Aphrodisiac (30 page)

Lana pulled out the flacon stopper and helped me douse myself liberally with Gwen’s perfume, covering me with a head-to-toe application.

Couldn’t risk carrying a bottle. The last thing I wanted was for the precious unguent to fall into the hands of Chub Dubs. Who was Chub Dubs?

Lady Viv? Capricia? Schumacher? I thought of how I’d feel if Curtis took me to Alan. Or Darryl. Or maybe I’d never see the ruthless mastermind who was behind this dangerous gambit. Maybe they’d just kill me right away.

Stop it! None of those thoughts allowed. I
am
going to get myself out of this mess alive. And Benita with me.

Fully drenched in Heaven’s Daughter, I searched my closet. Now, what does one wear to a date with a thug? I decided on a pair of black cotton drawstring running pants with zipper pockets. I paired that with a burgundy tank tee. For once I heeded Benita’s advice and wore sneakers. Who knew if I’d be running for my life? I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and secured it with a stretchy band.

At ten minutes to three, I tucked the homemade tablet in one pocket and my cell phone into the other. No sense inviting a full cavity search. I kissed Aunt Lana goodbye, refusing to let her even walk me to the elevator.

The instant I hit the street, fear set in. Plus the nagging urge to whimper. What if the buildings blotted out my cell’s signal? Brooklyn’s skyline was much lower than Manhattan’s, but still dense with walls of concrete and brick. Looking out at the river to my left, I pushed back the thought that I might be floating facedown in it before dawn.

I took a few deep breaths and began my march down Plymouth. My neighborhood’s acronym, DUMBO, down under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, took on new meaning tonight as I headed there to confront my fate.

At this hour the street was an empty void of ominous shadows. The only sounds were my feet tapping the cobblestones and the deafening rumble of the Q train on the lower deck of the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Soon two figures appeared in the murky gloom. They stood waiting near the anchorage, the hundred-year-old masonry arches built to support the bridge.

I recognized one of them as I drew closer. The hefty guy who’d cornered me on the road outside the Yoni retreat house. Tonight he was with a tall gaunt-faced partner.

The tall, gaunt-faced one spoke first. “Over here.” He stepped into the dark space under the archway. My gut clenched. I wanted to turn and run, but thinking of Benita and seeing the gun in his hand, I had no choice but to obey.

I stepped into the shadowy space beneath the bridge. The hefty one with the shaved head frisked me. He found Lana’s tablet and put it in his shirt pocket. Next he snatched my cell, then strolled away and dropped it down a grate in the street. I thought at least we’d get to some building where these guys hung out.

So much for that lame plan. I was on my own.

I tried to keep myself from trembling when he clutched my arm and led me to a black Hummer parked nearby. The tall one slid into the driver’s seat and said, “You can check her for a wire on the way.”

“Yeah. That’s a job I like.” He opened the car door, shoved me into the back seat and climbed in after me.

His search wasn’t as intimate as I feared, but between my anger and the fact that I was I just plain petrified, I couldn’t to muster up any erotic feelings toward this guy. How in the world was I supposed to trigger my pheromones with slobs like this for inspiration? Why did Gwen’s perfume have to be so exquisitely designed in its workings? Why couldn’t the mixture simply start doing its thing the instant a man came near?

Right. That way you’d get attacked from all directions by every horny guy on the sidewalk. Face it, Heaven’s Daughter was perfect in its creation. It was up to me to make it work. Talk about doing the impossible. After spending the last decade studying, guiding and teaching the techniques of arousal and seduction, I never imagined I’d have to use my sex therapy skills as a survival tool. But tonight my life and Binnie’s depended on it.

TWENTY-EIGHT

The infamous black Hummer only went a couple blocks before stopping in front of Blazing Donutz on Jay Street. Mr. Hefty opened the door and pulled me out. I looked up and down the dark street, hoping to see some people. Empty. His gun in my side prevented me from screaming. Should I risk it? Were we headed for an alley where he’d put a bullet through me anyway? Oddly enough, we went into the Blazing Donutz store. Time out for an apple fritter?

