“Oh, yeah, he got that at Macy’s—looks just like the Armani. Cost him three hundred bucks, forty percent off.”
Stella thought for a moment. “What did she kill him for, anyway?”
Beau scowled fiercely. “As a warning.”
“A warning about what? You boys not showing up for work on time? Coming to work soused? Raiding each others’ clients?”
“Organizing. You know, labor. It’s, like, union-busting. It’s complicated.”
“Now hold on a blessed minute,” Stella said, growing more confused by the moment. “There ain’t any kind of prostitution union in this state I’m aware of, and it would take a whole lot more than just a couple dozen of y’all to start one, so unless you’re all in cahoots with the, ah, brotherhood, all your colleagues and shit, that doesn’t make a lick of sense.”
Beau shrugged, and Stella considered how often men tended to dig in harder the more their dumb-assed views were challenged. “You’d have to know the whole history, I guess. Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Uh-huh. And your, um, client down there, the judge, she fits into this how?”
“She doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Beau said, shaking his head as though it was working on his patience to have to explain a simple concept to her. “She doesn’t care about the details as long as I’m keeping her satisfied. See, it’s all part of the arrangement. It’s a whole experience we provide, a mystique. We shield the client from the business aspects, so she can focus on living the fantasy.”
“That sounds like you memorized it off a brochure or something,” Stella said, and by Beau’s hurt expression, she could see that she’d made a lucky guess. “So you’re sticking to your story, that Judge Carstairs down there is nothing but a satisfied customer who has no ax to grind with your boss.”
“If that’s how you want to put it.”
“One last question for you—what do you know about a flash drive Priss might have had, that might have been worth something to someone?”
Beau’s expression of vacant confusion was convincing. “Nothing.”
Stella thought about the lack of records anywhere in the apartment, about the locked folder on the laptop. “Maybe she keeps a separate set of books? I mean, she must have a legitimate-looking set for reporting, and another for her own use.…” Stella thought it through as she talked.
Beau shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. Priss does it all. We give her the checks from our clients, but we keep our tips in cash. And then she cuts us checks every two weeks. And, you know, sometimes … well, depending on what the client wants, the tips are like way more than the paycheck, you know?”
“Wait, so a lady can hire one of you pretty boys for nothing but, what, a date to the movies? No hanky-panky?”
“Sure, I guess. Only that would be pretty steep. We start at eighty-five bucks an hour and that’s with. You know. No extras.”
Stella started to ask another question about the cash flow situation and realized she was getting way off track, as fascinating as it was. She was here to figure out why Judge Marilu Carstairs had hired a pair of thugs to go rooting around in Priss Porter’s life, not to do a study of the male escort service business model.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna call your client now,” Stella said. She flipped open her phone with her free hand. Before hitting Chrissy’s speed dial, she had a thought. “Look here. I know you’re close to the judge and all, but this can go a lot quicker and easier if you do things my way.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I do this—” She jabbed the Bersa in his direction, toward the vicinity of his trim abs. “—you pick up that pillow and holler into it. Sound scared, not mad. No—sound like I’m hurtin’ you real bad, ’cause that’s what I’ll do if you don’t cooperate.”
Beau nodded glumly.
Chrissy picked up after one ring. “Took you long enough,” she complained. “Me and the judge don’t exactly have a whole lot in common and we done run out of chitchat.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re sitting by the inside pool. Got the whole place to ourselves, but it’s real steamy in here. Don’t guess it’s doing much for my hair.”
“Good for your pores, though.”
“If you say so.”
“Did you have to draw on the judge?”
“Only a little,” Chrissy said, sounding bored. “She didn’t put up much of a fight.”
Not a whole lot of brain power in either of their new friends, Stella reflected. After all, it wasn’t like she or Chrissy was about to go shooting anyone in the middle of a crowded hotel. All they would have had to do was say “no thank you” when a gun was presented, and walk away, and Stella and Chrissy would have been left standing there feeling might stupid, and without a plan B.
