Then there was the time she took the money that Dr. Ryan Bancroft paid her to leave his son, Adrian, alone. He had proved to her that she was bribable and of low class, as he had said she was.
She had managed to kill her conscience on each of those occasions; tried to blot them out, but tonight her conscience was back, and it had Adrian's accusing face on it. She got into the car, not even noticing the new car scent or how nicely laid out the interior was. It was her sell-out gift that she was going to have to pay for with her body.
She dialed Miss Icy's number and waited while the phone rang almost a dozen times before it was picked up.
"Miss Icy," Cathy said quickly, "did Adrian tell you where he was staying?"
"How did you know that I know anything about him?" Miss Icy asked sleepily.
"Who else would tell him where I work?" Cathy asked exasperated. "Just tell me what you know."
"He said something about the Pegasus Hotel," Miss Icy murmured and then cleared her throat. "Be careful, Cat. You have Nanjo now, a new apartment..."
"Your warnings come too late, Ma’am," Cathy said waspishly. "You were the one who got me this job. You were the one who went to Dr. Bancroft..."
She started to breathe heavily and then she forced herself to calm down. Through the years, she had slowly begun to accept that she was just like the woman she was cussing. All the women in her family were like that: greedy, selfish, and crafty. It must be in their genes. Devil genes, as the lady at the Baptist Church in their community used to say about them.
“Just don't lecture me about right or wrong,” she said in the silence and then hung up the phone and headed to the Pegasus.
Chapter Two
When Cathy turned into the hotel parking lot, she realized that she had not thought this whole thing through. What was she going to say to Adrian? She had no right to approach him now, after all these years.
Adrian was a super-nice human being; one of the good ones. He was probably passing through the city and decided to look up his old girlfriend—found out she was now a stripper and thought he should perform his God-given responsibility by stopping by to say hello. Maybe he even shook his head at the creature she had become and thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't stayed in Jamaica and married her, as he had promised to do five years ago. He might even have wanted her to know that he had moved on.
Her steps faltered at that thought as she headed to the reception desk. What on earth could she say to Adrian now? I am sorry that your father found it so easy to pay me off to leave you alone? I am sorry that I am no longer the sweet innocent girl you used to know?
She spun to the left and headed to the hotel bar. Sporadically, she would come to this hotel for parties. She knew where everything was located, and was familiar with the bar area, which was opened twenty-four hours.
Her courage had deserted her. It was ridiculous to even see Adrian now. She sat on the barstool.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.
She shrugged uncertainly. "A virgin piña colada."
She didn't feel like drinking alcohol now; she hadn't had it in months. She was now more health conscious than she had ever been because of a current issue. Three years ago, when she had just gotten into the nightclub scene, there was hardly a time when she was sober. She had had to inoculate herself from feeling anything much. A good part of that period was blurry to her now and she was happy about it.
The clock above the bar said two o'clock. She looked around. There were a few persons milling about, most of them older men. A man who was sitting at the opposite end of the bar was raising his glass to her, his watery eyes were dancing in what he must have thought was a sexy, come-hither look. She shook her head and turned away. What was she even doing here?
She got up from the barstool. It was an impulsive and selfish thing to do, to come and seek out Adrian. She should never have even attempted it. Some people were meant to stay in your past, and some feelings were meant to stay buried.
She left the untouched drink on the bar counter, sliding five hundred dollars under it and headed to the lobby area. She felt regret about her decision to not seek him out. It was probably the reason her steps weren't as rapid as they should be when leaving. She was breathing the same air that Adrian Bancroft, her first and only love, was breathing.
*****
Adrian couldn't sleep. He had gone back to the hotel room with a feeling of numbness encasing his mind. He didn't dare think, or breathe. He felt fragile, like pieces of him were shattered and were hanging from threads of glue. One thought and he would be smashed to smithereens. This must be what it meant to be on the verge of insanity; imagining oneself being held together by glue.
He hadn't even called his parents since arriving in Jamaica. He had entered the room, lain on the bed, and imagined that there was a dagger somewhere in his heart and he was losing blood.
He had roused himself from the bed a little after midnight, and convinced himself that he had mourned his relationship with Cathy long enough. Five and a half years was a long time to mourn. He was twenty-six years old. It was time to move on.
He was also hungry and not thinking straight. When one was hungry, judgment tended to be impaired. He had done this before—allowed her to get into his psyche. She twisted and turned his mind into mush.
When he left Jamaica to go to Harvard, he had cried all the way. He had spent most of the plane ride in heart-breaking misery. Cathy hadn't cared about him then, and obviously, her life had taken a more racy track than anything to which he could relate. She was now Nanjo's woman.
The thought made him unaccountably angry. That man looked reprehensible, with his tattoos and jewelry—how could Cathy allow him to touch her? The jealousy was killing him even more than the knowledge that she was a stripper. Of all the professions in the world, why that? Then he remembered her bare body, and closed his eyes in pain. So many men were seeing what he alone should be seeing.
