Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Scott, Jamie Lee, 10-10-12. Bad Vice. LBB Company. eBook Edition.

  Created with Vellum

  Join The Jamie Lee Scott Newsletter

  JOIN THE JAMIE LEE SCOTT NEWSLETTERWant to be the first to read Jamie Lee Scott novellas?

  Subscribe to her newsletter for EXCLUSIVE novella ebook series

  HOMICIDE, LIFE WITH NICK

  There will be 4 new novellas that will be available FREE to newsletter subscribers.

  So if you’re not a newsletter subscriber, here’s your chance. This is open to international readers too.

  *must be deliverable online

  Click here to get the newsletter!

  85

  Mimi

  “Hand jobs $20-40, blow jobs $40-80, quickie sex $50-80. Those are the going rates.” Cortnie Criss stood at the front of the conference room, looking every bit the hooker she needed to be for the night’s decoy sting operation. “We decided to go with twenty for hand jobs, thirty for blow jobs, and fifty for sex.”

  Cortnie wore a chartreuse bra under a see-thru white camisole, a white mini skirt with bare legs and hot pink stilettos. The head of the vice squad, Lieutenant Gabriel Garcia, seemed mesmerized by the long chain of beads Cortnie fiddled with as she spoke. Or maybe it was the ample cleavage busting out of her bra.

  The fluorescent lights of the police station conference room made Cortnie’s skin look pale, but they cast nice shadows on her breasts.

  Cortnie looked directly at the lieutenant. “Gabe, you look like you have a question.”

  Gabe had become very comfortable with Cortnie over the last few months and continued to stare at her cleavage as he answered. “No, I’m good.”

  I wouldn’t mind having Gabe stare at me, either. I’d be undressing him with my eyes at the same time. He was tall, with an athletic build that would rival Joe Manganiello. If you don’t watch True Blood, you won’t get the reference, but if you do, well then, oh baby! He had the tanned skin of his Mexican heritage, and hair so black it almost didn’t look natural. Gabe wore his hair longer, and had a micro-trimmed mustache and beard with specks of silver that only added to his sex appeal. I’d guess him to be about thirty-five.

  Cortnie grinned and winked, and I was certain there was something personal in that gesture, I nudged Charles.

  Grimacing at me, he said, “What?”

  “Is there something going on between Gabe and Cortnie?”

  Charles Parks, my business partner at the Gotcha Detective Agency, smirked at me, looked up at Cortnie, then back to me. “That’s her story to tell.”

  Hot damn, I knew it. At first, I came to the station almost every day, then after about two weeks, Cortnie had taken on more responsibility and started meeting with Gabe by herself.

  Cortnie stood all of about five-five, and Gabe may have skimmed six feet. I wished I was closer so I could see the look on Gabe’s face when Cortnie winked at him, but I stood at the back of the room, trying desperately to let her take the lead. In the months since my so-called “meltdown,” Cortnie had been working closely with the Salinas Police Department to put this decoy operation in place. This was her baby, and I was here more for moral support than as the boss.

  Truth be told, it was freaking cold outside tonight, and I was happy it was Cortnie who’d be walking the streets, not me. No matter how hot her nail polish looked, it wouldn’t keep her warm. Her nails were painted neon purple, and keeping with the current fashion, her ring finger was painted in an accent color, metallic matte gold. The matte color seemed to mesmerize the new chief of police, Manny Delgado.

  “You see, Chief Delgado, the devil is in the details. I’ve got to know what my services are worth. I don’t want to undersell, and I don’t want to price myself out of the market.”

  Chief Delgado couldn’t have been more than an inch taller than Cortnie. He was almost as wide as he was tall, but he wasn’t fat. Okay, fine, he was a bit chubby. Or maybe it was the outdated, doubled breasted suit he wore that made him look fatter than he really was.

  Cortnie took a step forward, and Delgado had to look up at her from his seat at the conference table as he said, “You’ve obviously done your research. Garcia has shown me the statistics on the decoy program. I’m impressed. You don’t have to sell me.”

