“Well, yeah,” I nodded, motioning around the suite. “I know this is totally not what you want to hear right now, but . . . unless the room, I don’t know, like imploded on itself, we may be looking at a crime scene. Sorry, but it is a definite possibility.”
“Perfect!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes skyward. “This is just . . . I don’t . . . ugh! I did NOT sign up for all this!”
“Heather, calm down. Today’s been really, well, crappy. I mean, it’s probably been the crappiest day I’ve had since Rick and I . . . never mind. Anyway, I’m not even involved and my day’s sucked, like, major. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But don’t worry, okay? We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
“Hmph.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you . . . but,” she hesitated. “Jordan, this isn’t one of your normal cases, okay? There aren’t a bunch of big, happy clues around every corner. We don’t know who sabotaged the skis. We don’t know if it’s the same person who kidnapped Alson. Hell, we don’t even know if Alson was kidnapped! We know nothing. The media knows more than we do! It’s kinda hard to believe everything’s gonna work out.”
“Big, happy clues? Way to cripple my ego.” When she shot an exasperated look, I added, “It kinda hurts to think total strangers have more faith in me than my best friend.”
“Oh, get over it,” she sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean—”
“Jordan—”
“Don’t worry! We’ll figure this out.”
“How?”
“Call David. Ask him about threats. Get names, addresses, whatever you can.”
“Fine, but what’re you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna call Jon and look into this,” I said, holding up the mint box. “Something tells me these aren’t regular mints.”
“You think that has something to do with all this?”
“Maybe,” I nodded. “I mean, I don’t know, but I don’t want to overlook anything.”
“What’s going on?” Tox asked, leaning his head into the doorway. “Esmeralda out here is about to have a frickin’ panic attack. Can she clean?”
“No,” I replied firmly.
“What?” he laughed, his eyes shifting from Heather to me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. This could be a crime scene.”
“Crime scene?” he snorted. “Girlie, this ain’t no crime scene. You’ve been reading too much celebrity gossip. This is what happens when you tell a spoiled rich kid he can’t leave his thousand-dollar a night hotel room.”
“You’re saying you think this was a tantrum?” Heather clarified, glancing at me.
“Pure and simple.”
“I don’t know,” Heather frowned, shaking her head as she surveyed the damage. “I know the kid’s a major pain, but this? This is beyond—”
“Do you see this?” Tox interrupted, raising his shirt to reveal six rows of chiseled, tan abs. Pointing to a thin, bright-red scar on his left side, he explained, “Alson gave me this when I refused to get him ice cream at three in the morning a couple weeks ago. Kid threw a steak knife at me.”
“He threw a knife at you?” Heather stammered, her eyes wide. “Oh my God! That’s criminal!”
“That’s Alson,” Tox shrugged, dropping his shirt.
“Did you call the police?” she pressed.
“And say what exactly?” he challenged, crossing his arms.
“I don’t know,” Heather replied, glancing at me again, but I could think of no suggestions. “He can’t do that! You should have called them.”
“No point. I’ve known what kind of person he is since I first met him.”
“So you’re okay with being physically abused by a spoiled brat?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, smiling. When we stared at him, he added, “Let’s just say I know how to hit someone where it won’t show and that Alson learned his lesson the hard way.”
“Why are you convinced he trashed the room?” I pressed. “Someone did try to kill him with those skis.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged again. “Maybe not. All I know is kid’s been in a rotten mood since you locked him in here. I think he faked being sick to get me out of the way so he could take off.”
“Then why trash the room first?” Motioning to the vomit, I added, “And why throw up?”
“Girlie, I don’t know and I don’t care. Believe what you want. Have your conspiracy theories, whatever. Doesn’t matter. My job is to protect the kid. If I can’t find him, I can’t protect him. So I need to find him.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Haven’t figured that part out yet,” Tox shrugged. “You got any suggestions?”
“Yeah, actually, I do. Call David,” I instructed Heather. Pulling my phone from my coat pocket, I was again greeted by the reminder of Rick’s missed call. The thought made my chest tighten. Swallowing hard, I unlocked the phone’s home screen and called Jon. After three rings, his voicemail picked up.
“This is Jon. You know what to do.”
Sighing, I ended the call.
“Great. One time I really need you and you’re AWOL,” I muttered, pocketing my phone. Shaking my head, I turned the small box over in my hands before opening it. Picking up a green mint, I stared at it when Tox spoke up.
“Hmm. Didn’t take you as that type.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I don’t judge. Just sayin’, didn’t peg you for one of those people.”
“What are you talking about?”
He nodded at the mint in my hand.
“You know what this is?”
“You don’t work as a bouncer on the Strip for ten years without coming across that.” When I stared at him blankly, he scoffed, “I know drugs when I see ‘em.”
“You’re sure?”
“Are you kidding me?” he frowned, scratching his goatee. “What’d you think they were? Rainbow-colored Altoids?”
