Mystery (9 page)

“Free browsing, let’s partake. Not that either of us would fit the bill.” Laughing. “For different reasons.”

The first page that came up in the Sweetie database was bordered by photos of a gorgeous young woman with long legs and golden, wavy hair.

Headshot, bikini shot, black-leotard ballet shot, bending over a pool table flashing cleavage, leaning on the rail of a boat flashing cleavage, sitting on a couch flashing cleavage.

Identical toothy smiles in every image. Impish combination of wholesome and corrupt.

SukRose Sweetie #22352
Codename: Bambee
Age: 22
Residence: Western Elite
Height: 5′5″
Weight: 111
Body Classification: Sylph (low body fat but endowed where it counts.)
Eye Color: Amber
Hair Color: Blond
Education: Dance school
Occupation: Yoga instructor
Habits: Social drinker, nonsmoker

Profile: Moved to L.A. from a cute little town in a not-so-cute flyover state where no one was like me because I loved the deeper and better things in life and they made me feel like a faun stuck between the buffalos. I love to dance any kind of dance and travel any kind of travel am always open to exploring the karmic interplaying between physical, cosmic, and intellectual spheres.

Favorite food: Sushi but it has to be super-fresh!
Favorite music: John Meyer. Maroon Five. Favorite read: So, so, so many books cuz I love to read but I read an old copy of the Bridges of Madison County I found in an airport at least a gazillion times, guess I’m a hapless romantic! I’m fit, energetic and flexible—in every way. Adventurous too and open to anything. Well, almost. LOL. But that leaves a lot of possibilities
.

Seeking: A Daddy who appreciates the finer objects of life—and me! You can spoil me with delicious gifting or play poker with me or I’ll just watch a football game with you if that’s what makes you purr like a Ferrari. Any game’s fine with me if you play your cards right
.
XXXOOO BAMBEE

To Contact This Sweetie: You must first log on and receive your Platinum Daddy account number. All Major Credit Cards and PayPal accepted.

Next page: green-eyed brunette, 23 years old. Codename: Sherbet. Occupation: model.
Love Jane Austen movies and sex. Not necessarily in that order LOL
.

Codename Surfrgrl, 24.
Pilates coach and fitness fanatic. Abs of titanium, glutes to match. Vegan but not afraid of all meat LOL. Love to position myself for opportunities. Yours
.

Leilani, 21.
Interior designer but you can decorate me to your hearts content, I do all kinds of layouts
.

Milo said, “Such wisdom. Maybe Harvard should open up a West Coast branch.”

“For the Western Elite.” Anonymous tip. No sense wondering about the source but I had good reason to surmise.

We read a few more profiles before Milo phoned Deputy D.A. John Nguyen, described the site, and asked why it wasn’t prostitution.

“Didn’t know that kind of thing troubled you, Milo.”

“Only when it relates to a pretty girl getting her face blown off.”

“Ouch,” said Nguyen. “Okay, let me take a look—got it right here on my screen—nice colors … okay … okay … okay … like the pictures … okay … okay. Nope, my friend, not even close. The courts dealt with the issue years ago. Even when sex is offered as part of a transaction—and it can be a lot more overt than what these bimbos are advertising—as long as other services are offered in addition to sex it’s kosher. As far as the law is concerned, these girls are selling companionship and flattery and shared good times and if that gets carnal, no big whoop. Think of it as an alternative to marriage.”

“Always knew you were a romantic, John.”

“Even if it was considered prostitution, do you see Vice bothering to prowl cyberspace when we can’t even clear the streets of diseased crack whores? Whoa!”

“What, John?”

“This one. Nice. These are some fine-looking chicks.”

Milo printed SukRose’s home page, called a downtown detective with computer skills named Darnell Wolf, and asked for a street address for the site.

“Kind of busy now, Milo. Turns out compliance with the new stat system by detectives is only forty percent.”

“That’s your problem?”

“I’m supposed to make it more user-friendly for all you John and Jane Waynes.”

“Try using large block letters and monosyllables, Darnell. Meantime, I’m that rare bird who appreciates what you do, so get me an address. Stucco and soil, not cyber.”

“Fine, you’ll need to give me a little time,” said Wolf. “Minutes and hours, not astral projection.”

Milo reread the home page. “Ah, the finance of fantasy. From what you described, Princess would fit perfectly.”

I said, “So would a Sugar Daddy rich enough to hire a goon like Black Suit.”

“Guess their prescreening for moral net worth didn’t work too well.” He folded the page, slipped it into his attaché case. “If they did anything at all, it was probably one of those basic felony checks.”

His phone jumped on the table.

Darnell Wolf said, “That was easy, man, you could’ve done it yourself. Company’s listed in a basic California business directory, so they’re not trying to hide their existence. The parent corporation’s called SRS Limited and it’s registered in Panama but they have offices on West Fifty-eighth Street in New York and right here on Wilshire.”

He read off the address.

“Much obliged, Darnell.”

“I checked out the site.” Wolf gave a low whistle. “Made me want to be rich.”

he Western Elite branch of SukRose.Net was housed on the third floor of a steel-and-blue-glass office building on Wilshire, five blocks east of the Beverly Hills–L.A. border. I knew the place; it had once been reserved for health care professionals. Now the tenants were divided among physicians, dentists, psychologists, chiropractors, and a host of ambiguously named businesses, many with
Tech
in their names.

