“Ronnie, please. I hardly think I’ll have a problem with him.” She made a face. “And we’re probably going to get a hotel room since we can’t go back to his place.”
“Why not?”
“Well, technically, he’s married.”
“What!”
“See, I knew you’d do that! Don’t freak out on me. He and his wife are separating. He just hasn’t found another place to live yet.”
Ronnie gave her a doubtful look. “I don’t suppose you want to come back to the apartment? I could make myself scarce …”
“Better not to have him over. That’s not how these things work.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
Tiffany gave her a secret little wave and turned to head back toward her admirer, her silver dress shimmering in the dim light.
“Well? How’d it go last night?”
“He’s made of money.” Tiffany was hurrying around the apartment, collecting her things for work. “Some big hotshot with Speed Shoes. We ate great food, stayed in a penthouse suite, and were basically catered to all day. He’s got an incredible sports car, a house in West Palm Beach, and a ski chalet in Aspen. What a life!”
“Are you going to see him again?”
Tiffany paused and flashed her roommate a grin. “You underestimate me, dahling. He’s coming to the club again tonight, and we’ll be spending all next weekend together. Marco’s giving me the weekend off.”
“You’re kidding!” Ronnie gave an incredulous laugh.
“Oh no, Marco’s really supportive. He even gave Wade the key to his penthouse for last night—apparently he had rented it for the week but wasn’t using it or something.”
“I’m not talking about Marco, silly. I’m amazed at you! You’re taking a big moneymaking weekend off. What’s come over you?”
“Wade’s come over me, Ronnie. He lives the life I want.” She finished packing up her outfits for the evening and her face turned serious. “He’s my ticket. He’s totally smitten.”
“But you hardly know him.”
“I know him well enough to know what he’ll do for me. He gave me another thousand bucks to buy some clothes for next weekend. Cool, huh?”
“I guess.”
Tiffany’s grin turned to exasperation. “Ronnie, don’t take away my fun with this! Can’t you just be happy for me? I feel like a princess who’s just found a fat, bald, and incredibly rich Prince Charming.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry I’m so darned practical. I’m glad you found a sugar daddy; I really am. But I don’t want you to get your heart involved with some guy who’s twenty years older—”
“Give me a break.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “No heart involvement, now or later. You know that. But new clothes, new jewelry, new places … maybe even a new car if I play it right. He wants a beautiful young thing on his arm, and I’m happy to oblige! Ta ta!”
She swept out the door, and Ronnie went slowly into her bedroom to finish gathering her things for work. What was it about Tiffany’s new situation that bothered her so much? She was with a wealthy man who obviously liked her very much and showered her with money and gifts in return for her attention. What was wrong with that? Ronnie was climbing into her own car, when it hit her.
Her friend had just become a prostitute.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Linda Hanover picked at her dessert, embarrassed at all the attention. The Dugans—both generations—had taken her to a popular restaurant in a nearby town for her birthday. They had even arranged for the waiter to bring out a plate of rich chocolate cheesecake as a surprise, decorated with one lit candle.
The staff had gathered around the table, clapping and singing a raucous birthday song. Linda’s cheeks had been red ever since. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. She’d hardly ever been out to eat before, at least to someplace nicer than fast food.
The waiter came back and handed Mr. Dugan the bill.
“Are you sure I can’t help—”
“Not a chance.” Mr. Dugan smiled. “You’ll be starting that job at the clinic next week, and after that you can help all you want. Until then, it’s on us.”
“Thank you.”
The waiter stopped back by to gave Mr. Dugan his change. “Here you go, sir.” He looked at Linda and grinned at the half-eaten dessert in front of her. “So, has that cheesecake gotten the best of you?”
“I’m afraid so. I haven’t had any chocolate this rich in … well … I don’t know when.”
“You’ll just have to come back more often. Our cheesecake is famous far and wide. We’ve had dessert chefs stop by from all over. You done with that, ma’am?”
She pushed the plate toward him, and he began to clear the table.
“So did you talk to your daughter today?” Mr. Dugan asked.
Linda sat up straight. “I forgot to call her back! She called me before she left for work, but Angela was on the other line. I promised I’d call her right back, but I plumb forgot.” She looked at her watch and sighed. “She’ll be way too busy to take a call now. Dinner shift and all.”
The waiter cleared Linda’s cheesecake plate. “Your daughter work at a restaurant, too?”
“Yep, a big one, apparently. In Atlanta.”
“Which one?”
“A place called The Challenger. I’ve never been there.”
The young man hooted. “Not surprising, ma’am. I wouldn’t want my mother to go there either! But I’ve been there a few times and it’s a blast.” He elbowed Mr. Dugan in the side. “The girls are dynamite, if you know what I mean.”
He turned back to Linda, a teasing expression on his face. “So your daughter a dancer or one of the waitresses?”
Linda heard the words in slow motion, watched the widening eyes of those around her. “A waitress. She’s a waitress.”
