As the sun peaks over the horizon, it casts an orange glow on the ocean. The color of the sky varies on how many clouds are effortlessly absorbing the sun's rays. The pounding ocean drowns the hungry cries of the seagulls looking for food along the water's edge. This morning, like all others, was no exception.

As I was finishing the last mile of my morning run, I watched the early beach goers set up blankets, umbrellas, and chairs. They looked like a valiant infantry digging in to protect the shoreline. A few of them were waving metal detectors in exaggerated semi-circles hoping to find their own personal treasure.

I stopped about fifty yards short of where I began and interlocked my hands on the top of my head. I took in a deep breath of the salt air. The wind was coming from the North causing the waves to crash on the jetty. The mist would hang in the air long enough for the sun to penetrate it and make a small rainbow. It only took a second to see her.

Her head looked to be trapped between two of the rocks. She was face down and bobbed in time with the current. She was about fifty to seventy-five yards out and after a ten-mile run, I wasn’t sure I could survive the swim. With the rocks being as slippery as I knew they were, I wouldn’t survive walking on them. I took another deep breath, let it out, and dove in the warm water. As I drew near, her long black hair spider-webbed the ocean. I steadied myself against the rocks, turned her over, and hooked my arm around her chest. It wasn’t until I got her back to shore that I noticed the hole in her forehead.

Since it is the only station in town, the fifteenth precinct, if anything, is a misnomer. It's a well-preserved brick building with white shudders whose paint has bled onto the brown bricks. Two shirtless kids who pushed lawn mowers and listened to music through their yellow headsets were manicuring the green lawn.

Homicide was on the third floor of the five-story building. After the run and impromptu swim, I wasn't about to attempt the stairs. I waited by the elevator and listened to a conversation between two lawyers who were looking for a plea of involuntary manslaughter. They spoke of their client's life as if it were an auction. Maybe it was.

Lt. Kirkwood's office faces the ocean and is about five blocks from where I found the girl in the ocean. Kirkwood was tall, broad-shouldered and very private. We had a working relationship for nearly twenty years. I knew he was married but never knew his wife's name. When I entered his office, he was thumbing through a file.

He looked up and said, "You know, I don’t know which is harder to believe, you running or actually swimming to get her from between those rocks. I thought the only exercise you knew was bending your elbow."

I beat on my chest with both fists. "It is I, Tarzan of the Beach! Do you want to hear my call of the wild."

"No, I’m afraid the females at the city pound would come down and urinate on your leg. Which would be comical, but the floors were just waxed." He leaned back and asked, "Do you want some coffee."

I nodded.

"Well, it’s down the hall. Help yourself."

When I returned, he was on the phone instructing someone to continue surveillance of a situation until there was a development. He motioned to a seat and I took it.

"So what happened out there?"

I told him.

"What about on your end?" I asked.

"Her time of death hasn’t been estimated. She was still bloated and there was a considerable amount of decomposition. The organisms in this warm water aid in that. She had no identification on her, no distinguishing marks, other than a tattoo of a red butterfly on the back of her right shoulder, and since her fingertips were pretty much gone, we have no prints."

"I didn’t notice the butterfly."

"Well Tarzan, that’s why I’m sittin’ on this side o’ the desk." He opened another folder on his desk, lifted out a glossy picture, and handed it to me. "This was taken of another Oriental girl that was killed about six months ago. A couple of bums found her in an alley. They reported it because they thought there might be a reward in it."

The butterfly was indeed red. It looked to be the size of a half-dollar. The wings were outstretched and the black antenna curled out slightly. I handed him the photo.

"It’s a tag." He said. "The idea is similar to those found on wildlife. As a matter of fact, it represents the same thing. These girls are brought over from Asia mostly and are used in some of the local massage parlors that give you more than a great massage." He smirked and continued. "When they are brought over, they are tagged so any other establishment will know they are taken. They are traded back and forth to the different parlors, which makes it difficult to keep track of how many women are actually part of the ring."

