A Better Goodbye (16 page)

A goddamned jack shack,
Nick kept thinking on the drive over that first day. Of all the places he thought he'd never work, this had to be number one. Amazing, the things you do when money is tight. But he told himself the job was just for a couple of months—and then he found himself smiling at the thought of sitting around with the women he'd been hired to protect. Hell, how tough could that be?

The tough part looked like it would be finding a parking place. It was almost ten-thirty when he finally ignored a sign that said he needed a special sticker and squeezed his pickup between a new Lexus SUV and one of those little Benzes. That's the kind of neighborhood it was, people living in high-rises that weren't quite as fancy as the ones on Wilshire but still driving cars that made them look like money. They would probably think Nick was working on a nearby renovation project when they saw what he was leaving on the street. That was fine with him. He just didn't want any tickets. Didn't want any record that he was in the neighborhood either.

He walked a block and a half to the address Scott Crandall had given him, wondering how long the remaining duplexes and single-family homes would survive before they were torn down for more high-rises. The place where Crandall did business looked new and exclusive: ten stories, circular drive, lots of ferns and plants that flowered even in winter, and glass double doors that wouldn't open until Nick found the intercom and got whoever was waiting upstairs to buzz him in.

He took the elevator to the eighth floor, exited and turned left, then saw the faux-gold apartment numbers on the wall and went the other way. Eight-twenty-four was a corner apartment. Before he could press the doorbell, a guy burst out of the apartment across the hall to confront him.

“Tell that bitch Ling to leave Eddie alone,” the guy said, anger in his voice but tears in his eyes.

“Ling?” Nick asked. “Male or female?”

“You think you're funny?”

“I'm asking a question, that's all.”

“Female, she's a female, the little twat,” the guy said. “Like there isn't a world full of straight men for her to sink her claws into.” He brushed at the tears that were starting to spill down his cheeks. “Just tell Ling I suck cock better than she does, and Eddie knows it.”

He spun on his heel and went back through his door as fast as he'd come out of it.

Nick was wondering what the hell that had been about when the door to 824 opened and a woman peeked out at him, her eyes heavy with mascara.

“Nick?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Hurry up, get in here.”

Nick shrugged and stepped inside. The woman closed the door so quickly that it clipped his heel. The light in the entryway was dim, but up ahead it looked like the late morning sun was doing its job.

“What was all that about?” Nick asked.

“Not here,” the woman said. “Come on.”

She kept her distance as she led him into the apartment. Nick guessed she was twenty-five or maybe a little older if she scraped off her makeup. Her hair was dyed strawberry blonde, and he thought it looked good on her even if it did come out of a bottle. She was wearing something he would have called a robe if it wasn't black silk, frilled with lace, and left unbuttoned to reveal tits so perfect he didn't want to know if they were fake. He couldn't help staring, and when she caught him, she gave him a frown that must have poleaxed unwanted admirers in settings where the play wasn't for pay.

There were Japanese dividers up in the living room, and from the other side of them, a second woman's voice could be heard: “One-sixty for a half-hour, two hundred for the hour . . . Just me and my girlfriend in a high-rise, very luxurious . . . That's right, completely nude.”

She was hanging up when Nick walked around the divider and saw her sitting on a tired sofa, staring at him blankly, the outline of her nipples obvious under her red teddy. Good luck guessing what nationality she was. Maybe Asian, maybe Latin, maybe something he'd never heard of—anything was possible in L.A. All Nick knew was that she was so exotically beautiful she probably could turn that gay guy straight.

“Are you Ling?” he asked.

She laughed. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, there was this guy out in the hall—”

“Neal,” said the woman who had met him at the door, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did, because the woman on the sofa laughed again.

“That's not Ling, incidentally,” the first woman told Nick. “She's Kianna. I'm Sierra.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding, trying to file the names in his memory. “Does somebody named Ling work here?”

“Sometimes she does,” Kianna said, ignoring one of the two phones on the teak coffee table as it rang. “When she's not, like, stoned or crashing her car or begging Mommy and Daddy in the Palisades for more money.”

