She nodded. “He’s all yours.”
Drummond flashed us that big come-on grin. “Have you ladies begun the Beguine?” He wiggled his hips and snapped his fingers. This guy was set to boogie.
I went to work immediately. “We know.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “Know what?”
I stepped closer. “We know what you know that you think we don’t know.”
That jubilant look on his face vanished. Suddenly he was very uncomfortable. I thought we’d scored a bull’s-eye until Drummond said, “Pheeeuu. What is that awful smell?”
As the CEO checked the bottom of his shoes, Benita silently mouthed, “Told you so.”
I kept my focus. “Look at my face. I think you’ll remember. You’ve probably seen my website.” I tilted my head and smiled, freezing in the same pose I had in my online photo.
His brows lifted. “I go to a lot of websites,” he purred.
I met his eyes. “Mind if I call you…Chub Dubs?”
He tipped his head back and laughed.
Big joke, huh? Murders my friend and thinks he’s going get away with it. I threw out some key phrases about the perfume and Gwen to make our point and shake him up. “Sexual enhancement? Keep you going all night? Even better than Erosynol? So good, it’s worth killing for? And how about…down by the docks?”
“Whoa. You girls don’t play around do you?”
“No. We don’t,” I said, wondering what his next move would be. Like maybe he’d turn ugly.
But instead he looked delighted. “Love it,” he said, and placed his hand on my back. Very low on my back. “A threesome would make my night. How much for both of you together?”
Sudden panic. “Uh…um…a thousand apiece.”
The fury in Benita’s face could have singed the hair off my head.
“Give me a moment, ladies, and I’ll have it all arranged.” Kyle Drummond walked off to the side of the room with his mobile pressed to his ear.
Benita hissed at me. “What did you say that for, you idiot? Now he thinks we’re a couple of putas.”
“I got nervous, okay?”
“Wait until he sticks his pinga in your face, then you’ll really be nervous.”
“We’ll distract him,” I said. “Keep him busy with stimulating conversation.”
“Judging by the bulge in his pants, I don’t think he needs any more stimulation.”
“At least he doesn’t recognize me. That gives us a perfect opportunity to pick his brain.”
“Shh. He’s on his way back.”
“Meet me out front in ten minutes,” Drummond said. “Look for my limo. My plates read MILO-1. It’ll take us to my suite at the Carlington.”
MILO-1. Cute. “But we brought our car.” I was in no mood for a backseat maul job.
“Not a problem,” he said. “My driver will bring you back here to pick it up afterward.”
Benita looked like she was about to go comatose. This called for some fancy footwork. “Actually, after a few drinks I get carsick. And I wouldn’t want to vomit all over your suit.”
Kyle caught that line like a deer in the headlights and took a moment to process the information. “All right. Simply bring your car to the hotel’s main entrance. I’ll tell Enrico, the valet, you’re my guests. I’ll have room service send up some Pepto-Bismol.”
“Well, look who it is.” Unmistakable voice.
I turned to see Alan standing behind me. “Oh. Hi.”
Kyle practically pushed me aside. “You’re Alan Grossman. The director.” He proudly introduced himself as the CEO of Milotech.
They shook hands and greeted each other politely. Alan aimed a dimpled smile at me. “I really loved that Do-Me-Good sex toy party of yours.”
Kyle lit up like a neon sign over an adult bookshop. “Then you’d recommend a party with this little lady?”
“Oh yeah. She’s the best.”
Ohmigod. How could I make Alan go away before either man found out what the other was talking about? This was worse than the roller coaster at Six Flags.
Scooping up my hand, Alan continued to shower me with admiration. “There must have been twenty-five of us there. And this little lady handled everyone like the professional she is.”
Drummond uttered a breathless, “Incredible.” I swear I could almost hear him panting.
A woman’s arm from nowhere grabbed Alan and whisked him off, just in time to avert my oncoming seizure. He joined a group of yapping people, faces glowing from good blow and excessively high incomes.
Kyle beamed at us. “Time for our little do me good party. What are you names?”
“Names?” My voice cracked. “Right. Our names…”
Benita cut in. “Patty and Maddy.”
