by Ronnie Allen
AriellaRose looked like she was about to pass out. She blinked, as if to regain focus. Her gaze darted to her cell phone that lay on the sheets. Sweat trickled from her scalp, down her cheeks, in a very cool room. And this woman was far from menopause.
Um, hit on something here, Sam mused. “I use the oils on candles to perform rituals and spells. Mostly with Isis and Artemis. Oh, and Lord Ganesh. Who do you invoke?”
“Oh my God. What the hell does all this matter? You’re getting on my nerves, Detective.”
“I’m responsible for solving two murders. Who do you invoke?”
“Oh, so you think I did a spell to kill my dad and Meghan? That’s freaky.”
“I never said you were a suspect, AriellaRose.” But you sure as hell confirmed that you are one. “Okay, we can move on. What do you know about the club Whiplash?”
“From spells to a sex club. You’re sure organized, aren’t you? But at least you stayed the same place in the alphabet. Okay. Okay. My dad liked it. He went a lot. So does Adam. Why?”
“What about you?”
AriellaRose shuddered. “Me never. Hate the pain part. Ugh.”
“Well, I’m going there tonight with Tattoo--Doctor Khaos--to follow up a lead Calinda gave us.”
AriellaRose paid attention as if relieved the focus was off her. “What lead?”
“Calinda said your dad’s killer might have come from there.”
“Hope so. That would mean you’d solve his murder quicker, right?”
“Possibly. Anything I should be aware of in preparation to go?”
“Like what?”
“Set up of the place. Rules. Things like that.”
“So you’ve never been in a club like this?”
Sam shook her head. “No.” She could lie, too. But unlike AriellaRose, she had been trained.
“Okay. You’ve got to be dressed for it. Can’t wear street clothes. And you can’t go in there smelling of cop. Which you do. And no sex. Save that for when you get Tattooman back to your place, or wherever.”
“If you’ve never been there, how do you know?”
AriellaRose rolled her eyes. “Okay, you caught me. I’ve been there lots of times, but I just watch. I don’t like them doing those things to me.”
“Okay, good. Then I can be more specific. Who’s the owner or the person we should ask to see?”
“Oh yeah. Dominic. Dominic what’s his last name? Yeah Trevino. He’s totally hands on.”
“Hands on? Such as?”
“He teaches first timers how to do everything. Spankings, the bondage. He’ll show Tattooman how to do all that to you. And from what you look like, I bet Dominick will take his time with the lessons. He’s into long spankings. He’ll go for an hour. He’s in and out of the rooms to make sure no one gets carried away. Oh, and this is important. You need a fake name. No one uses their real ones. No phones or cameras allowed inside, either.”
“Do you know your father’s and Adam’s aliases?’
“Yeah. I do. But I can’t laugh. It hurts.”
“Okay. I won’t laugh.”
“Dad’s is Dudley. And Adam is Fido.”
“Fido, like the dog?”
“Yeah. Adam is always a sub, but my dad does both. Uh, did both.”
“Thanks for the heads up. One more thing.”
“What?’
“Calinda says you’ve been seeing Leonardo for three years and you’re close with his family.”
“Yeah. Remind me to thank her for telling you my life.”
“Well, is he your street pharmacist?”
“He isn’t no more, now, is he?”
“What do you know about his suppliers?”
AriellaRose turned away. “I’m getting tired.”
“I can see that, but we may need to protect you. How open was your relationship? Your mother didn’t seem to know. She thinks you’re still a virgin.”
“People know. My mother is in denial. But he never did business in front of me, so I really don’t know his clients. And every transfer was in private, so no one else saw anyone, either. He never did any parties.”
“Thanks, AriellaRose. This has been helpful.”
“Can’t imagine how. It was all bullshit to me.”
Sam nodded and left the room, knowing she had to initiate a warrant for AriellaRose’s apartment. First, however, she envisioned herself over Frank’s muscular lap with his large, warm hands toying with her naked bottom, patting her first to warm her up, then increasing in firmness as she spread her legs, so he could reward her with his fingers sliding over her clit, intermittently with the spanks.
