Carnal Vengeance (35 page)

* * *

For three days Holly had fretted over how she could reach David to warn him to be careful. His editor swore he didn't know where David was staying in Miami. Though he took her messages, she had the feeling he'd given the same speech before, many times to many women.

It would serve David right if he—She cut off the vindictive thought. This wasn't his fault. It was hers, for trying to play a game that was beyond her experience. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself. She thought to check her caller ID as soon as she awakened, but it only showed the words,
unknown number
and hitting star sixty-nine was just as useless.

So far she had heeded Bobbi's and Philip's advice—only because she wanted to talk to David before doing anything else. But it still didn't go down well. As soon as the sun came up, she called the one other person she felt comfortable talking to. She had called April on Friday before leaving for Maryland, just to let her know their plan was moving along.

With each conversation they had, Holly felt more comfortable about confiding in her. It had been a long time since she had had a best friend that she could talk to that way, and although April was free with her advice, Holly never felt as though she was being treated like a patient.

"April? It's Holly. I hope I didn't wake you."

"Oh no," April replied with a smile in her voice. "I'm an early riser. Is everything all right?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure. Can I talk something out with you?" She heard April murmur to someone who must have been in the room with her.

"Actually, it would be a bit difficult for me at the moment. Could I call your office later today?"

Holly chewed on her lower lip as she imagined Evelyn or Philip overhearing her conversation. "I don't think that would be a good idea. It's about the two—"

"This really is a bad time," April interrupted sternly, enunciating her words with exaggeration. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you come up here this weekend for that long visit we talked about? It's only about a two-hour drive. You can come up on Saturday morning and stay overnight."

Holly hated having to put it off that much longer, but it was clear that April was reluctant to discuss the situation over the phone. She accepted April's invitation and wrote down the directions to her home in Newark, Delaware.

As soon as she hung up, her thoughts went to how she would explain her absence to Philip. She had lied to him about visiting April last weekend and now she would be going there legitimately. At least this time she wouldn't have to give him a phone number with transposed digits so that he couldn't possibly call to check on her. All she had to do was convince him that April wasn't like the other women in the group.

* * *

When his editor called back, it was to inform David that he had an appointment at the Miami headquarters of the FBI. Not knowing whether D'Angelo would have him followed, David walked partway, changed cabs once and direction twice. As soon as he gave his name to the guard, he was taken to an office where Senior Agent Quick and two of his underlings awaited him. All three were of medium height and weight, had medium-brown, regulation-cut hair and wore navy-blue suits and ties, white shirts and brown wing-tipped brogues. They made a point of having him sit before they would. It took considerable restraint for David not to voice any of the sarcastic quips that came to mind.

Living up to his name, Quick wasted no time on preliminaries. "Washington has confirmed your identity and the fact that you're looking into a story. But I gather you weren't expecting this. Who put you on to D'Angelo?"

"How did you manage to get to him?" Number Two asked less casually.

"Why are you so certain it's a genuine snuff film and not a good fake?" Number Three demanded.

The questions went on, with David answering as concisely as possible, except on the matter of his informant. He refused to divulge more than that some hooker in some bar had given him a lead. Before leaving the hotel room, he had trimmed the photo of Nikki Farris to cut Cinnamon out.

Finally convinced David had told them all he could, or would, at this point, Quick moved them to the next stage. "Normally, we would set it up so an agent could take your place for the buy."

"Fuck that." David let them absorb his refusal before explaining. "The strip search should give you some indication of how careful D'Angelo is being. There's no excuse in the world that would convince him to accept a substitute for me. He'd know something was up. And his orders were that I come alone, so you can forget assigning me a guide dog too."

Quick gnawed on the end of his pencil but he agreed with David. "We've been trying to get something substantial on D'Angelo for a long time. His file is overflowing with penny-ante shit but this could be the break we've been waiting for to really nail him. Besides the snuff film, we'd like to get our hands on a variety of the other stuff he's peddling, especially kiddie-porn. That goes over with a jury better than a prostitute getting herself killed."

Quick turned to his two colleagues. "We're going to have to bring in Miami's homicide people on this one. The murder isn't our jurisdiction, just the pornography." He returned his attention to David with a frown. "The only thing I hate more than getting a civilian involved in a case is having a loose-lipped reporter underfoot."

David bristled. Everyone knew a newsman and a cop made poor bedfellows but the guy didn't have to get insulting. "I have no intention of risking my neck only to bury the story. I'm a professional. I know just what I can and cannot report to keep from jeopardizing a case." Quick was clearly not convinced. David had two choices—drop the whole thing or come up with a compromise. "I'll agree to giving you a preview of what I'm writing, then seriously consider any revisions you suggest with an open mind."

Another few seconds passed before Quick gave in. "All right. I don't have any better idea. You'll have to be the front man."

Number Two stood up. "I'll put in an emergency request for the money and set up the equipment to trace any calls going into his hotel room. I'll stay with him while he waits."

"I wouldn't count on the trace helping much," Number Three put in. "More than likely the call will come from a throwaway phone without GPS. We'll have to come up with a different way to wire him for sound in case they strip him again. And a homing device, so we don't have to follow too closely after he gets the call. We have to figure somebody may be on the lookout for heat following him." He walked over and threaded his fingers through David's hair.

David jerked his head away. "What the hell?"

Number Three grinned. "It's perfect. A few snips underneath, two drops of super glue, and no one would ever guess he's got bugs in all those curls."

