Death on the Rocks (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 1)

by Michael Allegretto

  “That’s right, yes.”

  “How young?”

  “I don’t know. Fourteen or so. And they have to be, you know, not ugly.”

  “Sure, Jake. Want me to bring them to your house?”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  “The wife wouldn’t approve, eh?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This must be absolutely confidential or we forget the whole thing.”

  “No problem, Jake. So you want me to arrange the place, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about props?”

  “Props?”

  “Sure, you gotta have props. For you I see stuffed animals. Now picture this.” He put the tips of his thumbs together and made a square with his hands. A movie director. “Three young girls in their bedroom. Lots of stuffed animals around. They’re having a pajama party, see, and you walk in, like you’re the angry daddy, and you’re going to spank them good unless they do you good. How’s that sound?”

  “I guess that would be okay.”

  “It’s going to cost you, Jake, ole buddy.”

  “I can pay, of course.”

  “It could cost plenty,” Tiny rumbled.

  “Money is not a problem. Within reason.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Reese said. “But I need earnest money.”

  “Of course. Would a check be okay?”

  A grizzly laugh from Tiny.

  “Cash,” Reese said.

  “I never carry much cash.” I dug out about two hundred bucks and Reese took it all.

  “This will get things started, Jake. I’ll call you in a few days. What’s your home phone?”

  “I’d rather you called my office.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Reese nodded to Tiny, who struggled out of the booth. I started to slide over. Reese clamped his hand on my wrist. He had a grip like a bench vise.

  “What line of work you say you were in, Jake?”

  “Real estate.” The only land I owned was the dirt I tracked into my apartment.

  “There’s good money in real estate.”

  “There can be,” I said.

  Reese let go. My hand tingled as the blood rushed in. I got out of the booth. Reese stayed put.

  “I’ll wait for your call,” I said.

  Reese saluted with two fingers, like a Cub Scout. I moved through the crowd to the door. There was loud laughter from the back. It probably had nothing to do with me.

  CHAPTER 24

  SUNDAY’S PAPER DEVOTED A lot of space to the fire in the mountains. It still burned out of control and had jumped a major firebreak. Over ten thousand acres were either blackened or ablaze. Four hundred and fifty men fought back with an airplane, two helicopters, thirty tractors, plus shovels and chain saws. They also prayed for rain.

  I put aside the paper. I had other things on my mind. Like how far should, or could, I play my charade with Reese. He might have seen through it from the beginning. If so, he was laughing offstage while I danced my fool’s dance.

  Someone knocked on the door. It was Vaz.

  “Jacob, am I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all. What’s up?”

  “Could you help me move a couch? Sophia had it delivered yesterday and now she is certain that it belongs across the room.”

  I figured the last thing the Botvinnovs needed was more furniture.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I followed Vaz down the stairs. Sophia stood in the hall outside their door. She was a short, robust, busty lady with iron gray hair and soft brown eyes. She was dressed for going out.

  “Hello, Jacob, and thank you.”

  “Hi, Sophia. Where you off to?”

  “The Unitarian Church, if I don’t miss my bus. We are having a clothing drive.” She turned her attention on Vaz and spoke to him in a jumble of English and Russian for several minutes, daring her bus to leave without her.

  Vaz kept up a steady thump of “Da. Da. Yes, Sophia. Da.”

  She kissed him, waved to me, and bustled down the stairs.

  Vaz shook his head, and I followed him into their densely furnished quarters.

  There were chairs and sofas and credenzas full of china and a baby grand piano and love seats and vases and floor lamps and table lamps and a chandelier and bookcases and paintings and figurines and tapestries and a sideboard with bric-a-brac and window seats and end tables and coffee tables and narrow pathways through it all. Sophia liked furniture. She had grown up in a bare room in a barren house, Vaz had said, and she was making up for lost time.

  It took us an hour or so to lug stuff out into the hall, move the couch to its Sophia-appointed place, and lug everything back in.

  “If she buys one more thing, Jacob,” Vaz said between labored breaths, “we will have to live in the garage and declare this a warehouse. Would you like iced tea?”

  We sat at the kitchen table. This room seemed empty compared with the rest of the apartment. But I had the feeling the cupboards were ready to burst open with an avalanche of cups and platters, pans and pots. Vaz filled two tall glasses and set the sweaty pitcher between us.

  “So, Jacob, chess?”

  “Not today. I’m afraid my concentration would be less than usual.”

  “You are still working on the Townsend case?”

  “Yes. Although her attorney tried to fire me.”

  “Why?”

  “A couple of reasons. But mostly because he’s been stealing from Townsend’s estate and was afraid I’d find out. At least it looks that way.”

  “Do you think he was responsible for Phillip Townsend’s death?”

  “I don’t know, Vaz. He’s apparently gained from it. But then, so has Maryanne Townsend.”

  “In what way?”

  “A lot more freedom. Especially when it comes to spending money.”

  “But surely you don’t think she killed her husband.”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “But if she did, then why would she have hired you?”