"Why don’t you bust the place?"

"Because on the surface, they are legit. We sent a couple undercover guys to check it out. You pay for a massage. Any other arrangements are made in the back room."

"So since the parlor isn’t responsible for what goes on, you can only bust the girl for prostitution and the establishment claims ignorance."

"Right. We’re sure they get a piece of it. It wouldn’t make sense if they didn’t. But if they only report the legal activity, then they’re clean. "These girls," He said pointing the picture. "Are illegal. That we know. But the owner doesn’t claim to get the girls. According to the owner, Chang Tze these girls come to him because they are Asian. They don’t speak English well, if at all, and they feel safe among their own kind. So naturally, they would come to him."

"Pretty neat."

"Yep."

I had finished my coffee and began twirling the Styrofoam cup in my hand. I could’ve gone for another but I didn’t feel like making the trip.

"You need a coffee maker in this office." I remarked.

"No, what I need is a new office. I have one outlet and three plugs. Every time I need to use the calculator, I have to unplug either my light or the radio."

"They have those power strips. You could plug an entire neighborhood into one of those."

"The last time I tried one of those, I shorted out the entire floor"

"Oh." I threw the cup in the trashcan. "So, what are you going to do about the girl?"

"When I get the report, I am going to put it in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet along side this one." He held up the folder and let it drop. "I don’t have the manpower. See this stack?" He pointed to a pile of manila folders about two feet high. "These are active cases. Murder to fender-benders."

I took the only information to the Sun Palace Massage Parlor. It was located on the Corner of West and 15^th among the several crack houses and empty lots. Rusting fences trapped newspapers and cups and other debris from the escaping the city limits. Poverty prevented the citizens from escaping.

A yellow sign hung above the entrance to the parlor. It had the silhouette of slender woman lying above the words "Sun Palace Massage Parlor." I pressed the black buzzer and waited.

An Oriental woman greeted me at the door and led me by the hand to a small anteroom furnished with two threadbare sofas and a black-and-white television on an old metal stand. She motioned to the sofa, whose back ran along a counter, and then walked behind the counter to make some notes on a yellow pad. She disappeared through the beads in the narrow doorway. I sat and watched the Chinese soap opera unfold on the television.

After about five minutes, an American voice called, "Can I help you, sir?"

I got up and spun around. The man was six-one, and very thin with sporadic hairs that protruded from his sharp V-shaped jaw. He tried to look casually over me and then went to the yellow pad.

"Yes." My voice sounded a little shaky from being startled. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes. I’ve been feeling very tense lately. Too much stress at the office I guess—"

"You don’t look the office type. You look like a cop." He said cautiously.

"Not everybody that keeps in shape is cop. Nevermind, the only reason I came was because you were recommended. I think I can find the door—"

"Sir, please. I’m sorry." He begged, then laughed. "Speaking of tense, maybe I should get a massage. I guess I tend to overreact a bit. We have had some unwelcome visits by the police and, well, nevermind. Let’s get you that massage."

He rang a bell on the desk and the woman that greeted me appeared in the doorway. He said something in Chinese and she grabbed my hand. We walked out of the room and continued down the hall. Moans and voices could be heard throughout the place. She stopped at one of the doors, opened it slightly, peeked in, and then opened it the rest of the way.

The room was small and dimly lit. A table similar to a doctor’s examining table sat in the middle. A small lamp was on a bureau on the far wall. Once inside she held out her hand and said in a very thick Chinese accent, "Fifty dollar please."

I dug out my wallet and pulled out a fifty and placed it in the palm of her hand. "Here’s for the massage." I handed her fifty more.

She made a gesture with her hand indicating what the other fifty would buy. I grabbed her hand.

"No. The other is for information."

She shook her head and said slightly confused, "I no understand."

I slid the kimono off her shoulder, spun her around, and pointed to the butterfly. She quickly pulled away and put the kimono back in place.

