Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 9)

by A W Hartoin

  “I’ll tell him you said hi,” I said.

  “You can tell him to eat my shorts.”

  “Er…okay.” I looked at Fats, but she was playing with the dog’s floppy ears. “What’s your connection to Catherine?”

  Tracy yawned and sat down on the bed. “You already know that.”

  “I think I do. Her father hired you to look into Gary Vance.”

  “He did.”

  “What then?”

  She picked a lint ball off the coverlet and gave me a sidelong glance. “I confirmed the rumor about Catherine and Gary having an online liaison.”

  “But that’s not all.”

  “Whatever makes you say that?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  She stood up and started pacing on the other side of the bed, stirring up the stink and making me breathe through my mouth. “Ah, the famous Watts intuition and it’s never wrong, is it?”

  “No,” said Fats. “And it’s not today. I’ve got a feeling, too.”

  “Disgust, I imagine, but I’m not insulted, Fats Licata. I’m impressed that you and Miss Watts are here together. An interesting duo. One I don’t think Tommy Watts would be thrilled about.”

  Fats gave out a throaty laugh. “If you’re trying to blackmail us, it’s no wonder you live here.”

  “I live here because I’ve been indicted on multiple counts of multiple felonies. The Khan family was kind enough to take me in in exchange for some snooping.”

  “I bet,” I said.

  “Don’t turn your nose up. They got had when they bought this place with no idea what it was and now a nice family is stuck here. I thought I was stuck until you knocked on my door.”

  “You’re still stuck,” said Fats. “You are the fly in the manure.”

  “I don’t think so. Your friend with the fancy face has money and plenty of it.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Don’t confuse me with my family. They have money. I don’t.”

  “You have access.”

  “Nope and even if I did I wouldn’t give it to you.”

  “I’m willing to bet you will or Daddy will know you’re mobbed up.” Tracy dug in her fanny pack and pulled out an ancient flip phone. “You want to tell me his number or do I have to figure it out.”

  “First of all, I don’t think you could figure it out,” I said. “And second, I don’t give a crap. My dad knows Fats. She’s dating my cousin and her brother works for my godmothers as their chauffeur.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sucks to be scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

  “Like you’d know,” said Tracy.

  “I know you rooked old ladies out of their pensions with your pet charity Ponzi scheme.”

  She lifted one shoulder pad. “A girl has to make compromises sometimes. Let’s make one now. You want information. I want a decent lawyer.”

  “Can’t help you there. I’m a nurse and Fats is…multi-talented but not a lawyer.”

  “But you know lawyers, both of you and they are just the kind I need.”

  Fats stopped checking out the dog’s corkscrew tail and said, “By that, you mean not legal aid?”

  “Exactly,” said Tracy. “You get me a lawyer and I’ll tell you everything I have on Princess Pink Thong.”

  And there it was. She knew all about Catherine’s habits and not just four years ago. Joe Hove used that name for Catherine recently.

  “Thanks,” I said. “That’s all I needed to know.”

  Tracy gasped and Fats said, “It is? That was quick and convenient. I’m going to try making gumbo tonight.”

  We went for the door and Tracy scrambled over the bed to block our out. “You don’t know. You just think you know. There’s more, but it will cost you.”

  “I’m sure it’s cost people, but I’m not one of them. Out of the way.”

  “Please, I need a lawyer.”

  “I believe you, but it’s not my problem,” I said.

  Tracy wedged herself in the doorway, legs and arms splayed. She was like a human warning sign: Contents Under Extreme Pressure.

  “You can’t leave. I need this.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you wiretapped your ex-husband’s new wife and tried to blackmail her.”

  “How was I to know that her phone sex business was his idea?” she asked, her eyes wild.

  “That’s not the point,” I said. “Get out of my way.”

  “No. You need me.”

  Fats reached over and tapped her on the headband. “Do you seriously think I can’t move you?”

