“No,” I said, thinking aloud. Approaching the police now felt wrong. M.C. Glazer would erect a wall of lawyers around him if he got a whiff that he was a suspect in yesterday’s attack. “It’ll be hard to make it stick to Glaze unless one of the shooters talks. I should go to Palm Springs first. I’ll talk to Tyra alone, and I’ll try to get to Greene. Maybe I’ll get something more solid to take back to Nelson.”
Biggs shook his head. “You live dangerously, man,” he said. “Me, I’m through with all this shit. I ain’t meeting nobody for nothing. Let Five-O handle it.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “But the police aren’t my friends right now.”
“Well, hang tight,” Biggs said, sliding a new silver-colored cell phone from his pants pocket. I wish I’d thought to buy another one, too. “I’m gonna get you a room in Palm Springs so you can find out where they’re at. It’s the least I can do.”
“Make it two rooms?” I said.
Biggs raised his eyebrows, but didn’t question me. It’s hard to quibble with a man who just pulled you out of a burning building.
Now, I had to negotiate the rest of my travel plans.
I peered beyond the flowers to check on Chela, and was surprised to see April standing beside her. Both of them were waiting for me.
TheLos Angeles Times building at the corner of First and Spring was like a city of paper, with endless desks stacked with newspapers, notepads, books, and more newspapers. The reporters looked like college professors to me; smart people who didn’t have time to fuss in the mirror each morning and couldn’t afford designer suits, a bland corporate culture that seemed misplaced in the bosom of Hollywood.No wonder April dresses down so much, I thought. At the office, she stood out in her stylish funeral attire.
Hell, she would have stood out in a Glad bag.
Chela sat at a neighboring reporter’s empty desk to chat on MySpace while April and I sat in front of her monitor and researched Marino, McGruder, & Stein, L.L.P., headquartered on Wilshire with a second address on New York’s Upper East Side. James Marino III was a founding partner, and his photo on theMeet Our Firm page matched the man I’d met at the funeral. His biography said he’d been born in Hackensack, New Jersey, and received his law degree from USC. Not the Ivies, but a good school.
James Marino’s name came up on endless pages of Google as the attorney for high-profile clients with names ending in vowels. He successfully defended developer Louis Carbonella in a racketeering case, politician Harold Esposito in his bribery trial, and Jesus Rivera in a jury-tampering civil lawsuit. But Marino was probably best known for his role in defending a comedian, Rocco Conti, who killed his ex-wife in an alcoholic rage. All acquitted. The firm also cropped up in a story where a witness claimed he had been roughed up by affiliates of Marino, McGruder, & Stein.
Don Corleone would have loved these guys.
“This firm is the guilty man’s paradise,” April said. “I don’t get it. Serena got sued in civil court, so she hired a criminal lawyer?”
“It looks like Serena wanted to fight fire with fire. That’s what Marino said.”
“Yeah, if you can believe anything a guy like Marino tells you.”
“True. But he was good for the Palm Springs lead on Greene.”
Oops. I’d brought up Palm Springs again. I had promised April we wouldn’t talk about Palm Springs again until after her deadline. Maybe over dinner.
Two hours east of Los Angeles, with its rustic luxury in the cradle of smog-free Mount San Jacinto, Palm Springs is a popular getaway for the celebrity set. I still knew a few hotel managers and security personnel from my traveling days, so in two calls, I learned that M.C. Glazer, Stan Greene, and his crew were staying at the Le Parker Palm Springs Resort, where they were filming a video through the weekend. As promised, Biggs had secured me two rooms at the nearby Palm Springs Hilton, in addition to handing me forty-five hundred dollars in cash.
As soon as I mentioned Palm Springs, April smiled and wagged her finger at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “Forget I said it.”
“I feel weird about it, Ten.”
“We could ask for two beds in the room.”
“That’s not it,” April said softly. “I feel weird going with you and Chela.”
