Hooked (9 page)

B
enny returned to Upper Eighties feeling like he’d just signed Angelina Jolie to an exclusive long-term contract. Tawny Dell was damn close, maybe better, and she didn’t have all those weird tattoos. With a smile plastered on his face, he was headed for the door of his apartment when Colin popped out of the office.

“Need to speak to you, Benny.”

He had a strange expression that gave Benny pause. The way things had gone before today would send anyone into a fit of depression. After his meeting with Tawny, he was up, and he didn’t want anything to bring him down. “What is it?”

Colin pulled him inside and closed the door. “Ever hear of a guy by the name of Dirk Hansen?”

“No, should I?”

“He says he’s Cindi’s boyfriend.”

Benny had almost forgotten about Cindi, and he sure as hell had forgotten Melody’s remark that Cindi had a boyfriend. He’d buried the tragic evening, and nothing had happened to resurrect it. Wherever Reggie stowed Cindi’s body, she hadn’t been found, making it easier for Benny to forget.

“Shit.”

“You knew about this?” Colin asked. “I thought Cindi didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“I asked her. She said she didn’t, but she lied. I wouldn’t have hired her if I’d known.”

“What’s worse, she told him where she worked. He had the phone number and the Web site, and he knew our physical address.”

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to know where Cindi was. He figured she’d contracted a weekend engagement, but it’s been longer than a weekend, and she didn’t mention going out of town.”

“What did you tell him?”

“At first I acted like I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then I figured denying she worked here would make him more suspicious. So I said she left the other night, and we hadn’t heard from her since.”

Benny summoned his usual twisted rationale and conceded Colin’s statement was true. She did leave there the other night, and she hadn’t returned. “What did he say?”

“That he was going to report her disappearance to the police.”

“Did you look up his information?”

Colin handed a paper to Benny. “Everything. He’s an actor. He and Cindi didn’t live together and only dated for a couple of months. He found out what she did on the side when she wasn’t going to casting calls or working on her Master’s.”

“Am I under a dark cloud, Colin? Do you see one over my head? Do you?”

“Maybe a little one. Like a puff of smoke from a chimney.”

“Jesus. What do we do now?”

“Hold tight, I guess, and expect the cops.”

* * * * *

B
enny waited. And waited. Sweating profusely. What the hell was going on? The cops never showed up. He almost started to relax when Charles called about a man who had neither a password nor an appointment.

“What should I do?” Charles asked. “He said his name is Dirk Hansen.”

The name spiked an immediate case of acid reflux. Benny belched under his breath. “Be right there.” He called Colin, explained the situation, and told him to switch on the camera and tape recorder. Then he went to the door and ushered the actor into the office where Colin waited.

Dirk Hansen was almost too pretty to be a man. Wavy hair worn long, fake tan, eyes bright blue. A tight T-shirt highlighted his gym-rat rippling abs. It didn’t take Benny long to realize the actor had one person’s interest in mind, and it wasn’t Cindi’s.

“I bet this place is a goldmine,” Hansen said, taking in every detail of the office, especially the erotic Persian miniatures.

Hansen exuded a smugness that made him instantly unlikable. Benny didn’t know for sure where this kid was going, but he smelled money on the horizon, felt it in his bones. And if there was one thing Benny knew, it was the smell of money. He sat back and let Hansen set the conversation.

“So you don’t know what happened to Cindi, huh?” Hansen continued.

“Like the man said, she left here the other night and never came back. She wasn’t on the schedule, so I didn’t think much about it.” Benny took a small tin of mints from his jacket pocket and popped one in his mouth. He didn’t offer one to Hansen. “And you say you haven’t heard from her either?”

“Not a word. I have a key to her place, and she wasn’t there. Didn’t look like she’d been home for a couple of days.” He steadied his gaze on Benny. “Probably since she left here.”

Benny juggled his mint from one side of his mouth to the other, taking his time.
“Maybe she has another boyfriend and they ran off together. Not inconceivable with beautiful women who love money and excitement.”

“No, Cindi would never do that. She loves me. She wouldn’t flip me for someone else.”

