Hooked (5 page)

T
awny picked at her grilled vegetables. She should have insisted Walsh wait until after dinner to tell her what he wanted her to do. Her hunger pangs gave way to nausea after hearing about the strangled girl, thrown into the harbor like chum.

Tawny recalled the murders of other prostitutes over the years. Some were reckless in their choice of customers; others became targets of some psycho bent on ridding the world of immorality as he saw it. Jealous rage by an obsessed john or boyfriend accounted for a few more. Instinct guided Tawny to refuse second appointments with clients who possessed obsessive tendencies. Sometimes it was a tricky call.

Walsh sat quietly. He didn’t eat either. “You know Benny Cooper more than as the husband of an ex-call girl, don’t you?”

She moved a chunk of zucchini around on her plate. “Yes, I know him, but I told the truth when I said I never worked for anyone. If I had, it wouldn’t have been for Benny. It’s not that he skimps on money. He doesn’t like to think of himself as a pimp, so he arranges good jobs that pay well and the clients pay the ladies directly. He never handles their money, only his own.” She met his gaze. “So I’ve heard.”

After sipping her Perrier, she said, “The problem is Benny likes to test his women on a regular basis.”

“What do you mean test?”

“Oh, come on. You know. A freebie. I don’t do freebies. No birthday presents, no Christmas gifts.” Walsh tried to act like her comment meant nothing, but he drew back enough to show it bothered him.

“A real business woman, huh?”

She chose to ignore the snide comment. She ran a business, and the business was her. She wasn’t going to give it away. “You bet. Benny knows how I work…worked. He’d be suspicious if I went to him for a job.”

“Then we’ll make him come to you.” Walsh took a big swallow of vodka. “No pun intended.”

“You’re full of sarcasm. Is that what they teach you at the police academy?” She slapped down her fork. “Look, you approached me. You might not like what I did with my life, but it was my life, and it still is. If you can’t treat me with respect, then get it over with and arrest me on whatever charges you can come up with. Tax evasion? Fine. Prostitution? So be it. Then you can find someone else to do your dirty work.” She pushed her plate aside and got up. “I’m going to my room. I’d prefer you don’t handcuff me in the dining room.”

“Sit down.”

She turned to face him.

“Please.”

She sat down, forcing herself not to act like a petulant child, but it strained her.

“You are one hard woman.”

“What did you expect, Mary Poppins?”

He shook his head. “Someone must have really done you over. Who was it? College boyfriend? Married professor who wouldn’t leave his wife?”

Fire heated her cheeks. “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch.”

“So I’ve been told. Like you, I’m just doing my job.” He waved to the waiter and pointed to his drink with two fingers―a double―then stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “I apologize,” he said. “I had no right to put you down.”

“That’s twice you’ve said sorry, and it must have hurt both times.”

The waiter came with a fresh drink, and Walsh drained the vodka in progress and handed him the empty glass. “After this one,” he said pointing to the replacement, “I won’t feel a thing.”

“You’re going to find this hard to believe, Walsh, but I had an idyllic childhood with perfect, caring, middle-class parents. No one beat me or threw me out, and no one screwed me up along the way.” Walsh obviously didn’t know about the one time somebody did, and she wasn’t about to unload the story. “It’s not very complicated.”

He put a good dent in his drink. “You seem complicated to me.”

“Actually, I’m rather shallow. I liked excitement, travel, and money. And I liked sex. My college friends were giving it away. I charged and made men happy while I took their money. Most men were intelligent and interesting and knew how to treat a woman. Everything first class.”

“And what did you have to do to make them happy?”

She picked up her water and held his gaze over the rim of the glass. “In my world, I set what I would and wouldn’t do. They either accepted or rejected me on that basis.”

She could tell he was salivating to know the parameters she’d set, but the vodka was getting to him. Though steady, his words slurred slightly. “You must know this stuff, Walsh. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

He surveyed the room. “We have all we can handle with the perverts of the world: sexual predators, child pornographers, sex traffickers. Doesn’t leave much time to go after consenting adults unless there’s a reason.”

“And now there is.”

This time it was Walsh who stared over his glass. “Only to get the man in charge. And yes, murder is a reason.”

“Just because the murdered gal mentioned Benny Cooper’s name doesn’t mean he murdered her. How do you know he’s involved?”

“We don’t. If we did, you’d still be sitting on the beach with a bunch of college boys creaming in their bathing trunks.”

