Murder on Sixth Street

Ron decided the best place to start would be the crime scene. Since the techs had already been through the area with a fine-tooth comb, there wouldn't be any evidence left, but he could get a feel for how it probably went down.

Ron spent an hour in the alley behind the pawnshop comparing what he saw to the crime scene photographs the techs had taken.

Years ago, the pawnshop had been a mom and pop shoe store and in the back was a small loading dock that had been used to move boxes from the bed of a truck into the store. The guy was beside the dumpster in front of that dock when the officer found him. Ron could still see the faint outline of the blood pool on the asphalt even after the fire department had hosed down the area. He figured Walt was right about Shank bleeding out. The blood pool was huge.

Ron stood there for a while trying to reconstruct what had probably happened that night. It would have been sometime between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty if Walt's estimate was right. By then, there wouldn't be much of a reason for anybody to be in the alley unless some hooker was giving a guy a hand job or Shank was trying to impress one of his girls she should work harder.

Another possibility was that maybe another pimp had gotten tired of Shank trying to steal his girls and decided to make sure that didn't happen again. There was also the possibility that Shank had tried to climb the ladder too fast and some guy from the local cartel had offed him as a warning to anybody else who wanted to get in on the action at a higher level.

However it happened, for some reason Shank had walked half-way down the alley to the back of the pawnshop and then stopped. Whoever killed him was either already there, had come down the alley later, or had walked with him. Ron knew Shank had gotten there under his own power because Walt said he hadn't found any bruises or abrasions that would indicate Shank had been tied up or roughed up before he was killed. He did find one scratch on Shank's face but figured that was at least a couple days old because it had started to heal.

Shank probably knew the person who killed him because there was no evidence the killer surprised him. If someone gets surprised, their first reaction is to get away, but if Shank had tried to run, he'd have been cut on the back. If the killer was somebody Shank didn't know, Shank would have tried to fight. Fighting would have left a few defensive wounds, probably on his hands and arms, but there weren't any.

So...who would Shank know who would want him dead?

Like the Captain had said, there were probably a lot of people who were happy Shank was lying in the morgue. Every other pimp would probably be jumping for joy. The pimps on Sixth usually respected each other even though they were in competition. Fighting amongst themselves didn't do anything except keep customers away, so they'd divided up the area and each kept his girls in his part of the street.

Shank had upset that balance by trying to pirate another pimp's girls. It wasn't that any pimp had any feelings for the girls who worked for him because they didn't. Girls were just merchandise to be sold as long as they were marketable and then tossed to the side when they got too old. It was just that stealing another pimp's girls showed disrespect, and disrespect wasn't tolerated down on Sixth Street.

The more Ron thought about that possibility, the more he rejected it. A pimp would beat the shit out of one of his girls who talked back to him or wouldn't do what she was supposed to do, but none of them had the balls to do even that to another man. In one of the training sessions Ron had taken, a psychologist had told them domination over the girls was a major part of the pimp/prostitute relationship. The pimp was bigger and stronger than most women, but at heart, he was a coward. That didn't mean a pimp wouldn't have tried to take Shank out. It just meant he'd have hired someone else to do it. That meant a pro and Walt had already discounted that possibility.

No, it was more likely Shank had tried to get deeper into the trade in girls and someone from the local cartel had killed him. Given the way he was killed, that made a lot of sense.

In the old days of the city, when the Mafia ran the whorehouses and street girls, anybody crossing them would probably have either been shot in public and left where he'd be found or blown to bits with a car bomb. Both were ways of saying, "Don't fuck with us or this'll happen to you", but they were relatively quick and painless ways to die.

When the cartels moved in and took over the drug business, things got a lot more messy. It wasn't enough to just send the message. The message had to be so horribly gruesome everybody would know the victim had suffered and suffered a lot.

That might explain why Shank's pants were down too. He'd investigated one case where the cartel hit man had cut off the guy's dick and shoved it in his mouth. Maybe that was supposed to happen with Shank but the killer got nervous and left before he could do that part

If the killer had been working for the cartel, Ron knew his job was going to be a lot harder. While a girl might rat out her pimp, and if pushed hard enough, a pimp might blab about another pimp, nobody was going to say anything about anybody associated with the cartels. Doing so would mean they'd end up dead and they wouldn't die very fast.

