Laundromat

Chapter 1

Goren hauled his basket through the door and set it down in front of a short row of egg-shaped chairs. He picked up his book off the top and tossed it on the empty seat. Then he headed for an empty washing machine and set to work loading it.

He didn't measure the soap. Four dollars worth of quarters later, he carried his empty basket back to the chair and settled in with his book for some reading.

The door opened again, admitting a few excited moths along with the new customer. Bobby found he wasn't making much progress in his book. The laundromat was far too distracting. He moved his feet back out of the way of a woman's wheeled cart full of wet clothes. As she passed, her two children, up way past their bedtime, darted in and out of the aisles of washers and dryers, raising a general raucous as they went. She ignored them and went about her business, her eyes weary and glazed over.

Bobby slipped a couple of quarters into a gumball machine and retrieved some cheap trinkets. He gave them to the boys, hoping it would help keep them entertained. The woman thanked him with her eyes, and he settled back into the egg-chair again.

Before he'd finished another paragraph, he heard arguing coming from the back door of the place. He stared at his book, but his senses were on alert. At last, Bobby closed the book and made for the men's room, close to the back of the room. He heard the end of the argument, saw money changing hands. The loudest ones ran off into the night, and the other came in, face haunted, track marks up and down his arms. Bobby leaned against the wall and watched him move up and down the aisles, looking for an easy mark.

Bobby mentally catalogued the man's appearance: attributes, clothing, etc. He had a feeling it would be needed later. The two little boys resumed chasing each other on the open floor, tired of their trinkets. Bobby skirted around them and went back to his book.

It's been a long time, he thought. At least I had the sense to change clothes after work. He looked down at his worn blue jeans and his black t-shirt. No one would guess he was a cop. If it hadn't been for the state of his finances, he wouldn't be here. The past year had taken a heavy toll. He'd had to change a lot in his lifestyle just to be able to make ends meet. No more bar binges; dining out was rare; and he could no longer afford drop off laundry service. By his estimation, it would take about two years to work his way out of the hole, if he could manage his impulsiveness and stick to the plan…

So he would be spending one night a week at this laundromat. By the looks of it, he might gain some valuable information about his neighborhood while here… His washer wrapped up the spin cycle, and he retrieved his clothes and shifted them over to the dryer. He dropped in another boat-load of change and started them spinning.

The woman was folding her clothes now, and starting to lose patience with her rambunctious boys. For every three items she folded, they unfolded one. She fussed at them and set them on the egg-chairs for a time-out. Bobby walked over and offered to give her a hand.

"No thanks," she said with a heavy accent.

He backed off. He'd only wanted to save her some time, but he could see she was a little creeped out that he had offered. Bobby sat back down, not wanting to scare her any more. Mentally, he berated himself. He wasn't in college, wasn't trying to pick her up… of course he'd scared her.

He watched another man come in, obviously high on something. The man went straight to the vending machine and started beating on it, cussing. All the customers watched him warily. The woman herded her children out into the night while Bobby's attention was elsewhere.

The man managed to break a bag of chips loose and snatched them out of the bottom of the machine. Then he left out the back door, into the alley.

Just then, the two little boys ran back in, crying. They ran straight to Bobby. "Help! Help!" They cried.

Bobby felt them latch onto his hands. He walked briskly out the door, letting them lead him down the street.

The woman was disoriented, a knot forming on her head. She sat against the rough bricks of an apartment building, relieved when she saw her two boys coming toward her.

"Someone mugged you?" She nodded. "Are you all right?" Bobby asked, squatting down. She nodded. "Has someone called for help?" he asked. She shook her head. He pulled out his cell phone, looking up and down the empty street as he waited for dispatch. "This is Detective Robert Goren. We need a unit and a bus at…" he rattled off the address. He pulled his shield out of his pants pocket and showed it to her. "What's your name?"

"Bella."

"Don't worry, Bella," he said. "I'm going to help you."

Based on his assessment, her bump on the head was the worst of her injuries. He stood by her and made sure the boys didn't wander off while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. "Can I call someone for you?" He asked her.

She looked at him as if she didn't understand.

"To help take care of you? Of the boys?"

"Martha," she said. "Martha Kohl."

He repeated the name in order to remember it. "What's Martha's number?"

The woman was unable to produce the phone number.

The older boy spoke up. "Miss Martha lives next door to us. I can go get her," he said, pointing to an apartment building up the street.

Goren shook his head. "No, you should stay with your mom. I can find Miss Martha after the ambulance comes."

He looked at Bella again. "Did you see him?" She shrugged. "Was it that…guy…?" Bobby made motions with his fingers on his bare forearm, indicating track marks. Bella's eyes widened, and she nodded. Bobby frowned, and held the boys' shoulders to keep them on the sidewalk as the bus pulled up, followed by two units. Once the EMTs were tending to Bella, he went and shook hands with the officers.

Bobby relayed what he knew and his suspicions. He glanced up often, checking that Bella's boys were staying with her. He gave the officers his card and told them he was going to track down the neighbor.

He waited until the bus pulled away, then strode up the street and to the apartment building. The lock on the front door was long broken. He opened the door, entered, and checked the names on the mailboxes. Number 16 said Kohl. He started up the stairs.