He glanced at the room service menu, and then studied the wine list. He didn't know one wine from another. Vintage years meant nothing to him, but he was amazed at the prices. The idea of paying a hundred dollars for a bottle of wine, even with a stolen credit card, struck him as outrageous. The thought also made him cautious. He knew that as long as he did not buy anything that cost more than fifty dollars, most clerks would not call the 800 number to check on the status of the credit card. At least this was the usual policy. And in hotels, they usually didn't get around to checking the card until the day you checked out. But he had taken a $135-a-day suite. Well, he wouldn't worry about it, and as he thought about the mugging of Herman T. Gotlieb in the alley, he felt a little more secure. That was the safe thing about mugging gays; the police didn't worry much about what happened to them. At the very least, Mr. Gotlieb had a bad concussion, and he would be a very confused man for some time.
Freddy got out of the tub, dried himself with a gold bath sheet, and wrapped it around his waist. He needed a shave but had nothing to shave with; his face was clean but felt dirty with its blond stubble. He went through his stuffed eelskin wallet again. He had $79 in bills and some loose change. The San Franciscans he had mugged had carried very little folding money. He had seven credit cards, but he was going to need some more cash.
He put the stolen Cardin suitcase on the coffee table. It was locked. If there was a razor in the case he could shave. He didn't have a knife--perhaps there were bar implements. Yes, a corkscrew. It took five minutes to jimmy the two locks. He opened the suitcase and licked his lips. This was always an exciting moment, like opening a surprise package or a grab bag. One never knew what one would find.
It was all women's stuff: nightgowns, skirts, blouses, slippers, and size 6˝ shoes in knitted covers. There was a black silk cocktail dress, size seven, a soft blue cashmere sweater, size seven-eight, and a pair of fold-up Cardin sunglasses in a lizard case. The items were all expensive, but there was no razor; apparently, the young mother who had owned the suitcase didn't shave her legs.
Freddy dialed the bell captain and asked to speak with Pablo.
"Pablo," he said, when he got the bellman on the line, "this is Mr. Gotlieb up in seven-seventeen."
"Yes, sir."
"I'd like a girl sent up. A fairly small one, size seven or eight."
"How tall?"
"I'm not sure. How tall are sevens and eights?"
"They can run pretty tall, from five feet on up to maybe five-six or more."
"That doesn't make any sense. How could one dress fit a woman five feet tall or five feet, six inches tall?"
"I don't know, Mr. Gotlieb, but women's sizes run funny. My wife wears a size twenty-two hat. I wear a seven and a quarter, and my head's a lot bigger than hers."
"All right. Just send me up a small one."
"For how long?"
"I don't know. What difference does it make?"
"You're still on nooner rates. I've got one small one for you now, but she gets off at five. That's all I got now. Tonight, I can get you another one, even smaller."
"No. That's okay. I won't even need her till five."
"In about twenty minutes, then?"
"Tell her to bring me up a club sandwich, with some dill pickle slices on the side."
"She can't do that, sir, but I'll send the room service waiter up with the club sandwich."
"Good. And I'll take care of you later."
"Yes, sir."
The club sandwich, a nice one with white turkey meat, bacon, American cheese, lettuce, and tomato slices on white toast, was $12, plus a $1 service charge. Freddy signed for it and gave the waiter a $1 tip. Even though there were pickles, potato chips, cole slaw, and extra paper cups of mayonnaise and mustard on the side, Freddy was appalled by the price of the club sandwich. What in the hell had happened to the economy while he was in prison?
Freddy ate half the sandwich and all of the pickle slices, then put the other half into the refrigerator. The other half, he thought, is worth six bucks--Jesus!
There was a light knock on the door. Freddy unfastened the chain and opened the door, and a young girl with small and very even teeth came in. She was a small one, all right, standing about five-three in her high heels. Her well-defined widow's peak and smallish chin made her face heart-shaped. She wore tight jeans with ROLLS-ROYCE embroidered on the left leg in three-inch white block letters; a U-neck purple T-shirt, and dangling gold earrings. Her soft kangaroo leather drawstring bag was big enough tohold schoolbooks. Freddy estimated her age at fifteen--maybe sixteen.
"Mr. Gotlieb?" she said, smiling, "Pablo said you wanted to talk to me."