At three a.m. the place was closed for the night, but not for us. The front-seat Hummer idiot who’d reminded me of Forest Gump unlocked the door and held it open. One fluorescent partially illuminated the store’s spanking clean yellow and black tiles. The stark imagery was reminiscent of Hopper’s
Nighthawks
. What were we doing here?

Inside I was greeted by the undeniably welcome aroma of baked goods. I was also greeted by Gump-Gone-Bad, who was sporting a black eye. He brought his face close to mine. “Well, if it ain’t Dr. Sex.”

“Where’s Benita?” I demanded. “I came here without the police and gave you the tablet. Now, you have to let both of us go. That was the deal.”

My hefty guard cinched his fingers around my arm. “Shut up.”

Obviously, Gwen’s perfume wasn’t working yet. What if I couldn’t pull this off? We followed Gump-Gone-Bad through a door labeled “Private,” walking into a dark kitchen and past a row of industrial ovens. A side door took us to a loading dock. On our left, a freight elevator. Thoughts like “I’ll never get out of here alive” and “Binnie may already be dead” flitted across my mind, but I did my best to ignore them.

The two men accompanied me in the elevator to the third floor where my hefty, bald escort gave me a shove. “Straight back.”

With the men behind me, I walked down a long bright hallway that had walls covered in happy-face decals and signs like “Start Your Day With A Smile.”

Sure. And end it with a kidnapping.

Peering into open rooms along the way, I saw bags marked flour and sugar, shelves holding boxes and paper goods. Crates of eggs and butter. Steel containers on the floor probably once held milk.

Hefty unlocked a door to my right. “In here.” I glanced at a dimly lit storage room and stood my ground. He pushed me inside and sat me on a gray metal chair. After binding my hands behind my back with duct tape and sealing my ankles, he said, “Later, Gil.” He stomped out the door, leaving me alone with Gump-Gone-Bad.

Or was I alone? From a nearby closet I heard banging, thumping and muffled indistinguishable words.

“Binnie?” I yelled. “Is that you?”

Big bang on the door and increased thumping. She’s alive!

“Had to stick her in the closet,” the Gump man said. “She’s crazy. Punched me right in the face.” He pointed to his black eye.

Was I surprised?

He sat across from me on a wooden crate. I recognized the revolver in his hand. It was the gun Binnine had gotten from her cousin Felix.

Okay, time to think sexy thoughts. Oh, that’ll be easy, considering I’m tied up in a room with a deranged killer. “Your black eye is so manly.”

“Tryin’ to be funny,” he said. “I’ll put tape over your mouth, too. I got another closet here if you can’t behave.”

Deep inhale. Long exhale. Increase the dopamine in my system to make it easier for my sex glands to get moving. Now, open my eyes and study him. There had to be
something
about this guy that could turn me on. Let’s see. He had hairy forearms. Like Mr. Miller, my eighth grade history teacher. That’s it. Mr. Miller. He always used to roll up his sleeves and his manly arms would drive me nuts.

“It would make things easier if I knew your name,” I said in a soft voice. “Did I hear them call you Gil? Gil what?”

He hesitated a moment, then mumbled, “Gilbert Fleeger.”

I leaned as close to him as I could, letting him inhale my scent. “Gilbert Fleeger. That is such a cool name.” I tried to put the Mr. Miller fantasy onto Fleeger, but every time I conjured sexy thoughts my mind kept flashing back to Eldridge and the way he carried me down the side of that building. Take another crack. “Gil, your hands look really strong. Bet you’re really good with them. Do you do carpentry? Or crafts?”

He actually blushed. “Yeah, I do like to work with my hands. Right now I’m taking an online course in taxidermy.”

Neighbors, guard your pets. “How exciting. Would you mind massaging the back of my neck? Bet you’re good at that, too.”

“Just don’t tell Curtis.” Gilbert stuck the gun into the belt of his pants and stood behind me. Using his fingers, he kneaded the muscles on the sides of my neck. “You’re a lot nicer than your friend. She hit me and said terrible things about my I.Q.”

For two minutes I engaged in a sensual thoughts exercise I taught clients whose minds were so tied up with the stress of high-powered careers that their love lives took a nosedive. Of course, most of my thoughts were of Eldridge, but at least it got me feeling sexy.

