Witness Ch. 02

Chapter Two - Penelope

Poppy lay on the couch in a very undignified repose. She was wearing a black vinyl micro-miniskirt, a pink crop-top and transparent white lycra tights. Her legs were splayed, lying side-on watching TV. Elliot could see what he thought was a camel-toe in her tight pink nylon panties, but he knew it wasn't and quickly averted his eyes.

"I saw you looking," Poppy caught him averting his gaze.

"You're intrigued aren't you? How has she got a god-dammed camel-toe there where there should be a moose knuckle?" Poppy opened her legs wider.

"Can you behave with a little decorum at least?" Elliot huffed and left the room.

Elliot was not happy with this assignment. He believed it was beneath him and a waste of his investigative talents. Even worse, the pretty whore was often insufferable, deliberately giving him a hard time. She was the most uncooperative, cooperating witness he had ever met.

Poppy had been taken from the interview room and treated remarkably well considering how badly she had been treated up until then. A female officer had taken her to a small room where she was given breakfast, coffee and had her rights explained to her by a junior ADA. Saul Ginsberg sat there and said nothing; Poppy thought he was as useful as a knitted condom.

As a material witness she was being held in protective custody for her own safety. She would be taken to a safe house and guarded around the clock until her presence was required in court. Only a few trusted souls would know where she was being held and contact with the outside world would be severely limited and under no circumstances was she to disclose her location.

In another office upstairs Detective Elliot Granger was in a heated argument with Danny Logan the Chief of Detectives, a Deputy Police Commissioner and Brett Mendelsohn the senior ADA who was handling the case.

"You can continue to interview her while you have her in custody and prepare her for the witness chair," Brett Mendelsohn pressed.

"You've been with her since she was picked up at the Metropole, you've got a rapport with her," Danny Logan added.

"Just keep the tranny cooze alive long enough to testify, you don't have to buy her dinner or read her bedtime stories," the Deputy Commissioner growled.

"Luca Tattaglia made bail and the Napolitano crime family have the best defence attorney in the city defending him. They took out the concierge who was working the Metropole the night of the killing. The hooker is the only witness left, how hard do you think they are going to come looking for her?" Danny Logan continued.

"Corruption is rife in City Hall and Police Plaza. Half the force is on the take and so are the courts; I need someone I can trust on this. No one except me and a select few are going to know where you are," Brett Mendelsohn added, receiving withering glares from the Deputy Commissioner and Chief of Detectives regarding his comments about officials being on the take.

Elliot raged and argued until he was blue in the face but he got nowhere. He was stuck looking after the smart-ass tranny hooker until she had given her testimony.

With the support of a Tactical Response Team they visited the housing project where Poppy lived to pick up her personal effects. Elliot was surprised at how neat and clean her tiny one-bedroom apartment was kept. One wall was fitted with a bookcase filled with books, not fiction but text and reference books. He was still waiting for her to start jonesing and fully expected her to pull a stash and a fix-kit from some hidey hole but she packed everything she needed into two battered suitcases and one box of books.

"Let me get this right. I'm not under arrest but I am in custody. I can make one phone call a day but I can't disclose my location which is impossible because I have no fucking idea where I am being taken anyway. The State is going to pay me a stipend while I'm in protective custody," Poppy repeated again, irritating Elliot Granger even more.

"The ADA explained all that to you at the precinct," Elliot kept his eyes on the road.

Poppy was deliberately annoying him. She sat slouched in the front passenger seat of the unmarked car her miniskirt high on her thighs, her breasts hanging out of her tank top and her fuck-me heels propped on the dash.

Elliot reached over and pushed her heels off the dashboard.

"This car belongs to the State, show a little respect," Elliot glowered.

Poppy swung her legs up and propped her feet in Elliot's lap which was the last straw. He jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes pulling into a dusty parking area on the side of the interstate. He leapt from the car and dragged Poppy out of the passenger seat and slammed her against car, entwining his fists into the material of her tank top.

"You listen to me you fucking tranny whore! You're nothing but lowlife scum. You're the dogshit I scrape off my shoe. You're not even a person as far as I'm concerned. If you weren't a material witness I'd choke you until you croaked and claim that you were resisting arrest," Elliot hissed, his face inches from hers.