Oh my God. Her thong just stuck to her crotch.
Sitting in her car in the hospital lot, she put in a call to Nick. She had about five hours before she had to meet Frank to go to the club.
“Hi, Sam.”
“Nick, how’s the warrant coming? I need to get into AriellaRose’s apartment.”
“What did you get?”
“She was pissed Calinda told me so much. I have to figure it all out. But she uses oils and candles for spells, and she brought up using a spell to kill her father and Mason.”
“Excuse me? How is that possible? You can’t believe in all that crap.”
Sam sank in the seat. “Uh...I just wanted to see what she’d use. Maybe we’ll find a tool or something. She or Calinda is lying, big time, but she knows her. The cutter comment I made really got to her. Maybe she knows Calinda as someone else, but she connected. Nick, make that warrant happen.”
“Want the good news or bad news first?”
“What do you mean?”
“I got the warrant for the father only. To add AriellaRose to the warrant, one, would take till tomorrow, and two, it won’t fly based on oils, candles, and spells.”
“Okay, I’ll take it. Where are you now?”
“Home with my wife. And I plan to stay--”
Sam interrupted him. “Meet me at her apartment. I’m in Manhattan. About twenty minutes from her.”
***
AriellaRose’s apartment was on the upper east side off Second Avenue. Thirty-story residential buildings lined both sides of the one way street. Her building was a huge, modern complex with man-made gardens in front, leading to the main lobby. With the chilly afternoon upon her, Sam decided to wait in the lobby. After the doorman rang her in, she looked around at the mailboxes on the wall. She found the Larcon apartment but Steven’s name was on the apartment tag.
Um, they didn’t even acknowledge AriellaRose here. This woman had nothing in her name. Nothing to view herself as an individual.
She felt a momentary sadness for AriellaRose. Scanning the apartments, she came across a familiar name. She couldn’t wait to ask Nick about it. They could get a reliable tip. The breeze came in through the doors when residents entered. Sam rubbed her upper arms with her hands crossed over her chest. She felt like she had waited a half hour when Nick appeared.
“Hi,” he said. “Can’t seem to get oils and candles out of my head. That’s all so bogus, you know?”
Okay, Guess I have to stay in the closest here. “Take a look at this first.” Sam led him over to the apartment roster. “Here’s Larcon.”
“So?”
“Look who’s right next door.”
“Who?”
“Nick! Pay attention.” She pointed. “Is this the same Doctor Trenton that Withers wanted to call in instead of Frank?”
He read the tag. “Doctor John and Vicki Trenton. Yes. It is. I knew he lived in the neighborhood but didn’t know exactly where.”
“I want to call him. Maybe he knows them and could give us some insights.”
“No, Sam. Can’t step on Frank’s toes. No way.”
“Not to come in and profile. But to gives some facts that an otherwise civilian wouldn’t know.”
“He’s not here, anyway. He’s in Florida.”
“I can make a call to Florida.”
Nick eyes narrowed and he
stared her down. “No. He’s on sabbatical. Not supposed to do any police work. Let’s go. The superintendent is expecting us outside the apartment.” He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder to edge her along.
“I’ll ask Frank. We’re going clubbing tonight.”
They got into the elevator and Nick pressed twelve. “Clubbing? To where?”
“I don’t want to tell you. You’ll yell at me.”
“If it’s case related, I won’t yell at you. Where the hell are you going?”
Sam turned her back to him. “Whiplash.”
“Hey, I heard you. Turn the hell around! And why are you going there?”
“Calinda told me Dad and Adam went a lot. We might get a lead there. You heard us discuss it from the other room. Want to come, partner?”
Nick shook his head. “I know what I heard. No. And I don’t think you should go there, either. But you’re a big girl. Do what you want.” The elevator door opened and they walked down the hall to meet the superintendent, who didn’t say a word, but took the paper Nick handed him.