  “You can, but she needs me.” Tracy sounded confident, but she had crazy eyes.

  “I hate to break it to you, but it’s like you said, Morty can find anything if he tries. I’m going to tell him to try. How long before he discovers what you’re trying to sell me?” I asked.

  Tracy slumped and leaned against the door jamb, propping herself up with her forehead on the peeling paint. “I don’t know. It depends. What has he got going on? How motivated is he?”

  Those were good questions and I had no answers. Uncle Morty had turned into a serious wild card. Dad could probably bring him around, but when? I glanced at Fats and she nodded.

  “Alright,” said Fats. “I’m over it.”

  Tracy looked up. “Huh?”

  “It stinks in here and now I’ve got to go wash the no-tell motel off me. I’ve got a hundred bucks for that practically worthless information if it’ll get me out of here before the smell seeps any further into my pores.”

  “Five hundred,” said Tracy.

  “Woman, her uncle will do it for free.”

  No, he won’t. Five hundred is probably a bargain.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Three,” suggested Tracy.

  “One fifty and you make me sick,” said Fats.

  “Two hundred.”

  “Actually nauseated here. One seventy-five. Final offer.”

  Tracy threw up her hands. “God dammit. Fine, but you’re taking the dog.”

  That was the first and only time I saw Fats Licata shocked into silence.

  “You want us to have your dog?” I asked when I could form a sentence. “Why?”

  “She’s not my dog and she seems to like Big Barda here.”

  Fats thrust out a hip and posed. “Big Barda. I like that.”

  “Who? What?” I asked.

  “DC Comic heroine.”

  “Sometimes she’s a villain,” said Tracy.

  “Imagine that,” said Fats with a grin and she held up the dog. “Whose is she? You can’t be giving away other people’s pets.”

  “She belonged to Charity Snow.”

  “Give her back to her,” I said.

  Tracy walked in and got a notebook out of a drawer. “I said, ‘belonged’ as in past tense. Charity Snow was the dead hooker they found next door.”

  “Ew.”

  “That just about sums up my life,” said Tracy. “Do we have a deal?”

  “We’re not taking some dead hooker’s dog.” I looked at Fats, but she remained expressionless behind her Wayfarers. “It’s the information for one seventy-five. Period.”

  “Okay. But nobody wants that thing. If I hadn’t taken her she’d be homeless and you know how that usually turns out.”

  “You took her and you can keep her.”

  Tracy poised her pen above the notebook. “Maybe you are a nitwit sexpot like the Dispatch so lovingly characterizes you. I’m going to prison. They don’t take dogs. She’ll end up starved to death, flattened by a truck, or gassed at the pound.”

  “She could be adopted by a nice family with a yard,” I said.

  “Take another look. Do you really see that happening?”

  I took another look and it wasn’t good. The dog was about seven pounds of I don’t know what. She was an orange and black brindle with floppy ears perched on the top of her noggin that had little black button eyes that bulged slightly. Her body
was too long, a little like a dachshund, and she had the curly tail of a pug. Maybe part Chihuahua. How do those breeds even get together? It wasn’t a cool combo.

  “Yeah, well,” I said, “there are rescues.”

  “For ugly dogs? I don’t think so. You want this info or not?” asked Tracy.

  “Not.”

  “I’ll take her,” said Fats.

  “Seriously? I thought you were more a Rottweiler type?” I asked.

  “She’s travel-sized for my convenience.”

  “That’s what people said about Wallace the Wonder Pug.”

  Tracy laughed. “I love that dog. See. You’re good with dogs.”

  “She pees on my feet.”

  “Still.”

  “No still,” I said. “Fats, if you think you’re going to stick me with that thing, you’re dead wrong.”

  “I’m taking her.” Fats turned to Tracy. “What’s her name?”

  “I have no clue,” said Tracy. “I didn’t know Charity had her until I heard the barking. That’s how we found the body.”

  “Gross,” I said.

