Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel (30 page)

"It's closer to dinnertime--what's your name, by the way?"

"I'm called L.A."

"Love your city?"

"It's for Loving Albert. My auntie who raised me called me that. She was a moral lady, would sure like me to have breakfast--I like breakfast anytime of day, Officer."

"Help me out, L.A., and you'll be breakfasting with the best of them. When's the last time you saw these two girls?"

"The last time... I'm thinking two nights ago, yeah, two, not last night, last night was the Ebony Princess contest, they had only black girls. Plenty of white guys coming in to watch, though."

"Two nights for sure or a guess?"

"For sure, Officer."

Milo gave him a twenty.

The guy stared at the bill. "I guess that could go two breakfasts."

"Who said anything about two?"

"My auntie was big on nutrition."

"Ever see these girls with the same customers consistently?"

"No, sir," said the man. "They with each other, always laughing, you know?"

"Know what?"

"I get the feeling they
like
each other." Three rapid winks caused the opposite side of his face to contract like a harried sea anemone. "Wonder which one gives and which one gets."

The twenty remained in his outstretched palm. Filthy palm but when he closed it over the money, he exposed trimmed nails. Go know.

"Twenty more, I could have three, four breakfasts, Officer."

Milo peeled off an additional ten.

"Another twenty would be nicer, but thank you, Officer."

"You lie to me, we're going out for a four-course dinner and you're picking up the tab, L.A."

"Whoa." Laughter. "That could clean out my 401(k)."

As we edged out of the downtown business district and got on Sixth Street, Milo said, "I'll be back when it opens, need to figure out a good watch-spot."

"Let's buy gold chains, return as gentlemen."

"Acrylic shirts I've already got--all that breakfast talk got me thinking Paul Revere."

"Little too early for a midnight munchie ride, Big Guy."

"I'm talking one by land, one by sea. As in surf and turf, as in the T-bone-fillet-langoustine combo at that place on Eighth."

I said, "Don't want my patriotism questioned."

We were well short of the steak house when Sean Binchy phoned in.

"Got Bri and Selma, Loot. Right in front of the father's house, I barely turned off my engine when they showed up."

Dropping names as if he and the strippers were old friends. Sean loves the world, an attitude unchanged by facing felonies daily.

Milo said, "Take 'em into custody."

"Already done, we'll be at the station in twenty. They've got interesting stories, Loot."

"About the murders?"

"No, nothing like that, just how they're thinking of turning religious, leaving the life."

"Tell 'em to hold off on repentance, Sean. I need 'em in full sinner-mode."

CHAPTER
33

Brianna Blevins and Selma Arredondo wore white tank tops cut high enough to expose drum-tight midriffs, second-skin jeans, backless high-heeled sandals, oversized hoop earrings, gold-plated bangles cuffing their right wrists.

Both girls had eyebrow pierces, tongue studs, multiple holes in their ears. Selma sported a diamond between a perky mouth and a cute chin.

Brianna's visible tattoos were: a left forearm sleeve filled with roses and thorns, a barbed-wire biceps ring, a female devil's face in the hollow beneath her neck,
Love
inked in black gothic across one collarbone,
Devotion
stretching the length of the other.

Selma's neck was circled by a blue-and-red-ink necklace of yellow diamonds and red links "supporting" a pear-shaped black pearl that was a masterpiece of trompe l'oeil. Both of her arms were slave-braceleted three times. Chinese characters rose up from where cleavage would be if her breasts could produce such.

Milo asked her, "What does that say?"

"Something about life."

Cell phones confiscated and purses searched, the girls were placed in separate interview rooms and left to contemplate.

Fueled by adrenaline, detective room coffee, and a vending-machine roast beef sandwich that made him grumble about "turf that didn't deserve surf," Milo started with Brianna.

The girl, looking older than nineteen, eyes already running to crow's-feet, kept her eyes on the table.

"Hi, Bri. Me, again. And this is Alex."

"Uh-huh."

We sat down, crowding her. "Tell us about Tristram and Quinn, Bri."

"Don't know 'em."

"Actually, you do, Bri."

"I don't."