  Charles whispered in my ear, “But I’d bet my left nut he’d buy her right now. He looks like he has a woody.”

  I choked back a laugh. Charles was right. I wasn’t sure if the chief was aware he’d been adjusting himself while listening to Cortnie speak, or if he was just that rude.

  “Seems his left nut might itch.” I nodded toward Manny’s crotch.

  Charles shook his head.

  Cortnie had been making an obvious attempt not to look at the chief’s movements as she spoke to him. I could see her concentrated effort to keep eye contact.

  I smiled. She’d been working for me less than a year, and she’d been able to put this project in place with the previous police chief. This meeting was to see if Delgado was interested in keeping it going. And from the looks of it, he was.

  Delgado had stepped up from assistant chief of police to chief when the previous chief stepped down from his position earlier in the year. The chief had cited personal reasons for departure from the police department, but there had been speculation running rampant ever since. Some said there were marital problems; others said it was drug related. I’d heard rumors from the homicide division, when I’d been dating Nick, that he’d been forced into early retirement. Nothing had held fast as of yet, so much of the speculation had died down. As a private detective, I thrived on speculation, but I didn’t have time to look into it any further.

  I’m Mimi Capurro, and I own the Gotcha Detective Agency where Cortnie works. She’s a good friend of Charles’s and I adore her. She’d become my friend, too, since she’d begun working for me. This gig with the police department had been something I’d been trying to get for a long time, and she’d been able to pull them in when we really needed the income. Making this a long term program would really help the agency’s bottom line.

  I’d had a rough few months. Between seeing a man have his brains blown out within inches of me, and my life being turned inside out, I’d been on the verge of a complete breakdown. In order to keep the agency from going under for good, Charles bought into the business and took over until I was able to concentrate again. And thank goodness he did, because the bills had been piling up, and I just couldn’t make myself care.

  Charles was also trying to step back and let Cortnie steer this boat, but he had to get his two cents in or he wouldn’t be Charles.

  Standing next to him, I could smell the faint hint of Hugo Boss cologne. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit jacket with two buttons and a slim lapel, a jade shirt peeked just a half inch from his jacket sleeves, and his flat front slacks skimmed the top of his polished black Oxfords. He screamed sophistication by just whispering. As soon as he became half-owner, he’d bumped up the meaning of dandy by a full notch.

  He’d always acted as if he owned Gotcha, as was his work ethic. No matter where he was employed, he’d always be the hardest working. He’d also been the best dressed, but now he dressed for success, too. Though if you asked him, he’d say he always dressed for success, even when going to the beach.

  Charles cleared his throat. “So you agree that the income generated by the decoys is worth the cost of running the sting?”

  Delgado tore his gaze from Cortnie. “Yes, absolutely. We ran the numbers. With the income from the fines, and the community service, we’ll be in the black in no time, and in good standing with the community.”

  Garcia added, “And after the fiasco with Nelson, we need good publicity where the prostitution st
ing is concerned.”

  Aubrey Nelson, a former vice cop, was now doing a seven-year prison term. Nelson had used his considerable influence, having worked Vice for fifteen years, to lure in numerous confidential informants. And it was one of these informants who ratted him out.

  Nelson spent a lot of time on the streets, made many friends, and just as many enemies. He also had a habit of “dipping his pen in the ink,” as the informant called it. Trying to get drug trafficking charges dropped, the informant had taken several cell phone videos of Nelson soliciting an underage prostitute. The informant had been so bold as to walk right up to where the fifteen-year-old was giving Nelson a blow job in the front seat of his patrol car. Nelson had been too involved in the act to even take notice.

  The informant no longer lives in Salinas, and neither does the fifteen-year-old. Or if they did, they no longer solicited business on Kern Street.

  Kern Street is where the prostitutes hang out. When I was growing up, they used to be contained to Soledad Street, a one-way street tucked away off Market Street. One had to know where they were going, and what they were looking for, to end up in the “Red Light District.” Now the district came to them. Prostitution had moved to the heavily traveled streets of Market, John, and Kern. Conveniently, there were several hotels located along the route, too.

