A Mighty Fortress (44 page)

“Did you pay?”

“I did. Then another demand came. This one for fifty. I pay fifty, this goes away for good.”

“What did you do?”

“I paid Mr. Scalzo a visit. I told him this was over. I wasn’t paying him, and if I got another demand, I’d go to the FBI.”

“What’d he do?” I asked.

“At first he laughed at me like he had no idea what I was talking about, like I was crazy or something.”

“And then what?”
 

“He lost it when he realized I was serious. He told me if I ever showed my face around him again, I’d find myself at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. And that any deal between us was over.”

That sounded about like the Chad Scalzo I briefly knew. “So when you were with Angie, you never knew you were being videoed?” I said.

He shook his head. “Scalzo offered me that service, the one where you can have a special video of your date made, but I passed. That’s not my thing. Plus, ironically enough, I didn’t want to risk a video of me cheating on my wife floating around like that.”

“And when was this that you approached Scalzo?”

He took a breath. “Saturday night.”

“The night before he died?”

“That afternoon.” He was fidgety again. “So you can imagine all the reasons I’d want to keep this quiet. Of course there’s my wife, and if the police were to find out…”

“If they knew Scalzo was blackmailing you, they’d suspect you of whacking him.”

He nodded. “I can promise you, I was in Pinellas at the opera with my wife all night Sunday. I had nothing to do with it.”

“A man who lives on Bayshore definitely has the means to have someone like Chad Scalzo taken out.”

“No way. I’d go to the police before I’d do that. I have too much to risk. I’m not stupid.”

He was stupid in ways he didn’t realize, but truth be told, I didn’t see him ordering a hit on Scalzo. “If Scalzo was blackmailing you, chances are pretty good he was blackmailing someone else.”

He nodded.
 

“Any ideas? I mean, come on, you guys are an elite circle. You must share experiences and recommendations.”

He shook his head. “Not my thing. I don’t know anyone. You’d have to ask her.” He glanced at Angie, and then looked back at me as if to gauge whether he’d persuaded me of his point.

“Odd, you’ve sat there this whole time, never spoken a word to her. A woman you’ve paid for sex.”

“And that’s all it was.” He finally turned to her. “No offense.”

She rolled her eyes.

He stood off his stool. “Listen, I gave you your fifteen minutes. We’re going to court tomorrow morning and dismissing this case. I’d appreciate it if I never see or hear from either of you again.”

He left, and Angie stared at me. “What do we do now?” she asked.

I finished my beer and checked the mounting emails. “I guess it’s time to get that room.”

Angie recommended we get a room near the airport, so we settled on a nearby Embassy Suites and booked two adjoining rooms. The hotel lobby looked like a mecca for traveling businessmen, and shuttle buses waited outside to take them to an array of steakhouses, strip clubs, and the Seminole Hard Rock Casino off I-4.
 

Once we got our rooms, Angie said something about not having any makeup. “I didn’t notice,” I said.

She fawned as though I’d complimented her. I let her know I didn’t mean it that way.

Since posting the ad, we’d received about a dozen emails. I deleted half of them because they asked if they could see Angie as a new client. Of the remaining six, three of them volunteered intimate sexual details that were supposed to remind Angie of their time together. Unfortunately, most of them meant nothing to her. I responded to the other three with a simple question: “Do I know you?”

They all responded that she did. I was careful in crafting the next question: “When was our last date scheduled?” Asking the last time they saw Angie would tell us nothing about whether they were supposed to have seen her Sunday night. The answers to the last question were all over the place: a few weeks ago; I don’t remember; too long.

But one guy, who called himself Tony Abner, said: “I was supposed to see you Sunday, but you stood me up. Not cool. But I like you so much, I’ll give you one more chance.”

I asked Angie if the name rang a bell.

She shrugged and shook her head. “But again, that’s not saying much.”

“Would he know his nickname?”

“What?”

“I mean, would the client be aware of his codename? Could I ask him if he’s Mr. Silver?”