  “Don’t have a cow,” said Tracy. “She didn’t gnaw on Charity or anything.”

  “That makes it not gross.”

  “Good. Where’s my cash? I don’t take checks.”

  Fats had the cash, which was a good thing since I had five bucks and twenty-three cents on me. Once the money was in Tracy’s pocket, she started talking and writing. I was surprised, but I really shouldn’t have been. Morty said she’d do anything for money so the answer was obvious. Tracy got into Catherine’s secret phone much in the same way as Morty had. She wasn’t quite as unskilled as he thought, but she sold every picture Catherine took of herself and the ones she got from the men to sex sites. Depending on the quality of the picture—if you wanted to term it that way—she got anywhere from ten bucks to fifty per shot. She faked release forms and had a good, also known as a bad, business going on.

  “I could’ve made more,” said Tracy. “If I’d set up a website and done it all myself, but I basically used distributors.”

  She ripped out a page from the notebook and gave it to me. It had a list of websites, names, and contact info.

  “What’s XTube?” I asked.

  “Think about it,” said Tracy.

  “But there weren’t any videos.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are we done here? I now have the money to buy a burrito.”

  “No,” said Fats.

  “Oh, right.” Tracy went over and got a little red leash and gave it to her. “Enjoy. She pees a lot for something so small.”

  Great. Another pee pot.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “I’ve taken about all I can stand.”

  Fats shot an arm out to block my exit. “She’s not through.”

  Tracy shifted back and forth on her weird see-through plastic shoes. “I gave you the list.”

  “There’s more.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  From the way she was acting, there was definitely more, but I didn’t want it. I was full up on yuck.

  “I think we’re good,” I said.

  “Nope,” said Fats. “We paid and she’ll give it all to us or I will have a refund.”

  The little dog yipped for effect and Tracy said, “Alright. Fifty bucks and I’ll give you one more thing.”

  “You give me the last little disgusting thing you did or you’ll find yourself without a door to be kicked in.”

  Tracy’s stomach growled and she was suitably motivated. I don’t know if it was the growl or Fats’ fist, but she told us that her most lucrative sales were to a deep fakes site.

  “Catherine is very popular,” she said.

  “What’s a deep fake?” I asked.

  Fats clipped the leash on the dog’s little rhinestone collar that was missing half the stones and said, “It’s a site that allows people to revenge porn people. I have to hand it to you, Tracy. You’ve gotten lower than I thought possible.”

  “This from a woman who works for Calpurnia Fibonacci.”

  “Calpurnia doesn’t have anything to do with the sex industry. It’s beneath her.”

  “Well, it’s not beneath me,” said Tracy. “Goodbye and good luck.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would Catherine be popular with revenge porn? Uncle Morty said the pictures of her are real.”

  “They are,” said Tracy. “Have you seen them?”

  And there they are again. My mind’s eye is flipping burning.

  “I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Well, Catherine’s got a good body.”

  That didn’t sound exactly right. Catherine was attractive when she cared. Unfortunately, she only seemed to care when she was naked, but most people I knew would’ve thought she was on the puffy side. People called me porky on a regular basis and I was smaller than Catherine.

  “Of course,” said Fats. “By good you mean normal.”

  Tracy cocked her gun finger and fired. “Bingo.”

  “What?” I said. “Normal sells? I thought men went for abnormal like Kim Kardashian.”

  “Or you,” said Fats.

  “If I got nudes of you,” said Tracy, “I would make bank.”

  I could see the wheels turning and she’d forgo her burrito to get online to hack me, hoping to make that bank.

  “No way,” I said. “I’ve never taken a nude and I’m definitely not going to now.”

  Tracy got squinty and disbelieving. “Oh really?”

  “She’s a lot more conservative than you think,” said Fats. “Don’t let the face fool you.”

  “So normal’s better than Kim?” I asked. “Why in the world?”

