“Not currently. I’m hoping to expand if my collection is well-received at my Fashion Week show. Right now, I do mostly custom work for high-end clients and some designing for department store brands. I’m really a very small player in the fashion biz, detectives.”
“We’ll want a list of all of your clients and anything else you can think of that might help. We’ll have the Crime Scene people come in tomorrow to dust for prints, although I doubt they will find anything if this was a professional job.”
Logan stepped up. “You can reach Pansy on her cell. She’ll be staying at my loft tonight and setting up a temporary office in some extra space I have until her Fashion Week obligations are over. Then she’s taking a vacation to Florida if you should need to reach her.”
“And you are?”
“Friends of the family. Logan Hawk, Melodie Buxton and Billie Crockett.”
“That’s fine. By the time Fashion Week is over, we shouldn’t need you unless there is a break in the case and we arrest and charge someone. I have to say that is highly unlikely. Louis Capriccio would not do this himself, and anyone he sent would be a pro and not likely to leave evidence.”
Pansy locked up and they went back down to the street with the police officers and detectives. Pansy climbed back into the car beside Billie. He pulled her up against his side and curved his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry you had to go through that, Pansy. Are the clothes that were destroyed replaceable?”
“Yes, I have the specs on my laptop. It will take time to have them reconstructed. I’ll have to contact my insurance guy in the morning.”
Logan turned around quickly. “Do you want to stay with us at Melodie’s, or maybe in my apartment at the loft?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine at my apartment.”
“Don’t be so hasty, Pansy. I think Logan has a good idea. Either place would be better than your apartment. There is no reason to think Capriccio doesn’t know where you live. I’ll stay at the loft with you if you’re scared to be there alone.” Pansy raised her eyebrows at him. He grinned and wiggled his. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Yeah. Nice try, Crockett.”
Logan said, “I think Billie is right. We have an excellent security system at the loft because of all the expensive recording equipment. He can sleep on my couch, and you can use my bed platform.”
Melodie looked concerned. “Don’t argue, Pansy. This is not the time to assert your independence. Just do what Logan and Billie say, okay? I would feel much better knowing you were in a secure location.”
“Oh, all right.” She turned to Billie. “It’s the couch for you, buddy.”
He looked crestfallen. “I’m so disappointed, Pansy. Do you honestly think I would take advantage of this situation to further my own agenda?”
“Absolutely.”
He laughed. “You’re probably right.”
Logan pulled into the garage under the Stranahan Shoe Factory Building. Logan parked the SUV and led the way to the freight elevator, and they all loaded in. The ascent was lit by a bare lightbulb in the open elevator cage. It cast flickering shadows against the walls of the elevator shaft. Pansy had been to the loft with Melodie many times, and the dark shadows no longer scared her.
“I’ll give you the security code so you can come and go if none of us are here, although I don’t think Billie is going to want to let you out of his sight.” Pansy thought Logan might be right about that. Billie had not let go of her hand since they had gotten back into the car.
On the fourth floor, Logan disarmed the security system and swung the double steel doors open. Billie ushered her inside the overwhelmingly huge space. Logan flipped the lights on, and the spotlights in the ceiling lit the various areas designated for rehearsal and recording, Logan’s office, his music room and a dormitory-type space where the members of the band could stay over if necessary. In the back were double doors leading to what Pansy knew was the group’s private BDSM dungeon. Melodie had showed it to her once when none of the guys were there.
Logan led the way across the rough floor to the entrance of his apartment on the west side of the loft. He unlocked another set of paneled mahogany double doors that had been salvaged from an old house in Brooklyn that was being torn down. When they walked into the apartment, the sky over the Hudson River was just starting to lighten through the high windows.
The apartment was large and open, with the kitchen and living area on one side and Logan’s bedroom on a raised platform on the other. There was an enclosed bathroom with an enormous multi-jet steam shower. Pansy knew that Logan had gotten the majority of his fixtures, flooring and other building materials from the old house in Brooklyn and other nearby demolition sites. He’d had the floors and bathroom fixtures refinished and had installed the steam shower and a state-of-the-art stainless steel kitchen. Basically, the decor was industrial modern with no-frills and suited him just perfectly. Now that he and Melodie were engaged, they usually stayed at her nearby townhouse.
Logan rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers, turned, and tossed Pansy a set of keys. “Pansy, why don’t you borrow one of my T-shirts and make yourself comfortable? Try to get at least a little sleep. Billie can stand guard.”
Now she could see that Logan was smiling and greatly enjoying someone’s discomfort. She wasn’t sure if it was hers or Billie’s. Those two had a long history together. “Mel and I are going home to see if we can’t get a little sleep ourselves. We’ll be back over later. I was going to say tomorrow, but it is already tomorrow. There is stuff for coffee, bagels in the freezer, and eggs and stuff in the fridge. Make yourselves at home.” He glanced at Billie. “Not too much at home for you.” Billie just smiled and didn’t say anything. Those guys barely needed words.