As Ron surveyed the area, he spotted a security camera above the back door of the pawnshop. If it had been recording last night, he might get a look at what had happened. Ron drove around the block, parked in front of the pawnshop and then went inside.

The woman behind the counter smiled at him.

"Good Morning. I'm Rhonda. What can I help you with?"

Ron walked up to the counter and showed the woman his badge.

"Detective Mathews, Bowling Green Police. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you have time."

The woman smiled again.

"Sure. We don't start getting busy until about noon when everybody wakes up. Are you here about what happened in the alley last night? I can't believe anything like that would happen here. I mean, I know it's not the best area in town, but that was just...well, I'm thinking seriously about finding another job now."

That seemed a little odd to Ron. The techs had cleared the crime scene by eight, and the sign on the door of the pawnshop said it didn't open until nine.

"What did you hear?"

The woman frowned.

"I always get here about eight to make coffee and take the jewelry and watches out of the safe and put them in the display cases, but I take out the trash first. It's not safe to take out the trash after we close so I do it every morning. When I took the trash to the dumpster, there were two police officers taking down that yellow plastic tape you see in the crime shows on TV, so I asked them why they were there. They said a man had died in the alley and they were finished collecting evidence so they were taking down the tape."

"That's all they told you?"

The woman frowned again.

"Yes, but I grew up on a farm and my daddy butchered a hog every fall. I know what blood looks like, and there was a lot of it still on the ground. I don't think the man just up and died on his own, not if there was that much blood. I think somebody stabbed him or cut his throat like Daddy did when he bled out a hog."

The woman shivered then.

"Gives me the creeps just thinking about it."

She seemed comfortable talking to him, and Ron wanted to keep it that way in case she knew more than she thought she did.

"I didn't grow up on a farm, but my uncle was a farmer. Where was home?"

The woman smiled again.

"A little town in Central Illinois called Olney, well, a farm about ten miles from there. You probably never heard of it."

Ron shook his head.

"No, I haven't. How'd you get to Bowling Green?"

Woman smiled.

"I can draw and paint, and my high school art teacher said I was good enough I might be able to make a living doing it. I worked at the grocery store in Olney for two years and saved my money. I bought a car then and started driving."

The woman shook her head and laughed.

"If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have found a guy in Olney, married him, and stayed there. I drove all over, painting what I saw and then trying to sell my paintings to people who ran art stores. A year later, I had about a hundred paintings crammed into my back seat and I was broke. I happened to be in Henderson at the time, so I went looking for a job.

"Henderson was an OK place and I found a job working in a die-cast factory, but it was hard, dirty work. I stayed there long enough to get some money in the bank again, two years I think it was, and then went to Louisville to find something cleaner and easier. I was walking down the street to a job interview as a secretary and passed by this club. There was a sign outside that said they wanted to hire a dancer. It was just a spur of the moment thing, but I went in and applied.

"The man who interviewed me said they were looking for an exotic dancer and it didn't really matter if I'd never danced before. Well, small town me didn't know what an exotic dancer was so I asked him. When he said I'd be taking off my clothes except for a G-string...

"Well, I still had a pretty nice figure then, and he said if I was good enough, I'd make a lot more money than if I was a secretary. I was a little worried that first night, but a couple of the other girls helped me and I did OK.

The women grinned.

"I made almost fifty dollars in tips, so I guess the men liked me. I did better after that. I danced there for almost ten years, but I got too old for most of the guys who came in. One of those guys who still liked me was Reggie. Reggie owned pawn shops all over Kentucky, including this one. He always tipped really well, so I'd go sit with him in between dances.

"When I told him I was going to quit dancing, he said he could use somebody to help with his business and offered me a job. When I got here, I found out he wanted me to live with him too. Reggie was a really nice guy and I liked him a lot, so I said I would.