  “Maybe she feels guilty and wants to get caught.”

  “I think, Jacob, that you are stretching things a bit.”

  “Probably.”

  Vaz poured himself more iced tea. “You are still looking for the man called Leonard Reese?”

  “I found him.”

  I told Vaz about my meeting with Reese and Tiny. His eyebrows scrunched up like a pair of shaggy trained mice.

  “These men are trouble, Jacob.”

  “Tell me.”

  “What can you gain by this pretense?”

  “I want to see how far Reese will take it.”

  “But how far will you take it? What if he provides three young girls? What will you do? Certainly not commit statutory rape.”

  “No. I’ll tell him I changed my mind and want older women.”

  “Bah. You are playing with a wolf, I think.”

  “It’s all I’ve got, Vaz. If Reese tries to pull the same thing I think he pulled on Townsend, I can probably get him busted for it.”

  “You mean let him film you in the act of … in the act? And then see if he tries blackmail?”

  “Something like that.”

  “This is foolish. And dangerous.”

  I refilled my glass.

  “You’re right, Vaz. And you know what bothers me? Townsend must have known that, too. His natural instinct must have been to get the hell away from Reese. But he stayed. Why didn’t he run back to Sandra? Or even his wife?”

  “Sandra is the whore, Cassandra O’Day?”

  Vaz had a memory like a hard disk.

  “Yes,” I said. “Call girl.”

  “Oh. Call girl.” He gave me an odd look.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Okay, I think she’s a nice person. She reminds … she’s nice.”

  “I’m sorry I said whore.”

  “No problem.”

  “I think maybe it is. But back to Mr. Townsend. I agree with yo
u, Jacob, that Townsend would have felt suspicious and afraid of Reese. But his compulsion was stronger than his fear.”

  “His compulsion to have kinky sex?”

  “His compulsion, I think, to screw his daughter.”

  “Say what?”

  Vaz shrugged his shoulders and arched his furry brows.

  “I am not a psychologist, Jacob. However, is it merely a coincidence that the girl on the tape and his daughter are so close in age?”

  “Even so.”

  “You said Townsend was shut out by his wife and daughter. He had no friends, only a bartender to talk to. So first he finds another woman for sex. But this is not enough. He needs to strike back at his wife and daughter. So he devises an elaborate psychodrama to punish and humiliate them. Do you see the twisted logic of it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Townsend took a terrible risk when he dealt with Reese, but he had no choice. In his mind, at least. He had to play it out to the end. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I agree with one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s got to be played out to the end.”

  Vaz didn’t argue. But before I left, he did manage to talk me into two games. In the first, he had black and played the Sicilian against my pawn to king four. He cut me to pieces. In the second, I had black and played the Sicilian against his pawn to king four. He cut me to pieces.

  When I got back upstairs, the phone was ringing. It was Gus Gofman.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of hours.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I had an unexpected visitor this morning. Leonard Reese.”

  My grip tightened on the phone.

  “What did he want?” I knew what he wanted.

  “He asked about you.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Not much. I said you came to me looking for girls.”

  “Did he buy it?”

  “I don’t know. I said I gave you his name because he was the only one I knew. Like last time.”

  “With Townsend.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did Reese react?”

  “He was pissed off.”

  “Did he get rough with you?”

  “Hell, no. I had friends over.”

  “Did you give him any other names?” I was thinking of Cassandra O’Day.

  “You mean like Gloria Ruiz?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Listen, Gus, you be careful. If Reese thinks you were holding out on him, there’s no telling what he might do.”

  “I’m not afraid of that asshole.”

  “You damn well better be afraid. If he comes over again, don’t let him in, especially if you’re alone. Call the cops on him. Or call me, for chrissake.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a gun, remember?”

  “Barely. Just try not to shoot yourself in the foot.”

  We hung up. I called Gloria Ruiz. No answer.

  I drove to the office. Acme, Inc., was silent, closed on Sundays. My answering tape was silent, too. There was nothing to do now but wait for Reese to call. I got a bottle of Jack Black out of the desk drawer. No sense waiting alone.

  Sometime later I fell asleep on the couch. And dreamed of the screaming woman. Shadow figures huddled around her. “Help me!” she screamed. I didn’t move, or even try. “Please!” I shook my head. “I can’t help you,” I said. “You’re dead.”

  CHAPTER 25

  A SIREN WOKE ME up.

  A fire truck screamed down Broadway. It screeched around the corner and stopped near the alley behind my office. I sat up on the couch and felt the wall. Cool. I had a dull hangover and a kink in my neck, but at least I wouldn’t be burned alive.

  I washed up in the tiny lavatory, went out for breakfast, then came back and hung around the office all morning. Reese called just before noon.

  “Hiya, Jake. Still interested in buying?”

  I could hear the grin in his voice.

  “I am.”

  “Okay, it’s going to cost you an even two thousand. Up front and in cash.”

  “Now wait a minute.”

  “What’s the problem, Jake? Too rich for your blood?”

  “No. But I want to see the, ah, merchandise before I pay for it.”