“You’re positive this is some kind of drug?”
“Girlie, I live in L.A. I’ve seen more drugs out there than sunsets. What you’ve got in your pretty little hands is acid.”
“Acid?”
“Lucy in the sky with diamonds herself. It’s not a blotter, but it’s definitely old Lucy.” I blinked. “L.S.D., princess.”
“Seriously?” Heather stammered.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as they moved from Heather to me. “You sayin’ those aren’t yours?”
I shook my head. He turned to Heather. She shook hers, too.
“Where’d you find ‘em?”
I nodded to the table.
He stared down at the culinary mess that was once considered room service. When I nodded again, he shut his eyes and groaned. “No wonder he . . . that explains it. Punk was high.”
“You mean Alson?” Heather’s skin paled as she muttered, “He’s been kidnapped and he’s high? I am so fired!”
“I told you,” Tox barked. “Kid wasn’t kidnapped! Besides, your friend’s pocketful of California Sunshine explains why he told me he felt sick and why he puked. Somehow he got his greedy little hands on some drugs. Again. Dammit, I thought I put a stop to this.”
“Suppose you’re right.” I dropped the green tablet back into the box and shut it. Shoving the box into the pocket of my ski bib, I added, “Let’s say he did take L.S.D., get high, and then sick. How high could one pill make him?”
“Assuming the punk took only one?” When I nodded, he whistled, “Pretty frickin’ high. Kid’s a light weight when it comes to this crap. He’s probably trippin’ his brains out right no
w.”
“So fired!” Heather groaned, burying her face in her hands.
“Heather, calm down.” Turning to Tox, I asked, “All right. Let’s say he is tripping right now. Why’re you so convinced he wasn’t drugged and then kidnapped?”
“Hmm . . . good point. Could’ve happened that way.” After a pause, he shook his head. “Nah, doesn’t feel right. I wasn’t gone ten minutes. How could someone have done all that in ten minutes? I’m tellin’ you, this kidnapping theory is a bust. We’re talking about Alson frickin’ Andrews. Somebody would’ve seen him.”
“Well, if he wasn’t taken against his will, where’d he go?”
16
“Uh . . . hey there, Dave! How’s it going?” Heather chewed her lower lip as she paced the wrecked hotel suite, careful to avoid the debris. She nodded to herself as she listened to his response. “Uh huh, yeah . . . really? No, I never knew that . . . uh huh . . . uh huh . . . uh huh—”
“Ask him!” I hissed.
“Shut it!” she snapped back, shooting me a dirty look. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “No! Dave, no, I wasn’t talking to you. Sorry. It’s just, uh, well . . . I wanted to ask you . . . uh—”
“Just ask him!”
“Well, Alson. He’s . . . he’s interesting.” She swallowed hard. “No, he’s not causing any trouble. He’s so quiet, it’s almost like he’s not here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nice.”
She grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and tossed it at my face. I deflected it and it landed in the vomit.
“No, Dave, I’m listening,” she replied, shuddering as she turned away. “Uh huh . . . well, he did miss his call time this morning. No, it didn’t cause too much trouble, but . . . uh . . . um . . . Dave? I’ve got a question I need to ask you. You see . . . well—”
“For God’s sake!” Tox snarled. “You two are driving me frickin’ nuts. If you don’t get to the point, I’m gonna take that frickin’ phone and shove it—”
“Death threats!” Heather exclaimed, shooting Tox an alarmed look before turning away. “Uh . . . no, he hasn’t received any today. Dave, what exactly do you mean by today? Has Alson been receiving death threats? What? Are you serious? Really? No, I didn’t know that.”
“Death threats?” Tox repeated, crossing his arms as he glanced at me. “That’s why you had her call him? Hell, I could’ve answered that one.”
“You?”
“Sure.” He sat on the couch’s arm. It groaned in protest under his weight.
“Has Alson ever received death threats?”
“All the time.”
“Could you give me a little more in the way of details?”
“You give me a little more in the way of question, I’ll give you a little more in the way of details.”
“Fine,” I replied through gritted teeth. “Has Alson ever received any legitimate death threats? Any threats that turned out to be more than some crazed teenybopper upset he didn’t take her to the prom?”
“Yeah.” When he offered nothing more, I stared at him. At this, he scratched his jaw. “Listen girlie, kid gets almost as many death threats as he gets fan mail. That’s why he has a bodyguard. Whenever his Facebook, fan club, Twitter, whatever, receives threats, they forward it to David and if it looks legit, he sends it to LAPD.”
“Have you heard about any death threats yesterday or today that may account for the attempt made this morning?”
“You talk way too much,” he replied, walking to the door.
“What?”
“I know you’re trying to help, but askin’ a bunch of stupid questions won’t find Alson. Maybe someone’s trying to kill him. Maybe he was kidnapped. Or maybe he’s just high again. Regardless, playin’ twenty questions ain’t gonna be what finds him. Scouting out the resort will.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t have time for this.” I followed him into the hallway and found Esmeralda the maid on her hands and knees picking up the tiny remaining fragments of the shattered glass. As he made his way to the elevators, he muttered, “Never should’ve left that kid alone.”
