by David Stever
Thank God she was on my wavelength, validating my story with the name of the restaurant.
“Yep. On the corner. I wanted to snap a few pics, try to spot her car, license plate, whatever. From there, they were headed to a hotel. Ten minutes before they were to meet, the SUV pulls in front of us, the door opens, and the girl is dropped. I called my client and told him to leave the area. Then we split. He later said his girl never showed or called. Gut instinct kicked in, got me curious, and we called you.”
“The two of you left the scene.”
“Cops were responding, plenty of witnesses.”
“So you just happened to be parked on the street right where Ms. Fitzgerald was dumped.” Ellison pulled a notepad from his jacket. “The vic was not your guy’s date, but she worked for the same service as his go-to girl? What a coincidence.”
“Right, and I’m asking you keep it to yourself. For now.”
“Why? You owe him something?”
“No. Deep inside, he’s a stand-up guy. People love him, and I would hate to see him crash and burn over this. His own fault, but it would be a real disappointment to many people if word got out.”
He elbowed Mike. “Now he has a heart?”
“What can I say? Miracles happen,” Mike said. “Paul, we are asking as colleagues. Plus all the booze you want is on the house. Give him a few days. For old time’s sake.”
“The gut.” I patted my belly. “You know what I mean. Detective’s instinct, and mine is telling me someone—”
“Sent your boy a message. Whoever killed the girl knew where your client was meeting his date.”
“Exactly.”
He wagged a finger at me and shook his head. “How about this: your wealthy big shot of a client just whacked a potential blackmailer. Are you receiving that message?”
I glanced at Katie and she was scribbling away: …whacked…blackmail…sending a message.
“My client didn’t whack anyone. Guaranteed.”
“If you say so.”
“Why would he hire me?”
“All right, you got a point,” he said. “Why am I here again?”
“After last night I’m afraid my guy got himself mixed up with some bad people. He’s no saint, but I don’t want his name in the paper if it doesn’t have to be. Here’s the deal: you give me what you got, and I’ll do the same. If I’m wrong and he’s dirty, he’s all yours.”
The old grizzled detective studied me for a second and then checked my partner.
“For a few days,” Mike said.
Paul nodded. “You have a few days. Anything begins to stink, the deal is off. Plus, I get the collar on the homicide.”
“Yep,” I said.
“Now let me out of this booth. I’m claustrophobic.”
We all slid out and Ellison took Katie’s hand. “Be careful. No place for a girl. Except these two jokers will make you a pro. Best in the biz.”
She beamed.
Paul grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from behind the bar. “This will keep me quiet for a while.”
Mike turned to me as we watched him leave. “We should send him a case.”
7
Once a month, twenty-five or so ex-cops, all members of the local chapter of the Fraternal Order of Police come in to McNally’s for a meeting. In reality, it is ten minutes of business discussion and two hours to drink beer and shoot the shit. Mike and Katie busied themselves preparing for the group and Carlos Suarez, our part-time bartender and cook, came in to assist. A sergeant on the PCPD, he picked up extra cash by working a shift or two on the weekends plus he covered the monthly FOP gathering.
I hustled up to my condo, dialing Stan on the way. His voice mail picked up. “Stan, I need you to call me right away.” It was the third message I had left for him since we met with Paul Ellison forty minutes earlier. I needed him to be where I could see or talk to him at all times, at least until I formulated a strategy for this case. I gathered a writing tablet, a blank manila folder, and my laptop and headed back to the bar.
The tables were filled, and the business portion of the meeting was underway. I waved Katie over to join me.
“Sit. Guess what we forgot,” I said.
She wiped her hands on her apron and sat across from me in the booth. “What?”
“Lucky for us, Ellison did not hold back information, but he only answered what we asked.”
“Yeah?”
“What was the one piece of vital data we missed?”
Her brow furrowed. “Umm, he gave us her name, age, employer, how long she worked there.” She shrugged. “Said she had two priors, and we need more background. Her friends and associates.”
“Kenzie’s address.”
“Oh, right. That was dumb.”
“Let it be a lesson. My mistake, too. He had me focused on Stan and how he could be jammed in this mess, and I forgot the basics. So, never forget.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Name, address, date of birth, phone number. On me too, but I want you to learn.”
