had been driving through the crumbling streets of Los Angeles, past dilapidated apartment buildings, rows of shops and liquor stores, rows of industrial buildings and gas stations. The buildings were all sooty looking, muli-colored graffiti covering them. The sidewalks were filled with pedestrians of mostly Hispanic and Asian background. “Chinatown and East LA are pretty close together,”
Daryl Garcia explained as he drove. “You don't get many of the black gangs up in this area."
Daryl had been making idle chatter ever since they began their journey. She had cut their conversation short last night when, after he told her the good news and what the plans would be, he started nattering about how the rest of his day went. She could tell he was attracted to her, that her flirting earlier that day had worked in gaining his cooperation. She smiled to herself as he rattled on, recognizing that he was buttering her up, trying to ease her into something. He was kind of attractive, and she had entertained the thought last night of letting him sleep with her at some point. But she drew the line at letting anything progress beyond that. She had had enough of men worming their way into her life. At least for now.
After ten minutes of idle chatter she had finally cut the conversation short and told him she'd see him tomorrow. And she thanked him. He mumbled that it was his pleasure, and then they hung up.
Now they seemed to pick things up right where they had left them last night. With Lance in the car things weren't destined to go beyond idle chatter. Flirting was out of the question, although Rachael knew she could tease Daryl if she wanted to if something came up where she needed his help again. Lance knew she used her sexuality to get what she wanted, to manipulate men into doing things for her, getting her into places that she could later write about. They joked about it sometimes. “You know, if I had a pair of tits and an ass like yours I'd have it made,” he always quipped.
Until now she'd never had to use sex to get what she wanted. Using the right body language was always enough to gain access to an area that was normally off limits. She sometimes suggested that she would trade sexual favors for certain things, but she never delivered. After getting what she wanted she was on to the next story, the next sucker.
She had heard through the grapevine that some city officials, detectives, and other men referred to her as a cock-teasing bitch, but then she had a career she loved and a couple of awards, too. She had gotten what she wanted, which was enough for her.
She played up to Daryl the same way. And he had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker. Only this time, as she sat in the front seat of his sedan, chatting with him about the weather and whether the Angels would make the playoffs next year, she thought that if she would ever fuck anybody as payback for opening certain doors in getting a good story, it would be Daryl. He was attractive: black hair and eyes, mustache, tall and lanky, but muscular. Plus, the way he carried himself suggested that he was a man who knew where he was going, a man who was confident in himself and his abilities. True, two days ago she had been able to chisel away at the stone of his veneer, but he managed to keep himself under control. By now most men would have been on their third or fourth try in asking her for a date.
Daryl motioned ahead. “That's the Eight-First Street bridge up ahead."
Lance rose up from the backseat, peering ahead. “Into the Lions Den we go."
Rachael checked her mini-cassette recorder, which she had slung over her shoulder like a portable camera. She clutched her note pad in her hand, her mind already going over what questions she was going to ask the gang members that were down there.
“Now remember,” Daryl was saying. “Danny Hernandez talked to the guys who claim that area as their territory, and he assured them that everything was cool. The guys that
MR. PINK-WHISTLE INTERFERES