"Who's going to miss you? Who's going to fucking care if some lowlife tranny hooker disappears off the streets never to be seen again? You're a shit-stain on the toilet bowl of society you fucking freak. We're going to have to spend some time together because it's my job to protect you until you testify but I'll decide how pleasant that is going to be for you. You understand?" Elliot was screeching so hard and loud that he was spitting in her face.

Elliot finally saw fear on Poppy's face. Despite her heavy makeup, dyed hair and slutty clothing there was no doubt that she was attractive with her green eyes, full lips, pert breasts and long legs. Her skin was clear and toned and she had good teeth, Elliot had changed his mind about her being a junky but she was still a whore. A tranny whore!

"Well do you?" Elliot seethed.

Poppy nodded, genuine fear on her face.

"I'll behave, I promise," she added.

Elliot let go of her and turned away. He suddenly realised that her pronunciation had changed, her voice was clipped and polished and she no longer had her street accent. For some reason this infuriated him even more.

"I'm sowy Elliot," Poppy said in a singsong little-girl voice.

Elliot turned around and swung a punch that hit Poppy in the midriff, winding her. She doubled over and Elliot brought his knee up into her breastbone and she collapsed onto the ground.

"You still want to be a comedian? I've got custody of you all by myself sugar and I can hurt you like you have never been hurt before without leaving a scratch on you. Got it?" he seethed, standing over her as she lay in the dust.

Poppy nodded because she couldn't speak.

"Here, let me help you up," he offered her his hand and she took it.

He lifted her halfway to her feet and then dropped her.

"Get up yourself, you skank," Elliot left her in the dust and sat in the driver's seat waiting for her to get in the car.

Poppy slowly got to her feet using the car for support. She had a burning pain in her side and her chest but she tried her hardest not to show it as she gingerly made her way to the passenger door. She grimaced as she slowly lowered herself into the seat.

"Put on your belt," Elliot barked as he put the car in gear.

"We clear on how this is going to work?" Elliot kept his eyes on the road.

"Yes," Poppy whispered.

She played with the hole in her pantyhose and rubbed her skinned knee. Elliot glanced over and then put his eyes back on the road.

The safe house was set on the beachfront well away from the other houses in the area. It was three bedrooms with two baths, a laundry, and a combined kitchen-family room with windows that overlooked the beach. It was surrounded by lawns with very low shrubs running along the boundaries. Anyone approaching would be easily seen.

The fridge-freezer in the kitchen was well stocked and there was another in the garage that was fully stocked as were all the cabinets. The house was virtually a fortress with bullet-proof glass windows, triple-locked doors and a fitted alarm system.

"I'm taking the master bedroom; you take one of the others. You can watch TV or spend the day jacking off for all I care, just keep quiet and stay where I can see you," Elliot opened the trunk.

"Let me get this right? You want to watch me jacking off all day?" Poppy couldn't help herself.

"Jesus!" Elliot left her to carry her own suitcases and her box of books.

A wary truce developed between them. Poppy would push Elliot's buttons until he was about to crack and then she would back off. He would never tell her so but he admired her spunk. She had taken the beating without complaint and some of her quips were amusing.

He was intrigued by her polished accent but she still dressed like a streetwalker. Elliot guessed that she did it to annoy him.

Their first night at the safe house Poppy took it upon herself to cook dinner. She made a brisket with mustard sauce, sautéed potatoes, carrots and onions. She set the table and plated the food.

"You going to eat?" she leaned against the table looking nothing like a housewife in her moot-skimmer miniskirt, come-fuck-me-heels and troll makeup but the food smelled delicious.

Elliot got up from the couch and sauntered over to table. He lifted the plate to his nose and sniffed the food. Then he walked over and scraped it into the trash, dropped the plate in the sink and went back to the couch.

Unfazed, Poppy picked up her plate and utensils and took them over to where he was lying on the couch and sat on the coffee table blocking his view of the TV. She took a forkful of brisket and poked it at his mouth.

"You want me to feed you like a kid?" she smiled at him and he couldn't help smiling himself.

He opened his mouth and she put the beef into it and Elliot chewed it and swallowed.

"Nice?" she asked, picking some veggies up with the fork.