But folks rarely thought things through when they were in a surprised state on the other end of a gun.
“Put me on speaker,” Stella advised as she did the same, setting the phone down on the bedside table. She pointed at the pillow, and Beau immediately picked it up and started wailing into it.
Not yet! Stella mouthed, exasperated, drawing a forefinger across her neck for emphasis. Beau stopped midwail.
“What was that?” Marilu’s voice, shrill and annoyed.
“That, sister, is just a little taste of the hurt I’m gonna put on your boy if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
“I know you’re working for Priss,” Marilu said. “She wouldn’t let you do anything to one of her boys. They’re her bread and butter, she wouldn’t risk damage to the goods.”
“I didn’t say I was gonna leave any permanent damage,” Stella said. “I’m just going to make him hurt.”
There was a fraught moment when Beau’s expression went worried and Stella hoped some sinking-in was happening.
“So Marilu, why’d you send those clowns down to Priss’s, anyway? What’s on this flash drive you want so bad?”
This time Stella let less time go by. “Make it real,” she whispered to Beau, gesturing at the pillow he was clutching with the business end of the gun.
Beau set to howling then, and Stella raised her eyebrows, impressed. It was a good thing the pillow muffled most of it, because the carrying on was Oscar-worthy.
“Hey!” Marilu snapped, but Stella waved her gun to encourage Beau and he kept it up, adding a snuffling hiccup between wails.
“Stop it!”
Stella circled her finger as a cue for Beau to stop and he lowered the pillow, his face flushed with exertion. She gave him a curt little nod of approval.
“What are you doing to him, anyway?”
“Like I said, nothing that will leave permanent damage. I’ve got him tied up, and I’ve rigged up this little dick-squeezing mechanism. Clever, really, you know that phrase ‘dick in a vise’? I mean I don’t think a vise would really be such a good idea, but what I’ve got is this spring-loaded—”
“Take it off him,” Marilu snarled.
“Thought you didn’t care,” Stella said. “Aw, that’s sweet.”
“Don’t take it all the way off,” Chrissy piped up. “Just loosen that one wing nut a little. It’s a bitch to get that thing on proper in the first place.”
Stella smiled; her assistant was developing a real talent for ad-libbing. “Now can we please get down to business? Why-all’d you send those boys down there?”
“In the first place, I didn’t send them anywhere. I should have guessed that their incompetence would get in the way. I just asked them to retrieve, ah, something … from Priss’s possession. I told them to follow her, but I had no idea she was going to head out of town. For the rates I’m paying, you’d think they might have checked with me before they headed down to the sticks.”
Stella considered whether to let the “sticks” reference pass, not liking the woman’s tone. “Yeah, good help is so fuckin’ hard to find, ain’t it?”
“You might could a seen it like they was just usi
n’ a little initiative,” Chrissy suggested.
“Or that they were more incompetent than I guessed, considering they were stymied by the two of you. Ow!”
“Oh, sorry,” Chrissy drawled. “These darn fake nails. They can be sharp, cain’t they?”
Stella grinned. “What was it you sent your boys after, anyway?”
“I should think you already know,” Marilu huffed. “I’m sure you didn’t waste an opportunity to ask them.”
“Yeah, well, I just want to hear you say it.”
There was a silence that stretched longer than Stella cared for. “Did I mention these here nipple clamps I rigged up from the tongs that came with my old Fry Daddy?”
“Damn it, Stella, I don’t really think it’s material, what I needed to get from Priss. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“That’s for me to figure out, I think,” Stella said.
“It’s just a flash drive with some images on it that I’d like to keep … private.”
Stella, who was watching Beau slowly recuperate from all that huffing and blowing, noticed his face screw up in surprise. “What, did the two of you take pictures of your little parties?” she asked, as much of him as of Marilu.
“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not into that, and besides, it costs a lot extra.”
“You rig something up on the sly, you bad girl?” Chrissy broke in.
