Gumshoe Gorilla (38 page)

I didn't even stop the car. I just slowed down a little while Jen jumped in the passenger side. Then I gunned it, and we flew out of that parking lot as fast as my poor old car would take us. I knew that Linda owned a gun. True, she hadn't actually shot at either of us yet. But I had the feeling that we were testing the limits of her good humor.

As we drove away, Jen filled me in on her encounter with Eddie Rockland and gave me the basic Wikipedia bio on him. From the sound of it, Eddie was on a personal crusade to provide fodder for the tabloids. Several arrests for drug possession, along with an assortment of wacky behavior while under the influence. (Although personally, I don't believe that one story about his car and the otter habitat at the LA zoo.) An acting career that consists mostly of borderline porn, and a modeling career that's based on his ability to look like his brothers. And an endless stream of rumors that he is a "kept man" for this starlet or that studio executive.

The pieces were starting to add up. Sort of. Skye believed that Charles was in trouble, and Eddy seemed to have a Ph.D. in that subject. Maybe one brother had dragged the other into something dirty. And then they'd brought in Linda to clean up the mess. Whatever it was.

A few blocks away, I pulled in behind the bagel shop where Jen had left her car.

"So what are your plans for the night?" she asked.

"Home," I lied. "I need to catch up on my sleep. You?"

"Oh, probably the same," she said. But she had that gleam in her eye, the one that she gets when she's plotting something. "Maybe I'll read up on Eddie before I drift off."

"Is that so?" I asked.

"Yeah."

She was definitely up to something. I thought about calling her on it, but... Well, I had no idea what to do, anyway. We'd blown the element of surprise, and all it had gotten us was the name 'Eddie Rockland'. From here on in, Linda was gonna be all over us, blocking every move. Maybe it was time for one of Jen's crazy schemes. I just didn't want to know about it right now. I already had enough to worry about.

"Sweet dreams," I said.

I watched her get into her own car and drive off. And then I turned my attention to my other problem.

So far, all I knew about Daniel's new activities were some cryptic mutterings about "the Master's Revels." Maybe if I went back to the Fallen Angel, I could try and dig up some more info on this "Master" guy. But I'd already used up my welcome with the necro-nerd crowd. The club's management was probably pretty pissed about my little animal rescue stunt the other night. Which meant the spike head twins in front would be keeping an eye out for me.

I looked at the sleeping kitten.

"You're a trouble maker, you know that?"

It stretched and yawned. Probably as close as I was gonna get to an apology.

Luckily, I had plan B. I flipped on my palmtop and had Sherwin bring up the Spytech web page. Nice company, they make some of the more cost-effective trackers on the market. Not the smallest, or the best, but by far the most convenient. The gizmos call in their location over the cell phone network, and then the company posts them on its website for you. A couple passwords later, I was looking at a map of Atlanta, with the locations of the trackers that I'd put on Daniel's and Vince's cars marked as glowing stars.

The red star, which was Vince's car, was still parked out in front of his apartment. But the blue star, Daniel's car, was over at the Occidental Hotel. That's one of the priciest hotels in town. Daniel might have been sent there on a gig for the escort service... except that Daniel had told Buddy that he wouldn't be available late nights anymore. This had to be one of "The Master's" little get-togethers.

The drive over took less than five minutes. I left the car behind a trendy Italian place on 14th, and walked the last block over. I didn't want to risk Daniel or Vince spotting my car in the Occidental's garage and recognizing it.

I headed up the steps, past the dark stone fountains, and in the enormous front doors of the hotel. I tried to look like I belonged there, but I felt like a pauper walking into the king's castle. No, make that Dracula's castle. Whoever designed the Occidental was clearly operating under the theory that black marble would never go out of style. The building is big, and dark, and imposing, and practically oozes this sort of old world decadence. Just the sort of place that the necro-nerds would go nuts for.

The problem now was to figure out where the undead-wannabees had congregated. Knowing that Daniel's car was parked underneath this pile of marble didn't give me a room number. Still, a group like that shouldn't be too hard to track down. You can't throw a party in a hotel like this without somebody on the staff noticing what's going on. Groups of people coming and going. Orders to room service for bottles of booze. Complaints about the noise.

On my way in, I did a quick look around for possible sources of information. There was an older guy behind the concierge desk, late fifties, with an alert air about him. He watched me as I walked across the lobby. It was a good bet that he'd have the low down on any parties taking place in the building. But he looked a little too experienced to fall for my usual cons.

The desk manager also looked like a tough sell. A woman in her mid-thirties, professional bearing. Probably too suspicious to charm, and too happy with her job to blow it over a small time bribe. I finally settled on the bellboy. He was a college age kid who looked bored with his job. Which meant that the bribe would seem big, and the risk of losing this gig wouldn't exactly fill him with dread.

"Excuse me," I said. "I left a couple bags down in my car earlier. Could you help me?"

He nodded and smiled. Nice smile, it probably brought him a lot of tips. He followed me on to the elevator. As we descended, I put on my embarrassed face.

"Uh. I'm sorry about this," I said, pulling a fifty out of my pocket.

The kid's eyes locked on the bill like a laser targeting system.

"I don't really have any bags. I just need a little favor, and I was embarrassed to ask the desk clerk."

"Uh.... what do you need?" The kid asked, suspicious. Probably wondering which one of us would have to get naked for this.

"It's nothing, really," I said, holding the bill casually. "I'm just going to a party here, and I forgot the room number."

The kid looked at me. Looked at the bill.

"You must have noticed it. Lots of young men traipsing in. Blond young men."

The kid thought about it. He knew something was up. It was just a question of whether or not he cared.