Angie shook her head. “No, Chad knew all their real names. He did the screening. They didn’t want the girls to know their names, and Chad for the most part honored that request. That was why he used the codenames with us.”
 

“Well, then, I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

The plan was simple: set the date up, get the guy to the room, and then let Angie get a good look at him. Angie would let the visitor up to her room. I would be waiting in the adjoining room, watching and listening to their encounter through a wireless camera I’d hidden under the room’s TV. If Angie recognized the guest as Mr. Silver, she’d tell him just that by saying, “I remember you.” If not, then she’d tell him she was sorry, but all of a sudden she wasn’t feeling well. A match, and I’d enter and work my magic. No match, and the gentleman would leave on his own accord. Or I’d work my magic.

I gave Tony Abner the address and told him to call when he got to the parking lot. We had about an hour to kill, and I wanted to kill it with sleep. But Angie would have none of that. “I feel like I should shower and put on a different dress,” she said.

“You don’t have to worry about that. Besides, I said you look fine.”

“What if I like him? What if I really know him? Couldn’t I just have a real date?”

I shook my head. “We’re just trying to confirm whether he was the guy you were supposed to see the night Scalzo was killed. Once you rule him out, apologize, and say you’re sorry but you just got sick.”

“You know, this is my reputation on the line here. I pull these kind of games, this will get out. These guys talk. They post about us on message boards. One bad review can kill your reputation.”

“I’d be more worried about
you
getting killed than your reputation.”

She’d never admit it, but I could see a hint of agreement deep in her eyes.

“Call me naïve,” I said, “but I was kind of hoping maybe you’d started reconsidering this career path you’re on.”

She sprang from her bed and moved to the sink. “Why would I do that?” She turned on the water and started washing her face.

“Think about everything that’s happened to you this week. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“But I
am
alive, and as long as I am, I’m going to live. I’m going to do what I do best, and I’m going to enjoy life and make others happy.”

“It never bothers you, having men just use you like that, just use you for your body?”

She turned to me and left the water running. “Is that what you think men use me for?
My body
?”

“I don’t see them lining up to pay the bearded lady a grand for an hour of her time.”

She smiled. “Oh Milo, you
are
a simple man, aren’t you?” She took a few steps in my direction. “Sure, they want my body. But more than that, they want
me
. They want me to whisper in their ear, to make them feel important. To listen to them moan about their problems. I provide a very valuable service, Milo. I respect them in ways their wives never do. The body, the sex, is an afterthought for most of them. It’s what happens here,” she pointed to her head, “that really keeps them coming back.”

“Angie, you have sex with strangers.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not. I’m stating a fact. You’re a very bright girl. I’m no expert, but I don’t think the path you’re on usually leads to a good place in life.”

“Lots of girls have used it as a springboard to better things.”

“Like porn?” I said.

“And to pay for other things.”

“Like drug addictions? Not to mention legal fees and court costs.”

“I’m clean, Milo. Other than drinking, I don’t touch drugs. I’ve never had any kind of disease, and I’ve never been arrested. I’m very careful.”

“Sounds like you got it all figured out.”

She nodded and smiled. “Good. I’m glad we agree.”

I rolled over on my bed and closed my eyes. I wasn’t judging her; I just couldn’t help it. I saw a hole in her big enough to drive the Volvo through. A hole in everyone. Some are lucky, or unlucky enough, to find something profitable, yet safe and legal, to fill it with. Others make no attempt. They just leave it there, empty, in misery. Then there are people like Val, who fill it by never stopping, always pushing, like Sisyphus, and never getting anywhere but hurt.

But then it hit me: I had my own gaping hole right there at the center of my soul. And I filled it with what I was doing now: the thrill of the chase, the danger of the hunt, and the prospect of never coming back. I couldn’t imagine not doing it, probably much the same way Angie couldn’t imagine life without selling herself to men.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said.

“Oh, great.”

“It could be a way to save your reputation.”

“What would that be?”

“Get him up here, and then cancel. Say you’re getting sick. Then I can follow him and see what I can find out.”

