her and Lawrence?" Jessica settled into the corner of the backseat, her smile a surprise.
When in doubt, act like you know more than you do, I always say. "How long had they been a couple?"
"They clicked the minute they set eyes on each other. But how'd you find out? I thought I was the only one who knew," she said.
"Believe me, it hasn't been easy to get at the truth. Tell me about them."
"Her parents would have freaked if they found out, I can tell you that. After she was gone and Lawrence got sent up, I decided it wasn't something anyone needed to know, especially the parents. A dead issue. Fuckin' Romeo and Juliet deal."
"Jessie's been reading Shakespeare?" Marty said. "Stop the presses."
"Hey," she said. "There's a whole lot you don't know about me, so screw it shut, Marty."
I cleared my throat. "Getting back to Sara. Exactly when did she disappear?"
Jessie squinted in thought for a few seconds. "Right before the whole Lawrence thing. All of a sudden two people were gone in a couple weeks' time. Her mother said she went on some mission trip to Mexico, but Sara never said anything about going anywhere to me. Other kids went on those trips all the time, though, and Sara got a lot more out of that Bible crap than I ever did. It would have been her kind of gig. Not up my alley, I can tell you."
Marty said, "You're serving mankind in your own special way, Jessie." He balled up the paper sack that had held his sandwich and tossed it in her lap. "Take care of that for me on your way back to work."
"Sure, asshole." She looked at me. "Anything else?"
"You're certain Lawrence and Sara were... close?" I said.
"You mean doing the nasty? Oh, yeah. I'm sure. I could tell by the way they snuck their little church school glances across the room. I would have liked a little of that Lawrence action myself. The guy was hot."
"They're all hot to you," Marty said. "Even the scuzzy ones with hair growing out of their ears."
"Okay. I'm done here," she snapped. She opened the door, launched the twisted bag at Marty's head and left.
After Marty drove me back to my car, I thanked him for his help, and he apologized for the interaction between him and Jessie, saying he got carried away. He said she was a smart woman wasting her brain and it pissed him off, that he ran into way too many people like her.
I was a little pissed off myself at the information the Rankins had omitted. I decided another visit to them was in order. Maybe they didn't know about Lawrence and Sara, but I was beginning to think that trip she took had been a mission all right, a mission trip the Rankins organized to get their daughter away from her black boyfriend. I needed to know when Sara left, and if I got lucky, the pastor and his wife might even come clean about what they knew or suspected about Lawrence and Sara.
The parking lot was packed when I arrived at the church and discovered a late Sunday service was in progress. I tiptoed into the sanctuary and chose one of those movie theater–type seats in the last row. Pastor Rankin was miked, and I had to admit the little man could make you believe he was alone with you despite the full house. No wonder they needed this huge place.
I'd come in on the tail end of the sermon and only knew Pastor Rankin had focused on God's grace, grace that allowed friend and foe alike to gather as one community. I didn't really listen to the words, but focused more on the rhythm of his delivery. Does someone teach you to speak like that? I wondered. Or was he born with the ability?
He finished, saying, "All of you are present on earth to glorify God, to expand His kingdom by proclaiming His word in the world."
I was surprised when the audience stood and applauded. No one applauded in my church, not for anything. This whole production reminded me of a Broadway play.
I hung around in the vestibule for what seemed like an hour as people visited with each other and the Rankins. The crowd finally began to disperse and then the pastor and his wife were alone, preparing to leave.