again.”
“I know this wasn’t easy, but did he give you anything?”
“He told me he would sponsor me, if I was interested.”
“Sponsor you?”
“It’s like a club. You don’t just call up and hire a hooker. It’s members only, and according to him, it’s harder to get into than the CIA. You have to fill out an application, and on this application you have to put the names and phone numbers of three active members who are willing to sponsor you.”
“Do they actually call them for references?”
“Sure as shit do. They pretend to be someone else, but they do a background check. A better one than we do, it sounds like.”
“What exactly are they checking for?”
“To make sure the guy is who he says he is and not a cop. If he checks out, he gets a temporary ID and password, which he uses until the first time he bangs one of them, the idea being a cop wouldn’t go that far. Once they do that, they get a permanent ID.”
“Impressive. This is some operation she’s running. How do they hook up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he talk about scheduling and meeting and—”
“Web site. It’s all done online.”
“I knew it. Payment, too?”
“Shanahan, for Christ’s sake. He was in fucking Dubai, and I was sweating through all my clothes. It wasn’t a lengthy and detailed conversation.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” I waited a beat for him to calm down. Otherwise, he would talk so fast I couldn’t understand him. “Just tell me what you did get.”
“I asked him for the name of the Web site. He said it wouldn’t do me any good without a password. He also said there’s nothing to see there. It’s just a sign-in screen. So I asked him, how do you see the girls, how do you know who to ask for, and he says they have these introduction parties where you can meet them. There’s one scheduled for tomorrow night. Supposedly, lots of hookers will be there. He’s not going, obviously, but he told me where it was in case I wanted to.”
“Great. Let me get something to write with.” I slid the magazines and unopened mail around on the counter until the pen I was searching for rolled off the edge. It probably made sense for an investigator to have writing tools at the ready. I made a mental note as I plucked the pen from the hardwood and found a napkin to write on. “Where is it?”
“LA.”
“LA? Los Angeles?”
“Little town on the West Coast? Palm trees…movie stars…big international airport?”
Turning around and going right back out on the road again was the last thing I wanted to do. I wasn’t even sure I had any clean underwear. But Tristan did say that Angel was expanding her wings to LA. Maybe this was the kickoff, in which case, clean underwear or not, I should be there.
Dan was waiting. “Do you want it or not?”
“Give it to me.”
He read me the address, and I wrote it down. I knew virtually nothing about LA, but he said it was at some producer’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Nothing intimidating about that. “Okay, here’s the most important part. You have to have this password to get in. Are you ready?”
Chapter
8
“A LE XAN DRA!”
Tristan screeched down the jetbridge and onto the quiet aircraft. I jumped and clanged the coffee pot against the coffeemaker. Fortunately, onboard coffee urns are nearly indestructible.
“You startled me.”
“Is that you? Oh, my God, dear, you are a blonde! But when did you do this?”
I stuck the pot on the burner, reached up, and plowed my fingers through my new do. It was a familiar habit through unfamiliar territory. I wasn’t used to wearing products on my hair.
“Last night, and I’m not a blonde, I’m merely highlighted.”
“Look at you, all poofed and moussed. You look fabulous.”
“Do you really think so?” If I had been unsure before, now I was totally convinced—I had made a terrible mistake. It was too much. “Is it too much?” I knew I shouldn’t have done it myself. What was I thinking
“I know this wasn’t easy, but did he give you anything?”
“He told me he would sponsor me, if I was interested.”
“Sponsor you?”
“It’s like a club. You don’t just call up and hire a hooker. It’s members only, and according to him, it’s harder to get into than the CIA. You have to fill out an application, and on this application you have to put the names and phone numbers of three active members who are willing to sponsor you.”
“Do they actually call them for references?”
“Sure as shit do. They pretend to be someone else, but they do a background check. A better one than we do, it sounds like.”
“What exactly are they checking for?”
“To make sure the guy is who he says he is and not a cop. If he checks out, he gets a temporary ID and password, which he uses until the first time he bangs one of them, the idea being a cop wouldn’t go that far. Once they do that, they get a permanent ID.”
“Impressive. This is some operation she’s running. How do they hook up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he talk about scheduling and meeting and—”
“Web site. It’s all done online.”
“I knew it. Payment, too?”
“Shanahan, for Christ’s sake. He was in fucking Dubai, and I was sweating through all my clothes. It wasn’t a lengthy and detailed conversation.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” I waited a beat for him to calm down. Otherwise, he would talk so fast I couldn’t understand him. “Just tell me what you did get.”
“I asked him for the name of the Web site. He said it wouldn’t do me any good without a password. He also said there’s nothing to see there. It’s just a sign-in screen. So I asked him, how do you see the girls, how do you know who to ask for, and he says they have these introduction parties where you can meet them. There’s one scheduled for tomorrow night. Supposedly, lots of hookers will be there. He’s not going, obviously, but he told me where it was in case I wanted to.”
“Great. Let me get something to write with.” I slid the magazines and unopened mail around on the counter until the pen I was searching for rolled off the edge. It probably made sense for an investigator to have writing tools at the ready. I made a mental note as I plucked the pen from the hardwood and found a napkin to write on. “Where is it?”
“LA.”
“LA? Los Angeles?”
“Little town on the West Coast? Palm trees…movie stars…big international airport?”
Turning around and going right back out on the road again was the last thing I wanted to do. I wasn’t even sure I had any clean underwear. But Tristan did say that Angel was expanding her wings to LA. Maybe this was the kickoff, in which case, clean underwear or not, I should be there.
Dan was waiting. “Do you want it or not?”
“Give it to me.”
He read me the address, and I wrote it down. I knew virtually nothing about LA, but he said it was at some producer’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Nothing intimidating about that. “Okay, here’s the most important part. You have to have this password to get in. Are you ready?”
Chapter
8
“A LE XAN DRA!”
Tristan screeched down the jetbridge and onto the quiet aircraft. I jumped and clanged the coffee pot against the coffeemaker. Fortunately, onboard coffee urns are nearly indestructible.
“You startled me.”
“Is that you? Oh, my God, dear, you are a blonde! But when did you do this?”
I stuck the pot on the burner, reached up, and plowed my fingers through my new do. It was a familiar habit through unfamiliar territory. I wasn’t used to wearing products on my hair.
“Last night, and I’m not a blonde, I’m merely highlighted.”
“Look at you, all poofed and moussed. You look fabulous.”
“Do you really think so?” If I had been unsure before, now I was totally convinced—I had made a terrible mistake. It was too much. “Is it too much?” I knew I shouldn’t have done it myself. What was I thinking
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