“Tox, wait!”
“No time!” He tapped his foot impatiently as he looked up at the numbers embossed in gold above the elevators doors. “Either Alson Andrews’s playing a stoner’s game of hide and go seek or someone kidnapped him and—”
A loud crashing sound caught both our attention and we turned towards it. Near our suites stood Esmeralda the maid, her eyes as wide as a deer’s with a car coming at it head on. On the floor around her sensible shoes, were bottles of cleaning solution and the bag containing all the broken glass she had just finished picking up. When our eyes met, she looked away, kneeling down to pick up the mess. Something about her behavior struck me as odd so I walked back to her.
“Esmeralda?” She froze, but did not look up. “That’s your name, right? Esmeralda?” I waited, but she said nothing. Staring down at the plastic bottles filled with brightly-colored liquids in her hands, I realized she was trembling. “Esmeralda, do you know something?”
“No puedo,” she muttered, clutching the bottles to her chest.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.” Turning, I realized Tox was standing beside me, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. “You know any Spanish?”
“Don’t need to.” He nudged her leg with his shoe. “Cut the crap. What do you know?”
“Hey, back off!” I snapped, placing myself between them. “There’s no need to—”
“There’s plenty of need to.” Pointing his finger at her, he declared, “She spoke perfect English when she asked me if she could start cleaning. Now, suddenly, it’s all ‘No habla.’ I don’t buy it. She’s probably the one who leaked the story to the press. What do you know? Tell me, or so help me, I’m gonna—”
“What’s going on out here?” Heather asked, her gaze shifting between Tox, myself, and finally stopping on the maid.
“Dave tell you anything?”
“Yeah, he said there was a threat made on Alson right before we left,” she nodded, still eyeing Esmeralda. “He said the police were looking into it because it seemed legit.”
“Anything else?”
“He said he was going to check with his friend at LAPD and call me back,” she frowned. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is our friend here was about to tell me what she knows,” Tox replied, cracking his knuckles. “In English.”
“Please,” she whimpered.
“Told you she spoke English.”
“Tox, stop.” Brushing my hair back, I tried to smile to show her a little kindness. “Esmeralda, why did you drop your supplies?”
“The bottles are slippery,” she muttered, avoiding my gaze.
“Is that the truth?” Pausing, I cleared my throat, trying again to smile pleasantly in spite of the frustration I was beginning to feel. “Esmeralda, no one is accusing you of anything.”
“Yet!” Tox warned.
“No one is accusing you,” I insisted, “but . . . well . . . I don’t think slippery bottles is the reason you dropped everything. I think it was because we mentioned Alson Andrews.”
At this, she met my gaze, her eyes filled with terror. Just as quickly, she looked down again. Still trembling, she stood up, tossing the bottles back onto the cart. Grabbing the trash bag, she began pushing the cart toward the elevators in a mad dash, her dark eyes filled with panic. She didn’t get far before Tox blocked her path, grabbing hold of the cart with both hands.
“Por favor,” she cried. “No puedo . . . no puedo—”
“Did you have something to do with this?” His neck veins pulsated as he slammed his fists down on the cart. “Huh? Did you have something to do with this? Do you know where he is? If anything happens to t
hat kid, so help me . . . where is he, huh? Where’s Alson? WHERE’S ALSON?!?”
“No puedo—”
“English!” he bellowed.
“I can’t!” She covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
“Can’t or won’t?” Her eyes wide, she trembled as she avoided his gaze, tears rolling down her tan cheeks. He shook the cart again. Harder. “Answer me!”
“I’ll lose my job,” she sobbed, hiccupping once.
“You’ll lose more than your freakin’ job if you don’t speak up!” My own heart rate increased as I watched him torment this poor woman. I felt rage welling within me at such flagrant and unnecessary abuse. I was seconds from calling hotel security on Tox when Esmeralda spoke.
“He . . . took my keys.” Heather glanced at me and we exchanged a perplexed look. Tox, apparently, did not share our confusion.
“Who? Alson? Alson stole your keys?” The intensity no longer clouded his eyes. Looking skyward, he let out a sigh of relief.
“Not him. The other one.”
“What other one?” Tox’s rage returned. When she began to whimper, he reached across the cart and grabbing her arm, shook her. “What other one? Tell me now!”
“That’s enough!” I pushed him. Although my physical strength did little to move him, my reaction did. He looked down at the maid, who was hiding behind the cart. She hugged herself and sobbed silently. He stared down at his massive hands. Balling them into fists, he stormed off down the hall.
“It’s okay,” I told Esmeralda as soon as Tox was out of earshot. I reached toward her to offer comfort. She recoiled in fear, crying harder. I turned to Heather in desperation.
Bitter Retribution Page 17