2:35 AM, December 9th, 1978 Los Angeles.
I wandered through Hollywood Boulevard, the rain hitting the beige fabric of my trench-coat before beading up and sliding off. I hated the rain, but I hated the cold even more. It was quieter than usual, but I still saw the everyday drunk stumbling out of bars, and taxicab drivers finishing up their nightly shifts. Los Angeles city was dirty and crime filled, where I was going was worse. The red light district harbored the scum of Los Angeles, where the ideals of Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll were king. I reached into my trench coat pocket to retrieve my pocket book, my memory isn’t what it used to be. I wiped the rain off the moleskine cover, to reveal a brass name plate that read: P.I. Floyd Barrett. I took refuge under a nearby overhang to flip the book open, and read my notes. After flipping a couple pages I finally got to the right page: 12/8/78. I read my notes, and was on my way again. I was sent to the Red Light District by a woman named Amber, said her daughter left 6 months ago. Allegedly this girl was kicked out of the house at nineteen, to “find a job or something” and she was in danger. It’s none of my business, but the red light district is no place for a nineteen year old girl, or any woman at that.
A glowing red blanket covered all the buildings, yet it still felt cold and dark.
This place was desolate of all emotions, it was as if all personality was left at the door.
Since I wasn’t interested in purchasing any “services” while I was here, I tilted my hat brim down, and hid in my trench coat collar. So as to not attract any extra attention to myself, even though I was six foot five, and about two dollars and twenty cents.
I hadn’t been here in awhile, according to my pocket book, but it was still just as depressing. The sooner I finished my case here, the sooner I could leave and drink hot tea in my comfortable flat. To its credit I saw red neon lights illuminating the area. The woman here were displayed behind their respective french style doors, some doors just had red velvet drapes covering the windows, concealing sinners from the world. I reached kiosk that had a small chart encased behind glass, illuminated in a red glow. It displayed room numbers and names, which made this a whole lot easier. I finally came upon the name I was looking for and the room number; Room 25, section G. Section G was the furthest from where I was.
Each section was a building divided into many rooms, the most popular and expensive women got to be at the front. While the lower costing and less popular resided further back, down dark alleys. I figured I would find who I was looking for down one of these alleys. The red light district wasn’t very big, but it was dense, and busy. It was difficult to traverse, and my large frame wasn’t making it easier.
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