"I lived with Reggie for fifteen years until he passed away. He left me some money, but he left the pawnshops and house to his son. His son didn't want any part of a pawnshop and didn't need another house, so he sold them. Harry bought this pawnshop, and since I knew the business and knew a lot of the customers, he kept me on. That was five years ago, and I've been here since."

Ron smiled for two reasons. He liked interesting people and this woman was nothing if not interesting. The other reason was she had to be a strong woman to go through all she had. It took guts for a young girl to start out on her own like that, and more guts to keep going when she failed. Ron liked strong women too.

It didn't hurt anything that she was a really sensuous woman. Ron had mentally totaled up the years as she told her story and figured her for fifty-two or fifty-three to his sixty. Her face looked that old, and there were a few silver hairs mixed in with the brown, but the rest of her was heavy breasts, a really nice ass from what he could see, and a fantastic smile.

"I saw you have a security camera facing the alley. I was wondering if I could look at the video from last night."

The woman shook her head.

"I don't know how to work it and it's locked in Harry's office anyway. Harry won't be in until a little after noon. He works nights because he said it wasn't safe for me to be here by myself after dark. I thought he was being too protective, but now..."

Bill smiled.

"He'll be here at six then?"

"Yes. We're here together until I leave at five. After that, Harry's by himself until about eleven. We close at ten, but it takes almost an hour to get the really valuable stuff out of the display cases and back into the safe."

Ron said he'd be back about six and then left. He was going to come back that night anyway to talk with some of the girls and pimps to see if anyone knew anything. He didn't think he'd get any information, but it was a box he had to check. He'd stop in at the pawnshop first, have a look at the video, and then start walking the street.

After talking with the woman, Ron had another reason for talking to the owner. Ron always looked for what he called "MOM" to identify a person as a suspect. "MOM" stood for motive, opportunity, and means. If he could tie a person to at least two of those criteria, that person became a suspect and he'd investigate for the third. If he could only identify one, that person became a person of interest.

So far, Ron had some possible motives if the killer was another pimp or a cartel hit man. He did have a possible means -- a short, sharp blade like a box knife, but couldn't tie the weapon to either. He also couldn't yet place a pimp or cartel hit man at the scene so he had no opportunity to tie opportunity to either.

With the owner of the pawnshop, Harry, Ron had a solid opportunity if Walt was right about the time of the killing, because Harry would have been in the pawnshop when it occurred. He couldn't tie Harry to a weapon yet, but what store of any kind wouldn't have at least one box cutter? The only thing he lacked with Harry was a motive, and by talking with him, maybe he could find that as well.

When Ron walked into the pawnshop at six, he was surprised to find the woman still behind the counter. She looked up from the customer she was helping when the bell on the door dinged, and then smiled when she saw him.

A couple of minutes later, the customer left and the woman waved at him. When Ron walked up to the counter, she smiled again.

"I told Harry you were coming and he asked if I could stay until you get done so you wouldn't be disturbed. He's waiting in his office. I'll take you back there."

Harry wasn't what Ron expected. He figured Harry would be in his fifties at least. Most pawnshop owners were. Harry looked to be late twenties, early thirties. He pointed to a chair and said, "Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Ron decided not to question Harry about where he was the night before and just asked for the security camera recording. Harry shook his head.

"Sure wish I could help with that, but I can't. Apparently, the junkies think there's a market out there for security cameras. I get somebody in here about once a week trying to sell one. Damned if I know where they get them, but they have to be stolen, so I never take any.

"That kept happening to mine, my alley camera getting stolen I mean. They'd just unhook the cable, unscrew it from the mount and then take off. What I have out there now is just a box with a red light. They stole it once too, but evidently the word's out that it's a fake. It still keeps away the punk kids so they don't beat the hell out of my back door. The real assholes have already tried to get in but that door is covered with a quarter inch steel and the frame is bolted to the building. A couple tried to bust it in, but they couldn't and they haven't tried since."

Ron frowned.

"Damn, I hoped you'd have at least a little video of what happened last night."

"Yeah, I heard about that from Rhonda. Hope that doesn't scare anybody off."