“I’m not an undercover cop. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

“Ask a few questions of the other girls and listen for anything that sounds suspicious. Find out if Sarah Marshall worked there. That would give us something to go on.”

“Then there’s the real problem. How do you make Cooper come after me?”

“I’ve a few ideas, but I need to mull them over. Right now I’m a little fuzzy.”

“You’ve had a lot to drink. Maybe you should eat something.”

“You’re probably right, but my steak’s cold and a little undercooked.”

Tawny motioned for the waiter, and the guy came running. “Warm this up for my friend, will you? Mine too, please.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” the waiter said, hustling off with both plates.

“That guy would do anything for the pretty lady,” Linc said, slurring more obviously now. “Is that how you take care of your men?”

“You’re drunk, Detective Walsh.”

Linc nodded. “Yes, I am.”

Walsh avoided her eyes, except when he pushed away his drink. He knew he’d drunk too much. The waiter brought their food. Tawny watched him. He ate slowly and methodically, working off his high. His flushed cheeks heightened his olive complexion. A hank of shiny, dark brown hair tumbled onto his forehead. He wore it long for a cop who wasn’t a narc. Everything about Walsh told her he didn’t follow the rules. A non-conformist. And she still found him attractive.

When they finished, she signed her room number, and they left. She stayed close to him in the elevator. Closer than close. He didn’t move away. He still had the key card and slipped it into the door slot. He held open the door and followed her inside.

She turned, trapping him in the small entry. They stood face to face. She moved in until they were body to body. The pace of his breathing increased. She moved closer. Their gazes locked, and she knew what was going to happen.
Stop me, Walsh
, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Besides, she pushed this and didn’t want it to stop.

He leaned down, hesitating. His dark eyes roamed her face, taking in every feature. She always heard vodka didn’t smell, but the odor of alcohol was unmistakable. The tang of lime. The enticing scent of Lincoln Walsh. She breathed him in, filling her senses. Their lips touched, gently at first, then so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. Their tongues teased in her mouth until his kisses covered her cheeks and her ear and the long column of her neck. Her body tingled in anticipation.

His hardness pressed between her thighs. Before she knew it, he’d whisked her T-shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra. His mouth covered one breast, then the other, sucking hard, causing her to wince from the sheer blissful pleasure, a prologue to what she knew would follow.

She tore off his shirt and ran her hands all over the rippling muscles of his back, biting his shoulder and ear lobe, sucking his neck. It all happened so fast. This wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before. Men had always been clients, customers. Always business, no emotions involved. Walsh turned her on like no one had in a very, very
long time.

After he unbuckled his belt, his slacks fell to the floor, and he kicked out of them. Then she helped him remove hers. Stooping down, he thrust his tongue into her wetness. All she could do was moan, “Ohhh,” in a long breath, weak from the thrill. Bringing her almost to climax, he stopped and kissed and licked his way up her belly to the tips of her nipples, his tongue’s delicate touch sending shivers through her, his gentle nibbling sparking volts of electricity, turning every sense radioactive.

God, he was beautiful. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not after all these years.

Then he lifted her up against the wall, and she wound her legs around him, over his hips, locking him into her. Guiding his slick erection inside her, he whispered softly in her ear, “Business is over for the night.” He stopped, met her gaze. “Or is it?”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Pain stabbed her chest. Shaky and disoriented, she unwound herself, set her feet on the floor, and pushed him back with such force he hit the other side of the entry hall with a thud. Her heart started beating again, pounding like a piston. Her throat knotted.

“Get out, Walsh.” The thrill she felt only moments before collapsed like a house of cards, fast and messy, jagged pieces all over her insides. A rushing sound filled her ears, and the room spun.

He stood naked, his empty arms outstretched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She picked up his clothes off the carpet, opened the door, and threw them into the hall. “Get. Out.”

He followed her into the bathroom as she gathered his toiletries off the counter and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around. “It came out all wrong. I made a mistake.”

She fought to keep the tears from flooding her eyes. Fought to keep the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach from erupting. This is what happened when you let down your guard. You got hurt. She knew better. “You’re right,” she managed to say. “Our
business
is over for the night. You can arrest me in the morning. Going to jail would be preferable to working with you. Now get your hands off me.”

“Don’t be―”

Pushing him away, she snapped up everything of his she could find, stormed to the open door, and tossed them over the shirt she’d flung in the hotel corridor. All that remained was him.

“Out.”

His now deflated member hung in shame as she pushed his sorry hide into the hall, alongside his belongings.