  “We’re all about good publicity. And I’d like you to meet our ladies.” As Cortnie said this, three normal, average looking women stood up. They had been sitting at the back of the room.

  Cortnie gestured at each woman in turn. “Regina Munoz, Abby Turner, and Lena Dahl.”

  They smiled. All three women were in their mid to late twenties, and all were a bit plump.

  Regina wore flower print leggings with black pumps and a teal sweater that was at least a size too small. Along with her cleavage, several rolls of back fat vied for attention. In her normal clothes, she was quite attractive, and knew how to dress for her size.

  Abby, the most conservative, wore her kinky black hair on top of her head in the beehive bun. She was dressed in skinny jeans (not meant for women over size one) and a loose sweater. Under the sweater she sported a white lace bra that was clearly visible because the neckline of the sweater dipped down close to Abby’s navel.

  Lena, a true redhead, wore her shocking flame of hair in long ringlets. The hair draped over her bare shoulders, along with a yellow feather boa. She also wore skinny jeans and a tube top, both in blinding turquoise. Lena was the only one of the three that had plastered on a thick layer of makeup, with heavy eyeliner and false lashes. I barely recognized her from the “real” Lena.

  “Okay.” Delgado said, almost as if he was dissatisfied.

  I leaned over and whispered in Delgado’s ear, “This is real life, not the movies. And the chicks working the poles at the strip clubs aren’t aerobics instructor buff, either.”

  He looked at me with a half-smile, and then turned to Cortnie. “I’d like to go over the procedure one more time, with everyone in the room. That way there isn’t any confusion.”

  Garcia got up to stand with Cortnie at the front of the room. Addressing the ladies, he said, “I know we’ve been over this many times, but one last run through before we hit the streets.”

  Everyone nodded. Along with Charles, Cortnie, Garcia, and Delgado, three other vice cops were working the sting with us: Dave Mathius, Oscar Ruiz, and Mandy Powers.

  Cortnie took the lead. “Lena has the most experience, so I want her to come stand up here. Oscar, I want you to be the john.”

  Lena strutted her way to the front of the room, grinning, on the verge of laughter. She tossed her boa over her shoulder.

  Cortnie moved off to the side of the room as Oscar stood up.

  Garcia stayed in place, putting his hand up. “It’s okay, Oscar, I’ve got this.”

  “Let’s imagine we are at the corner of Market Street and the john has pulled up to the curb. I’ll take it from there,” Garcia said.

  Lena stood with her weight on one leg, bouncing her hip. She looked around, bored, and then suddenly interested as Garcia approached.

  Garcia walked up, with his hands in front of him, as if he had them on the steering wheel of his car. He leaned his head and shoulders over, mimicking a man leaning out the window to talk.

  Lena moved toward him. “Hey baby, whatcha lookin’ for?”

  Garcia grinned. “How much for me and my friend here?” He indicated to his imaginary passenger.

  “That depends, what do you want me to do?” Lena looked around. “You’re not the fuzz, are you?”

  Garcia laughed. “Not a chance.” He also looked around, adding, “How much for the both of us?”

  Lena’s eyes got wide. But it looked like she liked what she heard. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting him to be so crude in front of everyone.

  She sucked in a breath and answered, “Seventy.”

  “Forget it,” Garcia put his imaginary car in gear.

  Lena stepped forward, a look of desperation on her face, “Fine, sixty-five, but I’m not going any lower.”

  Garcia countered. “Fifty. Now get in.”

  Lena shook her head. “Oh honey, you think I was born yesterday? Show me the money. I ain’t goin’ nowhere if you don’t got the goods.”

  Garcia pulled out his wallet, unfolded and opened it, showing Lena the money.

  Lena shook her boobs at him and said, “That is definitely enough money for what you want.”