“Of course not!”
“Well, then…”
“Now, look, Beau, honey, don’t get offended—this is not a reflection on you or my, my satisfaction with you.…”
“What?” Stella demanded.
“You ought to see this,” Chrissy interjected. “She’s turnin’ every shade of pink.”
“I, um, had a date with Turk.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Turk!” Beau barked. “Turk? You went out with him? And just when were you going to get around to telling me that?”
“Hold on,” Stella said. “Who’s Turk? And, ah, what does it matter? I mean, it’s not like y’all are going steady or anything.”
“Turk’s one of the other Elegant Company employees,” Marilu hedged.
“Turk’s a client-stealing, steroid-jacking, fake-tan pretty boy,” Beau bellowed.
“He’s, um, the highest-grossing escort,” Marilu continued in a chastened tone. “The other men are, er, a little sensitive sometimes.”
“He’s got no principles!” Beau blurted. “He’ll just do anything to anyone to make a buck.”
Someone coughed delicately—either Chrissy or Marilu—and Stella figured they were all trying to let Beau’s brain catch up to his last comment.
“So what happened, he take a compromising picture of you?” Stella asked. “Give it to Priss and now she’s holding it over your head? Blackmail, maybe?”
“It was … ah.” Marilu’s discomfort was plenty clear even through the phone lines. “More of a … video clip, you might say. Actually, um, several.”
Beau’s eyes widened with fury. “Bastard,” he whispered.
“I don’t get it,” Stella said. “What do you care? I mean, you’re not her boyfriend. You’ve got lots of other clients. Face it, the woman pays for your time, not really a romantic relationship, you know what I mean?”
“Turk Hardpole crosses the line, that’s why I care,” Beau fumed. “Every quarter, Priss sends the top earner on a trip. All expenses paid. Turk’s been to Reno and Myrtle Beach already last year.”
“I could take you to Jamaica…,” Marilu said in a small voice.
“I don’t think so.” Beau was frosty. “Besides, I’m not allowed to take videos. Remember? It’s in the contract.”
“I didn’t know he was doing it,” Marilu protested. “I never would have allowed that. He must have had it rigged up somehow in secret, which certainly raises all kinds of ethical issues. Why, the reason I used Elegant Company was because they are very, very discreet.”
“Right up until they start extortin’ you, I guess,” Chrissy said, not without sympathy. Stella knew that the girl had been burned in the past by naughty Polaroids.
“Turk and Priss evidently have a system,” Marilu explained bitterly. “He turned over the videos to her—”
“Shit, just how many were there?” Beau demanded.
“Well … a few.”
“Do you know what that does to my numbers?”
“It’s just … he has this one special thing he does … it’s kind of, you might say, an aberration. A, er, physical attribute of sorts that … well, I was curious, that’s all, sweetheart,” Marilu said in the most placating tone. “Look, Stella, could you put me on with Beau in private for a moment?”
“Hah,” Stella said, at the same time Beau made a snort of contempt.
“I’d sure like to hear about that,” Chrissy added quickly. “Was it, like, a birth defect?”
“Curious is one time,” Beau whined. “You kept going back for more. I don’t know that I really feel that I can continue our relationship, knowing what I now know.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Stella said, rolling her eyes. “This is ridiculous. You two are squabbling like a couple of chickens in the corn. Chrissy, this ain’t getting us anywhere, so I guess you all might as well come on up.”
While they waited, Beau closed his eyes and assumed an expression of great grievance. Marilu and Chrissy arrived within a few moments, and the judge looked them up and down with a frown.
“Where’s all your interrogation equipment?” she asked suspiciously.
“Folds up tiny,” Stella said. “Fits in my purse. Genius design, really.”
Chrissy dragged over the desk chair and the upholstered ottoman and they sat. “This is cozy,” she said. “Now all’s we need is some pretzels and we can watch stomper pulls on pay-per-view.”