“Ah. Well, good money in that, too, of course. All the girls who work there are drop-dead knockouts, not just the strippers. It’s an upscale place. Good tips.” He picked up his dish tray and set it on his shoulder. “Thank you, folks. Come back any time. We’ll save some cheesecake for you.” A grin crossed his face, and he was gone.
Linda jumped when Mrs. Dugan put a hand on her arm. “There’s a nice path down by the river. We could walk for a bit.”
The whole group trooped outside and headed down the street toward the river. A pedestrian walkway lit by old-fashioned lamps wound its way along the restaurants and shops that lined the river. Linda hardly noticed.
After several minutes of silence, Angela took her husband’s arm, and sighed. She looked at Linda. “Well, it doesn’t sound like Ronnie is a waitress, does it?”
Linda couldn’t walk any farther. What was happening right this minute to her daughter … her baby? She felt a tear roll down her cheek, then another.
Mrs. Dugan took her arm and led her to a bench. The two women sat down, and the others stood nearby. “Did you suspect this at all before?”
“No … nothing like this. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. Maybe it’s not true … maybe she is a waitress.”
The words fell flat, sounding wrong even to her.
Linda closed her eyes. She could hardly blame Ronnie, especially after all the lost years where she had not been a proper mother to the girl. When she had let those things happen to her. She bowed her head, trying to lay her guilt at the Lord’s feet as she’d been taught, to realize that she was forgiven and that her heavenly Father could make all things new … and could still change her daughter’s heart.
The others laid hands on their friend and began to pray.
One by one the members of the S-Group slipped away from the clamor as the quarterly meeting broke up. At three-minute intervals each man headed toward a little-used hallway and a stairway landing, where he paused to ensure his departure hadn’t been noticed in the general din. Then each man made his way up to a blacked-out office on the next floor.
They were delighted that those in the regular group not only missed
their unobtrusive departures, but also appeared to be oblivious to the increased activity on the other floors of the building. Over one hundred people had walked up and down the three flights of stairs and past dozens of closed doors in the last few hours, without recognizing any significance in the new ranks of computers, control rooms, video screens, and small satellite dishes that sprouted on every floor.
The S-Group members were deep in discussion when Tyson finally arrived. He took his seat, gesturing to Waggoner to continue briefing the others on several areas of progress.
“The pieces are coming together. We’ve got at least half of the technical people lined up and have identified some likely sites. Mostly dams, some bridges, some other infrastructure. We’re still working on a way to get at the levies around New Orleans and St. Louis. We’re not sure of those yet.”
One of the other members frowned and looked at Tyson. “But we only have half of the technical capacity we need. Where are we on the other half? We’re a total no-go without every single piece of the puzzle in place.”
“We still have plenty of time. We’ll get there.” Tyson gave a sly grin. “It’s not a scientific process, after all. We’re dealing with people’s dirty little secrets. Some targets don’t come through and we have to develop new ones.”
“Are all of the pieces of the puzzle that are in place those who have been compromised? Or is anyone cooperating for money?”
“A little bit of both, frankly. In everyone we’re dealing with, we’ve planted the false trail that this is all about white-collar money laundering or some such thing. So of course even those who’ve been compromised feel better when they are properly compensated.”
“Will they be able to put the pieces together after the fact?”
“Of course. But we’ll be long gone, and at the moment we’re so well disguised behind layers of intermediaries it’s unlikely they’ll ever penetrate it. Unless someone’s a turncoat. I’d hate to think that such a thing is remotely possible, but I suppose we must come up with a contingency plan, just in case.”
“In my experience, it’s far better to come up with a preemptive plan than a contingency plan,” Waggoner said. “Let’s find the best deterrent possible, and dish it out to anyone we’re even remotely concerned about. Even if we pick an innocent person, the rest will think twice before breaking silence.”
Tyson nodded. “Okay, let’s think about when to do that, and how. Only one condition—no one gets killed. You can inflict whatever discipline you feel is necessary, but it must be quick to heal and no mortality risk. We do not need the authorities sniffing around.”
Waggoner looked agreeable. “I’ve got some good men. They have some very effective techniques that leave no lasting scars.”
“Done. I want you all to make a list of anyone you suspect. We must have total loyalty, and if we can’t buy it, we must still enforce it.”
“What about all the new analysts and technicians in this building?” one of the others said. “You know I’m concerned about the security aspects of having so many uninvolved people—”
“I know you’re uncomfortable, but we’ve been through that.” Tyson said. “The new staff members are doing—as they think—marketing analysis for a legitimate, stand-alone company. Sure, some of our staff down there know the drill, but they’re the ones who are supposed to be keeping our secrets. They’re the ones we have to make sure aren’t jabbering to their clueless colleagues. Besides, all the secure areas are kept locked, and anyone who breaks the company’s security rules is fired immediately. And even if someone did get curious and break the rules, there’s no way they’d understand the larger significance of what they’d seen. Only our most trusted lieutenants know the full picture, and they’re being well-compensated for their silence.”
Tyson looked at each face in turn, then sat down and turned to Waggoner. “I did not mean to get off on a tangent. Please continue with your briefing.”
Marco clicked his cell phone shut and strode out of his office, into the hallway. He caught one of the staff on the fly.