"I want to know about the girl that was killed. She had the same tattoo."

She shook her head and began saying something in Chinese. Not loudly but to herself.

"Did you know her?" I asked.

She stood there shaking her head and looking confused. By the time I saw her eyes widen, it was too late. Suddenly, the world quickly faded to black.

I came to in the alley next to a red dumpster whose contents were being pecked at by several seagulls. I saw one of them eye me as if to say "Your next." I shot him with my thumb and forefinger. Once I was upright, I staggered back to my car.

It had been three weeks since I had found the girl. Since then, I had finished two other cases and had the prospect of a third. The back of my neck healed nicely, even though it took a couple days before I was able to turn my head. The radio’s weather talked of a hurricane a few hundred miles away and the probability of it hitting the coast. I turned and faced the open window. Not a cloud in the sky. The radio went back to the ballgame and just as I was about to fall asleep, my office door opened. I spun around.

"Not allowed to wear the kimono outside? I know it must be Hell getting the sand out."

"Please." She said warmly. "I was not the one who hit you, nor was I the one badgering you. As you were me."

She must of read my face because she said, "Yes, I speak English. Very well in fact." She walked over to my desk and placed two fifty-dollar bills next to the phone. "I don’t believe I earned them."

I rubbed the spot on my neck that had been hit. "Have a seat." I reached over and turned off the game. I didn’t know what to say, so I waited.

She gathered her long black hair and moved it over her left shoulder. "I’m sure you have the obvious questions like why am I here or what I require?"

"Actually," I indicated to the fifties. "Why did you return the money?"

"As I said, I didn’t earn them. Not all prostitutes are money hungry. It’s a job like any other. I didn’t do anything to earn it."

"A moral and ethical hooker? You better watch it. Sally might call for your appearance on her show."

She smiled. "I make a living like anyone else?"

"There are better ways to make a living."

"Yes. I could walk around and let people hit me on the head. Besides, what gives you the right to decide on which careers I should pursue?"

"Point made. Okay, now why are you here?"

"I need your help."

I waited. She adjusted herself in the seat and continued. "Lu, that is the name of the girl you found, and I were friends. Or as friendly as you can get doing what we do. We had similar backgrounds. We were both orphaned after the American troops came through our village during the Vietnam War. She was slightly older than I and has more vivid memories. It was nice to have someone to share and discuss those memories. Anyway, I was orphaned and when I was fifteen, I was sold to a group that exported women, or should I say girls, to the United States. I was tattooed and bounced between the five and at one time, seven parlors in the city. The owner gets twenty percent of what we bring in. If we fall below the quota, we are reminded harshly."

"Not much in the way of a life."

"Again, I will ask you not to judge me. I didn’t have many choices. As a matter of fact, I didn’t have any. I’ve made the best of what cards I’ve been dealt."

"What do you want from me?"

"I was able to persuade them to let me take educational classes. During the last almost twenty years, I have learned English and Spanish. I have gone to college and earned a Master’s Degree in Child Psychology."

"Not being a citizen, how did you manage?"

"Money buys a lot of things. That includes false documents."

"That won’t do much here."

"I have no intention of using my education here. I want to go back and help kids, orphans like me, and make them aware of what choices they do have. I don’t want someone going through what I have." A few tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She pulled them back and became rigid. "It’s not as if you can just walk away. I need your help to get out."

"Why should I help you?"

"Because I know why they killed Lu."

"I don’t know." Kirkwood said.

We were having lunch at the Marina, which was aptly named considering its geographical location. I had the special: Tuna Melt on Rye, French fries, and cream of mushroom soup. Since I was buying, Kirkwood had clams casino and a crab cake sandwich. I took a few bites of my sandwich and washed it down with some Guinness.

"I’m on the level." I said.

