Wolf settled into the uncomfortable seat and waited.
Two hours later he spotted a rumpled and tired-looking Win approaching him and stood.
“I figured I’d find you waiting.” Win’s smile was wry. “I couldn’t respond to your text, obviously.”
Wolf, never one for small talk, shrugged. “I heard it on the news and called Elliot. He told me you were here. What do you have on them?”
“Come this way. We can talk.”
Once settled behind the closed doors of an interview room, Win grimaced. “It’s pretty ugly. Bar owner’s name is Jimmy Halliday. Seems he was using it as a front for gambling, drugs, prostitution…you name it.”
“Stellar member of society.” Wolf pursed his lips as he took notes. “I’m more interested in the women. He had underage girls there?” His stomach rolled at the thought. “What a pig.”
“Yeah. We’ve already called their families—those who have them—and called in social workers for them. There are three of legal age we’re holding.” Win gazed at him expectantly.
“If they agree, I’ll take their cases.”
Win gave him a tight smile. “I know. What about Billy Kemp?”
“Who?” He checked his notes. “Oh, the bartender?”
“Elliot didn’t say anything?”
“No.”
Win’s brow furrowed, then cleared, and he gazed at him thoughtfully. “The man’s not too bright, but we’re still not sure if he was in on it or a dupe.”
“Is he willing to talk to you?”
“He keeps saying ‘I don’t know nothin’.’ But if we can get his testimony against Halliday and whomever he works with, it could make the case.”
“Priors?” Wolf wrote down everything Win said.
“Fights, destruction of property, assault.”
“You’re thinking to make him a deal and no jail time?”
Win raised his hands. “Up to the DA, but we’d be on board if it gets us the big guns. He’s a patsy—certainly not the brains. Which is surprising.”
“Why?”
Win shrugged, but a slight smile ticked up his lips. “Just a feeling.”
Wolf narrowed his eyes. “I’ll talk to him if he’s willing. But if he had any knowledge that these women were being prostituted, he can fuck off. I don’t represent scum.”
“Let’s go to the holding pen.”
Win brought him first to talk to the women. There were three—two white women and one Black, dressed in short, tight skirts and crop tops. They were all in their early twenties, but fear made them look much younger. After a good twenty minutes of him convincing them his services were free, and no, they didn’t have to sleep with him to get him to be their lawyer, and yes, he was sure, they agreed to let him represent them.
Hearing their similar stories of how they’d come to work there, Wolf wavered between rage and wanting to be sick. All of them were runaways and had met a man at a club, had a few drinks, and the next thing they knew, they’d wound up in a room, in bed with him and other men. They’d been drugged, assaulted, and threatened, and after several days, weak, strung out, and afraid to even speak, they’d agreed to do whatever the men wanted. They were given rooms above the bar and weren’t allowed to leave, even after their shifts were done. It had been several months of this torture for them, and Wolf vowed the men who did this would endure years of hell.
He took their names and information and assured them that if they listened to him, they’d get no jail time, and he would set them up with someone who’d be able to find them jobs and a safe place to stay. If they wanted to go home, he’d contact their families.
It enraged Wolf to think this was probably going on all over the city with no one’s knowledge. But how could he help them all? The thought was overwhelming.
Wolf told the guard he was ready to leave, and Win came to escort him to the cell where Billy Kemp was held. The man was in his early sixties, and Wolf’s lips curled at his disheveled sight.
“Who’re you?” Red-rimmed, suspicious blue eyes peered at him.