“Tell Sasha I need to see her right away.”
Less than a minute later, Tiffany poked her head into his office. “Yeah, boss?”
“Come on in and close the door. I have another business proposition for you.” Marco walked over to the sideboard and poured her a drink. “How are things going with Wade?”
“Wonderful.” Tiffany grinned. “He’s smitten, and he’s very, very generous. I just got back from twenty-four hours on his yacht. We flew in from the Florida shore just a couple of hours ago.”
“Well, you deserved the days off. I hope you’ve been enjoying them.”
“Yeah … of course.”
“Well, I have a favor to ask in return. One that should prove profitable for both of us.”
“Shoot.”
Marco set down his glass and walked to his window, looking out at the club. “You may not realize this, but the partners that own this club also have businesses in other industries. Sometimes, we like to use the club as a way to get business in those industries.”
“Like … what kind of industries?”
“Oh, nothing like what you’re thinking, probably. Real white-collar industries like technology, advertising, finance, you name it. This club generates cash, and that cash gets reinvested in a lot of different businesses. And like I said, from time to time we try to use our club here to generate business leads or clients in those areas.”
“So what does this have to do with me?”
“We’d like your help making an important connection. Your friend Wade is a big shot at Speed Shoes and is responsible for choosing the advertising agency that will create their new Super Bowl commercials. They decided last year to ditch their old one, so the massive Speed Shoes account is up for grabs.”
“He mentioned something about that. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“Well, here’s my proposition: I’d like you to pay attention. I need you to convince him to hire our advertising agency to create the commercials. Privately, of course, so that no one knows.”
“But … why would he listen to me? I hardly know anything about business or—”
“Yes, but you know him. Intimately.” Marco turned from the window and came to stand beside her. “I’m very confident that he’ll agree. Especially if you show him a few carefully selected pictures that we have.”
“What—”
Marco picked up a remote control from his desk and pointed it at the television monitor. The screen sprang to life with several still shots of Tiffany and Wade at the penthouse suite their first night together.
Tiffany gasped. “How did you—”
“Sasha, Sasha. Don’t be alarmed. This has nothing to do with you. Wade is a longtime associate of ours, and he’s frankly owed us some help for quite some time, but has been reluctant to do so. We had to get some leverage over him, and this seemed to be a perfect opportunity. And by the way, Sasha.” Marco put down the remote and walked over beside her, standing very close. He softly ran a hand down her shoulder, her arm. “You looked good in those pictures. I don’t think Wade will mind one bit.”
Tiffany shivered away from Marco’s touch, disguising her nerves by coughing. “You said this was a business proposition. What are you proposing, exactly?”
“That if you’re our broker, so to speak, and convince Wade to hire our advertising agency, you’ll get 10 percent of the cut.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “But that’s—”
“A lot of money. It could easily be fifty grand. Or more. But remember, this has to be completely confidential. You can’t tell anyone about this deal.”
Tiffany thought for a moment and felt a grin creeping back onto her face. “Where do I sign up?” She glanced over at the television monitor. “And I don’t think I’ll need those pictures. I have other means of persuasion.”
“So where are you going this time?”
Ronnie sat on Tiffany’s bed, munching o
n a sandwich as she watched her best friend scurrying around the room. A small suitcase lay open on the bed beside her, and Tiffany had laid out a selection of clothes—new clothes, purchased with Wade’s money.
Tiffany held up a pair of black Capri pants, muttering to herself. “Wade likes these, but not the khaki ones … where are those cute shoes?”
She got down on her knees and looked under her bed. Ronnie could hear her batting things away, fishing in various boxes.
A muffled voice came from under the bed. “Here they are!” Tiffany pushed herself back and sat up, handing Ronnie a shoebox. She brushed her hair back out of her eyes. “I can’t go to the beach without those sling-backs.”
“Never.” Ronnie kept a straight face. “First rule in blackmail and seduction—wear the right shoes.”
Tiffany made an annoyed sound and yanked the box back from her friend. “I wish I’d never told you. I knew you were never going to let me forget about that.”
“I just think it’s weird that Marco would resort to blackmail to get some random business deal approved. I can’t believe you’d go for it.”
“You’re just jealous. You’d go for it in a second if you were in my shoes. Besides, Wade owes Marco a favor and hasn’t been delivering; it’s the least he can do. And if I can help my boss and make a small fortune in one fell swoop … well, why not?”
“But without using the blackmail pictures, how are you going to convince Wade to approve this deal? You don’t know anything about advertising or commercials … or business!”
“Give me a little credit. I’m not a total idiot—”
“I’m not saying you are!”
“—and I may not be a slick Madison Avenue businesswoman, but Wade isn’t interested in a Madison-avenue businesswoman. He’s interested in me. I make him look good to his colleagues and friends, and I stroke his ego. He takes care of me very nicely, and I make him feel like the most virile male on the planet. He won’t risk losing that, especially since I’m only asking him to pick one good New York advertising agency instead of another. It’ll be an easy choice for him.”
The Lights of Tenth Street Page 30