"It’s not you I’m worried about. I know you. I don’t know her, which means I don’t trust her. Granted it’s not a bad plan but I can’t send a civilian into that kind of situation. Besides, even if he admits it on tape and it’s admissible, which it probably wouldn’t be, there is no way in Hell that testimony from an illegal alien will be credible. Let alone the fact she is a prostitute."

"Quan wouldn’t testify and she won’t be identified."

"Huh? Wait. Without her, what do we have? I can’t just give the DA a tape with no explanation. What does she get?"

"That’s where it gets a little tricky."

"Uh-huh."

Kirkwood had moved quickly through the clams and was beginning to work on his sandwich. He motioned for the waitress to bring more drinks.

"Order up. Don’t be shy." I said sarcastically.

"Don’t mind if I do." He said.

"You see, she wants to go back. But since she’s in this country illegally—."

"She can’t get out." The waitress brought our drinks and made her way to the other tables. "How do you think I can help?"

"I know you have connections and those connections can arrange things."

"I don’t get it. The day after we bust this guy, there’s someone to take his place. It’s a cycle. If I had to guess, you’re not getting paid either."

I shook my head. "Nope. This is why I'm not a cop. If one of your subordinates came to you with this, you would dismiss it. In the grand scheme of your position, this is small. You have bigger problems. But I don’t. I take cases as I want. Make decisions I want. These people aren’t just names on a piece of paper. They’re real. No one deserves to be shot in the head and dumped in the ocean or bought and sold like cattle. I can’t ignore it. I need your help, but I will do it without it."

Kirkwood pursed his lips and stared aimlessly out the window. After a minute, he looked back at me and said, "I got to my position by not sticking my head out. I play by the rules but I play fairly." He let out a sigh. "Alright. But we play by my rules. The first is, I want to meet this girl."

The wind had increased and the surf was closed to swimmers. The predicted path of the hurricane had the eye of the storm making landfall about ten miles to the south. The sun was still out and the beach was relatively crowded. Most of the tourists had begun a slow migration to their homes.

The meeting was scheduled in my office for noon. If Kirkwood approved, we would move in that night. I stopped walking and looked out over the ocean "Just hold out for one more day."

"I know you told him. I want you to tell me." Kirkwood said sternly to Quan "Is Chang Tze the one that killed the other girl?"

"No he's just the front man. He greets the guys to make sure they are alright."

"What do you mean, front man?"

"You ask a lot of questions." She retorted.

"I’m a cop. It’s how I find things out and whether or not I’m being lied to."

"Chang Tze works for Luther Guidone."

It was the one piece she hadn’t told me. Kirkwood looked from the girl to me. "Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday afternoon?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I didn’t know."

Guidone was into everything from drugs to child pornography. He had been running the city for two decades with his "family." People who got in their way usually disappeared.

"How do you know its Guidone?"

"Because I’ve met and talked with him. Lu and I were his favorites. When He required pleasing, we did the job. I don’t know if he trusted us but he talked around us a lot, like we weren’t present."

"What did he say?"

"Mostly he arranged deals. Talked to people, threatened people. He never did any of the dirty work. Chang Tze handled it. At least at the parlor." She looked at me. "He was the one that hit you."

"You were there too?" Kirkwood quipped.

I shrugged my shoulders.

He shook his head. "What else."

She looked down at the floor. "Lu wanted to get out. She threatened to go to the police if they didn't let her walk away." A few tears formed but this time she couldn’t hold them back. "I heard him tell Chang Tze to kill Lu. I tried to warn her but she wouldn’t listen." She was now crying. "As my punishment, Guidone brought me into the back of the parlor. He—." She let her head fall into her hands. "He made me watch Chang Tze shoot Lu in the head. He said if I ever thought about breaking out, this was to remind me of what would happen."

Kirkwood reached over and placed his hand on her back. He looked at me. "Alright. Let’s do it."