Milo showed her pictures. "Tristram Wydette and Quinn Glover, hot guys, I can see the attraction. Hot rich guys, Tristram drives that Jaguar, Quinn's got that yellow Hummer. They tip well for lap dances?"

The girl barely glanced at the images. "I still don't know 'em."

"Actually, you still do, Bri."

He gave her a few seconds to reconsider. When she remained mute and sullen, he scooted even closer. She looked over her shoulder, searching for room to escape. Saw blank wall and exhaled.

"Bri, we already know a lot, so you might as well help yourself. Let's start with you and Selma meeting Tristram and Quinn at the Hungry Lion, then partying together for months. We've got their credit card records, so we know when they started coming in, how much money they spent on you. We've got other sources, so we also know about the promises they made."

Pausing to give her a chance.

Bri Blevins shook her head.

"Promises of amazing stuff," he went on. "Like taking you guys on a private jet to Aspen. And all you had to do was be nice."

He let the last word sink in. The taut flesh sheathing Bri Blevins's scapulae turned rosy, bottoming the love-devotion message in rose.

She still had the capacity to blush.

Milo said, "We don't care about that kind of nice, Bri. The only nice that interests us is a favor you did for them on a certain night. Something you worked out with Gilberto Chavez. Know who that is?"

"No." Emphatic.

"He's a Spanish guy you paid to buy dry ice, out in Van Nuys."

False eyelashes quaked. The blush across her chest seeped out as if liposuctioned. "Remember that, Bri?"

No answer.

"Different kind of ice from what you're used to," said Milo. "We found that nice little chunk of meth in your purse. Selma said you're the one always bought, she just shared."

"That's a lie!"

"Your word against Selma's, Bri, and Selma's being helpful. But honestly, Bri, the dope's no big deal, I couldn't care less about that kind of ice. What I do care about is
dry
ice. 'Cause that was used for something bad, Bri. You know what I'm talking about."

The girl blinked, crossed her arms across her torso, and dropped her head. "Uh-uh."

"Actually, you do, Bri. And unfortunately for you and Selma, you also knew the dry ice was going to be used for something really bad. And guess how we know that?"

Shrug.

"We know because Selma told us, Bri. How else would we know? You buy ice for some rich dudes, no problem. You buy ice knowing it's going to be used to kill someone, big problem, that's called accomplices before the fact. According to the law, that's the same as committing murder."

Bri Blevins looked up, tried to match his stare. Couldn't handle five seconds before she dropped her head to the table.

"Selma's already cooperating, Bri, and that's buying her a lot of goodwill. She may be your homegirl, Bri, but she's smart enough to realize that a life sentence for murder changes everything."

The girl's head shook from side to side. I'd heard moans like hers on the cancer ward.

Milo said, "It doesn't need to be bad, Bri. You've got one chance to tell us your side. After that, it's Selma being smart and you being stupid and ending up in the same situation as Tristram and Quinn. Up to you."

The head shaking rotated in a strange way, morphing to a nod.

"They're bad," she said.

"Tristram and Quinn."

"Yeah. Not the good kind of bad."

CHAPTER
34

We've been partying like... months," said Brianna Blevins.

"Where'd you meet them?"

"They came into the Lion, paid for lap dances, bought champagne, got into the VIP room."

"After that, then you started partying."

"Yeah."

"They party with anything besides meth?"

"Single malt," she said. "They always had bottles of it."

"Booze and ice," said Milo. "Then there was a different kind of ice."

Brianna Blevins grinned.

"Something funny, Bri?"

Her smile died. "Not, it's just... when they asked us to buy it we're like a different ice? Selma said it. Being funny."

"Did Tristram and Quinn laugh?"

"Um... uh-huh, they laughed all the time."

"Coupla happy guys."

"Why not? They had everything."

"What's everything, Bri?"

"Money, cars, they could do what they want. They're hot."

"And on top of all that, they had you and Selma for partying."

The girl's eyes drooped as her face turned ancient. "We knew we were like... a game, you know? They were going to Stamford College, said they'd take us but we knew that was bullshit."

"Stanford University in Palo Alto?"

"I guess."

"Tristram and Quinn promised to bring you and Selma to college."