He scanned it and opened the apartment door. “Just press this in and the door will lock, Detectives.”
Nick nodded in thanks.
The apartment, six rooms that would be considered small for a man of Steven Larcon’s status, emanated a coldness, a barrenness that conformed to AriellaRose’s personality. The dark forest green upholstery on the couch and love seat situated perpendicular to each other stood centered in the room on almond tiling. A green striped rug was the anchor for an oval coffee table. The walls were painted a golden yellow. But without any art work or family paintings, there was no life. Dark, depressing and, to Sam, full of toxic energy. She stood in the entry hall and stared into space. She needed to do a meditation to protect herself. It was as if she’d walked into a room so full of tension that she’d need three athames to cut through the air. It was heavy and musty, but not from unopened windows. There was central air in here, but you wouldn’t know it.
Nick had walked on ahead of her. “Sam, can’t tell which bedroom is his--or hers, for that matter. Sam? Where are you?” He came back to the entry way. “Why are you still standing there? Looking into space?”
She jolted. “Sorry, I was, was trying to get a feel for the space.”
Nick waved at her dismissively. “Come here. Want to show you something.”
Sam shook her head and rotated her shoulders to bring her back to the job. She followed Nick into the first bedroom. “Looks like an indifferent hotel bedroom. Queen bed. Desk on one wall, club chair in corner. In that same forest green. Ugh. Anything in the closets?” Sam opened the folding door. “There’s nothing in here.” She opened the dresser drawer. “Everything empty. He probably just comes here for sex.”
“I already checked out the bedroom next door. Same thing. Nothing. I’ll check all the drawers.”
“Is there a master?” Sam walked into the living room and stared into the galley kitchen. All beige. Neat. Some appliances on the counter. She opened the fridge. “Nick. Come here quick!”
He sped over to her. “What?”
“Look!”
“What do you mean, look? Sam, there’s nothing in there.”
“Exactly. So where does AriellaRose live?”
CHAPTER 19
This was the last place Frank wanted to be on a cold Sunday night in November in one of the slimiest parts of Manhattan, parked in a filled outdoor lot at twelve a.m. He palmed the steering wheel of his Explorer as if he needed something to distract him and prayed for a way out. Not only out of tonight. A way out of this case.
How are we going to pull this off? They reeked of cop, just as AriellaRose warned Sam against. He--in his leather jacket, form-fitting black T-shirt, and skinny jeans--could possibly pass. But Sam? He gave her more than a scrutinizing look. She wore a long beige tweed wool coat over a black silk blouse and charcoal gray slacks. Her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail did nothing for her soft features. At least she had put on heavier makeup than he usually saw her wear.
What is she thinking? Oh, man, this woman was naive. And she expects to walk around a BDSM club looking for leads?
He had no idea what she expected to accomplish. Yeah, she had brought him up to speed and he heard the Calinda interview, but so what? The cutter wasn’t exactly a reliable witness. He still couldn’t get a handle why that woman’s name never appeared on the interview lists.
He blew out a deep breath, faced her. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.” She opened the car door. As she slipped her leg out, Frank noticed her high heels.
“How are you going to walk in those?”
Sam snickered. “At least you won’t be able to tell me I’m short.”
A quick belly laugh followed. “Yeah. Well, just think of it as a term of endearment, princess.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Hey. It would make a great alias for you.”
“Uh, no. Speaking of that, what’s yours?”
“I got used to my nickname, Tattooman.”
“No. That’s lame. I’ll be Barbie, like the doll.”
“Uh, don’t expect me to be Ken. Okay, I’ll go with Drake.”
She gave him an inquisitive glance.
“He was my German Shepherd growing up. He died at fifteen when I was away on my second tour. I was heartbroken. I promised Frankie I’d get him a shepherd and we’d name him Drake, but I’m not home enough now for a pup.” He shook his head at the nostalgic moment.
“Let’s get going. Hope Dominic is there.”