I glanced toward Chela, who was still absorbed in a cyber world full of friends. By the speed of her tapping, I guessed Chela was telling everyone she knew that she had seen Usher up close. But Chela hadn’t said much to me since the funeral. Chela kept herself at more of a distance when April was with us.
“Chela has her own room. And she’s a big girl,” I said. “I know it feels awkward, but I don’t have anywhere to put her and we can’t let that stop us. We’ll figure out a way to get to Greene, and you’ll keep me out of trouble.”
“Oh, so if you say, ‘Hey, I think I’m gonna go pop by M.C. Glazer’s room,’ and I tell you,‘Hell, no,’ you’ll actually listen?”
“Promise,” I said. “I hope he never even sees me.”
“As soon as you talk to Tyra, she’ll go running to him.”
“And we’ll plan to be on the road before she can do that. I won’t be reckless, because I can’t put you and Chela at risk. I’ll treat you as if you’re my clients.”
April gave me a knowing look:Your clients? Suddenly, I remembered that Lieutenant Nelson had probably told April about my sex work. But I couldn’t have that conversation with Chela sitting nearby. For the first time I could remember, I felt my earlobes sizzle with embarrassment. My eyes begged April to keep quiet, for now.
“My security clients,” I clarified.
“I’ve seen how you treat your clients,” April said, nearly under her breath. Her eyes crackled at me; part anger, part something else.
I took April’s hand and slowly ran my fingertip across her smooth, tiny knuckles. She had a doll’s skin. “Is that a yes or a no?”
Heat filled the space between us. Attraction is a physical thing I can almost touch in the air. April wrapped herself around me without moving a muscle.
Her only answer was a smile.
SEVENTEEN
EAST OF LOS ANGELES,after the traffic thins out past the suburban sprawl of strip-mall bedroom communities in the easternmost refuges from Southern California’s monstrous real estate market, the 10 interstate finally turns friendly. Hospitable, even. Palm Springs isn’t there in your face: You have to look for it. If you haven’t found the 111 after the stretch of the 10 renamed Sonny Bono Memorial Freeway, you’ll miss the town in the desert altogether.
Funeral clothes discarded, April was wearing mirrored shades, a black tank top, shorts, and a black baseball cap stitched with the word “Writer” in white, in old-fashioned typeface. She was the perfect hybrid of female grace and tomboy, so cute that I found myself stealing glances at her profile, hoping to see that dimple again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her checking me out up close, too.
The cash in my pocket had lightened my stress, so in addition to buying myself a new throwaway Nokia cell phone, I also rented a red Lexus convertible for our bizarre family trip. I didn’t want anyone to be able to track my car. On a spring night, before it gets too hot, it’s nice to drive out in the desert with the top down; once you know that, it’s a shame to do it any other way. A forest of gargantuan white windmills sprang up on both sides of us like redwoods, as if we were driving into an alien world. The desert wind chopped their stretch-limo-sized blades into slowly whirring circles.
Drives are good for talking, and April and I had plenty to talk about.
Chela was in her own world in the backseat, her earphones implanted. The mousy vocals and hissing percussion told me her music was loud, so April and I might as well be alone. I had planned to save the meatier conversations with April for the hotel, but I knew I could think of other things to do once we were in our room.
“I’m sure Nelson told you an earful about me,” I said, just to get it out.
“You could say that.” Apr
il held her baseball cap in place in the wind, staring straight ahead. She was going to make me do the work.
“I’ve changed my life in the past five years,” I said. “I make my living as an actor. I may do some more security work, too.” The burning apartment had taught me I was a better bodyguard than I remembered. If I could handle my acting career as well as I handled myself under fire, I would have been Denzel by now. Or at least Vin.
“Sure took an interesting detour, though,” April said.
“That’s what it was—a detour,” I said. “In ten years, you’ll be glad to have a few chapters of your life behind you, too.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.” That dimple again, magnified in passing headlights. The last of the daylight was just being snuffed out over the edge of the western horizon, painting everything in the lilac, orange, and purple haze you always see at dusk in the desert.