He needed to purge his mind tonight. He took a shower, but spent half an hour in there with his head resting on the tile. His head felt too heavy with memories and regrets to be held up on its own.
His belly was also at war with him; rumbling in protest every few seconds. His hunger reminded him that he had not eaten in almost two days. He almost called for room service, but rethought his decision. He was in the mood for fries and a burger. He knew that there was a Burger King around the corner of the hotel.
He headed there, and had a meal, chewing the burger absentmindedly as he thought about his past with Cathy.
He wasn't even watching where he was going when he headed back to the hotel. He hoped all of these intense emotions would dissipate by morning.
He had a presentation to make to the Minister of Health and his advisors, and had to go through every detail of his study on prostitution and how his study could help the ministry's decision-making process. It was a follow up to a previous study, so he had a ready-made team with whom he had to meet.
This project had come as somewhat of a surprise. He had applied for it, but had no idea that he would have gotten it. It was a mistake coming back to Jamaica, but at the back of his mind, he always thought that he and Cathy would get back together. Like a homing pigeon, he had flown home, hoping to reconcile with her, to tell her all was forgiven and to give her another go at his battered heart.
When he walked through the hotel gates and saw a figure like hers heading toward a white BMW, he actually thought he was hallucinating.
The girl was looking back at the hotel in regret, as if she lost something. She had brown hair and Cathy's profile. He walked in that direction, partly because he was a stickler for punishment and partly because he liked the fantasy of running into her in a hotel parking lot.
This was how he would have wanted his homecoming to begin. She would have been at the Pegasus for a business meeting, and he would have just come home.
She would be single and still going to church, like he was, and they would pick up where
they left off, before his father interfered. She would still be his sparkly golden girl, not a stripper in a nightclub with men paying her money as she wound herself around a pole.
He stopped yards from where the girl was as he heard her gasp and reality hit him.
"Adrian Bancroft is that you?"
*****
Detective Natasha Rowe was made up to look like an unattractive cleaning lady. They had slapped on makeup on her face and given her a gray wig, which itched like Hades. In her capacity as cleaning lady, she had access to every room in the nightclub and had managed to bug Nanjo's nightclub, placing listening devices everywhere. It had been nerve wracking. There were also three other persons who were working undercover at Nanjo's place: Harry Campbell—her old partner—and two other operatives from the Narcotics Division.
Three special branches of the Jamaica Constabulary Force were after Nanjo Jones. He was an enigma, a dangerous, sophisticated criminal whose criminal record went far back to when he was fifteen.
He knew how to manipulate the system, and had all sorts of people on his payroll; some were in the police force and the political arena. Repeatedly, evidence against Nanjo disappeared, and charges brought against him would not stick. But this time, the police was tired of getting the blame for helping him escape time and time again. They were upbraided on world television as the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime called them a "little slow." They wanted to catch Nanjo red-handed and deliver solid evidence against him.
In a top-secret meeting, the Narcotics Chief and the Special Investigations Chief had met and had sent the detectives, including Natasha, on a top-secret mission to bring down the drug kingpin, once and for all.
The Narcotics Division had spent a full year trying to get close to Nanjo, but he only trusted those people he grew up with, like Leon 'Natty' Carter, and Samuel 'Banga' Livingston. He had a way of suddenly firing anyone who he deemed suspicious. Women who he got close to had a tendency to disappear if they displeased him, and vital information on any part of his operation was treated as top-secret.
The only reason Natasha was allowed to be cleaning lady was because of an elaborate plot with the former cleaner, Freida, who was supposedly sick, but really had been placed in protective custody for her own safety.
Tonight was a big night for Nanjo Jones and Juan Feliz. After listening in for weeks, the surveillance guys had concluded that there was going to be an exchange of drugs for guns and they wanted to catch Nanjo and Juan Feliz red-handed. They wanted to know where the point of exchange was, and capture the two men. If they got them on guns and drugs charges, they might even get them on several unsolved murder charges as well.
Natasha headed to the dressing room again after cleaning the VIP lounge, a plush man-cave dressed up with chrome accentuated sofas, a clear bar, and a mini dancing stage for the chosen few girls who would entertain customers privately.
After working in the place for several weeks, she had gotten accustomed to the constant noise and the scent of marijuana mixed with perfume. She hated it and wondered if her poor lungs, would recover from the secondhand smoke she was constantly breathing.
She also worried that one-day someone would notice that she was not an old woman and blow her cover. She had caught Cathy, Nanjo's main girl, looking at her suspiciously more than once, so she was working extra hard to befriend her. It was a long battle, as Cathy didn't say much. She carefully chose her words before talking and looked like she was spaced out most of the time.
Natasha headed to the dressing room. Usually, her shift began at seven, when the club was closed, and ended at twelve, when it reopened for the lunch crowd. She was only required to work in the nights when Nanjo had important guests. She had to clean up after them in the VIP room and act as a waitress. She couldn't wait for this assignment to be over. Her poor nerves could not take many more weeks of seeing females treated like livestock and hearing how happy some of them felt about being treated as such.