"Yeah," Freddy said. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Nineteen. My name is Pepper."
"Yeah. Sure it is. You got any ID?"
"My driver's license. I just look young because I don't wear makeup, that's all."
"Let's see the license."
"I don't have to show it to you."
"That's right. You don't. You can leave."
"But if I show it to you, you'll know my right name."
"But I'll still call you Pepper."
She took her wallet out of the bag and showed Freddy her Florida license. The name on the license was Susan Waggoner, and she was twenty years old--not nineteen.
"This says you're twenty."
She shrugged. "I like being a teenager."
"What're the rates?"
"For nooners--half-hour limit--fifty dollars until five o'clock. Then it goes up to seventy-five. I get off at five, so for you it's only fifty, unless you want extras."
"Okay. Let's go into the bedroom."
Pepper pulled down the spread on the queen-size bed, then the sheets, and smoothed them out. She slipped off her shoes, her T-shirt, and her jeans. She was not wearing a bra, nor did she need one. She rolled off her panties, lay down on the bed, and put her hands behind her head as she spread her skinny legs. As she locked her fingers behind her head, her small breasts almost disappeared, except for the taut strawberry nipples. Her long auburn hair, in a ponytail fastened with a rubber band, made a curling question mark on the right side of the pillow. Her well-greased pubic hair was a kinky brownish yellow.
Freddy unwrapped the bath sheet and dropped it on the floor. He probed her pregreased vagina with the first three fingers of his right hand. He shook his head and frowned.
"Not enough friction there for me," he said. "I'm used to boys, you see. Do you take it in the ass?"
"No, sir. I should, I know, but I tried it once and it hurt too much. I just can't do it. I can give you a blow job if you like."
"That's okay, but I'm not all that interested anyway. You really should learn to take it in the ass. You'll make more money, and if you learn how to relax--"
"That's what Pablo said, but I just can't."
"What size dress do you wear?"
"It depends. I can wear a five sometimes, but usually I'm either a six or a seven. It depends on who makes it. They all have different sizes."
"Try this on." Freddy brought her the black silk dress from the sitting room. "Put your shoes on first, and then look at the mirror. There's a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door."
Pepper slipped into the dress, turned sideways as she looked into the mirror, and smiled. "It looks nice on me, doesn't it? I'd have to take it in some at the waist though."
"You can have it for fifty bucks."
"All I've got with me's a twenty. I'll give you a free blow job for it."
"That's no offer! A man can get a free blow job anywhere. The hell with it. I'm not a salesman. Keep the dress. And while you're here, take this suitcase full of stuff. There're some skirts and other things in it, and a nice cashmere sweater. Take the suitcase too."
"Where'd you get all these nice clothes?"
"They belong to my wife. When I left my wife I took the stuff with me. I paid for it, so it was mine to take."
"You left your wife?"
"Yeah. We're getting a divorce."
"Because of the boys?"
"What boys?"
"You said you were used to boys, and I just assumed that--"
"Jesus Christ. How long've you been working for Pablo?"
"Since the beginning of the semester. I go to Miami-Dade Community College, Downtown. I need the money for school."
"Well, one of the first things you should learn is not to ask clients personal questions."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." She started to cry.
"Why're you crying, for Christ's sake?"
"I don't know. I just do sometimes. I'm not doing very good at this, not even nooners, and when I go back to Pablo without any money, he'll--"
"There's a plastic laundry bag in the closet. Put the clothes in it, and give Pablo the empty suitcase. He can get the locks fixed, and he'll have a two-hundred-dollar suitcase. I'll square you with Pablo later. Okay?"
Pepper stopped crying, wiped her eyes, and got back into her own clothes. She packed the clothing neatly into the plastic laundry bag.
"What do you do when you get off duty at five?"
"I usually walk downtown, have some dinner, and then go to class. Tonight's my English class at six-fifteen, and it runs until seven-forty, unless Mr. Turner lets us out early. Sometimes, when we've got a paper to write, he lets us go home to write it."
