Death of an Escort

by Nathan Pennington

  I walked in and saw no one in the church. Moving deeper in, I could hear him off to the side in the front. Moving down the center aisle, I passed the altar in the center and the podium, which was set off to the side.

  Up in the corners there were some offices. Father Patrick was up in one of them. I poked my head in and saw him eating a giant sandwich. He set it down and indicated a seat opposite him.

  I took it and waited for him to finish chewing. The smell of bacon and some kind of a sweet pepper sauce hung in the air.

  The chair was high-backed and carved of wood. It wasn't exactly comfortable.

  He swallowed. "Yes, Ray?"

  "Father," I said. "You still have family in New York, don't you?"

  He nodded.

  "Father, could I ask you to sin for me?"

  He looked a little shocked. "Only our Savior is the complete propitiation for us."

  "No, no, Father," I said. "I mean I need you to assist me in something. Your family actually."

  He looked questioningly at me. He didn't say anything because he'd taken another big bite out of the monstrous sandwich.

  "There's this company in New York that lets people register domain names for the internet. But this company lets people pay in an untraceable manner."

  He set the sandwich down again. "You're trying to find out who owns a certain internet address?"

  "I am," I said.

  "For some job you're investigating?"

  "That is correct," I said.

  "I think I know what you are going to ask, but go ahead and ask," he said. There was a twinkle in his eye.

  "Could someone you know back there enter the premises of this place at night and tell me who owns a certain domain name? They must have some kind of record, if only for liability reasons."

  He looked at me and I think he was trying to give me a disapproving look.

  "I would compensate you and the person in New York," I said. "It wouldn't have to be for free."

  "No," he said. "No payment. That wouldn't be right."

  "So, you won't help?" I asked. I had to admit, I kind of expected this.

  His eyes twinkled again. "I never said that. Give me the info, and I'll see what my family can do for you."

  I had to smile. This guy was all right. "The website is YouDisgustMe.com."

  "An interesting name," he said and made a note on his sandwich wrapper.

  "And the company that allowed the name to be registered with them is Registry Rocket." I then gave their New York address, and he jotted that down too.

  "I'll call you," he said.

  "That's it?"

  He'd taken another big bite of sandwich and couldn't answer me right away. Finally, "What do you mean?"

  "You'll help? Simple as that?"

  He shrugged. "Why not?"

  "You don't really know much of anything about what I'm asking or why?" I said. What was I trying to do here? Convince him not to help? I needed to shut up and leave.

  He shrugged again. "You are a good man, Ray. You are trying to help someone. I know you, and you need this information to complete your task."

  I nodded.

  "I trust you, Ray," he said.

  That sent a shiver down my spine. "Thank you," I said quietly. "Sorry for interrupting your lunch."

  He shook his head. "No problem."

  I got up and left the church. Outside I called Macy.

  "Are you available to meet now?" I asked.

  "I'm at a restaurant having lunch," she said. "Have you eaten?"

  Did two bananas count? "Not really," I said.

  "Come and join me," she said.

  "Where?"

  "That same place we went first," she said.

  "The salad bar place?"

  "Yes," she said. "I'm paying for your plate now. See you soon."

  Was eating lettuce after bananas a good idea? I didn't know, but I was worried about some kind of interaction or reaction. Kind of like mixing beer and hard liquor.

  But I was hungry, and I decided to risk it. It was a short drive, and I pulled up and went inside.

  She was sitting at the same booth. First, I decided to make my plate of food, and then I'd join her. She waved at me, and I nodded back.

  The real question I had about all this was how she was so fat if all she did was eat here? Ranch dressing couldn't be that fattening.

  I made a giant mound of a salad and made my way over to her.

  "Hello," she said. "How is it going?"

  "I'm learning many interesting things," I said. "The thing I'm working on right now is the oddest, I think."

  "And that is?" she asked, and then she sucked down some soda.

  "I found another porn site your mother was on," I said.

  She had been a little cheerful and happy, but as soon as I mentioned that, it all left her. She almost looked like she was going to cry.

  "They must have been stealing pictures or something," she said.

  I shook my head. "No," I said. "It wasn't pictures. It was video. Video of your mom, uh, she was, uh, being raped."

  "What?" It came out like a strained gasp.

  "I don't think it was actual rape," I said. "I think it was staged, but that would mean your mom was in on it."

  "Why?" she whispered. Tears were starting to come now.

  "I don't know, yet," I said. "I don't know much about it. I've got someone working to give me details right now. Soon I should know more about that."

  She pushed her plate away. "I'm not hungry anymore," she said. It almost sounded like a whimper.

  I hadn't even started my salad. Seeing what was coming, I began to eat quickly.

  "I'm ready to go," she said.

  I knew it. I'd only eaten the top of my salad, but I pushed it toward the center of the table. "I'll walk you back to your place," I said.

  It wasn't the kind-hearted gesture it seemed. I wanted to look at her papers some more. It was the life insurance papers I was interested in seeing.

  And there was the button issue.

  "Is there anything else you've learned?" she asked, regaining some composer once we were outside.