“Ask me questions. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“At least I know you were good at your job. A real pro.”
“It wasn’t about work with you, April. I just wanted to please you. I wanted to teach you things about yourself.” I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra again. “Your body.”
“Don’t they all just seem the same after a while?” she said. “Women’s bodies?”
“Never.”
“So you need an endless variety.”
“I didn’t say that.”
April’s opening questions were fired so quickly, she could have been at a press conference. Now she softened her tone, sober. “Were you with men, too? Be honest.”
“Nope. Had offers, but just not wired up that way.” I knew male escorts who had regular male clients—Gay-for-Pay—all the while claiming to be straight. They were fooling themselves.
“Do you have a long list of girls?”
“No,” I said. “Just you, I hope.”
April sighed, staring at the dashboard. “I guess you think I have nerve asking about your private life after I came to your house acting like a ho.”
“I didn’t say that either. You were acting like a woman who knows what she wants. I like that about you.”
April was quiet for a while, staring out at the cracked, rocky desert yielding less and less to anything green. “When you knew Serena…”
She didn’t finish the question, but I felt as tense as I had in the interrogation room with Lieutenant Nelson. It’s hard for me to betray a client’s confidence. “She hired me for sex,” I said. “I saw her a couple dozen times over five years. She was a regular.”
“And it was all business?”
“Until I saw her this week.” I almost saidlast week. So much had changed, but it hadn’t even been a week since Serena died.
“She never told you about her past?”
“No.” I wish she had, but my list of wishes was already overflowing. My biggest regret was letting Serena out of my sight. I shouldn’t have let her push me away. I should have stayed with her. Protected her.
“No offense, Ten, but you fell for her pretty hard.” April spied on my thoughts.
A sudden image of Serena’s gleaming gold casket almost clouded my eyes. I wasn’t sure what to say, until I decided to say what I was thinking. “With Serena…it’s more like I gotstuck to her. I ran into her, she died, and I got pulled into her life. I just need a little time to get through it.”
“Can I just say one thing, and then I’ll drop it?” April said.
“Sure.”
April pulled against her chest harness to turn and look at me more fully, so her face was in my periphery as I stared at the road. She pulled off her sunglasses to show me the earnestness in her eyes. “You’re obsessed with Serena right now, and I totally understand. If I were you, I’d be obsessed, too.
“But you should think about letting her go. Gettingunstuck. And if this lead in Palm Springs doesn’t work out, instead of chasing Serena’s killer, you might want to concentrate on hiring a lawyer like Marino to get the police off your back. Maybe you’re trying to solve this murder—putting your life in very real danger—because you’re so sad she’s gone. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t help her, and you think you should have. But you couldn’t, Ten. She didn’t ask for help.”
April hit an emotional well in my psyche; I had to tighten my fingers on the steering wheel to keep them steady. I was used to casually analyzing other people, but I felt singed by April’s laser microscope. “Okay,” I said. My tone was flat so I wouldn’t sound as violated as I felt. As always, the worst part was that she was probably right.
April sighed. “Well…I just know how it works in my job…” she said, leaning back for the ride. “Sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
That night, all that lay in front of me was the road to Palm Springs. A night in a hotel room with a woman I was really starting to like, and who seemed to like me despite seeing me at my worst.
Tomorrow, Tyra. Stan Greene.
Palm Springs felt like the answer to everything.
Our suite had a living room, a modest dining table for five, and a glass sliding door leading directly to the hotel’s cabana-dotted pool. The room’s conservative décor looked best suited for business travelers, but the sight of the giant pool outside reminded us that we were on vacation. We ordered room service, found a movie on pay-per-view we could agree on—no easy task—and sat at the table as if we’d been eating together for years. I don’t remember what I ordered, but it was one of the best meals I’d ever had.
Next, dessert.