She snorted. "Set us up in our own apartment. To be their mistresses. They liked that word. Mistresses. Like how kings and princes do it."

"Two fresh princes from Bel Air, huh?"

"Guess so."

"Did you believe the private-jet promise?"

"Probably not."

"But maybe a little at first," said Milo. "You were hoping."

"We thought it would be cool." Tears rolled down the girl's cheeks, tracked through thick foundation. "We were just a game. They showed us pictures. Of the place--Q's place, it's his family owns it. Up in the mountains, they walk out of the house, go skiing."

"Q being Quinn Glover."

"Uh-huh. Place was fiercely huge, they got a movie theater. We're like that would be cool. But no way, we knew they were lying."

"Same for the promise to set you up at Stanford."

"Stamford they'll meet girls like them, we're like stuck in a stupid apartment, can't dance, they're like you're our mistresses. No friggin' way."

"You're a smart girl, Bri."

"Not so smart. I'm here."

"Maybe we can clear that up. Let's talk about the day you paid Gilberto Chavez to buy dry ice."

"We didn't know him, we just found him."

"Where?"

"Walking on Saticoy. They said go there, there's always Mexicans need money."

"Selma take offense at that?"

"Huh? Why?"

"Selma's Mexican."

"Half, only her dad. She don't know him." She wiggled her fingers. "Could I have a smoke?"

"Not yet, Bri, but I can get you something to drink."

"Um... diet orange?"

"If we've got it. Second choice?"

"Diet Sprite."

He left the room. I smiled at her. She said, "I could really use a smoke. Is it like no smoking all the time?"

"He can be flexible."

"Oh."

Milo returned with a can of Diet 7UP, popped the tab. She sipped.

Milo said, "You found Gilberto Chavez walking on Saticoy."

"They surprised us. Tris and Q. We were gonna go to work then they called. They're like call in sick, we'll party all day.
We're
like no way, we'll get in deep shit with Leandro--that's who owns it. They're like fuck Leandro, we'll pay you boo-koo more than Leandro's gonna pay you, you say you got the flu, Leandro's gonna be cool 'cause you're the hottest dancers in the place."

Shy smile. One part of her brain still gloried in the flattery. "We're like no way. They're like we'll buy you dresses and shoes, four bottles of champagne next time, Leandro'll be chill."

"Was he?"

"Nope, he was pissed."

"So you didn't go to work. Then what?"

"Selma was already at my house 'cause my dad was gone, Tris and Q picked us up in a car, not the Jag, not the Hummer."

"What kind of car?"

"GMC Yukon."

"Color?"

"Black. They're like the Hummer's broken, this is a loaner. Except I saw an Avis label on the bumper."

Milo eyed the one-way glass. "Black Yukon from Avis, sharp eye, Bri. So where'd you guys go?"

"A hotel. They had it set up."

"Set up for..."

"Partying. Grey Goose, ice bucket, grapefruit juice, orange juice, pomegranate juice--oh, yeah, cookies and cakes... chips and guac, too."

"Which hotel?"

"Next to Universal Studios."

"The Sheraton?"

"That's it."

"Meth?"

"Mostly weed." Her eyes darted upward. "Yeah, some of that, too."

Milo said, "What else?"

"Oh, yeah, pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"Vitamin R, Trank."

"Ritalin and some sort of downer," he said. "Doing the old roller coaster, huh?"

"Head-surfing," she said. "It's like exercise, aerobics, you know?"

"R and Trank--aren't you leaving something out, Bri?"

Whispered answer, too soft to hear.

"What's that, Bri?"

"Ox."

"There you go," said Milo. "Who liked to party with Ox?"

"No one, they never had it before."

"But Tris and Q brought it that day."

"For later," she said. "For... when it's time to do the bitch."

"They didn't use a name, Bri, because you knew who they meant."

"No," she said. "They didn't use a name 'cause we didn't know a name. It was always 'the bitch.'"

"But you knew who they were talking about."

"The teacher," she said. "They talked about her all the time, we thought they were screwing around."

"About..."

"You know."

"I need to hear it from you."

"Doing her," she said.

"Killing her."

"Uh-huh."

"Why'd they want to kill her?"