“Love it,” he said, taking aim at us with his index finger. Kyle waved to a man I guessed to be his bodyguard standing by the wall and then strolled off for the elevator.
“Patty and Maddy?” My turn to hiss. “Sounds like a pair of D train hookers to me.”
Her hand went to her hip. “Pardon me. I’ll try to come up with something better next time you sell my body off to a horny businessman.”
I heaved out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, but at least we get him alone this way.”
“Well, we better decide on a game plan, because in a very short time Mr. Kyle Drummond will be expecting us to perform wonders on his dingaling.”
We went to the ladies’ room and debated our strategy. Ten minutes later Operation Gotchya Scumbag was born. Benita would leave the recorder running in her pocketbook while we took our time sipping wine and asking him if he was planning on any new sexual enhancement drugs. From there we’d try to skillfully manipulate the conversation to the subject of ancient aphrodisiacs. What we needed was some incriminating evidence; even one single sentence would do. Then, before things got too intimate, my stomach would act up, and we’d say we had to leave. There’d be no charge, of course.
A chilling thought sent a wave of trepidation through me. “Binnie, what if he’s acting? What if Drummond does know who I am? And knows that we’re onto him. Maybe he guessed that we intend to hand him over to the police instead of handing him the tablet. Not that I have any illusions our lives would be spared if we came through with it. But what if this little trip to the Carlington is part of a trap?”
Benita opened the ladies’ room door and looked back at me. “At this point we’ve got no choice but to play along.”
With Beguine’s launch still in full swing, Benita and I took the elevator down and stepped out into a dark and rumbling summer storm. We ran half a block. The rain was coming down in sheets and soaked us through by the time we got to the Camry.
“Now I not only smell like a muskrat, I look like one, too,” I said.
Benita took the driver’s seat. “And I’m a dishrag. That ought to slow the big guy down.”
“I doubt it. Being wet is very erotic.” My sopping dress stuck to my skin, making me feel cold and clammy. The car clock read 10:45. “Raffy told me the Jewel would be open until four. We’ll do our best. If things get complex with Drummond and it takes us forever, our meeting with her will have to wait.”
“Man that chick’s head must be made out of cement. I caught her with two good shots. I want a rematch.” Benita’s boxer ego was clearly still bruised.
“Will you please learn to let go? Now is not the time for your obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There will be no rematch. Got that? Raffy’s our new friend. Without her help we’d still be going in circles.”
We drove down Jay and turned onto John Street in order to go around the block and head back to the bridge entrance. Suddenly I heard a chorus of sirens. Benita pulled to the side as four patrol cars raced past us. Up ahead, police cars and two ambulances blocked our path. Light bars sent their strobes bouncing off buildings, transforming the murky block into a carnival of flashing colors. We slowed to a halt.
The epicenter of all this attention was a silver limousine, i
ts windows totally blown out. Shattered glass covered the street and sidewalks, wet and sparkling in the rain.
“Looks really bad,” Benita said.
With brusque gestures a disgruntled uniform guided us past the action, ordering us to hug the side of the curb up to the next corner. As we drove by, I stared out at the grisly scene. The limo’s license plate read “MILO-1.”
“Wait a sec, Binnie. Slow down. That’s Kyle Drummond’s limo.”
Her jaw dropped. “Check out the door. Those are bullet holes. It could have been us in there.”
Now I really was carsick. I crossed my arms to minimize the shudder that began in my body.
“Somebody wanted him out of the way,” Benita said. “Those big, powerful dudes get into all kinds of sleazy deals. So much for our undercover work at the Carlington.”
“So much for catching Gwen’s killer.”
Benita turned left at the corner, which happened to be Pearl Street. DUMBO was a pretty small neighborhood, just a handful of blocks near the bridges. She parked in a space along the curb not far from the nondescript gray door of the Jewel. “Guess we’ll be checking in with Raffy earlier than expected.”
“Give me a minute.” I sat there listening to the tinny sound of rain on the car roof. My body was wet and shivering, my mind, numb and confused. Had some enemy of the corrupt pharmaceutical bigwig unwittingly done us a favor? Did this mean our seven-day ordeal was over? Or had someone just tried to kill the woman who was supposedly the keeper of Gwen’s tablet? Me. Inez would say the orishas saved us. Maybe she was right.