He turned toward her. “I’m sorry, I―”

She glared at him and slammed the door.

He banged on it. “Let me in, Tawny. Please. It came out all wrong.”

Turning back into the room, she saw his satchel on the sofa. She picked it up, opened the door, and threw it at him. “Go to hell.”

A couple walking by stared, but neither Tawny nor Walsh paid them any attention. She kicked the door shut again and turned the lock.

After picking up her clothes, she stepped into the shower, set the temperature of the pelting water to a few degrees below boiling, and scrubbed herself almost raw, first with the washcloth, then with the towel. She didn’t even comb her wet hair.

Naked and flushed with heat, she opened the liquor cabinet and studied her choices. Early in her career, she had taken a bartending course to learn about the different spirits. Although she herself didn’t drink, she could mix a mean cocktail. She
selected a mini bottle of bourbon, opened it, and bypassing a glass, sipped, shivering as the caramel taste burned its way down her throat. She carried the bottle to the bed and sat with her back against the headboard. Lifting the remaining alcohol to her lips, she finished off the bottle in two long swigs, scrunching her nose and shuddering again. God-awful stuff, she thought, coughing. She always wondered why people drank. Now she understood one prime reason. To forget. But for the life of her, she couldn’t decide which to forget: the pain or the pleasure.

T
hat evening, Benny sat at the desk in his apartment at Upper Eighties, savoring his Macallan’s while going over the books. Melody had performed her usual magic. Although his body and spirit felt rejuvenated, like he’d been pampered at a luxurious spa, he couldn’t ignore the diminished receipts caused by the economic nosedive. One of his higher-priced ladies had a steady patron at the condo on the Lower West Side; Midtown was empty. A few of his younger ladies were entertaining half a dozen men on the fourth floor at a decent night’s rate, and regular clients occupied two suites, including big man Rick Martell playing Daddy with Melody and Cindi as mommy and baby. Not a filled-to-capacity night but a tidy take.

He punched the intercom when the phone buzzed. “What is it, Charles?”

“I think we have a problem, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Martell just left before his allotted time, and he acted very strange. His shirt was hanging out over his pants, and he didn’t say goodbye or even acknowledge me. Someone better check his room.”

Benny’s heart amped into double rhythm. He couldn’t afford another problem. “Is Colin still here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Patch me into his office. And Charles, don’t say a word about this.”

“About what, sir?”

Within a few seconds, Colin answered with his usual, “Harwood.”

“Open visual communications into room twenty.”

“I have it on tape, Ben―”

“Just do it,” Benny said. “Now.”

“Okay, okay.” The line went quiet for a minute. “You’d better get up there. I’m on my way.”

Benny slammed down the phone and dashed out of his apartment. He almost crashed into Colin as they both headed for the stairs, bypassing the slow elevator. Colin used the master key card, and they pushed the door open.

“Jesus,” Colin said.

Melody lay sprawled on the floor, a deep, bloody gash marking the side of her head. Bed linens half covered Cindi’s awkwardly twisted body. Benny yanked Colin inside. “Close the damn door and turn off the camera.”

Colin took the DVD control and punched the buttons he’d programmed to shut off the hidden camera, then went for the bed and Cindi. Benny hovered over Melody.

“I can’t find a pulse, Benny.” Colin examined Cindi. “Christ, looks like she’s seen the inside of a trash compactor. What did he do, sit on her?”

Benny’s stomach churned with acid as if he’d eaten his mother’s lethal matzoh balls. “Melody’s still breathing.” He rushed to Cindi and put his hand on her neck. Then he listened to her chest. “I can’t get a pulse.”

“Should I call an ambulance?” Colin asked.

Benny leapt to his feet. “Are you crazy? The cops will be all over this place.” His thoughts went to Serena Marshall, lying somewhere on a cold slab, and a wave of guilt streaked by like lightning. He and Colin had discussed the ex-employee when the news identified her as the woman in the harbor. “The cops can’t prove Serena was connected
to us. If we call this in, they’ll know for sure. Then they’ll think we had something to do with her death. They’ll close us down in less than a heartbeat, put us all under the microscope. We’ll be ruined.”

“But we had nothing to do with Serena’s death,” Colin said defensively. “It had to be a john or a crazy.”

“Whatever happened, she’s dead, and she worked here. How long do you think it’d take for them to find one of the girls if they make the connection? I’ll tell you how long.” He snapped his fingers in Colin’s face. “That long.”