“We’re not staying,” Stella said. “Things to do, people to see, you know how it is. So just to tie up any loose ends here, there’s a tape out there of you doing nasty things that the Johnson County District Court probably wouldn’t be too happy to have in circulation. That about the size of it?”
“It’s—I’m—”
“Uh-huh,” Stella said, getting up off the bed and gathering her purse and slipping on the uncomfortable shoes. “What I thought. Well, think on this. I’m on the lookout for something of my own, and it’s entirely possible I might run across your tape while I’m looking for it. So, what I’m saying is, you might want to keep me in mind as a friend.”
“I suppose you think you can squeeze me, too, if you find it,” Marilu said darkly.
“No, no, that’s not my style. It wouldn’t be very sisterly, would it?” Chrissy and Stella walked to the door. “Just consider it a favor I might need to call in someday. Trust me, the day I or one of my clients need help from a judge, it ain’t gonna be anything that’s gonna tax your conscience too bad. Hear?”
Marilu nodded slowly, a calculating expression on her face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What about me?” Beau demanded. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Well, y’all got this nice room,” Chrissy said. “Might as well someone have a little fun today. Whyn’t you two kiss and make up.”
In the elevator down, Stella couldn’t help giggling. “Oh, the expression on his face.”
“He just had his feelings hurt’s all.” Chrissy shrugged. “You know how delicate men can be.”
“Men don’t think there’s anything wrong with payin’ a hooker. And I doubt they spend a lot of energy worrying about her feelings. But if they’re on the other end—well, hold the show—everybody’s got to be all concerned about whether they’re upset.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a man for you, I guess. Wants you to fuck him and tell him thank you and he’s the best you ever had and buy him lunch.”
They were silent for a moment, thinking it over.
“Gotta say, that wouldn’t be the worst deal in the world,” Stella finally remarked.
; * * *
“So we got us one dead male prostitute,” Stella said glumly half an hour later.
They were sitting in Arkansas Joe’s, polishing off a couple of slabs of ribs. The joint had been recommended to Stella by a client, but she and Chrissy agreed that they preferred the Pokey Pot’s sauce. Still, it was convenient, just a little ways off 435 near Raytown, a perfect place to stop before they headed for home.
“By the way, do you know, what’s the word for that? I mean, is he like a man hooker?”
“Hooker don’t sound right, I got to say,” Chrissy said, licking sauce off her fingers.
“There’s gigolo, I guess, except I can never say that word without conjuring up Richard Gere.”
“Eew.”
“Eew,” Stella repeated. “Eew what?”
“Richard Gere’s disgusting.”
“What? He’s entirely fine, Chrissy. I’d do him in a second.”
“Well, you just go on ahead, then, you got my blessin’. Only he’ll probably have to have his private nurse there. Isn’t he like ninety years old or something?”
“Christina Jaynelle Lardner Shaw,” Stella gasped, “sometimes I forget what a child, truly what a baby, you really are. Richard Gere was … like … like a young god in An Officer and a Gentleman. Every woman in America wanted a piece of that action, I guarantee it.”
“Whatever. Never heard of it.”
Stella shook her head in wonderment and dismay and set down her unfinished rib, her mood sinking even lower. Nowadays, half the men on the People magazine covers barely looked old enough not to need a babysitter, while all the truly fine-looking men were sitting on the shelf. Where was Tommy Lee Jones? Where was Harrison Ford?
The media acted like middle age was a shameful secret, like folks over fifty might ought to just go find themselves an iceberg and float quietly out to sea. But what was so great about youth, anyway? Other than taut skin and twenty-twenty vision and remembering where she left her keys, Stella’s youth had frankly sucked. In the brief span of time between leaving her parents’ house and marrying Ollie, Stella had lived an anxious existence. While she certainly wished many times during her marriage that she’d cherished her brief independence and maybe held on to it, what she most remembered was the crushing weight of her own self-doubts. Was she pretty enough? Funny enough? Interesting enough? Smart enough?
A Bad Day for Scandal Page 14