A young detective is put onto a case about what they think is a gold digger... but what he gets is beyond his wildest imaginations.
John deLeon awoke to the shrill beeping of his cell phone, alerting him to the fact that he had a text message. Rubbing his tired eyes with one hand, he reached blindly for his phone with the other hand. Once he got it, he opened the window and read his text and groaned internally. From his boss at the station.
"New case. Meet me now. Fred."
Well, thought John, Fred was never one for a delicate 'good morning'...
But the rashness of the text was beyond what he was usually like. Ah well, it must be another murder case, John said to himself. Sorta peculiar. Nevertheless, John got up and threw on his okay-status jeans, a white shirt, and his black coat. No tie. Too early.
He slipped on his shoes and got himself a toaster struedel from the refridgerator at the same time, wondering if he could do that in another ten years or so. Being twenty one had its advantages, like drinking, for some. John didn't drink, though, because of the horrible accidents he had cleaned up after from drunk driving escapades.
He took a quick check in the mirror- if he looked ashambles, Fred would hurt him either verbally, physically, or both. John was sure to comb his auburn hair back out of his eyes, which reflected a deep brown back at him. They stood out greatly in the middle of his handsomely pale face.
A lot of his friends had made fun of him for being so pale, but he had just told them that he was mimicking the old fashioned British thinking- the King and Queen of England were both very pale, showing that they didn't have to do any work out in the fields like the commoners.
His friends had stared at him blankly until he merely walked away.
The memory made him smile, revealing his very nice, white teeth. He was proud of these, seeing as women seemed to love a good pair o' pearly whites, as his father would have said. if he had one.
He got in his car and drove to work. it was four o'clock AM. Very dark, not a lot of cars, all that jazz. He liked the early morning better than the day time. Sunlight made him sneeze horribly, and he was sick of it.
On the way to work, he had spotted a couple of prostitutes sitting on the street corner's bus stop, chatting and flaunting themselves. instead of looking on them with disgust, or even lust, he looked on them with pity. They had a huge chance of getting a form of STD, but still their pimp made them keep going for money. All it boiled down to was greed. John knew that even the best prostitutes could have the worst STDs.
He stopped his car a little early when he saw a huge man walked over to the whores, and, getting out his badge, decided to attempt to arrest him. The man chatted with them and then smacked one hard across the face, making her fall off the bench with huge force; John heard her head smack against the pavement. The other girl stood and yelled at the man, who hit her as well.
John got out of the car with his handgun in his pocket and yelled, "Enough!" at the man, who promptly looked up and ran. Towards him.
John didn't panic one bit, but instead said, "Sir, if you come another step near me i will have to shoot!"
The man stopped and ran the other way.
"Then fuck you, stupid shit!" he yelled as he ran chicken- like away from the crime scene. John sighed. He hated vulgarity. Walking over to the ladies, he smiled a bit and put his gun away into his back pocket.
"Are you ladies alright? i can file a report right away if need be-"
"Um, no, thanks, man. He's... uh, well, we can't do that..." said the one who had not been knocked off of the bench. She stood there, stunned. The other one lay on the ground rather motionless.
"Your friend...?" John walked over to her and turned her body (which had fallen sideways and not moved from that position) towards him so that she lay on her back. Blank, expressionless eyes stared back at him. A large crack, bloody and jagged, raced down her forehead to the middle of her eyes from just above her temple. Some of her brain fell out from the wound.
"Oh, my God... izzy...!? is she d- de..." The woman trailed off as tears formed in her makeup- shadowed eyes. They stayed, not wanting to go, afraid that if they left her eyes, she would really be dead.
John put two of his fingers on the girl... what was her name, izzy? On izzy's artery on her neck to feel for a pulse. He didn't feel one. Carefully, he looked up at the other woman.
"Uh... i'm very sorry, but she is dead."
The other woman burst into tears of pure anguish. "She was my only friend in the whole world! The only one who loved me for who i was, not my tits! Oh, God, please!! Not her! Not now! Take me instead! Please! No!"
She went on like this for a while, going through the usual fits of hearing news of a love one's death- memories, denial, refusal, offering themselves instead, asking if there was another way, and then sobbing.
John was quite used to it, and all he could do was comfort the woman.
"What's your name?" he asked her when there came a lull in her sobs.
"S... Sophie..." she sniveled. "But mostly everyone calls me S-Sugar... my s-street name..."
"And mine's John. Now, I'm gonna have to call this in, so if you'll excuse me for a moment-"
"NO! Please don't! I won't have a job if you do that!" Sophie screamed, but calmed herself quickly. "That was my pimp, and if he knew that i was even speaking with you..."
John was silent. "i understand," he said finally. "But I will need you to report a missing person, at least-"
"What don't you understand?" yelled Sophie. "I will die if she is found! My pimp will know... and i'll get... the boot, if you get my drift..."
John was silent again. "I can put you under victim protection services. You'll have a body guard, and not leave a specific area-"
"But what about my pimp and money? He'll hire an assassin and kill all of us..."
John was starting to get very annoyed. "I doubt your pimp can afford anything like that."
"Uh huh. I hope you didn't mean that as an insult."
"Wha...? Oh, nevermind. Now. I'm going to grab a body bag from my trunk and put Izzy's... erm, Izzy in it and transport her along with you to the police station. Alright?"
John ran to his car and took out the body bag that he kept in the trunk, remembering vaguely the text he had recieved that morning and the man's face. it looked familiar, so he guessed that he had been on the wanted list at some time. Sophie helped put Izzy into the body bag, zipping it up quickly. John got on his phone.
"Hey, Fred... yeah, i know I'm late, but I'm picking up something for you... ah, um, a body. A dead bo- yes. No, i know it's illegal for me to do that... you don't understand the situation. I'll explain it to you later. it involves some prostitutes and their pimp. Yeah, homicide. For all i know, it could be multiple counts- look up a pimp who has a dragon tatoo on his neck for me, will ya? Thanks."
Fred talked for a very long time. Sophie stood there and started to cry again. When he was finally through with his talk, the sun was up and John was driving to the station.