“Shut up, Kianna,” Sierra said.

“It's true.”

“It's not anybody's business but ours, okay?”

“Whatever,” Kianna said, and picked up the phone.

Her conversation became background music as Nick turned his attention to Sierra. It was obvious she was the one in charge, and that she liked it that way.

“I guess Scott told you your job,” she said.

“Yeah, make sure you and her”—Nick nodded at Kianna—“don't have any problems.”

“But no rough stuff. Unless things get really scary.”

“I'm not here to hurt anybody.”

“You better not be. The last thing we need is you beating up some guy or whatever when he just needs to be put on the elevator. We don't want the neighbors calling the cops. That would be fucked.”

“You're not worried about what's-his-name out there?”

“Neal? No way. Eddie would have a shit fit. Just be cool, all right?”

Nick nodded. No sense in speaking to someone who wasn't interested in hearing the sound of his voice.

“You'll be opening up mornings,” Sierra said. “I'll give you the key before I take off today. Appointments start at eleven, and the girls should show up a half-hour before so they can book appointments for lunch. That means you've got to be here by ten-fifteen. Not like today, in other words.”

“I didn't think parking would—”

“I'm not saying girls won't be late. Some of them, I swear to God, you're lucky if they get here at all.”

“Got it,” Nick said. “Any place to park that's better than the street?”

“There's two spaces in the garage, but the girls get them. For safety reasons. In case any crazies they meet here start waiting outside. It happens, you know.”

“Maybe I can look around if I run out every couple hours to move my car.”

“Whatever, as long as there's no clients on the way up.”

With the ground rules laid out, there was nothing left for Nick and Sierra to talk about. The only voice heard belonged to Kianna as she worked the two phones, most callers apparently seeking nothing more than titillating conversation as they tried to start their hearts with a morning tug. Every once in a while, she cast an annoyed glance at Sierra, but Sierra ignored her. Typical queen bee.

She kept it up until the intercom buzzed. “Must be my eleven o'clock,” she said. She hurried toward a speaker next to the front door and asked who it was. When a voice said it was Phil, she buzzed him up without telling him the apartment number. “Comes every Wednesday,” she told Nick, giggling, expecting him to acknowledge the double entendre. He forced a smile and hoped for her sake that her skills in bed were better than her sense of humor.

“You want me to open the door for this guy?” he asked.

“I'm trying to get him in here, not chase him away,” she said.

Behind them Kianna laughed. Nick felt his ears burning, but he kept his eyes on Sierra. “So,” he said, “what do I do?”

“In there,” she said, pointing toward a side room. “And shut the door behind you.”

“You want me hiding?” The idea was strange, even insulting.

“Yes, hiding. Now do it before he gets here.”

Nick started to ask her, What the fuck? Then he thought better of it and stepped into what looked like a second bedroom, telling himself to take it slow and easy, get a handle on the situation, the way Cecil taught him to. He flipped a switch and an overhead light came on, revealing three pieces of fifth-rate erotic art on the walls and taupe carpet in serious need of vacuuming. A futon covered by a multicolored comforter had been pushed up against one wall. Beside it were fancy plastic bottles filled with oil and lotion. Something was spilling from a bottle that hadn't been closed and was now lying on its side, next to a puffball of carpet fabric, a box of tissue, and a CD without a case.

He kneeled to see what these girls listened to, only to be distracted by the mess on the floor. The unvacuumed carpet was stained with whatever the girls used on their clients, and maybe human fluids as well. There were tall candles on both sides of the futon, and wax from them had spilled onto the carpet. What surprised him most was how much hair there was everywhere, on the pillows and the comforter, in the wax deposits, even on the CD player. The long hair was obviously female, but the short, curly hair had to be pubic and was most likely male. He made a mental note to be careful where he put his hands before he finally got around to picking up the forlorn CD. He'd never heard of a band called Enigma. Shrugging, he searched for the CD's case. When he couldn't find it among the half-dozen others that were safe in their cases, he laid it atop a CD player stained by oily fingers.