Cocky son of a bitch.
“You told Colin you were going to call the police to report her missing. Why haven’t you?”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

Not only did Benny dislike this guy, he wanted to rearrange his pretty face. He was the high school jock who always got the girl, the captain of the football team, the stud who got by on his looks and not talent or brains. The guy who was everything Bennie wasn’t, except rich. Well, Hansen was finding out that being an actor wasn’t the same as high school, because he wasn’t making it, or else he wouldn’t be at Upper Eighties giving his best impression of a shakedown. Tough business, even for a pretty boy.

Benny noticed Colin’s frown before he turned to the computer and feverishly typed away, clicking the mouse, typing again.

“I know you haven’t contacted the police, because you wouldn’t be here if you had,” Benny responded.

Hansen smiled. Goddamn whitest teeth Benny ever saw. Perfect too, like fucking Chiclets. So, he was either genetically lucky or his parents paid a bundle for orthodontics. Which meant he came from at least a middle-to-upper class background.

“I can still report her missing. But I can keep quiet for the right price.”

The scumbucket now validated Benny’s gut instinct about extortion. “Why would you think there is a right price?” he said coolly.

“You’re running a house of prostitution. Cops might be interested.”

“I’m sure they would,” Colin said, surprising Benny at the intervention. “Go ahead.
Report her missing.” He turned around the computer screen where Dirk Hansen’s mug shot stared back at them. “This you?” Colin asked. “Says here, um, let’s see, oh yeah, you beat up your wife. Almost killed her. You spent a night in jail before your rich daddy bailed you out.” Colin faced Hansen, whose smugness had vanished. “Cindi know about this? We need to tell her, Benny, next time she shows up.”

Hansen’s neck was as purple as an eggplant, and his words came out in a staccato sputter. “My wife…she…she dropped the charges. I was cleared.”

“Hmm, still married, I see,” Colin said, switching screens. “Wonder if Cindi knows.”

“Me and my wife—we’re in the process of getting a divorce. We haven’t lived together for months.”

“Somehow I don’t think you want to report anything,” Colin said. “What if something did happen to Cindi? Who do you think the cops would suspect? Who do you think, Benny?”

I could kiss you, Colin, but you might take it the wrong way
. “Gee, I don’t know, but I bet they’d certainly question this nice fellow here. Go ahead, Hansen. Use my phone. The police will be here in a few minutes, and you can make your charges. Oh, and by the way, there’s nothing here but apartments. Some are rented, some not. All legal and above board.” He moved the phone toward Hansen.

Hansen didn’t move. “Maybe, er, maybe I got the wrong impression from Cindi. She never actually said—”

“Nice to meet you,” Benny said, cutting him off. “But not really.” Both men stood. The actor towered over him, which pissed Benny off even more. “Now get out.”

“I wasn’t trying to put the screws on you, Mr. Cooper,” Hansen said. “What I really need is a job. You must have men come in here all the time shopping for a little bi-
sexual action, or even gay. I’m versatile. Bat from both sides of the plate.”

“I bet you are, and I’m sure you do. But you see, like I said, we don’t do those things here, and you have no proof otherwise. Only the word of your soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. We’ll make sure of that, won’t we, Colin? Cindi deserves a hell of a lot better than this prick.”

“Absolutely,” Colin said. “My suggestion is you should hit on your rich parents to bail you out if you’re broke.”

“Can’t do that,” Hansen said.

“Disowned you, have they?” Benny asked. “Bailed you out too many times? Black sheep of the family?”

“I…I wanted to make my own way,” Hansen stuttered.

“Yeah, right,” Colin said. “I bet.”

Benny loved putting this twerp down in the gutter where he belonged. “And if you decide to report whatever you think it is we do here, make sure you contact the captain at the 19
th
precinct. He’s a close personal friend of mine.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Colin will see you out.”

Colin opened the door and Benny heard him usher Dirk Hansen down the hall and out of the building. He sat down again. This time he popped an antacid. Damn ulcer. Colin came back in the room and shut off the tape recorder and camera.

“Beautiful,” Benny said. “You’re a genius.”

“Too bad he’s such a slug. I have a few friends who’d find him quite delectable, and he certainly seemed amenable.”

Benny groaned. “Jesus, Colin.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “What made you think to check him out?”

“I check everyone out. Last thing we need is a kink with a record beating up on one of the girls.” The men exchanged glances, and Colin let out a long sigh. “I checked out Martell, honest. Nothing I could have foreseen.”