Quan, with a wire taped to her chest, was in the parlor talking to Guidone. His voice was clearly audible. It was calm and he spoke with arrogance. The wind had begun to increase to fifty miles an hour and the traffic lights dangled from the posts. Every so often a gust would shake the car. The rain hadn't arrived but it would along with stronger winds and a surging tide.

"Are you sure everything’s set?" Kirkwood asked.

"I won’t know until I get there. I’m just waiting for the signal."

There were three voices present. Quan’s, Guidone’s, and Chang Tze's.

"Ever made love in a hurricane?" Guidone snidely asked.

"What a romantic." Kirkwood chimed.

"I can’t. You know…"

"Great. If you can’t service me, then why are you here?"

"I need a favor."

"Money? Not a problem. Chang, get her what she needs."

"Yes, boss." He replied.

"It’s not money."
"Then what."

"I want to get out."

"I thought we went over this." His voice was raised. "Chang, didn’t you teach the last one a lesson about getting out."

"Sure did." He said proudly.

"Maybe you should remind her."

I heard the smack and the fall. It was the hardest thing about surveillance work. Now matter how much you wanted to stop it, you couldn't. It taught you alot about patience and helplessness.

"I like you Quan but I will kill you at the drop of a hat." Remarked Guidone.

"You won't kill me." She retorted. "Chang Tze will."

And then suddenly it went wrong. Another smack was heard. Quan screamed in pain. Chang Tze was shouting obscenities and beating her. Once her bloused ripped, it didn’t take a genius to find the wire.

By now the rain had come. I ran down the alley, which was now a wind tunnel. The side door opened from the inside but Quan had left the door ajar enough for me to wedge my fingers in the crack and open it the rest of the way. Once my eyes were adjusted to the dark, I followed her cries. The hall was familiar and finding my way to her was relatively easy. My clothes were soaked and my jeans clung to my legs enough where it made kicking in the door almost impossible. I hiked up one pant leg and kicked in the door. Guidone was standing in the back of the room and Chang Tze was kicking Quan. When he saw me, Chang Tze reached for his gun. I beat him and drilled two shots into his chest. He fell back and crashed onto a table knocking over the lamp. Guidone grabbed Quan and used her as a shield.

With a knife to her throat he said, "Throw the piece down or she’s dead."

"Let her go there’s no way out."

"All she is is a whore." He snapped his neck around. "They’re all whores. Why should you care about this one." He paused. "Money. Do you want money? Name your price." He began inching backwards.

"Don’t move!" I yelled.

"Maybe I’ll let you watch me slit her throat. That a turn on for ya! Huh!"

As his hand began to tighten around her throat, a shot was fired. Guidone’s eyes bulged, then closed. The knife fell to the ground and Quan ran towards me. I moved around her and dropped to a shooter’s position on the floor."

"It’s a good thing you run, Tarzan. Not many men your age are that agile." Kirkwood walked into the light from the shadows of the back of the room. I had never noticed the door in the back.

I had bandaged Quan and the two of us were sitting in my office. She had a black eye, an inch-long cut on her lip, and possibly a couple of bruised ribs. She was staring down at the floor trapped in her own world. I got up walked to the bathroom and got two glasses of water. I put one of them in front of her. She broke her gaze to drink.

"Thank you."

"Your welcome." I replied.

"Not for the water, for tonight."

"I know."

"It wasn’t supposed to happen that way." She sighed.

"They rarely stick to the plan."

She shivered and put the glass on the desk.

"What now?" She asked. "I don’t have any money to pay you."

I opened my desk drawer and removed the two fifty-dollar bills. "Here, I think you’ve earned it."

She picked up the bills and stared at them. "Do you know how much these are worth at in my country?"

"I have no idea." I swung around and looked out the window. "Your ride is here. They will take you to the airport. I don’t know if you’ll get out tonight, or even tomorrow, but I can wait with you."

She looked up. "If you don’t mind, I wouldn’t mind spending some time alone."

I nodded.

After the car pulled away, I reached for the radio. It turned out the hurricane might not hit the coast after all.