Switching into my breathy, hypnotic mode, I figured a dose of the power of suggestion might egg things on a little bit. “Did you know infants can identify the scent of their own mothers? Smelling is our most primal sense. Why, it can jolt us back to a particular time or place faster than anything.” I tipped my head back and looked up at him. Aha. His eyes said it all. “Gilbert?”

“Dr. Oz,” he said wistfully, “you are the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. And that includes New York.”

It was working. Even though my erotic thoughts were about Mace rather than Fleeger. Hmm. Something Tim and Gwen hadn’t considered. This stuff could be trouble. Any uncouth undesirables might be caught in the crossfire. In the meantime, I’d better take advantage. “Who owns this building?”

“The boss.”

“And who is your boss?” I asked sweetly.

“Chub Dubs.”

“Yes, I know. But what’s your boss’s real name?”

“Gee, I’m not supposed to tell.” His fingers moved from my neck and started down the front of my shirt. “Please do it with me, “ he begged. “Fast, before the boss finds out.”

“Not until you tell me his or her name.” I caught hold of his wrist and lifted it away from me. I noticed his tattoo. “What’s with all these numbers everybody’s got inked on their forearms? You have a nine. Curtis has a thirteen.”

He pouted, and to my relief, pulled back. “I get it. You like Curtis better than me.”

“Is it some kind of rank? The tattoos?”

“The size of our dicks,” he said, his expression totally serious.

The oldest male ranking system of all. “But does it mean something else? A secret society?”

“Reminds us of our power as men,” he said. “Boss doesn’t hire guys with less than nine inches. Curtis, he’s got the biggest.”

Figures. “And where is Curtis right now?”

“On his way here with Chub Dubs. I was right. You do want Curtis instead of me.” He had that same dazed and hungry expression I’d seen on Anthony, Chip and Alan.

“No, Gilbert. You’re
much
sexier. In fact, if you’ll help me get out of here, we could go somewhere and celebrate our love.”

His hands went to work feverishly cutting the tape with a pocketknife. I almost felt guilty. Almost. As soon as I was free, I yanked open the closet door to see what shape Benita was in.

“You can’t do that,” Gilbert said. “Boss won’t like it.”

“Never mind that. If you want me to make love to you, Gilbert, you must please me. Do as I say. Cut her free and remove the tape from her mouth.” He obeyed.

Benita sprang from the closet. “Don’t ask me how you did that. This guy is reeeee-pulsive.”

I shushed her, not wanting to disturb the effects of the perfume. “Now, Binnie,” I whispered, “you can find something attractive in every single person if you look hard enough. I also have an exceedingly fertile imagination.”

Gilbert put his arms around me, his hot wet breath on my neck.

Benita grimaced. “Do I have to watch this? It’s making me sick.”

I gently pushed away my devotee. “Soon, Gilbert. Not yet.”

Benita leaned close to my ear. “Quit wasting time and get my gun back.”

Good point. “Gilbert. I want you to give me that gun in your pants.”

“Finally,” he said, grinning and unzipping his fly.

“No, no. I mean the one tucked in your belt.”

He slumped down, lower lip protruding. “Gee, I don’t know.”

Benita stepped forward and made a grab for the revolver.

Gilbert danced away. “Only Saylor can have it. You’re mean. You punched me.”

“That’s because you’re a mental midget,” she said. “Now give it up.” Their hands grappled for the gun, shoving and pushing.

“Stop it,” I said, afraid the noise of their tug-of-war would bring the other men back. Or lead to a stray bullet. The gun dropped to the floor. Gilbert dove for it, and Benita kicked it away from his grasp, sending the small gray pistol sailing across the linoleum like a hockey puck. We all watched in dumb silence as it slid straight into the open hole of a heating duct vent.

Two points for Murphy’s Law.

Benita lay flat on her stomach and extended her arm inside the opening. “I can’t reach it.” She jumped to her feet and glared at our new friend. “See what you did?
¡Canto de cabron!
”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed at her. “Now will you please let me handle this my way?” She answered with an embarrassed tilt of her head. Cupping my hands on Gilbert’s cheeks, I said, “You must guide us out of here. Safely and quickly.”

“But I could get into a lot of trouble…”

I planted a kiss on his mouth. “You will do it for me, my darling.”