“You think this schmuck will talk?”

“He’s not a good guy. My guess is there’s more in his record he doesn’t want made public. If and when Cindi, um, shows up, he’ll keep quiet.”

“You know where she is?”

“I didn’t ask. Better I don’t know, and Reggie didn’t say. It’s like it never happened.”

Benny got up and patted Colin’s back. “But it did,” he said, and left the office.

Even thinking about the glorious Tawny couldn’t resurrect the midday high that had now deflated into a late-afternoon funk. He went back to his apartment and called his driver to pick him up. He decided he didn’t feel like staying in the city. Didn’t feel like nipple clamps or garter belts or nail-studded dog collars. He planned to go home, spend the next couple of days in Eileen’s sexual custody.

Halfway out the door, Colin caught him again.

“I don’t know if you want to take this call.”

“Who is it?”

“Mario Russo
.”

E
ileen had an instinctive sense of timing. Benny never came home in the middle of the afternoon unless he didn’t feel well or something bad happened. With those options, she squeezed into the sexiest outfit she owned, other than her naked body. That would come later. The kids were going from day camp to a pizza party, so she’d have the whole afternoon alone with her husband. The dog barked when the car pulled into the circular drive, and Eileen stole one more glance in the mirror. She pushed up her triple Ds, making sure they did everything but pop completely out of her blouse. All the silicone in the world couldn’t beat Nature in all its bountiful beauty. She plucked a pair of long beads from the box of toys in her dresser drawer and dropped them over her head. Those were for Benny.

Eileen saw herself as a pragmatist. Benny made her life possible, and she’d never do anything to screw that up. In fact, everything she did insured life would go on as always. He liked that about her. That, and the fact she never questioned him about what he did when he wasn’t with her. Of course he didn’t know about the tennis coach. And he wouldn’t.

She nodded to the driver, who got out and walked around to the back of the house where he parked his car. Eileen shimmied into the back seat of the Bentley before Benny got out. She took off her necklace and laid it on the seat beside him. Her skirt was so short she had no problem straddling him.

“What’s the matter, baby?” she said in a little girl voice. “Don’t you feel well? Tell mama. You know you’ll tell me sooner or later.” She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, then the second one, the way it excited Benny.

“I always do, don’t I? It’s just…I had a wonderful lunch, then it all went to shit.”

He was such a little boy. All men were. And it was a woman’s job to keep them that way. Always to have the upper hand. She slipped her blouse off her shoulders. “Does it have anything to do with the…tragedy the other night?”

Benny stroked the swell of her breasts. As he circled his fingertip around her nipple, she felt it peak.

“I’m not sure I’m up to having sex right now, darling,” he murmured.

“I know, sweetheart. I can tell. How could you when you’re upset?” She slid down his zipper, then slipped her hand into his crotch and gently tweaked the tip of his cock. Slowly. Very slowly. “Poor baby.”

“You might be getting me in the mood. I’m not sure, though. I need a little more encouragement.” He lifted one of her breasts and drew it into his mouth, suckling like a hungry infant. In between slurps, he told her about Cindi’s boyfriend first, then about Mario Russo. She caught her breath at Russo’s name, but Benny didn’t notice while he was feasting. He always told her everything, other than who the day’s lucky woman was. But she didn’t need him to tell her. She had been in the life long enough to know that for him it was business, no different than it had been for her. A release of tension.

Well, not exactly. For her turning tricks had been about money. Lots and lots of money. A lucrative job. She made men feel like they were George Clooney, and they paid her to make them feel that way. Even trade. That’s what she was doing to Benny right now.

She purred in his ear, along with a tongue tickle. “The little con artist tried to shake you down? The nerve.”

“He did. I’m afraid he’ll be back. Blackmailers never stop.”

She ran her fingers up and down his shaft, felt him grow harder. Not in the mood, her ass. A man is always in the mood, given the right incentives. Even men way past their prime, which Benny wasn’t. She was non-pharmacological Viagra. If Benny got any harder, he could use his stick to hit a home run out of Yankee Stadium.

“What’s this guy’s name?” Eileen said, positioning herself.