"Yeah," he said. "I think I know the one you mean. It's up in one of the big suites on the fourteenth floor. 14 B, I think."

"You think?"

"It's 14 B. I've had to run liquor up to them a couple times."

I started to hand him the bill, but stopped just as he was about to take it.

"Oh, there was one more thing. I was invited by a friend of a friend. And I've forgotten the host's name. Can you find out who's renting the room?"

The kid was not happy about this new question. He wasn't supposed to give out that kind of information. But now I had him hooked. In his mind, he'd already gotten the fifty and spent half of it. He wasn't about to give it up now.

"I just need to know the name," I went on. "I don't want to look like an idiot by not knowing who the guy is when he comes to the door."

The kid eyed me funny, but held his wrist up to his mouth.

"Room 14 B. Customer profile."

Words danced across a little screen mounted on the sleeve of his uniform. He read it back to me.

"Jackson Montague," he said, reaching for the fifty.

I thought for a second. The name sounded like it might be an alias. But I can't imagine a place like this letting someone take a suite without showing a credit card. And credit card companies tend to be pretty nosy about the real names of their customers.

"Thanks," I said, and gave the kid the bill.

He got off the elevator at the basement, probably to kill some time and make it look like he was delivering my nonexistent bags. I pressed the button for the 14th floor. On the way up, I tried to figure out what I would do.

There were two ways to play this situation. The smart one was to go back to my office and dig up everything that there is to know about this Jackson Montague, aka "The Master". Find out why Daniel and Vince were going to so much trouble to meet this guy. Yep. Research was the smart move at this point.

The problem was, Daniel was already up at that party, maybe bleeding to death into a punch bowl for all I knew. Which brings us around to the dumb way of handling this situation. Which is to actually go up to the fourteenth floor and try to infiltrate the party. A party that I had no business being at. I'm not blond. I'm not in my twenties. And I'm not remotely interested in having people cut me open with razor blades. And I can only fake one of those.

Common sense finally overcame my Rambo complex around the tenth floor. I hit the button for the twelfth and got off. Then I caught it on the way back down and took it to the parking garage. Daniel's car was down there somewhere. Maybe I couldn't sneak into the middle of some vampire sex orgy and keep an eye on him. But I could at least make sure he got home OK. I found his car, and then found a stairwell with a view of it. I sat down to wait for him.

In the meantime, I pulled out my palmtop and started a basic bio search on Jackson Montague. The name was unusual, and the facts came together pretty fast. He was a member of the Georgia Bar Association, and a full partner at King & Spalding, one of our city's more expensive options in justice evasion services. (When I was on the force, there was rumor going around that you could make the DA cry just by saying "King & Spalding". I never tried it, myself.) Anyway, it was clear that this Montague guy had both money and connections.

On the personal side, there was a marriage certificate dated 2026 for him and a Miss Donatella Snell. Wisely, she had opted to take her husband's name after the marriage. According to the birth certificates, the couple had three children, ages 7, 5, and 2. Jointly, they owned a house in Buckhead, a condo in Gulf Shores, a cabin on Lake Lanier, three cars, a ski boat, and a single engine plane. Wow. I'm not the jealous type, but sometimes I think the communists might have been on to something after all.

A quick search of the newsites turned up several hits in the society column. You know,
Jackson Montague throws a benefit for homeless whales
, that sort of thing. Plus a long series of stories detailing his court cases. Seems he has a habit of defending people with Russian last names and dubious reputations. It seemed strange that none of his high society friends objected to that. Well, maybe they think its exciting, hanging out with a mob lawyer. Anyway, there was nothing in the news sites indicating that Montague himself had ever been in any trouble, and his name had never crossed the police blotter.

OK. So the guy was rich, socially connected, and mobbed up. But that still didn't explain why Daniel and Vince were so hot to hook up with him. I mean, Daniel has lots of rich clients with less eccentric sexual tastes. What was it about this guy that made him worth pursuing? I kept digging.

I tried looking into the guy's early life. It wasn't easy. A lot of records that old are kept on paper, which as a storage medium is only a half step up from totally useless. Luckily, a few states have gone back and digitized their old files. --Mostly to make the genealogy buffs happy.

Anyway, I finally caught up with Jackson Montague's past in New Orleans. A birth certificate recorded his entry into this world in 1987. Once I'd picked up the trail there, the rest was easy to track down. A diploma from Tulane law school in 2010. An earlier marriage certificate, to his first wife, Ms. Karen Saxon. A boy, Preston, born on December 5 of... of the same year that Daniel was born.

Daniel's exact birth date. And the birth date for all the other boy's in Vince's file. Pay dirt.

The pieces were starting to fit together. Vince was trying to run an heir finding scam on this guy. He was gonna present Daniel as Montague's long lost son. Only...

Only that was stupid. Heir finding scams haven't worked in years. Not since they came out with DNA testing.
Oh, so you've found my long lost son? Would you mind providing me with a small blood sample?

No. It would only work if Daniel really was Montague's long lost son. And then how could Vince have found him? How could he have picked Daniel out of all the thousands of kids from the camps with that birth date? There was no way to get at the records matching birth parents to the children they'd given up. At least no way that I could find. And I do this kind of thing for a living. How the hell could an amateur like Vince have pulled it off? It didn't make any sense.

Nor, come to think of it, did the whole strategy of introducing Daniel to his father by way of a vampiric sex orgy. I mean, if Vince was here to present the heir and take a finder's fee, this was not the way to go about it. And besides, how happy would Montague be to see the son that he'd intentionally gotten rid of twenty years ago? I can't imagine him getting all mushy and generous over it.