They walked the two blocks to Whiplash on the lower west side in silence. The stores in this commercial area were closed, many out of business. There were some vacant plots of land encased with ten-foot high, entwined steel fences. Through the holes, Frank saw garbage that had been pushed through. Some vagrants and hookers meandered on the avenue. The hookers crossed the street when they spotted Frank and Sam. He was right, Sam and he reeked of cop.
Down a flight from street level, the eeriness of the dungeon enveloped them. The gray popcorn finish on the walls added to the cavernous feel. The yellow tapered candles in gothic-styled wrought iron holders gave off a citronella scent. He knew that one as a bug repellant. Ugh, bile rose in his throat. He coughed, then swallowed. His mood soured as he grimaced. The flames reflected yellow-circle shadows around the candles. He guessed there were over thirty of them spread between both sides of the stairwell. His hand searched for a light switch. None. Sam couldn’t help but let her palms swipe the walls as she walked.
Oh, man! She’s like a little kid.
They reached the bottom of the stairwell and were greeted by a hostess dressed in dominatrix garb, a leather strapless bra-like top connected to a G-string by a black mesh material. Garters held up mid-thigh black mesh stockings.
Not figure-flattering. ’Nuff thought.
Her long straight black hair looked too severe for her porcelain skin and her red lipstick totally missed the mark. Frank tried to contain his bitter attitude by surrendering a weak smile. The hostess gave him a clipboard stating the rules. Sam looked over his arm and read them with him. He sprawled his name, Drake, on his signature line and then Sam did the same, signing Barbie.
The hostess pointed. “The lockers are through there. Put everything in. But shut off your phones, now.”
“Is Dominic here? We need to speak with him first.” Sam tried not to sound so official.
She didn’t pull it off. Frank shook his head.
The hostess reviewed their sheets. “Just so you know, Drake and Barbie, cops are considered rattlesnakes in here. No one will rat and, if you think you found a snake, they’ll slither away. But they sure as hell will bite first, then rattle out your presence. Know what I mean, honey? The phones?”
Frank ignored the warning. He and Sam shut their phones. “Where is he?”
“Before you take another step, it’s fifty for the both of you. We don�
��t give discounts to our friends in Blue. No credit cards, no receipts.”
Frank sucked in his cheeks. He knew that he couldn’t declare this adventure on his monthly stipend account. He jiggled his wallet out of his jean’s pocket, retrieved a Grant, and handed it to her.
“His office is first door to the left. But he might be watching or teaching a scene.”
“Page him.” Frank meant, now.
“We’re not allowed to interrupt a scene. Our patrons pay good money for the experience.”
“We’ll go to his office and wait. I’m sure our presence right outside his door will be fascinating for your patrons’ experiences.” Sam’s impatience couldn’t be mistaken.
“Very well. He’ll meet you there when he’s done. Go there and I’ll have someone find him. We have fifteen rooms here. It may take a while.” She depressed a pager as Frank and Sam walked to his office.
They didn’t see too much. Just a few scantily dressed aging and overweight patrons sitting on stools around a bar that served nonalcoholic beverages and smoothies. Frank eyed the menu hanging on the wall behind the bar.
“Carrot juice, carrot, apple, pear, beet with kale and yogurt. Yeah, I could go for one of those.” Frank turned toward the bar.
“Later. There he is.” Sam tilted her head in Dominic’s direction.
Dominic unlocked the door to his office. He was mid-sixties, a little paunchy, wearing jeans, a vest without a shirt underneath. Sam and Frank made it in right behind him. Dominic turned abruptly and slammed the door.
“Before anything else, IDs.”
This guy was sure the boss. His tone was clear enough. Frank looked down at the man half his size. About five eight, he looked worn out from the job. Dominic sat at his desk, moved his right ankle across his thigh, and stuck a menthol toothpick into the corner of his mouth. Frank and Sam slid their IDs across the desk. With one hand, Dominic first flipped opened Sam’s, took a good look, sneered, and sent it flying across the desk back to her. He did the same with Frank’s but studied it more.
He gave Frank a condescending glare. “You want a second job?”