“What are you going to do about Cindi’s body? And about Melody?”

“I can’t have Melody turning up at the hospital.” He pulled out his cell. “Why me, God?” he mumbled. “What did I ever do except to make people rich and happy?”

“Who are you calling?” Colin asked.

“A friend. Call your boyfriend and tell him to get his ass over here.”

Colin’s lover, an over-developed ex-boxer by the name of Reggie Cart, held a variety of jobs, none of which required more than a minimal IQ or conscience. Whenever Benny thought of puny Colin and his muscle-bound partner going at it, he couldn’t help smirking. Not tonight. Tonight, they were the perfect couple, and he needed them both.

“Reggie’s not a bloody undertaker; he’s a thug. Besides, he’s driving a cab tonight.”

Benny ignored the undertaker description. “Perfect. He’ll need a car.”

“What if Cindi has family?”

“She’s from Kansas,” Benny said. “Those people hardly ever leave their farms. Besides, she hasn’t been here long enough for them to know what she was doing. She probably didn’t even have friends.”

“She’s friends with Melody.”

“Melody’s
a different―Hello?” He raised a cautionary finger as he talked. “Max, Benny. I need your help.”

* * * * *

C
olin ushered Max Kaufman into Benny’s apartment. Melody lay on the same bed where she’d serviced Benny that afternoon, only now she was out cold. First, Max examined the gash on her head, then checked her heart, pulse, and eyes. He opened his black bag and took out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. While Max examined her, she regained consciousness but acted disoriented. Benny gave her a sip of brandy. He didn’t want to ask her any questions with his friend in the room, and thankfully she kept her mouth shut.

After Max finished checking Melody’s vitals, he cleaned and bandaged her head. He asked her a few questions, which she answered without slurring. She moaned Cindi’s name. “I think she’ll be all right,” Max said. “She might have a mild concussion. I can’t be sure without further tests.”

“I’ll take your first diagnosis,” Benny said. “She’ll be all right.”

“Wake her up a few times tonight to make sure she’s okay. I’m going to write down some of the symptoms you should watch for. If any last an extended period of time, get her to a hospital. And no aspirin. Acetaminophen is fine.” He took out a pad and wrote down a few things.

“Anything else I should know?” Max asked, pulling Benny aside. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

“Better you shouldn’t know.”

Max’s dark, piercing eyes, enlarged by magnifying glasses, peered from under a border of bushy brows and settled on Benny. “That bad, huh?”

Benny nodded, debating whether he should tell Max what happened. Dr. Max
Kaufman lost his medical license years before after being convicted of second-degree murder for the assisted suicide of a terminally ill patient. It wasn’t the first time he’d crossed a legal medical line, but it was the only instance the prosecution could prove. He’d shown no remorse, and after his sentence, stated unequivocally that he’d do it again. He served four years in federal prison before his lawyers got him off on appeal. During his time there, two inmates died of suspicious circumstances. Both were terminally ill, but again, no one could prove Max had anything to do with their deaths.

Benny made his acquaintance through the friend of a friend, and whenever there was a problem with one of his girls or a client, Max came to the rescue. Since he couldn’t practice legally, the money he made illegally kept him and his family clothed and fed. Benny was generous in exchange for Max’s services. Very generous.

“You know, Benny, I parked my ethics a long time ago. Your patron with the heart attack should have proved that.”

“Personally, my friend, I think you’re one of the few doctors I’ve known who has any ethics at all. I believe in ending the suffering of people who choose that road. It’s humane.” Benny poured Max a shot of Remy Martin and handed it to him. “I’ve got a dead girl in the other room.” He watched Max to see his reaction. There was none. “A four-hundred-fifty-pound client who’s a heart attack waiting to happen
got a hair up his crack and went postal.”

“What did he do?”

“Crushed her, I think. I’ll have to wait for Melody to tell us what happened.” Benny didn’t want to tell Max he had a video of the murder. “Maybe he was high on drugs or something, I don’t know. He hot-footed it out of here before we knew anything was wrong.” Benny poured himself another scotch, clicked glasses with Max, and both downed their drinks in one swallow. Benny hated to guzzle good scotch, but he needed the jolt. “Nothing you can do at this point. She’s definitely dead.”

“Take me there. I’ll examine the body.”

Benny led Max up the stairs. The ex-doctor felt Cindi’s rib cage, then checked her over. “I’m guessing, but I’d say she suffocated. From the frayed costume and the bruising, I’d say she had a good spanking before he finished her off.”