He gave me a stupefied gaze. “The guys’ll hear the elevator.”

I touched his arm. “How many men are here?”

“Four down the hall in the office.”

“Aren’t there fire stairs?”

He nodded. “But we’ll have to go past the office.”

We walked out the door and started down the hallway toward the fire stairs at the end. I heard men talking in a room up ahead. Its door was left open. Gilbert went first, gliding casually past the doorway. Benita and I skulked after him.

We were almost in the clear when we heard someone say, “Who’s that with Fleeger?”

I bolted for the exit as Gilbert held open the door to the stairwell.

A man’s voice. “The bitches. They’re making a break.”

The three of us tore down the fire stairs with the men from the office behind us. Skipping over two steps at a time, we made it to the bottom, out the metal door and onto the sidewalk.

“Gilbert,” I said. “Give us a hand.” We tripled-teamed a small dumpster, shoving it up against the fire door as a barricade.

Benita grabbed my arm, and we sprinted down Water Street. Not a soul around.

“We’re headed in the wrong direction,” I said. “Precinct’s the other way. I’m going to flag down the next car we see.”

She slowed up. “We should go home. Need to regroup.”

I stopped, breathing hard. “That’s the first place they’ll look for us.”

“We could take a train to East Harlem. Hide out at my brother’s.”

“Why? So he can have a gun battle with Curtis when he comes to find us? We were trying to keep our families out of this, remember? No, Binnie, the game is up. Our only hope at this point is to go to the police. Especially since we now know the bakery building is owned by the person who ordered Gwen’s murder.”

“And our abduction,” Benita said, frustration and exhaustion creasing her pretty face in a frown. “You’re right. We gave it our best.
No más
.” She looked around. “Hey, where is that Gilbert dude?”

“I don’t see him. He must have run off. Strange guy.”

“Understatement of the year.”

A Rolls-Royce Phantom with tinted one-way windows stopped at the curb next to us. The rear window rolled down and from the shadows of the dimly lit interior emerged a familiar and welcome face.

“Walsh Plunkett! You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Please, we need a ride to the police station right away.”

“Of course. Get in.” He opened the car door wide.

I hopped in next to him. Benita followed. What a surprise to see Walsh, in his trademark Eisenhower suit, riding on plush leather in a chauffeur-driven Rolls. It was a small limousine, just one back seat facing front, but luxurious. Complete with refreshment bar, TV, the works. He introduced us to Dr. Garadasi, a tall, bearded man with a large nose, who sat on his right. Plunkett then spoke into his intercom to a driver on the other side of an opaque Plexiglas partition. “These ladies would like to go to the police.”

“You wouldn’t believe what’s going on with us,” I said. “But don’t ask. I’d rather not get you involved.”

He smiled and nodded sympathetically.

Benita leaned back in the seat, picking at the glue marks the masking tape left on her face, and clearly in no mood to chat with Walsh.

Still shaken, I felt Plunkett’s eyes on me. Good thing my panic-driven sprint out of the building and down the street had switched off my pheromones. Last thing I needed was another drooling love-slave. Keep those sexy thoughts at bay. Rather than encourage his attention, I directed my focus on the refreshment bar in front of us. Ironically, what I saw were three cardboard boxes of Blazing Donutz stacked neatly on the bar.

Plunkett noticed me looking at them. “Care for one?”

“Not really. Don’t have much appetite.”

He took a box, held it in his lap and opened the lid. I thought of the crullers he brought me a few nights ago and wondered if this guy was like so many people who replace sex with junk food. “You’re really into Blazing Donutz.”

Walsh turned a bland, expressionless face to me. “My dear. I
am
Blazing Donutz. I’m the founder and owner of the entire national and international franchise. In fact, this week marks the beginning in my latest line of snacks. They’re a cross between a corn fritter and cream-filled doughnut. Bite-sized. Dainty. Perfect for munching.” He held the box out to me. “Try one.”

Gwen had always insisted that the olfactory sense was our most powerful medium when it came to sex or danger, and I’m a firm believer that trouble does actually possess a scent of its own. And right now, these little golden brown nuggets that smelled just like the place were we were imprisoned sent my limbic system an alert signal I couldn’t deny.