  According to Tracy, and she was backed up by Fats, normal sold because deep fakes—perfectly done face-swapping—needed normal bodies for normal women. You couldn’t get revenge on your ex-wife if you put her face on a Kardashian body. It had to look real and right. Catherine’s body worked and it was selling like pumpkin spice lattes in October.

  “I can’t believe you don’t know about this stuff,” said Tracy. “People deep fake you constantly. You’ve got a pretty decent ranking for a B celebrity.”

  “She’s more like a C,” said Fats.

  “On a bad day a D,” said Tracy.

  “Thanks,” I said. “My day just got better. I’m a D celebrity whose face is being put on porn.”

  “It could be worse,” said Fats.

  “Oh, yeah? How?”

  “You could be Catherine.”

  “Nope. That’s where you’re wrong. My mother taught me better than that. She always said, ‘Take sex seriously. It’s forever, like herpes.’”

  “Then you were luckier than a lot of girls,” said Tracy, ushering us out the door.

  She was right about that. I was lucky. Luckier than Catherine certainly. Her mother didn’t teach her what not to do. She wasn’t around long enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I TOLD FATS to drive to Martin Doyle’s address, but she didn’t. She found the nearest Petco and dragged me inside because, as she put it, I’d had a dog. I didn’t think Wallace counted as a dog. She was too weird and the same went for Chuck’s Pickpocket.

  I’d had friends that had dogs that did regular things like calmly go for walks, fetch, and play frisbee. Wallace and Pick were neither calm nor useful. I wasn’t sure about that thing Fats had tucked under her arm, but maybe if a dog was weird on the outside it would be normal on the inside. Plus, it had nothing to do with me, which would probably help. Every animal I touched got weird.

  “Look they’re doing a shot clinic,” said Fats. “She needs shots, right?”

  “I doubt the hooker got her shots done so let’s go with yes.”

  Fats got in line and after scaring the crap out of an elderly couple by being her, they started chatting about the best food for miniature dogs.

  It was truly scintillating, but I took off for a quiet corner and called Uncle Morty. Predictably, he
didn’t answer, but I hoped that was because he was working after Dad knocked some sense into him.

  I had no messages from either of them but about thirty-eight new ones from Chuck and Julia. I had nothing to say to them, but they had plenty to say to me. My voicemail was full. I deleted everything and called Dad.

  “Mercy. Good. How’d you make out?” Dad almost sounded like his old self, his old self after being on a three-day stakeout with zero results, that is.

  Oh my God! I have to talk to my dad about porn. Noooo.

  “Well…”

  “Are you okay?” Dad’s voice reeked of concern. That wasn’t like him at all.

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I can’t find Morty.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Dad meant just that. Morty wasn’t answering the phone, any of the phones, and he had several. Dad went over there and pounded on the door until a neighbor came out and told him to shut the hell up. Dad was heading home to get his lock picks. He was worried about Morty, but he was also excited about using his picks. The opportunity didn’t come up much anymore.

  “Why don’t you call Nikki? He’s probably with her,” I said.

  “I don’t want to alarm her.”

  “You don’t want to get in a long-winded conversation with her.”

  “That, too,” said Dad.

  “Have Mom call.”

  Dad’s voice got tight. “Your mother needs to rest.”

  “She can dial a phone. Stop freezing her out.”

  He didn’t say anything and I waited less than patiently. “Dad, for crying out loud, Mom was part of the business from the moment you started it. She can do stuff.”

  “She shouldn’t have to.”

  “If you ask, she’ll be happy, I swear,” I said.

  “She had a stroke, Mercy.” He was choking up.

  “I know, but she wants to be normal. Do what you guys do? Together.”

  “We were never together.”

  I got out of the way of a woman with two Saint Bernards. Why would anyone want two Saint Bernards? She smiled at me and I said to Dad, “Yes, you were. You always talked about cases. She helped you.”

  “I want to make things easy for her,” he said.

  “You are by doing stuff and not stalking her. Just have Mom call. Trust me.”