Why, Freddy wondered, is she lying to me? No college would ever accept this incredibly stupid young woman as a student. On the other hand, he had known a few college men in San Quentin. Although they usually got the best jobs there, they didn't appear to be any smarter than the majority of the cons. Maybe the girl wasn't lying. He didn't know anything about college requirements, but maybe they would be much lower for women than for men. It would be a good idea to have a woman with a car show him the city. So far it was all white buildings and a blur of greenery.
"I'll tell you what, Pepper. I'll buy you dinner and then wait for you to get out of class. Then you can drive me around some. You've got a license, so I suppose you've got a car?"
"My brother's car. I get to keep it all the time, but I've got to meet him at the airport at eight-thirty tonight to collect some money from him. He works out there, and gives me his pay every day to deposit in the bank. Where he works, he isn't allowed to have a car."
"You don't live together?"
"Not anymore. We did at first, when we first came down to Miami from Okeechobee, but now I've got the apartment to myself."
"That's all right. I don't mind riding out to the airport again. I just want to get familiar with the city. I'll give you a decent tip, or buy you a drink, or maybe take you to a movie. What do you say?"
She smiled. "I'd like that. I haven't had a date date since I came down here, Mr. Gotlieb--"
"You can call me Junior."
"Junior? All right, and you can call me Susie. Pablo told me to call myself Pepper so that customers would think I was hot. Pablo's my manager, like, and he knows all about these things. Most men, I've noticed, just laugh when I tell them my name is Pepper. You didn't--Junior--and I think you're awfully nice."
"I am nice, Susie, and I like you a lot. I'll tell you what. Just leave the bag of clothes with me and take the suitcase down to Pablo. That way he won't know you got the stuff, and I can take it with me when we meet."
"I usually eat dinner at Granny's. It's a health food restaurant right near the campus, about eight blocks from here. I walk because I leave the car in the parking garage near the school, but you can take a cab there. The cabbies all know where it is, even the ones who don't speak English."
She handed him the bag of clothing.
"I'll see you at Granny's at five, then."
"It'll be closer to five-fifteen, but I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Good. And have a prosperous afternoon."
"Thank you. But whatever you do, don't tell Pablo. We aren't supposed to go out with the johns--that's why I want you to meet me at Granny's."
"Pablo, in my opinion, is an asshole. I'll just tell him I had jet lag and that kept me from performing. I'll slip him ten bucks and he'll be so happy he won't say a word to you. But I won't tell him about our date. Don't worry."
Susan blushed, and looked shyly at the floor. "You can kiss me on the cheek and sorta seal our date. That way I know you'll really come to Granny's. I know you men don't like to kiss us on the mouth . . ."
"I don't mind kissing you on the mouth."
"You don't?"
Freddy kissed her chastely, almost tenderly, on the lips, and then led her to the door. She waggled her fingers and smiled; then he closed the door after her and chain-locked it. She had forgotten the empty suitcase, and he still had the bag of clothes. He would give the suitcase to Pablo instead of the ten bucks he had intended to give him. As long as he had the clothes, he knew she would come to Granny's.
He still had plenty of time to do some shopping.
4
Bill Henderson and Hoke Moseley worked on their reports for the rest of the afternoon at the double desk they shared in a glass-walled cubbyhole at the new Miami Police Station. As sergeants they were entitled to the tiny office, which had a door that could be closed and locked, but it was much more crowded and uncomfortable than the space the other plainclothes detectives had in the large, outer bullpen. The room was undecorated, except for a twenty-two by thirty-inch poster on the one unglassed wall. A hand holding a pistol, with the pistol pointed at the viewer, was in the center of the wall. The message, in bold black letters beneath the pointing pistol, read MIAMI--SEE IT LIKE A NATIVE.
When they took the depositions of the brothers Peeples, only one man at a time could be accommodated in the tiny room. Irritated by the Georgians' uncooperative attitudes, they let the two men find their own way back to the airport by taxi instead of returning them to the PR man in a police car.
Hoke flipped a quarter. Henderson lost, which meant that Henderson had to call Martin Waggoner's father in Okeechobee and break the sad news. While Henderson called, Hoke went downstairs to the station cafeteria and got two cups of coffee in Styrofoam cups. He drank his in the cafeteria and brought the other cup, now barely warm, back upstairs to Henderson. Henderson took one sip of the lukewarm coffee, replaced the lid, and dropped the cup into the wastebasket.