A half-open door beckoned from a few feet away, so he rose and stepped through it just far enough to turn on the light. It was a bathroom, and one look told him not to venture any farther. The faucets in the sink and shower were dripping, staining the porcelain with rust in shapes that might inspire visions both sacred and profane. The wastebasket overflowed with tissue, paper towels, tampons, and God knows what else.

The presumably clean towels stacked behind the toilet suggested a touch of order that was quickly belied by a wet towel hanging on a rack and another on the floor. Good thing the lid on the toilet seat was down. He didn't want to think about what might be under it.

But when the candles were burning, the overhead light was off, and the curtains were closed, a guy whose only concern was his hard-on wouldn't notice any of it. Nick smiled as he remembered the times he had been blinded by horniness, and he wondered at the temptation he would face in the days and weeks ahead. Those were good-looking women out there, especially Kianna. She was enough to make him wonder if employees got discounts. Then again, it had never been his style to pay for it.

He stood and moved toward the only significant piece of furniture in the room besides the futon, a padded chair that looked like it belonged at a dining table. Before he reached it, he saw a door that had to be to a closet. What the hell, he'd checked out everything else. He opened it and saw the flimsy things the girls wore dangling from wire hangers. An instant later he was hit by an overpowering smell that had nothing to do with lingerie. It was pure stink.

The source was a pile of sheets and towels that had been thrown in the rear of the closet as soon as whatever happened on them happened, probably yesterday, although a smell like that could have been a week in the making. There was a vacuum cleaner tucked in a rear corner, too. As Nick wondered if it had ever been used, the bedroom door opened and Kianna stood there staring at him accusingly.

“Oh, shit,” she said, “You're not a pervert, are you?”

“No, I'm . . . ” He was searching for words and not finding them. It was Kianna's fault. Her boobs were right there ready to be stared at, and he didn't want her busting him for it. The look he'd gotten from Sierra had been embarrassing enough. But Kianna's boobs were still interfering with his ability to form an explanation, and it didn't seem like the time to bring up the general filth in the bedroom or the stench in the closet. Finally, against these impossible odds, he summoned a complete thought: “I'm looking for a vacuum. Thought I'd clean the place up.”

“I don't think so,” Kianna said.

“I'm serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

She kept staring at him, suspicion narrowing her eyes while a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was beautiful even when confused.

“Hey,” Nick said, “I found the vacuum, didn't I?”

She thought about that for a moment. “Okay,” she said, letting her smile seize control of her face. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to come out. You really don't have to hide. Sierra was being a bitch. Just make sure you stay behind the dividers when there's clients, okay?”

“Will do,” Nick said.

She turned and walked back to the living room. He followed, enjoying the view despite his suspicions about her hygiene. There was no TV—Scott had said he didn't want his girls wrapped up in
The Bold and the Beautiful
when they should be taking care of business—so Nick watched Kianna carefully pour oils and lotions she'd purchased at a ninety-nine-cent store into fancy unmarked bottles. “All the girls do it,” she said. “Clients don't know the difference.”

Sierra glared at Nick when she stepped out of the master bedroom to say her regular was getting dressed, but that was all. Maybe it was because she was preoccupied by the complaints she registered as soon as the poor goof was gone. She said he had the hairiest back she'd ever seen, and today he'd had toilet paper stuck to his ass, too. Kianna said she thought TP ass was cute.

A little before two, after Kianna had seen two clients and Sierra her second and third, Scott came by, fussing over the girls before he pulled Nick aside and shoved a notepad and a pen at him. They were for keeping track of how many clients the girls saw and how long the sessions lasted. Each girl, at the end of her shift, had to stop by a metal security box under the kitchen sink and deposit an envelope bearing the number she'd been assigned and containing the house's share of her daily earnings. “These fucking women would steal my goddamn lungs if I let 'em,” Scott said. “And do not let them talk you into any kickbacks, man. Do not.” Then he grabbed Sierra by the arm and steered her into the master bedroom for a massage, playfully slapping her on the rump and telling her she looked hot.