  “I hear you. You come with the cash and if you like what you see, we can do it then and there. If not, we’ll fix you up with something else. How’s that sound?”

  “Okay, I guess. When?”

  “Tonight. I’m still working out the details. I’ll call you at eight. Have the cash and be ready to go.”

  I didn’t like the sound of it, but I didn’t have a good reason to say no. I said okay.

  I left the office and drove to Pussy’s. Oscar said Bunny wouldn’t be in till six. He suggested I stick around and maybe have another girl while I waited. I told him there was only so much of me to go around. When I got home, I called Gloria Ruiz. No answer. Probably at work. I called her again at five-thirty. She answered on the second ring.

  “Have you talked to Reese since I saw you Friday?”

  “No. Why?”

  “If he calls or comes over, you never heard of me, okay?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I just don’t want him to have a reason to get mad at you. Say yes, Gloria.”

  “I don’t like lying to anyone. But all right.” Then she told me she hadn’t seen her friend Vicki yet, so she still didn’t know the names of the girls who’d gone to Mexico with Reese and Tiny. I told her I’d call tomorrow.

  At six I went to Pussy’s.

  Bruce the Muscleman was helping a guy out the door. The guy was either twenty or sixty—it was hard to tell under the grime and rags. Bruce pointed him down Colfax, then gave him a kick in the pants to get him started. Bruce enjoyed his work.

  Oscar squatted behind the cash register. A fat savage worshiping his idol. He shifted his damp and mangled cigar to one corner of his mouth.

  “Hi, friend. Lemme guess. You’re looking for Bunny.”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “She’s waiting for you. Go through the arch and down the hall to Studio A. But first,” he said, thumping the counter with a sausage-finger, “a hundred.”

  I counted it out.

  “You got fifteen minutes starting now. You go five seconds over, it costs you another hundred.”

  “Such a deal.”

  “Have fun,” he said.

  I went through the arch. The hallway was dim and stank of stale marijuana. The floor felt sticky underfoot. I went past the cinema on my right. Mumbled movie voices drifted through the heavy curtain. Farther along on the left were doors, faintly lit. The first one was painted with a large white “A.”

  I tried the doorknob. Locked. I knocked. There was movement behind the door.

  Bunny opened it. She wore a dirty pink nightgown and nothing underneath. She looked heavier than when she’d been videotaped with Townsend. Her belly dropped and her breasts hung like rotting melons. But her hair was combed, her mascara unsmeared, and her lipstick almost straight. Of course, I was her first customer.

  “Come on in, honey,” she said without smiling. I entered the dim room and she closed the door behind me. “Anything you want. But no rough stuff.”

  “Can we talk first?”

  “It’s your dollar.”

  She sat on the bed with her back to the headboard. There were no chairs, so I leaned against the wall. The lamp on the nightstand bled anemic light.

  “You ever been in the movies?” I said.

  “Sure. I been with Burt Reynolds and all them guys.” A few of her words slurred. But I couldn’t smell booze. Maybe it was vodka. Or downers.

  “I mean movies in Denver.”

  “Sure.”

  “I saw you in one.”

  “Really?” For the first time she showed interest.

  “You were with a man named Phillip Townsen
d.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t always know their names.”

  “There was another woman, too. Thin, with dark hair. You both wore leather straps. And there was a young girl.”

  She frowned, thinking. She crossed her ankles. The nightgown fell away from her heavy white thighs and dark furry patch. She made no move to cover herself.

  “Townsend wore a cape and—”

  “Sure,” she said, her dull face brightening. “I remember now. The guy was so scared he was shriveled up like a mushroom.”

  “Townsend?”

  “I guess. I never knew his name. Just that he was Lenny’s friend.”

  “Leonard Reese.”

  “Yeah. Do you know Lenny?”

  “We’ve met.”

  “He’s a fun guy. But I haven’t seen him for a while. He used to work here, you know.”

  “I know.”

  She frowned. “It’s funny.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t remember that being a movie.”

  “With Townsend?”

  “Yeah. I mean we did it at the house, but Lenny never said it was a movie. Just a favor for his friend.”

  “Where was the house?”

  “North of town. Commerce City, I think. Lenny and some other guys rented this house and used it to make movies. One of the bedrooms had a two-way mirror for people to watch. I knew Lenny was probably watching us work out with his friend. I guess he could have had a camera.” She grinned. “I guess he did, if you saw the film. And I got my two hundred bucks, so it don’t matter to me.”

  “Who were the other two women? I mean, woman and girl.”

  “Never saw them before. Lenny brought us all together that night at the house.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could you find the house if we drove out there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not. I was only there a few times. Always at night.” She grinned. “Usually stoned. Besides, I heard something like the owner booted those guys out.”

  “Do you know why Lenny quit working here?”

  “No, why?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “No.”

  “He quit soon after that night you were with Townsend.”

  “I guess. Yeah, around in there.”

  “Did you hear anything about Reese coming into some money about that time? Maybe a lot of money?”

  “No. I haven’t heard anything about him.”