Another couple hours passed before David and Reese—Number Three had finally deigned to give his name—returned to the hotel room to wait for the call.

It was determined that David would have to sit through the videos long enough to be positive about what he was seeing. Three taps on the bug in his hair would signal Agent Quick that the jackpot was waiting for him to come scoop it up. There were no guarantees about David's safety. The best they could offer was to arrest him along with D'Angelo. If he was good enough at acting shocked and scared, maybe D'Angelo wouldn't immediately figure out who'd set him up. David assured them that he understood the risks of what he was about to do.

At midnight, the call came in from D'Angelo himself. It took less than a minute for him to give David directions.

"Hold it," David said, responding to Reese's hand motions to extend the call. "Just so we don't have to go through this twice, I wonder if you could have another one or two of your products available."

"Such as?"

"I know someone who likes his, uh, entertainment, on the young side."

D'Angelo laughed. "No problem. We'll make that the appetizer before the main course. I'll wait for you until one. After that, I split."

Reese gave David a thumbs-up at the same time D'Angelo cut off. The conversation had been recorded though it had been too short to trace. "You'll be followed, that's for sure," he told David. "He wouldn't have given those directions so easily unless he had a plan to make sure you didn't have a tail of your own."

David made a point of driving safely and slowly to make sure D'Angelo's shadow was satisfied that he was coming alone. He reached the location, a warehouse in Hialeah, west of Miami, with fifteen minutes to spare. When he saw Butch standing outside one of the garage-type doors, he hoped the homing device glued to his scalp was still functioning. As soon as the bodyguard was positive David had come alone and no one was hiding in the trunk, he directed him to park some distance away.

David was amazed that he was able to walk back without his knees giving out. Butch raised the door and waved David forward.

All David could see in the dark interior was a barrier of drywall with a very narrow door on one side. The giant opened it, motioned David through, then closed the garage door behind them. The next instant, a dim light came on from a lamp across the room where Mick D'Angelo was seated.

Directly ahead of David was a large flat-screen television, and to one side was a double bed covered by a dingy-looking, rumpled sheet. A dripping air conditioner in the upper corner of the back wall was putting out more noise than cool air, but at least it was enough to keep the windowless room from being suffocating. Between the air conditioner and the sound-absorbent tiles covering the ceiling and walls, David figured almost anything could go on in there without anyone outside questioning it, particularly in the middle of the night when the place was deserted as it was now.

D'Angelo waited until David's attention returned to him. "You have the cash?"

David handed him the thick brown envelope and watched him leaf through the bills.

"I regret the necessity to inconvenience you once again, Mr. Wells, but due to the unusual quality of the film you're about to see, I'm not about to take any chances."

At first David didn't follow his meaning then Butch stepped forward and held out his hand with a smirk on his face. David frowned, but unbuttoned his shirt. The sleazy room and having another pair of male eyes on him made the process that much more embarrassing, but he survived unscathed.

Butch confirmed David's cleanliness and went back outside, apparently to resume his guard duties. David thought about the agents and police that should be getting into position about now and hoped they saw the guard before he saw them.

On a shelf beneath the television was a DVD player and a short stack of plastic-sheathed disks. D'Angelo picked the one off the top. "If you decide to buy what you came here for, I'll throw this one in as a bonus. I think the acquaintance you mentioned will recognize that it's first quality, but you can check out a few others here if you aren't sure. Make yourself comfortable. And don't hesitate to...
relieve
yourself if you have the need. I won't mind."

Ignoring D'Angelo's disgusting suggestion, David grimaced at the bed, then noticed several metal folding chairs stacked against the wall behind him. As soon as he set one up for himself, D'Angelo started the video and turned off the light.

David could see clearly enough to know that D'Angelo was watching him rather than the film. He was determined not to show any reaction, no matter what he was about to see.

First quality,
D'Angelo had said. First-quality perversion, was more like it. David knew films like this existed and was fully aware that there were people out there who took advantage of children every day in real life, but he had never had to look at it happening in living color on a big screen. His stomach threatened to reject what little dinner might have been left in it as he watched the disgusting, tragic scene unfold. He chose a spot on the edge of the picture to stare at to keep from looking directly at the little girl and what was being done to her.

He could barely hide his relief when the series of horrors came to an end, and D'Angelo exchanged DVDs. Fortunately, the slimeball didn't insist on conversation in between.

Watching two adults fornicate was easy after what he had just seen. Observing the act, even at close camera range, held little interest for David under any circumstances. He slid down in his chair, crossed his ankles, folded his arms over his stomach and had no problem looking utterly bored.

A man and woman were on a bed in a room that looked like the one David was in. They were grunting and moaning along to the big finish, when a bodybuilder-type, wearing nothing but jogging shorts, burst into the room. His face was partially hidden beneath a phony-looking brown beard, but there was no doubt that it was D'Angelo's giant sidekick, Butch.

The new arrival lifted the man off the woman by his hair and threw him out the door. Shouting obscenities at the woman, which made it clear she was supposed to be his wife, he grabbed a belt and lashed her thighs, while she did her best to scoot away from the blows.

David had no trouble identifying Nikki Farris. Her face registered real pain, and obvious shock that she had actually been hit, before she got back into the role of terrified wife begging understanding and promising never to misbehave again. She put up a token resistance as the angry husband used a conveniently placed necktie to secure her wrists to the doorknob.