“He’ll put two and two together, eventually.” She sighed as an afterthought. “It really doesn’t matter. I’ll never work in Tampa again.”

“Or,
you
can do the questioning. If you recognize the guy, see what you can find out.”

She thought about it for a moment. Then the phone rang and called the question. “Well?” I asked.

She shook her head and grabbed the phone. I moved over to hear the conversation.

“Hello,” she said softly.

I put my ear against the phone. “I’m here,” he said, his voice gruff and short.

“Is this Tony?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. What’s the room, doll?”

Her eyes met mine. I nodded, reluctantly.

“Three-oh-three,” she said. “I’ll leave the door cracked.”

I stood quickly and made sure the camera was positioned right. “I’ll be right next door.”

Fear glowed in her eyes, a fire she couldn’t see burning. She pushed me into my room and closed the connecting door.

“Don’t lock it,” I reminded her through the door.

She didn’t respond, so I settled into the seat at my table and flipped open my laptop. The picture was grainy, but I could see what I needed to see.

A moment later, I heard a quick knock on Angie’s door and saw her pass the camera to answer. In no time, a stocky man was following her through the room. I couldn’t get a good look at him, but something about him looked strangely familiar.
 

Not long after he entered the field of view, though, the camera connection went black. The sound died too. I tried reinserting the USB transponder and checked everything on my end that might possibly affect the connection. Nothing worked. The only explanation was that Tony Abner, or whoever the hell he was, was carrying a device that interfered with my Bluetooth connection. It was highly unlikely this was an accident, especially with the timing of the disconnection.
 

I returned to the door and planted my ear against the cool surface. I heard the low murmurs of people talking. No raised voices, just the calm hum of indiscernible palaver.
 

It stayed like that for a minute.

Then two.

My gut was twisting.
 

No hint of any of the keywords I was supposed to have listened for. Angie would have definitely gotten that far in the script by now. I began to worry that maybe she was repeating herself, and her date was growing wise to our ruse.

Just then, Abner’s voice grew louder, like he was moving in my direction. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of the connecting door locking.

A moment later, his voice turned angry, and a chilly adrenaline cocktail rattled my spine as I heard Angie scream my name. I tried pushing the door. It wouldn’t budge.
 

“Milo!” she cried out again.

Angie was banging on the connecting door now. The shrill of her screaming put my heart in overdrive. She was trying to reach me, and I couldn’t do anything about it!

With no time to spare, I grabbed the room key cards from my rear pocket. I hadn’t kept them straight. I ran into the hallway, right outside Angie’s door.

I tried the first key. The light turned red.

I tried it again. Same thing.

I dropped that card and went to the next. The red light flashed.

I tried it again, slower this time, fighting every nerve in my body to push and pull the card slow.

Green light.

I pushed the door open, and the barrel of a Glock greeted me and bade me enter.

Tony Abner stepped into the bathroom, giving me just enough space to enter the suite. I passed him, walking backwards. He pushed me into the bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him.

Angie was already tied to the bed and gagged with a sheet. She tried screaming at me, and her rage hit me right in the gut. I mouthed
I’m sorry,
but it did no good. Abner stepped right next to me, pointed his gun at my neck. “Who the hell are you working for?”

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

“Yeah? Who’s holding the gun?”

“You tell me.”

As if to make his point, he lobbed a hard blow with the handle of the gun and hit me right behind the ear, with just enough force to send me to my knees without threatening unconsciousness.
 

I took advantage of my position to get a good look at my opponent. He was close to six-feet tall and top-heavy. His salt-and-pepper crew cut made me think military or police. He wore a tan well, and his stout legs were slightly bowed. I was sure I’d seen him before, but I had too much adrenaline pumping to think clearly enough to figure out where.
 

I took a few deep, furtive breaths. Then he turned his face, and the scar running from his left eye to his mouth gave him away: he was one of the goons I’d seen standing by Art Scalzo during Chad’s funeral. In fact, he was the one standing closest to Art, who I figured to be his right hand.