"Yeah, it's ok," Elliot said begrudgingly.

Sitting like she was he could see all the way up Poppy's skirt. He could see her toned thighs clad in shimmering flesh-toned nylons and her pink satin panties covering her cooch or whatever it was she had under them. He didn't know if she was doing it on purpose or if she was even aware that she was doing it but either way it was distracting.

He took the plate from her and got up off the couch and went over to the table and she followed. She made herself another plate and sat across from him. They ate together in silence.

Every evening at 7pm Poppy made a phone call. He repeated the warning about not disclosing where they were and she repeatedly told him that she would abide. She wasn't stupid and knew that her safety depended on keeping her location secret. She took the long-lead phone into her bedroom and talked for about an hour. She spoke softly and affectionately to whoever it was she was speaking to. Elliot guessed it was her pimp or some boyfriend.

After she returned the phone she stayed in her room reading until the early hours of the morning. In the morning she did a brisk workout in the back garden under his watchful eye. Elliot wouldn't let her leave the grounds without him and after a couple of days she convinced him to let her go running. Her ass was tidy in the lycra sports tights but Elliot was too much of a professional to be distracted and he concentrated on checking their surrounds as they ran along the beachfront. Poppy wasn't too concerned, she knew that he wouldn't have let them leave the house unless it was safe.

The records the State held on Poppy were sketchy at best. She had changed her name by deed poll when she was eighteen. She had applied for subsidised housing. She didn't have a driver's licence, all she had was a social security number and several solicitation arrests.

Elliot was tempted to demand that she tell him who she was talking to on the phone each evening and to ask her what she was studying but he didn't want her to think that he was that interested.

Some nights they played scrabble after dinner and it was obvious to him that Poppy was educated and intelligent. Despite her bravado, street smarts and appalling dress sense, she was articulate and bright. She deliberately teased him but she was smart enough to know her boundaries, one beating was all it had taken.

Elliot guessed that she had taken far worse. Sometimes when she wasn't watching he studied her and he noticed the scars from healed wounds on her otherwise perfect skin. He couldn't help but being curious about her but he was never going to give her the satisfaction of asking her about her past and how she had come to be living like she did.

Every day he grilled her about the murders at the Metropole Hotel and prepared her for the witness chair. Every second day Brett Mendelsohn would visit and check on their progress. They both asked the ADA when he expected the trial to start and the he was continually non-committal but optimistic that it would be soon. Luca Tattaglia's lawyers kept filing motions and asking for continuances, he explained.

After nearly a month in the safe house Poppy asked to see Brett Mendelsohn alone in her room. Elliot was not happy when Brett agreed. He heard Poppy and Brett having a heated discussion for a while and then it went quiet and all he could hear was murmured voices. Brett came out of the room, his face was flushed and he looked agitated.

"Detective I need you to escort Miz Evesham to attend to a personal matter tomorrow," Brett said indignantly.

Elliot was about to complain but Brett held up his hand to stop him.

"She's got us over a barrel. We facilitate her request or she refuses to testify," Brett hissed.

"I'll make the bitch testify!" Elliot balled his fists, his face full of anger.

"No, no, no. Just drive her and protect her. We need her to cooperate. Straight there - straight back; she doesn't get to make any other stops. I'd put another car on the security detail but the more people know where she is the more likely she gets hit. Word on the street is that the Napolitano family are willing to pay big to find out where she is," Brett explained.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow.

"What were you doing in there?" Elliot nodded at Poppy's bedroom, his face filled with disgust.

"She bribe you Brett? She put a bit of honey on it?" Elliot gave him a salacious grin.

"Fuck off detective. I treat her with respect because I need her testimony but I wouldn't touch that thing with your dick," the ADA hissed.

Elliot flinched when Brett called Poppy a 'thing'.

Poppy made pasta for dinner that night and Elliot could no longer contain his curiosity.

"How'd you get the ADA to approve our little field trip tomorrow," he asked around a mouthful of garlic bread.

"I gave him a hummer then took him down the dirt road. Didn't take long, his wife's a prude who won't take it up the ass so he was gagging for it," Poppy glared at Elliot, her accent was all street.

Elliot pushed his plate away.