  There was a chemistry between Gabe and Lena that was palpable. Their act seemed like a play. We were the audience, and they were oblivious of us. I looked at Cortnie. She looked hurt, like she wished she was the one up there with Garcia.

  I heard Mandy under her breath, “Bet she’d do him for nothing. Hell, I’d bet she is.”

  Oscar glared at Mandy and she glared back. Nothing else was said.

  Cortnie held her hand up, and interrupted the scene. “Now this part is very important, and Lena knows this because she’s on her fourth weekend as a decoy. You must say out loud that you saw the money. The surveillance camera may not be able to see the money when it’s dark, so you have to acknowledge you’ve seen it.”

  I looked at the other women. Both of them, along with the seated cops, nodded.

  Cortnie waved them on. “Go ahead.”

  Back in character, Garcia snapped, “Get in.”

  Lena looked around and said, “The cops been watching close lately. Tell you what; meet me at the corner up there. The street light be burned out, no one’ll see me get in.”

  Again, Cortnie stepped in. “This is called ‘furtherance of act’ and is the best indicator that the john is serious about the solicitation.”

  Lena barely caught herself as she started to roll her eyes.

  Garcia put the pedal to the metal and zipped away from Lena. He sat back down at the table with his cops. They knew the drill; this performance was for the chief.

  Lena took her cue and sat down, too.

  “Just a reminder, make sure your cameras aren’t obstructed by your clothing. And we’ll do an audio test right before we head out to our corners.”

  Everyone stood.

  Delgado addressed the room. “Is there a net goal for the evening?”

  Garcia looked at Cortnie before answering. “We hope to get four arrests tonight.”

  Delgado looked at the manila folder in front of him. He picked it up and opened it. Leafing through the pages, he said, “That sounds a little low.”

  Defensive, Garcia said, “We can’t be too obvious at this stage. The girls still fit in, and the hookers have no idea the johns are being arrested. If we overstep at this point, we may blow the whole operation.”

  Mandy stood to leave. “Don’t worry, Chief, we got this.”

  Delgado slammed his folder shut. “You’d better.”

  I asked, “Mandy, why aren’t you dressed up tonight?” She had been dressing as a decoy with the other ladies, to be side by side with them, just in case som
ething went wrong.

  A little too smug for me, she said, “Didn’t feel like it.” And she walked off.

  Garcia said, “Let’s catch us some scum tonight.”

  Oscar, Mandy and Gabe walked away in a group. I felt like the fifth wheel at that moment, but what did I care, I wasn’t going out with them. I had my own plans for the night.

  With that, the meeting was over.

  Without a word, the ladies left the room. Each had a backpack or duffle bag with them. Surely they’d change clothes as quickly as possible when this gig was over for the night. When the door opened, we heard the commotion.

  “You’re hurting me,” the disheveled Hispanic boy yelled. “Take the cuffs off.”

  Piper Mason, Nick Christianson’s partner, rounded belly pushing at the front of her “Homicide” jacket, yanked at the young man’s elbow. “What? So you can take another swing at me?”

  “It was an accident, man. I’m sorry.” If only there was an ounce of sincerity in his words, it might have been believable.

  Nick stepped up to help Piper, but the glare she gave him obviously told him she could handle it herself. Piper was a tough as nails cop, and Nick would do well to mind her glare.

  I stood in the doorway and watched. This was the moment I’d been dreading. I had hoped to get the meeting over with and get out of the station before Nick came in.

  Homicide detective Nick Christianson and I were in the off again stages of our relationship, if it could even be called a relationship anymore. He’d made it perfectly clear that he’d never have a relationship with a married woman, and because my marriage status was complicated, it had come between us. Maybe there was a little more to it. Maybe.

  I’d been married to Dominic Capurro, an apparent produce broker, and a couple of years ago he’d died in a plane crash while on business, and his body was never found. He could have been in the family drug business, he could have been a legit produce broker, I’ll never know. As of three months ago, I’m officially a widow. I don’t give a damn what the insurance companies say.