Trying to clear my head, I rubbed my bare arms to get my blood moving. I pulled down the visor and checked the mirror. My topknot was still in place, but my hair was even curlier now, with red-gold tendrils shooting out all over. I unfastened the barrette and shook my hair loose. “Okay. Ready to go.”
Dim lights, Patsy Cline on the jukebox, quiet women at tables, maybe five at the bar. I was a bit overdone for the Jewel in my one-shouldered silk dress, and the looks I got from the other ladies as I walked in confirmed it.
“Compared to the perfume launch this place is a funeral,” Benita said.
“Bad choice of words.”
We grabbed a couple stools at the far end where it was empty. Raffy wore an aluminum blue short-sleeved oxford. She was her usual humorless self, but she did start things off with two beers on the house and another dose of intrigue. As if we hadn’t had enough for one night. Opening two bottles of Corona and filling our glasses, Raffy lowered her voice. “I think I know who killed Gwen.”
“I’m not sure it matters anymore.” I pointed to the overhead TV where the eleven o’clock news was playing. One guess what the lead story was. “Better turn it up.”
She hit the volume.
“I’m standing here right next to the Manhattan Bridge in the fashionable Brooklyn neighborhood known as DUMBO where only moments ago, in what appears to be a mob-style hit, a limousine driver and one passenger were gunned down after leaving a posh launch party for the latest perfume by designer Bas Lugen. EMS workers pronounced both victims dead at the scene. Police are not releasing the names at this time. We’ll have more later.”
Raffy did a palms up. “Enlighten me.”
“The guy in the limo was Kyle Drummond,” Benita said. “Does that ring a bell?”
“Should it?” Raffy looked at us, puzzled.
“He’s the one who killed Gwen,” I told her.
“You sure of that?”
I glanced at Benita, who shrugged and said, “Tim Donnelly thought he was.”
“Maybe Tim’s wrong.” A customer at the far end of the bar raised her finger for a drink, and Raffy turned away. “Be right back.”
My cell phone played “Dance Of The Sugarplum Fairy.” I didn’t recognize the caller ID. Unfortunately I did recognize the voice. “Don’t tell me you actually thought he could protect you from me.”
I almost fell off my stool. “What are you talking about?”
Benita clutched my arm and whispered, “Curtis?”
I nodded and tipped the phone slightly so she could hear. She leaned forward, touching her head to mine.
“How much did Drummond offer you?” he asked.
“For sex?”
“Don’t get cute,” Curtis snapped. “Drummond was aiming to buy the tablet off you. My boss smelled it coming.”
His boss? “B-but…”
“Kyle’s been poking his nose in all the wrong places. What you saw is what happens when somebody gets too close.”
I heard Benita’s breath catch and suddenly realized what Curtis was saying. My voice trembled. “You killed him?”
“Fuckin’ right,” he said. “Popping some big CEO or some little nobody—makes no difference to me.”
“Were any of those rounds meant for me and Benita?”
“Nah. I saw who got inside that limo. He’s all I wanted for now.” He lowered his voice. “If I do you, sweetpussy, it’s gonna be up close and personal.”
I gulped air. Such comforting words. It isn’t every day you converse with a man whose stock and trade is committing homicide.
“Just remember, Doc, I’m keeping you alive because you’re the one who can get your hands on something we need.”
“That didn’t stop you from killing Gwen. You sick dirtball.”
“She wasn’t cooperative. But I know you will be. You got four days.”
Click.
FIFTEEN
I stared at the blue-green glowing digits on my cell, dumbfounded by what I just heard. Kyle Drummond wasn’t the boss Curtis was working for. Was I the cause of the CEO’s death? If we hadn’t gone to meet Kyle, would he still be alive? A wave of guilt swept over me, heavy and gut wrenching. “Bin, we were after the wrong guy. We brought our search to Drummond, and now he’s dead. This is so horrible.” I felt a quiver in my lower lip and clenched my fists to keep myself from collapsing into a sniveling ball of tears.