"Why do you talk like that? Why do you dress like that?" he folded his arms across his chest and glared back at her.

"Because it's what you expect of me. It's what all men have ever expected of me. I'm a freak who is just a shit-stain on the toilet bowl of society remember?" Poppy pushed her own plate into the middle of the table and stormed off to her bedroom, snatching the telephone handset on the way.

Elliot sat there fuming but his eyes followed her, taking in her coltish legs and tight ass in her little miniskirt, nylons and cum-fuck-me heels.

There was no PT or beachfront run the next morning and Poppy had not made breakfast. Elliot stood at the breakfast bar drinking coffee and eating a pop-tart.

"That shit will kill you," Poppy announced as she purposely strode out of her bedroom and sashayed to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

She was surrounded by a miasma of perfume.

To his amazement she was dressed in a navy blue business suit, white cotton blouse, black patent leather heels and sheer flesh-toned L'eggs nylons. Her makeup was perfect and the bulk of her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail the remainder tucked behind her ears. She still had her bangs but even with the blue and cerise highlights in her blonde hair, it looked professionally styled and elegant.

She looked professional, she looked sophisticated and polished, she looked beautiful.

"Well you look dressed to kill; do you always dress like that to see your pimp?" Elliot needled her.

Poppy just frowned at him and handed him a card with an address on it.

"Jesus! This had got to be a two hour drive," Elliot complained looking at the card.

Elliot didn't know exactly where he was taking her but he knew the area well enough. He had been raised in the town of Braidwood across the county line but only a few miles from the address on the card. His sister still lived in the house that had been left to him by their parents. He'd started his policing career in the Braidwood PD before he had moved to the city.

"You can keep preparing me for the stand during the drive or you can keep reminding me how worthless I am. If we're stopping for a beating I would prefer that you give it to me on the way back after I've had my meeting," Poppy sipped her coffee and glowered at Elliot with her emerald green eyes.

Elliot just grunted and took his suit jacket off the back of the stool and put it on. Poppy had to admit that she found the presence of the big semi-automatic pistol tucked beneath his armpit comforting.

"If you need a piss take one now because we ain't stopping," he growled, picking up the car keys.

"I don't think so honey, I've got my tuck down perfect and I don't wanna ruin it. Feel how good it is," she snatched his hand and put it under her tight skirt but he snatched it back.

"Jesus," Elliot shook his hand like he was shaking poison off his fingers but the feel of her slinky nylons and silky panties remained ingrained in his memory for the whole trip.

Poppy just laughed and strode over to the interconnecting door to the garage. The trip took place in silence although Elliot had a thousand questions he wanted to ask her, not the least being: Who was she meeting? Where exactly where they going? How long would they be there? But he refused to ask and Poppy remained steadfastly silent, studying a package of letters she had brought with her.

Elliot looked down at the card and realised that they had arrived at their destination; he turned to Poppy and looked at her inquisitively.

"Turn down here," she pointed to well-tended gravel road.

"Pull over here please," she said as they approached a set of wrought iron gates with signage that read 'The Grosvenor School'.

Poppy's bravado had dissipated and she stared down into her lap.

"I have a favour to ask," she whispered.

Elliot was intrigued and said nothing.

"Don't tell him why you're with me. Don't tell him what I do. That's all. Anything you want from me after just ask but please just do this," she looked up from her lap and her eyes were brimmed with tears.

Elliot said nothing; he just nodded. He didn't know where exactly they were and what they were doing here but this was the most quiet and well behaved he had ever seen Poppy.

They drove in silence while Poppy checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.

"Here," she indicated a visitor's parking lot.

"Poppy!" she wasn't halfway out the passenger door before a young boy came running across the lawn with his arms out.

Elliot stood leaning on the car, a look of amazement on his face as the boy leapt at Poppy who hugged him and kissed him and then spun him around, his feet lifted off the ground.

She lowered the boy to his feet and Elliot studied him. He was about eight years old and good looking. He was wearing grey shorts, a white cotton longsleeved shirt, striped tie, a navy blazer with the Grosvenor School emblem on the pocket and black shoes. The clothing was expensive and he looked well fed and cared for. The similarity between Poppy and the boy was amazing.