She had long suspected that Nanjo was also dabbling in human trafficking. His last set of girls was from a Spanish speaking country, and they looked too young to be at the age of consent.
Nanjo was a monster pure and simple. Natasha wondered how Cathy could tolerate him and if she had feelings for him. Ironically, Cathy seemed as if she had a good head on her shoulders. Why was she involved in all this?
She entered the dressing room and sat in a chair in the corner, away from the high traffic makeup area. She really hoped the men discussed something of significance that would aid the police because they really needed a break in the case.
She closed her eyes and thought about Taj. She hadn't seen him for seven whole weeks! The last time she talked to him he said he missed her badly, and not for the first time, her detective job felt like a heavy burden to bear.
*****
Nanjo sat down on one of the plush sofas in the VIP room with a dry whisky in hand. For once, his mind was not totally on business. His mind was on the thank you that he knew that Cat would have in store for him later on in the day. He could never get enough of Cat, and when she made an effort, she was formidable. The best woman he had ever had. There was no doubt he was hooked on that girl, and every year he got more hooked. He was in the middle of a business meeting and thinking about how to please her next.
Juan Feliz sat across from him. Feliz was not smiling. "I tell you Nanjo, there is a mole somewhere in your operation."
"I doubt that." Nanjo sipped his drink. "I highly doubt that."
"Then how do you explain how the customs personnel knew exactly where to look for the guns?" Feliz was livid. "This past year has not been going so well for me."
His pale skin was flushed with red. He had a pug nose and coffee black eyes, which looked like he had a permanent squint. He spoke in English, but had a heavy Latin accent. He was feeling frustrated because he had a big deal planned with Nanjo and this one he couldn't afford to mess up.
"The mole is on your side," Nanjo said, "and I had to pay the police to look the other way last time."
Feliz grunted, "I kill moles. My men are afraid of me."
"Ditto," Nanjo replied looking into his glass. He didn't need to say anything more. Just his very name was enough to have people running for cover. They whispered it in awe; with a certain amount of fear. No one in his circle would dare betray him, and no one in government would dare touch him either. He had secret files on them all.
"This next move has to come off flawlessly," Juan said troubled, "or we are doomed."
"Why so anxious?" Nanjo asked lazily.
"Because we are sending both guns and drugs to America by boat." Feliz's voice was agitated. "This is a bold move. We have never sent so much drugs before, or so many guns. I keep thinking of the eighties… remember that boat, what was its name again?"
"The Alexi I," Nanjo said lazily.
"Yes that. The Coast Guards captured it." Juan shook his head. "They were vigilant in the eighties. This is twenty years later. What am I to think? They have stepped up operations on their borders."
"Everything will be fine," Nanjo said calmly. "The key to this thing is to liaise with the key players and to know which palms to grease."
Feliz relaxed a bit when he saw that Nanjo was looking unconcerned, but a frown marred his brow. "I still feel as if there is something wrong Nanjo, and if I have to torture all my men, I will find out who it is that is betraying me."
"What about your women?" Nanjo asked, "Have you been having pillow talk by any chance?"
"God forbid, no!" Feliz laughed. "What about you my friend? You have been in a monogamous relationship with Cat for a while now. You are losing your touch as a ladies man."
Nanjo shrugged. "Other women don't appeal to me right now."
Feliz guffawed. "Like me, you should get married. Legitimize her, have children. They are a joy you know."
Nanjo didn't laugh. Maybe he did want children. He was thirty-years old and had never taken that kind of risk with a woman. After
the upbringing that he had in the children's home, where he lived after his mother abandoned him, he was not too keen on bringing a youngster into this world. Cat was as good a woman as any to have his children with. He would take the chance.
Chapter Three
Adrian had stopped at the sound of Cathy's voice, and now he jerked in sudden animation. "Catherine Taylor. Fancy meeting you here."
Cathy could not believe her eyes. He was here; standing in front of her; looking effortlessly handsome in blue jeans, white t-shirt, and a black blazer. His eyes were liquid pools of warmth. The perfect symmetry of his face was so familiar to her that she felt her heart clench in a familiar pain.
"You cut your hair," she whispered, her eyes running over him hungrily. She remembered that he had always worn it slightly long, especially from the top.
Adrian stepped closer to her. "Yours has grown. You still look like my golden girl."
They stared at each other, drinking each other in.
Cathy's eyes welled up with tears. "I am sorry."
Adrian pushed his hand in his pockets and hunched his shoulders a little. "There is a wealth of feeling in that sorry, Cathy." He sighed and then looked down at his scuffed black shoes. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't allow himself to remember what they were to each other, not now.
"Me too," he whispered from a suddenly parched throat.
"I have to go." She fumbled with the car keys but couldn't find where to insert the thing. Her whole body was trembling, and a sob escaped her involuntarily. She had wanted to go home and cry in private, in the shower, as she usually did.
Private Dancer (The Bancrofts: Book 3) Page 2