When Logan and Melodie were gone and the doors to the apartment were closed and locked, Billie turned to Pansy and pulled her into his arms. He brought his lips down on hers in a gentle kiss. When she didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss until they were both going under. He backed off and leaned his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to take advantage of this situation, Pansy. Well, really I do, but I won’t. If you aren’t ready just say so.”
“Billie, what is it you want from me? Aside from the obvious that is. You don’t even like me. We don’t even like each other.”
“Not true. We definitely have some electricity, some attraction. I’ve wanted to do this, to be with you, for a long time. Do you want to just go to bed, or do you want to sit up and talk for a while? I can get you a glass of wine or some tea.”
“Alone?”
“Well, I was hoping, but I can wait for a better time to take advantage of you.” He smiled that killer smile at her and she almost melted. Almost.
“I think I’m too wound up to just go to bed. Tea would be good.”
Billie went to the kitchen cabinet and took out mugs and herbal tea bags. He heated the water in the microwave and turned to her. “Sugar or milk?”
“Just sugar, thanks.” Pansy kicked off her boots. When she was ensconced in the corner of Logan’s enormous leather sofa, with the warm cup in her hands and her legs pulled up under her, she leaned back and sighed. “Wouldn’t you just know something would have to come up to ruin my Fashion Week debut? I just don’t get this.”
Billie sat down next to Pansy, close but not crowding her. “I don’t know what they’re after, but it must be something important for them to take this risk. They are businessmen. Crooked businessmen, but it’s all about the money with them. Do you have any high-profile clients that they might want access to?”
“Not that I can think of. I mean, the socialites and club-slash-party girls that like my clothes wouldn’t be of interest to the mob. They’re not rich enough or influential enough.”
“Well, let’s think about it.”
“I don’t think I can think about anything else.” Billie reached over and snuggled her up against his chest.
“Okay. Let’s just relax for now and s
nooze. I think it’s too late to go to bed. Later I’ll make us breakfast and we can go up on the roof with our coffee. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great.” She put her cup down on the coffee table and just burrowed into his warm chest. Billie had a great chest.
* * * *
Billie sat there with a dozing Pansy in his arms. For some reason it just felt right. As much as he loved to yank her chain, he liked this better. His Johnson was bumping up against the zipper of his jeans. Down, boy. This is not the time. Billie knew what he was going to have to do, and he didn’t like the idea one bit, but Pansy’s safety and her business were on the line. He had cut himself off from his family. He rarely saw his parents—once in a while for holidays. Billie couldn’t understand how his mother could justify her opulent lifestyle knowing it rested on the back of mob money, drug money, dead bodies. She managed to turn a blind eye and enjoy the life of a wealthy suburban wife in White Plains, New York. She just pretended the sordid truth that her husband was the second-in-command of the Capriccio crime family didn’t exist. She played tennis at the club, shopped and lunched with her friends, and made large charitable donations that got her name in the newspaper. It boggled the mind.
Once Billie was old enough to understand how things really were, he had rebelled. He had put himself through school, found himself some real friends, joined the underground BDSM community, and the band had become his family. Logan knew the whole story, and so did the other guys, but he rarely told anyone else and didn’t like to discuss it. The final break had come when he had changed his last name from Capriccio to Crockett. He had not announced the change to his family, but he was sure they knew about it. He was sure his grandfather, Antonio Capriccio, knew about it. Pops knew everything.
Billie thought that had hurt him the most. He had adored his Pops as a kid, had followed him around in his garden on the estate in Westchester County while Pops inspected his tomatoes, green beans and peppers. He had played with his video games under the desk in Pops’s library. He had just wanted to be close to him. When he’d been little, he hadn’t noticed the men wearing dark suits with lumps under their armpits who accompanied Pops everywhere. He had been far closer to Pops than to his parents. Later, Billie had never been able to reconcile the Pops he loved with the head of the Capriccio crime family.
The apartment gradually got lighter. At seven-thirty, Billie gently shifted Pansy to the arm of the couch and made sure she was covered by the blanket he’d gotten from the closet. He got up, made another pot of coffee. He’d had time to think about what he was going to do this morning. Pansy woke up, went to the bathroom, and he heard the shower turn on.
When she came out, she smiled at him. “Good morning, Billie. I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable holding me all night. I woke up a couple of times to try to move, but you had me wrapped up in the blanket, and I just went back to sleep.”
“I was fine. The coffee is ready.”
“Great. I need to go back to my apartment and pick up my laptop and sketch books and stuff. Logan said I could set up a spot for myself in the loft.”
“I’ll go with you and help you get set up. By then the guys will all be here. I have something I have to take care of for a couple hours, and then I’ll be back.”
“You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I’m a big girl.”
“You certainly are. I can attest to that.”
“Oh, stop it. I think you just do that to annoy me.”
“Maybe. I also do it to advance my nefarious plans to get you into bed and into the dungeon. What do you think about that?”
“I think you’re nuts.”
He laughed. “Maybe. Let’s take our coffee up to the roof and watch the sun come up. Then I’ll make breakfast.”
