forty.”
Shell ran his index finger over the back of my hand. “I’m sure you will.”
I probably should have pulled away. But Shell was attractive, and saying all the right things, and I was feeling bold and a bit reckless. My so-called boyfriend, Alan, hadn’t so much as called me on my birthday yesterday. That stung. Neither of us had said I love you yet, and even though he had a key to my place we’d never had the we’re exclusive talk. So if I wound up doing anything with Shell I wouldn’t be cheating.
But I wasn’t going to do anything with Shell. At least, not at that moment. I’d only met the guy two hours ago. I considered myself liberated, but that didn’t mean I was easy.
“So how about you?” I asked. “How did you wind up running an escort service?”
Shell’s lips formed a small grin, and he glanced away, back to some long-ago memory. “I’ve always liked the finer things in life. Food, wine, fashion, cars, hotels.” His eyes centered on mine. “Women.”
The way he said it made me feel like I was, indeed, one of the finer things in life.
“A few years ago I was dating a dynamite woman,” he continued. “Smart. Sassy. Beautiful. She was a model, but finding it increasingly difficult to find paying gigs. She told me she was considering becoming an escort to make ends meet, but was clueless about how to get started. I took it upon myself to help her. For my assistance, she gave me twenty percent of the escort money she earned. She also recommended I help some of her friends do the same thing. A business was born.”
“When was the first murder?”
Shell’s face clouded, and I was a little sorry I’d lapsed into cop mode. But I needed this information, and talking to someone who knew the victims would be more helpful than reading about them in police reports.
“A month ago,” Shell said. “Her name was Nancy. Nancy Slusar. Like Linda, she’d been…” Shell swallowed, “…hacked to pieces.”
“Did Nancy, Linda, or you have any enemies?”
“I gave Detective Benedict a short list. Three disgruntled clients. Several women I had to fire for inappropriate behavior. A guy who kept hanging around, wanting to date one of the girls.”
“How about business competition? How do you get along with the other escort services?”
“The girls often sign up with more than one service, to maximize the amount of dates they get. We’re mostly ambivalent about each other.”
“Mostly?” I probed.
“There is one service—the Dodd Agency—who has aggressively tried to pursue some of my girls, wanting them exclusively. I had to retain a lawyer to get them to stop it. I believe they’re Outfit owned and operated.”
“Outfit?”
“You know. The mob.”
I wished I’d had a notepad like Herb’s to write this stuff down. Instead, I committed it to memory.
“So.” Shell’s tone changed, from sad and guarded to flirty once again. “Are you ready to go shopping?”
“Shopping?”
“For clothing. You have to look the part for your photo.”
I had no idea where he was going with this. “What photo?”
“For your portfolio. Clients choose their dates based on a photo and a detailed bio. So we need to go shopping, get you something suitable.”
“I guess,” I said.
Shell dug into his wallet and dropped a hundred dollars on the table, more than covering the tab. “You don’t seem excited by the prospect. Most of the women I know love to shop.”
I put my elbows on the table, resting my face in my hands. “Most of the men I know love to work on cars. I can’t imagine you getting grease under your manicure.”
He smirked. “Touché. Those who buy Cadillacs can afford to pay someone to tune them up.”
“I could have guessed you had a Cadillac.”
“I love it. In fact, I love it so much I wouldn’t trust a mechanic to tune it up. So I do it myself. And this isn’t a manicure.” Shell held up his hand, spreading his fingers. “I’ve been successfully
Shell ran his index finger over the back of my hand. “I’m sure you will.”
I probably should have pulled away. But Shell was attractive, and saying all the right things, and I was feeling bold and a bit reckless. My so-called boyfriend, Alan, hadn’t so much as called me on my birthday yesterday. That stung. Neither of us had said I love you yet, and even though he had a key to my place we’d never had the we’re exclusive talk. So if I wound up doing anything with Shell I wouldn’t be cheating.
But I wasn’t going to do anything with Shell. At least, not at that moment. I’d only met the guy two hours ago. I considered myself liberated, but that didn’t mean I was easy.
“So how about you?” I asked. “How did you wind up running an escort service?”
Shell’s lips formed a small grin, and he glanced away, back to some long-ago memory. “I’ve always liked the finer things in life. Food, wine, fashion, cars, hotels.” His eyes centered on mine. “Women.”
The way he said it made me feel like I was, indeed, one of the finer things in life.
“A few years ago I was dating a dynamite woman,” he continued. “Smart. Sassy. Beautiful. She was a model, but finding it increasingly difficult to find paying gigs. She told me she was considering becoming an escort to make ends meet, but was clueless about how to get started. I took it upon myself to help her. For my assistance, she gave me twenty percent of the escort money she earned. She also recommended I help some of her friends do the same thing. A business was born.”
“When was the first murder?”
Shell’s face clouded, and I was a little sorry I’d lapsed into cop mode. But I needed this information, and talking to someone who knew the victims would be more helpful than reading about them in police reports.
“A month ago,” Shell said. “Her name was Nancy. Nancy Slusar. Like Linda, she’d been…” Shell swallowed, “…hacked to pieces.”
“Did Nancy, Linda, or you have any enemies?”
“I gave Detective Benedict a short list. Three disgruntled clients. Several women I had to fire for inappropriate behavior. A guy who kept hanging around, wanting to date one of the girls.”
“How about business competition? How do you get along with the other escort services?”
“The girls often sign up with more than one service, to maximize the amount of dates they get. We’re mostly ambivalent about each other.”
“Mostly?” I probed.
“There is one service—the Dodd Agency—who has aggressively tried to pursue some of my girls, wanting them exclusively. I had to retain a lawyer to get them to stop it. I believe they’re Outfit owned and operated.”
“Outfit?”
“You know. The mob.”
I wished I’d had a notepad like Herb’s to write this stuff down. Instead, I committed it to memory.
“So.” Shell’s tone changed, from sad and guarded to flirty once again. “Are you ready to go shopping?”
“Shopping?”
“For clothing. You have to look the part for your photo.”
I had no idea where he was going with this. “What photo?”
“For your portfolio. Clients choose their dates based on a photo and a detailed bio. So we need to go shopping, get you something suitable.”
“I guess,” I said.
Shell dug into his wallet and dropped a hundred dollars on the table, more than covering the tab. “You don’t seem excited by the prospect. Most of the women I know love to shop.”
I put my elbows on the table, resting my face in my hands. “Most of the men I know love to work on cars. I can’t imagine you getting grease under your manicure.”
He smirked. “Touché. Those who buy Cadillacs can afford to pay someone to tune them up.”
“I could have guessed you had a Cadillac.”
“I love it. In fact, I love it so much I wouldn’t trust a mechanic to tune it up. So I do it myself. And this isn’t a manicure.” Shell held up his hand, spreading his fingers. “I’ve been successfully
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