“The guy never did anything like that before.
Never
got rough. Just a big, fat pussycat who liked pussy.”

“Pussycat, my ass. More like a man-eating tiger,” Max said. “What are you going to do?”

Benny ran a hand through his thick hair. “What can I do? The girl they found in the harbor was one of mine. If they connect Cindi to me, they’ll think I had something to do with her murder.”

“Did you?”

“No,” Benny said. “I didn’t. But who’d believe me? Two girls?” He glanced at Cindi. “Colin’s friend will get rid of the body. Maybe the cops’ll think there’s a serial killer taking out prostitutes. It’s happened before. I can’t jeopardize everything I’ve worked for.”

“And Melody?” Max cocked his head, searching Benny’s face. “Maybe she won’t remember what happened. Concussions can do that.”

“I’m not that lucky. Lately the stars have been out of alignment for me. Shit happens, but this is a
farcockteh
downpour. Besides, she was friends with this girl. She’ll ask what happened to her. I’ll have to tell her the truth.”

“You’ll pay her off?”

Benny snorted. “Big time.”

“And the killer?”

“That’s the real problem,” Benny said. “He’s the accountant for the Russo Family.”

“
Oy vey
.”

“You got that right.”

* * * * *

R
emoving Cindi’s body would have to wait until later. Too many clients lingered in the building. Benny and Colin had a hard enough time moving Melody to Benny’s apartment without anyone seeing. The two men used the interim to watch the video of what happened in room twenty. Max had been right. Rick Martell viciously spanked his imaginary baby sister, then mounted her and bounced as if he were on a trampoline. He pushed Melody out of the way when she tried to stop him. She hit her head on the dresser and fell to the floor. From the film, Cindi looked dead long before he stopped. When he grasped what he’d done, he tried to revive her, but it was too late. Martell turned as white as the fine Italian linens on the bed. He got up, dressed haphazardly, and walked out the door as if he were in a daze.

Colin coughed. “Jesus, I’m no shrink, but it looked like the baby sister act triggered a repressed memory or something. He went ballistic.”

Benny nodded. “Freaked. I’m not sure how to handle it from this point.”

Colin swiveled his chair around. “Reggie will get rid of the body. No one but your doctor friend and the three of us will ever know she died here.”

Benny plunked down in a chair and dropped his head into his hands. “Why is this happening to me?” he whined. “I’m just a guy who loves sex, Colin. I know you don’t understand that, at least with women, but that’s what got me started in this business.” That and Eileen
.
“It wasn’t the money. I made enough money so I’d never have to work again. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but for me it’s always been about sex. Sex, and lots of it.”

Benny took a bottle of scotch out of the cabinet. He poured three fingers and guzzled it down. “I’m ruined.” He poured another shot, swallowed, and grimaced. “Remind me to keep a good bottle of scotch in here. The way things are going, I should carry a flask in my pocket.” He drank the inferior scotch anyway. “Why did this have to happen?” Colin didn’t answer. Benny wanted the night over with. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow morning and realize this was a bad dream. He pinched himself. Fuck! Hurt like hell. This was no dream.

Reggie arrived shortly after midnight. Benny was always a little intimidated when he saw Colin’s significant other. No one on the planet would suspect Reggie was gay. The man stood six-five, weighed at least three-twenty, and had skin that defied detection on the darkest nights. His pecs bulged as if they were silicone; his head was shaved smooth as polished onyx. If Benny passed Reggie on a lonely street, he’d shake in his Ferragamos for fear Reggie was a gangbanger, ready to pounce like a panther on unsuspecting prey. He hated to think like that because he was profiling. Not something he liked to think he did. But that’s the way he felt and he couldn’t help it.

Reggie nodded to Benny and followed Colin upstairs to room twenty, carrying a large suitcase as if it were weightless. Benny assumed it would contain the beautiful Cindi when he left.

Benny didn’t ask Reggie what he was going to do or where he was going to do it. He didn’t want to know. He crept into his apartment, bone-dead tired. Melody was zonked out in the bedroom, and he nudged her awake, like Max said to do, in case she had a concussion. He’d wake her a few more times during the night and speak to her in the morning when they both felt more like talking. He thought about taking one of the pills himself, but opted instead for one last well-deserved drink before he turned in. He breathed in the heavy aroma, lost in his thoughts. Why had a plague of death crashed down on him like a giant meteor after years of peace and prosperity? First Serena, now Cindi, and poor Melody was out cold.