Billie grabbed their jackets, two cups, and a thermos of hot coffee. He took Pansy’s hand and led her to the door that opened onto a narrow stairway leading up to the roof top. When they had climbed the stairs and he flipped the lock on the door to the roof, they stepped through. The light was bouncing off the Hudson River and a gold swath from the sun rising over the buildings to the East lit the surface. There was snow piled up in the corners of the roof soffit, and a sharp wind was blowing.
“I just love the view up here. You can see the wharves and the West Side Highway. This rooftop is amazing.” She shrugged into her jacket and took one of the cups from Billie. She headed toward the sitting area surrounded by small evergreen trees and winter-brown plantings in big casks and large industrial-type containers. In the summer, they were jammed with blooming flowers. “Yikes! It’s cold up here, but it’s worth it.”
“I have to say, the rooftop is the best part of the whole loft—except for the dungeon, of course. And our own recording studio. Logan really picked a winner when he bought this place. It provides everything the band needs. Logan is the only one who actually lives in the loft, but we spend the majority of our time here. We all have our own places. I have an apartment on the top floor of a forty-story building on Harrison Street with a view of the World Trade Center Memorial and the new building, 1 WTC.”
“I have the top floor of a converted brownstone not too far from Melodie’s house. That’s funny. We both have top-floor apartments. Mine is just much closer to the ground.”
When she was settled on a teak bench covered with an all-weather cushion he’d pulled from a storage box, he poured her coffee from the thermos. He looked down at her, and they clinked cups. “Can we have a new start? I really like you, Pansy, and I think you may have the wrong idea about who I really am.”
“You mean you’re not an annoying, aggravating smartass who likes to give me a hard time?”
“Well, maybe you do know who I really am.”
“I think I do.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think you’re kind and thoughtful and don’t want anyone to know it. I think you’re sexy, pushy, and determined to get what you want. And I think you are going to give me a run for my money. But I also think that, deep down, you are a good man, Billie Crockett.”
* * * *
They had just finished eating when Pansy’s cell phone rang. She picked it up. Blocked Number. Hhhh. Billie had told her to expect this call. She answered.
“Good morning, Ms. Nicholas. I hope you’re well this morning. Have you had a chance to look over your collection? I hope everything is in order.”
Pansy gestured to Billie, who was standing at the stove pouring another cup of coffee. She touched the button to put the phone on speaker. “Everything is fine, Mr. Capriccio. I am sure you know by now that my studio was broken into last night and my collection wasn’t there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Nicholas. I don’t know what you mean by that remark. How would I know where your collection is or is not? Maybe you are ready to reconsider my offer to invest in your company.”
Pansy watched as Billie’s face turned red, and he looked like he was about to explode. She didn’t want him going off half-cocked and getting into trouble over her. “I don’t think so, Mr. Capriccio. I would rather wait tables than go into business with you or your cousin. I don’t know why you’re so interested in my operation. I don’t make enough money to make money-laundering feasible, and I don’t send or receive overseas shipments. Is that straightforward enough for you?”
“Who said anything about money-laundering or smuggling?”
“Please leave me and my little company alone. I won’t make trouble for you if you don’t make any more trouble for me.”
“If that’s how you want it, Ms. Nicholas. We’ll see. I think you may change your mind.”
“I doubt it, Mr. Capriccio.” She disconnected the call.
“That asshole. He might as well have said he sent his goon patrol over to destroy your collection. It’s a good thing it wasn’t there. You are going to have to be careful coming and going from here for a while, Pansy. You don’t want to lead Capriccio’s men to the loft and your collection.”
“I’ll
be careful. I’ll go in and out through the garage.”
“I think that’s best for now.”
Chapter Four
The Capriccio Compound in White Plains, Westchester County, New York, early Tuesday afternoon, January 5, 2016
Billie drove his Porsche 911 through the gates of the Capriccio compound in White Plains. The twenty-acre estate was surrounded by an eight-foot-high wall topped with twelve-inch spiked wrought iron spears. The perimeter of the estate was under constant video surveillance and there were discreetely armed guards at the gate. The estate contained not only his grandfather’s house, but also the homes of two of Antonio Capriccio’s sons, including Billie’s father, William, Sr. Billie hadn’t been there for a while and didn’t know the men at the gate. He’d had to wait while they verified his identity and that he was a welcome visitor. Well, that “welcome” part remained to be seen. Pops wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
Antonio Capriccio was tall with a full head of wavy, white hair. He was distinguished and handsome even at the age of eighty. If a person didn’t know he was the head of one of the top East Coast crime families, they would think he was the Chairman of the Board of a multi-national corporation. Billie was shown into the library by Antonio’s equally distinguished major domo of fifty years, Luigi. “Luigi, please bring us a coffee tray and a bottle of Strega.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, my boy, you haven’t graced these premises with your presence for over two years. What brings you to White Plains?”
“Well, Pops, I have a problem that I hope you can help me with.”
“And what would that be?”
“It seems Louie has been hassling a friend of mine about buying into her fashion design business. Last night her studio was broken into, trashed, and some of her clothing was slashed. I was hoping that you could counsel Louie on his unsavory business practices.”
Pansy's Passion [The Black Dahlia Hotel 5] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) Page 4