  There was a lot more. The last to see her alive wasn't very cooperative. The fiancé was a lying cheat, and she herself wasn't being honest. The button was my proof, but given the way she'd reacted to the rape porn news, I wasn't sure how much more I wanted to share.

  "I'm working on several angles," I said.

  We'd gotten to her front door, and she unlocked it.

  "I need to go freshen up," she said. "I'll meet you in the office in a moment, okay?"

  I nodded. "Sounds good," I said and made my way to the office. As soon as I got there, I began shuffling through papers on her desk. The life insurance papers had been there.

  I didn't know if they were still there or not. The top of the desk was so crowded and messy with layers and layers of papers all strewn about. Lots of them were bills of various sorts.

  Now I was pawing through the papers.

  I felt like I was running out of time. She'd be back soon, and I'd lose my chance. The thing I wanted to find out was if the policy paid out if there was suicide.

  "Excuse me?"

  The voice made me jump.

  Chapter 11

  It was Macy. I was halfway up on the desk. One of my knees was up on the table top. I'd knocked papers off, and they were lying on the floor.

  "What is this?" she asked.

  I felt so embarrassed, and I hoped I wasn't blushing as badly as it felt I was.

  "Well?" she asked indignantly.

  "Let's talk frankly," I finally got out.

  "Yes, let's do that." She marched around the desk and sat in the chair facing me. "Who do you think you are to go rifling through my papers?"

  My courage had returned. "Did your mother's life insurance pay out even in a suicide?"

  She looked shocked. "How do you know about that?"

  I shook my head to wave off the question. "Does it pay out now?"
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  "It's none of your business," she said.

  "Is it perhaps that it doesn't pay out on suicide? Is that what this is about?" I asked.

  She pressed her lips tightly together before she spoke. "Are you trying to get fired?"

  "No," I said. "But I'm trying to make sense of all this, and it keeps getting more complicated the deeper I get into it."

  "Find the truth like you were hired to do," she said.

  "Okay," I said. "The truth. Okay." I pulled the button out of my pocket. "Explain this to me."

  She looked down at it, and she shrugged.

  "This belongs to you. This is your button. I've checked."

  "You can't know if a button belongs to someone," she said.

  "Normally, I'd agree," I said. "But this was handmade here in town, and the buyer is on record as you."

  Her eyes met mine, and there was a guilty look in them.

  "Not only that, but I looked at the photos of your mom after she died. She wasn't wearing anything that would have had this button on it. However, this button was at the scene of the crime or suicide or whatever happened."

  "I don't what to discuss this, Ray," she said. She turned away slightly.

  I sat down, and pulled the chair close up to the edge of the desk. Then I leaned forward and put my elbows on the sea of papers covering the desk.

  With a quieter voice, I continued. "Macy. I want this job. I want to find out the truth of what happened to your mother. I do, but I can only do that if you, my client, are totally honest with me."

  She looked back at me, but didn't say anything.

  "Now, I know this button belongs to you, and I know it was in the room where your mother died. Were you there?"

  "No," she said.

  "Be honest with me," I said.

  "I wasn't there. I swear," she said.

  "Is this your button?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  Finally she admitted to it. "Okay," I said. "How did it get in the room with your mother?"

  "I don't know," she said so quietly I had a hard time hearing it.

  "Were you there?"

  "No," she said with some force and conviction. "I wasn't there. I don't know how this button . . ." Her voice trailed off.

  "What? What is it?" I asked.

  Her eyes were full of suspicion, but it wasn't directed at me. "The maid," she said in a low voice.

  "The maid?"

  "Yes," she said. "We had a maid come in and do the housework. I recognize that button. It belonged to a top that I used to have, but it didn't fit me anymore."

  "And?"

  "I gave it to the maid," she said.

  "I'm not getting the connection," I said.

  "Our maid told us she also worked at several motels doing housekeeping work there too," she said.

  "Did she work at the Sleep EZ Inn?"

  She looked hard into my eyes. She was thinking, trying to remember. "I think so," she said.

  "Well, that clears the button issue up," I said. "But why lie to me before about it? You knew it was yours."

  She looked tired now. "I wasn't lying," she said. "It didn't belong to me anymore."

  I put the button back in my pocket. I had another person I had to talk to now. This maid might know something. Maybe she found something when cleaning the room when she lost her button.

  "What was your maid's name?"

  "Maria Vasquez," she said.

  I mentally filed the name away. "Do you have an address or something for her?"

  She shook her head no.

  "All right," I said. "But let's return to the life insurance."

  Her face got hard.

  "Is that what this is all about?"

  She stared at me.

  "Remember," I said. "I need you to be honest with me."

  She looked down. "Life insurance policies don't pay out in the first two years for a suicide."

  "And?"

  "My mom bought a life insurance policy twenty months ago," she said. "Just four months to go before it would fully pay out."

  "Was your mom suicidal?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "My mom did not commit suicide."

  "Why did she buy the policy?"

  "Her work is dangerous. Was dangerous," she said.

  "How much was the policy for?"

  "Three million," she said.

  I cleared my throat. That was a lot. "And it pays out for murder?"

