In Part One, we talked about the party house on Government Hill in Anchorage, where Cindy Paulson had beckoned Sgt. Flothe to meet her. In this installment, we reveal the details of that rescue, where Flothe was intent on rescuing Cindy from a situation that was fraught with anxiety, fear and, ultimately, a small portion of satisfaction. This was one rescue that ended well. That in itself was a small triumph.
They found the room number Cindy gave them and knocked. No answer. “She knows we’re coming,” Flothe muttered. He knocked again. He wasn’t about to barge in. The guy might have a gun. A second later, Cindy came to the door, holding a bathrobe to her chest for cover.
“Come with me,” she said to Flothe, “I gotta talk to you real quick.” She led him to the bathroom, which was the next door over. Cindy closed the door behind them.
“I gotta get out of here,” she said. “Get me out right now.”
As a precaution, Flothe had already called the safe house. “I think Cindy’s ready. Don’t be surprised if we show up in the next hour.” Cindy had already met the woman who lived there, and seemed to like her. Now Flothe had to find out if she was really ready.
“If you go to this place, you’re gonna have to do as they tell you. You can’t be leaving and coming and going and visiting your girlfriends in the street and all that bullshit.”
“Where’s your stuff?”
“It’s in the room.”
When they walked out of the bathroom, the pimp was standing outside in a pair of jockey shorts. He looked angry. Cindy headed to the room, but froze as he spoke.
“What’s you doin’ witch my lady?” he said.
“We’re with the Alaska State Troopers,” Flothe told him, “she wants to go and she’s coming with us. Period.”
Cindy slipped on her rabbit jacket, draped her clothes over one arm, and looking slightly scruffy, put her free arm around Flothe’s waist as they walked out. She seemed proud of her police escort.
The pimp, meanwhile, watched implacably as Cindy left. She never looked back. The troopers drove her straight to the safe house.
Excerpt From: Walter Gilmour & Leland E. Hale. “Butcher, Baker.”
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