“Dick,” Benny moaned, moving on to the other breast. “
Crap, with you in my pants, I’ve got dick on the brain. His name is Dirk, not Dick. Dirk Hansen. He’s an actor. Probably not a very good one or he wouldn’t be resorting to extortion. Colin found he had a record―oh, God, that feels good―and if Cindi ever turned up hurt or dead, he’d be the first one questioned.”

“Someone ought to teach him a lesson. He obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with, did he? What about Russo?”

“I’m meeting with him Thursday. I’m sure he wants to talk about the Martell incident. I meant to call Martell, but I got sidetracked. I kind of thought if I didn’t think about it, Cindi never happened.”

“That’s the best way, darling. Don’t think about it. If Martell had a conscience, he’d have called the police. He didn’t, so I’d say you’re safe. Russo probably wants to confirm what happened will be forgotten.

Benny pulled his mouth from Eileen’s nipple, a dollop of drool teetered at the corner of his lips. “I’m not a bad man, Eileen. I’m trying to run a business. Trying to make people happy. Is that so terrible?”

She patted his head. “Of course not, darling.”

“Why do people do these awful things to me? After all these years, why are bad things happening?”

“Forget everything else and think of the here and now, baby. And what does Benny want to do right now?”

“I want you to do Daddy like you’ve never done him before. Make my depression go away.”

Doing him like she’d never done him before might take some doing, but she’d give it her best shot. She reached for the beads on the seat. Benny liked them better than a cock ring. God, she hoped no one brought the kids home early.

* * * * *

T
he children had already eaten and were in the screening room with some friends, watching a video that hadn’t yet been publicly released. Benny’s friend in L.A. sent them as extra payment for those nights of bliss whenever he was in New York.

For Eileen, being a Princess was a no-brainer. She hired someone else to do everything. A Princess couldn’t ruin her nails or get her hands all wrinkly doing dishes. Tonight, Eileen had the cook prepare Benny’s favorite―brisket with potatoes and carrots, like his mother used to make. In spite of his wealth, he was still a
hamisha
Jewish boy from Brooklyn, Kobe beef aside. Some things never changed. Bagels with nova or whitefish and cream cheese, corned beef and pastrami sandwiches, kosher pickles, and Mother’s brisket.

She watched Benny cut into the tender slice of beef, stab a carrot onto the fork, and shovel it into his mouth. “What was the good thing that happened today, sweetheart? We got so carried away in the Bentley you didn’t finish telling me.”

“Oh, right.” Benny chewed, wiped his mouth on the starched linen napkin. “Ever hear of a call girl by the name of Tawny Dell?”

Eileen stopped eating. She hated brisket. Too much greasy gravy. Anything that kept her from eating it was okay with her. And she hated Tawny Dell. “No, I don’t think so,” she said calmly. “Should I?”

“No, I thought you might have crossed paths.”

“Hmm, what about her?”

“I’ve convinced her to work for me. She set a high price, but there are a couple of clients who’ll be happy to pay it, in addition to my fee for setting them up, of course. She’s that special.”

Eileen got up from the table, almost tipping over her chair. “How much did she ask?”

Benny’s chewing slowed, and his glare was as sharp as any cutting words. He never talked money. Never. She figured he didn’t want her to know in case he ever decided to dump her and take his fortune with him. And of course, there was that goddamn pre-nup. But she knew everything. Benny had a good chunk of money stashed outside the country. She knew where and she knew the account number. Crooked accountants work both sides. Eileen wasn’t the best call girl in New York for nothing. Better than that skinny whore from some podunk town in Massachusetts.

“I asked if you knew her. That’s all.” He cut another piece of meat, focusing his squinty eyes on her the whole time. “Is it the high price I’m paying her, or is there something
else you’re not telling me?”

Eileen mentally scolded herself for losing her cool. It wasn’t like her. Bad enough she had to deal with younger women yanking Benny’s pecker on a weekly basis, but a sleazy hustler threatening Benny’s business, an underworld don, and Tawny Dell rearing her beautiful head into her life once more, triggering multiple spasms of insecurity, was more than she could handle in one day. Especially after giving Benny
the contortionist blowjob of his life in the back seat of the Bentley.

She parked herself and sipped the 2001 estate California Cabernet she
had paid a hundred and fifty dollars for at the wine shop.
Calm down, Eileen
. She forced a smile. “I guess I’m a little jealous. I take it she’s getting more than I did before you took me away from all that and now get it for free.”