The interior hallways were clean but tired, with brown carpeting vacuumed to burlap at the seams, walls and doors painted a glossy pinkish beige guaranteed to depress. Just in case your mood survived all that, ashy fluorescent lighting finished you off.

The door to Suite 313 was marked
SRS Ltd
and locked. No one responded to Milo’s knuckle-rap. He fished out a card, was about to slip it through the mail slot when a female voice called out, “Hey, guys!”

Two women bounced toward us from the elevator. Each carried a Styrofoam take-out carton. From the aroma of lemongrass as they got closer, Thai.

Both were young, with olive complexions, strong noses, and pretty, full-lipped faces under lush black hair. The taller, thinner one wore a fitted black silk blouse over low-rise black slacks and red sandals with four-inch heels. Her companion, round-faced, curvier, and firmly built, sported the same combo in chocolate brown.

Tall swung her food. Short said, “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Sturgis, LAPD.”

“Lieutenant. Wow,” said Short. “Finally.”

“Finally?”

“We figured it would happen eventually,” said Tall. “Given the nature of our business. But don’t worry, we’re legal, nothing sleazy. In fact, we’re allergic to sleaze—it makes us sneeze.”

Shared laughter. Both girls flipped their hair.

“C’mon in, guys, we’ll tell you all about us.”

The setup was a small reception room, unstaffed and empty, and two larger offices, each furnished with antique carved desks, tufted pink-suede couches, and a bank of flat-screen computers.

“How ’bout we use mine?” said Tall. “There’s still hot coffee in my Krups.”

Short said, “Sounds good,” and ushered us into the left-hand office. Drapes were drawn and she opened them to a view of taller buildings on Wilshire. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys. Black, or cream and shug?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

Tall settled behind her desk, checked her computers before turning to us. “I’m Suki Agajanian and this is my sister, Rosalynn.”

“Hence, SukRose,” said Short. “Everyone calls me Rose.”

I said, “When I heard it, I assumed it was a play on sucrose—sugar.”

Rosalynn Agajanian ticked chocolate-nailed fingers. “Carbon twelve Hydrogen twenty-two Oxygen eleven. Or, if you really want to impress someone, blah blah blah glucopyranosyl blah blah blah fructofuranose.”

Milo said, “I’m beyond impressed. Suk and Rose, huh?”

Suki Agajanian said, “Our parents named us for a joke. Daddy’s a biochemist and Mom’s a molecular physicist. The line was we were their sugar babies.” Her nose wrinkled. “Growing up, we thought it was lame, despised when they grouped us together as a dyad.”

“You’re twins?”

“No,” said Suki. “I’m twelve months older. She”—pointing—“is the whoopsie baby.”

Rosalynn pouted, then giggled. “You play, you pay.”

“Anyway,” said Suki, “we made limoncello out of lemons when we started the business. Perfect name, don’t you think?”

“Perfect,” said Milo. “So business is good.”

“Business is
great
,” said Rosalynn. “We incorporated just over a year ago and already have over ten thousand names in our data bank.”

Suki said, “Actually, closer to twelve thousand at last count.” She clicked a keyboard. “Three thousand six hundred eighty-seven Daddies and seven thousand nine hundred fifty-two Sweeties. Not including any that signed up today.”

I said, “Who runs the New York office? Sister Honey?”

Both girls laughed.

“No, that’s just a mail-drop,” said Rosalynn. “Our uncle Lou has a luggage store in the building and he picks up correspondence for us. We did it to look bicoastal. It means paying some New York taxes, but we thought it would be worth it and it has been.”

“You incorporated in Panama.”

“Sure did,” said Suki. “Our brother’s a tax lawyer and he said we need to be careful not to appear as if we’re evading taxes but there’d still be some advantages to an offshore registration.”

“We’re going to pay a
ton
of taxes this year,” said Rosalynn. “A heckuva lot more than we ever considered a good income.”

“God bless the Internet,” said Suki. “Our expenses are minimal, it’s just the two of us, the computers and the rent and whatever freelance consultations we use for technical stuff. The bad part is we don’t have much in the way of deductions, but the other side of the coin is our profit margin’s huge.”

“We’ll pay the taxes, we’re not greedy,” said Rosalynn. “We’re well aware that our business model could be finite if other people catch on and competition grows fierce. The obvious end goal would be to sell to a bigger company but for the time being we’re happy with what we’ve got. And we’re totally glad we took it upscale.”

“Fendi, not Loehmann’s,” said her sister. “For a school project, it’s sure worked out fantastic.”

“School project,” said Milo. “Did you get a good grade?”

“A.”

“Where?”

Rosalynn said, “We both went to Columbia for undergrad and when Suk got an M.B.A. from Wharton, she had to come up with a novel business model for her honors thesis. I’m no tech freak but I have done two years of grad school in neuroscience at the U., so I can handle the basic stuff.”

“And your brother handles your legal affairs.”

“Brother Brian. He’s the oldest. Brother Michael, he’s the youngest, is finishing up at Columbia with a B.A. in econ. He’s looking for real estate investments for us. For when it ends and we go passive-income.”

Suki clicked another keyboard. “Three new Sweeties just came in, Rosie.”

“Yes!”

Milo said, “You weren’t surprised we showed up.”

“My assumption,” said Suki, “is you came across us while doing some sort of prostitution cybercrawl. Since that psycho Craigslist killer in Boston, there’ve been clamp-downs on adult services. But we’re not adult in
that
sense. We do not buy, sell, or coordinate sexual contact. We’re simply a conduit for meetings of the mind.”