“Cut it out,” Benita said. “Drummond was already involved. It’s not our fault.” She grabbed the phone from my hand, checked the call history and punched in the last incoming call. It rang and rang. I confess to having a morbid curiosity about what Curtis’s voice mail message might be. But it kept ringing. She hung on. “Answer your phone, dickhead…come on. Hello? Who is this? Where are you?” She slammed the cell shut and handed it to me. “Curtis used a pay phone. Somewhere in Bed-Stuy.”
“Should we tell the police?”
“After his last threat? Are you for real? And what are you gonna tell them, anyway? You don’t know where he is, what car he was in tonight, his full name, or even if he lied about shooting Drummond just to spook you.”
“True on all counts, except I’m sure he killed him.” I sipped my beer trying to banish images of a bullet-ridden limo on a dark, rainy street, and of Kyle Drummond’s face all excited in anticipation of his next round of sex with thousand-dollar-a-piece prostitutes.
“How did Curtis know we were going to meet Kyle?” I said. “It’s clear we’re being followed, but did one of his people actually slip into the launch?”
“Maybe.” She stared down at the bar. “I can only think of one person at the launch who knew us, and who saw us hooking up with Drummond. Alan Grossman.”
“Come on, Binnie, who don’t you suspect?”
“Alan moved in on you pretty fast.”
“That’s true. And I’m not exactly material for the cover of Vogue. When he can have women so beautiful that people actually pay money to look at them on-screen, why would he want me? The best I can ever hope for is ‘cute.’ ”
Benita lowered her beer glass. “Is that so bad? Loads of guys prefer small, cute women. And speaking of small and cute, what about Tim? He never showed tonight. Maybe he used us to set up Drummond.”
“Then why would he tell us all about Gwen’s perfume?”
“So we can lead him to it. Then he’ll get rid of us, too.”
“I don’t buy it. Doesn�
��t feel right. I bet he’s still at the launch looking for us.” Had news of the killing spread through the party? I was itching to let Tim know that Kyle was not behind Gwen’s murder. I flipped open my phone and dialed his cell. No answer. Just voice mail. “Hi, it’s Saylor Oz. Please call me back as soon as you can.”
Raffy lumbered toward us, drying her hands in a washcloth. “So, did Tim say anything about that ancient fragrance Gwen put together? He never told me diddly.”
I hesitated. She’d been Gwen’s lover, and she was helping us, but I didn’t want that help to jeopardize her life. “Raffy, I think it might be a good idea if you went away somewhere safe until this is over. I don’t want you getting harmed because of this mess.”
The husky bartender gave me a tender smile, leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Gwen told me what a big heart you got, and what a trooper you are. How you’ve been scraping her off the floor since your school days. But don’t you worry. Tell me what Tim said.”
I glanced at Benita. She shrugged, so I proceeded to rattle off a brief rundown on Gwen’s incredible love-slave perfume.
Raffy looked at me cockeyed. “Wild stuff. Not sure I believe it.”
“Well, somebody does, or Gwen wouldn’t be dead,” Benita said. “So, if you have any more information, now’s the time to give it up.”
Raffy did a once-over on the copper bar with her rag. “You’re one of those super goal-oriented bitches, aren’t you?”
Benita glowered at her. “You owe me a rematch.”
“Anytime, babe.”
“Will you guys stop it!” My loud voice drew looks from three women at the bar wearing jerseys that read BROOKLYN BLADES, Park Slope’s all-women hockey team. In a quieter tone, I said, “So, Raffy, you wanted to see us tonight because you suspect someone in particular?”
“Yeah,” she said. “She’s a woman Gwen and I knew through the Circle of the Sacred Yoni.”
“Sacred who? What’s a yoni?” Benita asked.
Raffy tossed her a sarcastic half smile. “That thing between your legs.”
Before my volatile roommate got heated up again, I said, “A yoni is a cunt. Both words are ancient and quite venerable.” Actually, the early Hindus named women’s vaginas according to their flavors and scents. The merry: dates and honey. The lotus: floral. The snail: salty. The elephant: earthy. Kind of like a gynecological Ben & Jerry’s.
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