Chela was glad to return to her matching suite down the hall with her iPod and a bounce in her step. I was sure she had visited more luxurious hotel rooms, but the power of having a room to herself brought out Chela’s childishness, as if she were having an adventure. Chela had her evening all planned out: Super Mario Brothers. Hot wings. HBO. Jacuzzi bath. I walked her to her room, just to make sure she got there.
Back in my room, I turned off all the lights except the tamed fire of flickering candles from the bedroom. I found April on my king-sized mattress, nude. She was on her stomach, facing the doorway with one foot daintily raised and waiting. The twin mounds of her ass rose from the bed, a different kind of mountain view. A movie agent would tell April to slim her ass down, but that would be a sin against nature. Its smooth, curving expanse was so beautiful, she made my mouth water.
She smiled, watching me appreciate the gift of her nakedness. April patted the mattress beside her. “Come here,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
It was a familiar setting: a romantic encounter in a hotel room. But something about it was completely different already. My heart skittered, an eager acceleration.
I sat at the edge of the bed, fully clothed. Awaiting instructions.
“The last time you were with me, you wanted to rock my world,” April said, curling herself around me from behind. “To take me into outer space. And I have to admit—damn.You certainly did that.” I started to speak, but she shushed me with a gentle finger to my lips. “Well, now it’s my turn. Lie down.”
April began with tender kisses.
As she kissed me, she caressed my face with both palms, trying to see me even while her eyes were closed. My jaw. My cheeks. My temples. My bruised lip. She ran her fingers over my whole face, mapping it with her hands. Feathery, quenching touch.
April rested her index finger across my collarbone, then dribbled it down my chest, across my shirt buttons; I hadn’t changed my formal white guayabera since the funeral. April started at the lowest button as she freed me of my shirt, the heel of her hand gently brushing my lower stomach. She traveled upward, kissing my navel. My ribs. My nipples. She recognized my sensitivity and lingered, licking me. Sucking. I was mesmerized by the sight of her mouth tasting me.
My legs dangled over the edge of the bed, and April tugged my pants down to my ankles, binding my legs. She studied me up close, appreciating me the way I had appreciated her. Her fingernails skated across the tip of
my pubic hair, then her mouth dove around my taut skin, wet and eager. My toes flinched tight, still helpless, my ankles wrapped with cotton. The lack of control heightened the sensations of her wet lips and curious, active tongue. April was earnest, taking her time. She didn’t rush; she liked the taste of me. She teased me by resting my head at the edge of her lips, and then she guided me all the way through her mouth’s tunnel to the softness of her throat.
I have something close to absolute control, and she tested me time and again, making a game of it. I grabbed a handful of the bed’s plump comforter in my fist and squeezed, hard. Gritted teeth. Just when I felt myself surge toward release, she would change direction, shift the pressure, lick a new spot on my flesh, and a different delicious pleasure was built from its foundation again. Her slippery hand massaged me while her mouth worked in intoxicating counter-turns.
I started to pull her away, but her eyes met mine and their message was clear:No. I want it like this. As if that single shared glance gave me permission to fall deep into the feeling, I suddenly sensed a fire that had been banked deep, down at the core, expanding rapidly now, as if it had merely awaited my acknowledgment. The deep muscles in my stomach spasmed and suddenly my control was nothing at all, the fire spiraling up and up as my back arched helplessly and I made a sound halfway between “God” and “yes,” words in no language, and in every language a man had ever spoken.
The world went away.
Perhaps a minute passed before I could remember my name.
I pulled April’s face toward me to kiss her, and I tasted myself on her lips. April’s eyes were shining, but I saw her unspoken question; she wanted to make love to me. I guided her hand downward. A part of me was spent, but a reserve was already building. She squeezed, smiling when her fingers curled around a stone made out of flesh.
“I keep going,” I said. “I’m blessed.”
“How many times?”
“That’s one.”
April grinned, and those dimples made me want to feel her insides against me.
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