Ron chose his words carefully then.

"She...Rhonda...she said you usually stay until about eleven. Did you hear anything out back in the alley?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, but this is an old brick building and the walls are a little over eight inches thick. There could be a war going on out in that alley and I wouldn't hear it. Why, was the guy shot? Rhonda said there was a lot of blood like he'd had his throat cut."

Harry could have been trying to find out how much the police knew about the killing so he could come up with a good alibi, so Ron didn't answer that question. Instead he asked Harry if he noticed anything strange when he left the building.

Harry just laughed.

"You mean something other than the three half naked women who stand on my corner every night, or the guy shooting up in the doorway next door? No, all that was the same. Pretty quiet actually. Usually I'll see that bastard pimp making the rounds of his girls and collecting what they've picked up so far, but I didn't even see that."

"Did any of the women look nervous or afraid?"

Harry frowned.

"Detective, they always look nervous and afraid. If you'd seen what their pimps do to them if they haven't turned enough tricks, you'd already know that. It pisses me off. I know what they are, but no woman should be treated like that."

Ron shrugged.

"We know, but we can't get any of them to testify. Why don't you call us when that happens?"

Harry stared at Ron for a second before answering.

"Detective, I can do business here only because I don't get involved in anything else that goes on. If I did...well, two years ago, a guy started another re-sale shop about a block from here. One night he saw a pimp roughing up one of his girls and tried to stop it. Funny how his place caught fire a week later. Well, it would have been if he hadn't been in it at the time.

"I don't like what those guys do to their girls, but nothing I can do will stop it, so I'm not taking the risk. Does that answer your question? Now, what else can I help you with?"

"Just one more thing. I need your name and Rhonda's for my report. I know it sounds dumb, but the pencil pushers have to know everything I do."

When Ron left the pawn shop, he walked down Sixth talking to people. He knew most of them from arresting them at one time or another. They remembered him and once they knew why he wasn't going to arrest him, they weren't afraid to answer his questions.

As Ron had figured, none of them knew anything about the murder except that it had happened. A couple said they'd heard the guy had been shot and another said she heard he was beaten to death with a crowbar, but most only knew the police had found a dead guy in the alley behind the pawnshop. Shank's girls thought it might be him because they hadn't seen him yet, but even they weren't sure.

From there, Ron walked down to Johnny's Tap, the bar where the pimps spent their time when they weren't checking up on their girls. His reception there was pretty cold, but he did find out none of them were going to miss Shank at all. As "Ricky C" put it, "The motherfucker got what was comin' to him."

Ron had smiled.

"I see he was well liked by all of you. Any idea about how it went down?"

Ricky C looked at Ron and frowned.

"Man, if you're askin' if one of us done it, you best git yer ass out the door while you still got two good legs."

Ron smiled and shook his head.

"I just thought you might have heard something. Personally, I think it was a cartel hit. I don't know why yet, but if they're trying to move in, one of you might be next. You see any strange faces around last night?"

Ricky C relaxed a little then.

"Ain't nobody wants them wet-back bitches they got. They's tit's are too little an' they cry all the fuckin' time. Ain't seen any of them motherfuckers in months."

He turned to the rest of the group.

"Any y'all seen one lately?"

Ron saw the group shaking their heads.

Ron smiled.

"Well, if I was you, I'd keep my eyes peeled. You know what they did when they took over the drug market. They'll do the same with you. You hear of anything or see anything that bothers you, give me a call."

Ron handed his business card to Ricky C and then left the bar. On his way out, he heard someone say, "Ricky, you shoulda busted his fuckin' ass instead of fuckin' talkin' to him." As he closed the door, he heard Ricky C say, "Hey man, he might be right. Keep yer shit wired and watch yer sluts 'til it comes out what happened."

The next morning, Ron pulled the files on every pimp who'd been arrested on Sixth in the last ten years. He was looking for some connection to the cartel or an investigation into suspicion of murder. He found nothing other than normal arrests for pimping and a few relatively minor crimes like petty larceny and assault. He didn't think he would, but it was another box to check.