“It’s been years, darling, and there’s this little thing called…inflation. Locked away in your two beautiful homes, away from the hard, cold facts of the economy, you might not have heard about it. No need to worry, though. I always come home to you because no one makes me happier. Why do you think I chose you out of all the women shopping for the golden ring? Note, I didn’t say ‘brass.’” He picked up his wine and drained the glass. “Lovely wine.” He filled both goblets. “Besides, her condition is no freebies for the boss. Look at it this way, you won’t have to give her lessons on how to be the perfect courtesan. She comes with a built-in reputation and the class to go with it.”

Why was she so hot? The hair on the back of her neck was drenched. And the goddamn brisket had turned into a hardened lump of burnt coal in her stomach. “How often will she be there?”

“Mondays and Thursdays.
One hour a night. She’d retired, but I convinced her to join our little group.”

In spite of Benny’s efforts to make her feel better, Eileen’s confidence fizzled like flat champagne. Built-in reputation, you bet. Good enough to make one of Eileen’s best clients switch to the younger Tawny, even though she didn’t have Eileen’s prime assets. She’d seen her once on the arm of the well-known lothario and had to admit, Tawny Dell was one gorgeous woman. No triple Ds, but because Tawny was slimmer and less curvaceous, she gave the impression of being stacked. Even though Eileen was making
a tidy living, it was at that enlightened moment she knew her days were numbered. She made a major play for Benny, pulling every trick in the sex manual to snag him. Well, she did, and she wasn’t going to let some boney-assed whore play hard to get and hook him when he wasn’t paying attention. No siree. Not on her watch. She’d protect her assets with her dying breath. Or Benny’s.

* * * * *

I
n spite of his tranquil exterior in front of Eileen, Benny’s insides were churning like the ocean in a hurricane. In fact, that’s what he saw in his nightmare―a raging, stormy sea. When he sprang up from his pillow, he felt seasick. His head pounded as if he’d just spent a night listening to heavy metal rock.

What had he become? He was worse than a pimp―the word triggered a sharp pain in his chest and a male hot flash―he’d covered up the murder of an innocent young woman, and guilt was taking its toll. Legally, that was as bad as committing the murder himself. Accessory after the fact came to mind. Had too many yanks on his pecker caused him to lose his fucking mind?

As if the thought of prison wasn’t enough of a nightmare, that threatening sleazeball, Dirk Hansen, hovered in the wings to cash in on his girlfriend’s disappearance. Threatening
him
. Benjamin Cooper. A man who could buy and sell the slimy little prick for less than he paid his maid.
What will happen when Cindi turns up dead? Would she? Jesus.
He raced into his bathroom and tossed the brisket.

Then Russo himself called. Russo: the head of one of New York’s Five Families. He wanted to talk, or maybe he wanted to put a bullet in him to protect his accountant. A man like Martell could unleash the wrath of the government on the crime boss. The thought made Benny run to the toilet again. He loved brisket, but tonight it wasn’t sitting well.

He didn’t want Eileen to see how upset he was. She always reacted with a cool head, but he’d never experienced problems like these. Even when the cops fished Serena out of the harbor, Eileen handled it like a champ. Never gave a thought that her death might come back to haunt him. It happens, Eileen said. Some women can’t stay away from the bad element.

Then there was Melody. Sweet, delicious Melody. His cock gave a little jerk thinking about her lovely mouth. Poor thing. He’d called her to make sure she was all right, but she still sounded upset. Of course. Why wouldn’t she be? She’d seen her friend compacted like a discarded auto. Well, not exactly, since Melody was in la-la land when Martell sat on Cindi. But she knew what happened. She was about to leave town, get herself together. If she needed anything, he told her, all she had to do was ask. She’d be on easy street for the rest of her life.

He was cursed. Some malignant alignment of the stars had put him on Nature’s shit list. He’d go to temple Friday night, beg forgiveness of God for all his wrong-doings. He’d make a list. It worked for Catholics. The priest told them to say a few Hail Marys and God forgave them. He’d go to church too. Take Eileen. She used to be Catholic. She’d show him what to do. You couldn’t get enough help in situations like these. Did it matter who showered you with absolution? God was God, right?