  She nodded.

  "So you need me to make some kind of a murder connection so that you can collect?"

  "You make it sound so awful," she said. "I'm a teenager still, remember?"

  I nodded.

  "I've got college, and then I've got to make my way in the world with no parents or other family of any kind. I don't have any safety net. I can't call up my dad and tell him that I've lost a job or something and that I need some help. It's just me."

  I nodded.

  "Oh," she said. "Don't act like you understand. You don't. You probably call your parents once per week. You don't have a clue. You don't know how alone I am."

  I did. I really did. Both of my parents thought I was dead long ago. It was the only way they could be safe.

  And the boy they knew was dead. I was nothing like the person they raised. I didn't look like their boy, I didn't act like their boy, and that was how it had to stay.

  "I need that money," she said. "Trust me, Ray. I'd give anything to have my mom back. Mere money won't do it. It isn't what I wanted. My mom was my only family." Her voice got husky and a tear threatened to roll down her cheek. With a finger she wiped it away.

  "I understand more than you know," I said. "So, this is about me finding a murderer so that you can have some security . . . in money. But it's better than nothing," I said.

  "Thank you Ray," she said.

  "Don't thank me yet," I said. "I'm still a long way from an answer."

  I left, and I decided to go for a walk. She'd made me think, and she'd made me miss my family.

  Correction, I don't have a family. Ray Crusafi doesn't have family.

  Ray doesn't, but the one I used to be does. I couldn't deny it. I missed them. And what made it so much worse was the knowledge that I'd never see them again. They may as well be dead.

  Unbidden images of my brother and I came into my mind. I remembered being on the front lawn. We would throw a football back and forth. We'd run trick plays.

  And I missed him. He'd been the good one. He'd gone to college to get a good job.

  Not I. I got involved in . . . in the stuff that now had me permanently hiding and assuming false identities.

  That made me think of my wife. It had been a mistake to get married. What was I thinking? For all I knew, they were still working on tracking me down.

  If they were, eventually they'd find me here. They were relentless, and even though it had been fifteen years, if I knew them (and I did), their burning hatred to kill me would still be there.

  And when one of them showed up here, I'd have to go on the run again. Time for a new name, new identity, and a new life.

  I'd have to leave my wife behind, and that was plain wrong. But anything else could get her killed.

  She didn't want to marry a fugitive. She had no idea, and I hadn't been clean in telling her all my dirty secrets. I kept secrets from her telling myself that I was doing it to protect her.

  Bastard. I was a bastard. There was no good way for this to end for her, and she didn't have a clue what was coming.

  I tried to cheer myself up, and tell myself that my cover was good here. They wouldn't look for me and find me here.

  It was a lie, and I knew it. Sure, it had been a while, but that didn't mean they'd stopped looking.

  Maybe the best thing would be to divorce my wife now. Get it over with. I could make her hate me, and get far away from me. Then whatever went down, she'd be away and safe.

  The hurt and loneliness came on stronger than when remembering my family. I'd miss her so much.
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  And I'd never be able to see her again. Never touch her again.

  I hated myself. I hated myself for my stupid choices. There was no one to blame for what was happening to me, except me.

  Repeatedly, I'd been ungodly stupid, and forever now, I'd pay for it. And it was wrong of me to drag others into this.

  My disposable cell phone rang, and I checked the number. It was blocked.

  "Hello?" I asked.

  "Hey Sweetie," my wife said.

  I felt a sharp pain shoot through my heart. "Hi," I managed.

  "Are you free?"

  "What's up?" I said trying to sound normal.

  "I've packed a picnic dinner," she said. "For you and me."

  "That sounds nice," I said. Bastard, I'm such a bastard.

  "I want to talk too," she said. "A serious talk."

  "Really? About what?" I asked.

  "Let's save it for dinner," she said. "I love you."

  I wanted to say it back. I did. I loved her, but the words choked in my throat. "Me too. Bye, bye."

  I snapped the phone shut.

  The whole drive home I blasted rock music through the car speakers. I cranked the volume up. It was the only thing I could do to turn the internal voices off.

  Actually, it didn't turn them off. It made them impossible to hear. I couldn't hear myself think, and that's how I wanted it.

  I followed my normal routine of not parking near my house, and I had to walk the rest of the way there. While I was walking, I hummed and sang. Again it was to shut up the internal voices.

  At home, I let myself in. It was a little early for dinner yet, and I figured my wife would still be putting the picnic basket together, but when I got to the kitchen, there was a large basket on the counter top. It was covered with a white cloth and looked quite full.

  I tested lifting it, and it was quite full.

  Marline came into the kitchen. "Oh, excellent! You are home."

  "It's a little early for dinner," I said not at all enthusiastically.

  "Let's go anyway," she said. "I've got it all ready." She seemed excited.

  "Okay," I said. I hefted the basket. "Where are we going?"

  "Do you know where that little stream runs about half of a mile from here?"

  I did. It was deeper into the area where we lived. The creek wasn't actually on our property, but our neighbors had made it clear that we could fish or wade in it whenever we wanted to. They were nice people.