She untied a ponytail and let her hair fall. “I understand. I’m on it as soon as Mike frees me up. Should be easy to find from the databases. I do have a question. Why did you call Detective Ellison? He even said what he told us would be on the news and I’m sure he knows we can find out where she worked and all, including her address.”
“To protect our client. For as long as we can. Paul is a smart, thorough detective and if he decides the girl’s murder is somehow connected to her employer, he’ll have the DA subpoena Fantasy’s records. The site’s lawyers will argue against it—but eventually Stan will be outed as a client. Plus, we get information. He told us the parent company is Entertainment Ventures because they pulled her bank accounts. Which is something we can’t do. If Paul can funnel information to us before it hits the street, we might be able to drag Stan out of this. He gave us some time, so you know what you need to do.”
“Yep, find everything we can on Kenzie, plus the mysterious Dee Dee, the call girl who stole Stan’s heart.” She re-tied her ponytail. “Sounds like a bad romance novel.”
“I’d love to find out why she didn’t show up for the date last night.”
“You think she’s behind the blackmailing, don’t you?”
A collective cheer went up from the FOP guys.
“Hey, Stan the man!”
Katie and I both stood, and there in the middle of the bar, surrounded by all the retired cops, was the king of the gridiron himself. He was in his element. Handshakes, back slaps, and hugs all around. He signed autographs and posed for more than enough selfies, often taking the camera and snapping the picture himself. The cops all knew the real story behind Stan, but it never stopped anyone from basking in the presence of football greatness. Sports fans have a way of forgiving and his glory days on the field far outweighed his indiscretions. Beers and shots were shoved in front of Stan, and he gladly obliged.
“Go over there and get him.” I nudged Katie. “Need to keep him sober.”
Stan spotted her as she approached the group of men and threw an arm around her.
“Gentlemen, isn’t she the finest specimen of a woman you have ever seen?” He ran his hand through her hair. “The sexy hair, the baby blues, and those legs. Ever see legs like this? They go from the floor clear up to the Promised Land.”
Katie’s face and neck turned crimson as the men laughed.
“She can come home with me anytime!” “I want to go to the Promised Land.”
She slipped out from under Stan’s arm. “C’mon, Mr. Shelton, we need you in back.”
“Boys, I gotta go. Can you blame me? She said she needs me on my back.” More laughs. “I would follow that fine filly anywhere.” The men were all up and shaking Stan’s hand. “Be back as soon as I can.” He called to Mike. “Their drinks are on me. Anything for my cop friends. Toughest people I know. Real heroes.”
Another cheer went up from the crowd as Katie hurried over to me. “What an arrogant, gross, vile pig.
I have never been so humiliated.”
“Shake it off. Other pressing matters.”
Stan made it to my booth, leaving his impromptu fan club in his wake.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls? I tried all morning.” I pushed him down into the booth and sat across from him.
“Hey, relax, Johnny boy. All is good.”
“How so?”
“Dee Dee called me late last night. She’s safe, so I’m happy. It’s all cool.”
“Not cool, Stan. Did you forget about the girl thrown from the car? The one you said came to your office? We confirmed she’s connected to the Fantasy site. Last night we suspected—today we know. If the cops gain access to records from the website, how long do you think it will be before they stumble across your name?”
He sat there with a dumb bewilderment crowding his face.
“Why didn’t Dee Dee show up for your date last night?” I asked.
“Said she wasn’t feeling well, took some cold medicine and fell asleep.”
“You believe her?”
“Yeah, Johnny. I believe her. Why would you ask me—”
“Stan, we don’t know who or what to believe right now. For me to keep you out of this, you need to do what I say, and that includes answering your phone. Now go wait in the kitchen. We’re going up to my condo.”
“Sorry. I was so happy that she called—”
“Now.”
He went into the kitchen, and I pulled Katie aside. “Tell Mike I need you and take Stan upstairs. Don’t worry about what he said. If you are going to be a woman in a man’s world, the worst is yet to come. You need a tough skin.”
She nodded. “I understand. He’s so gross, though. Such a sick perv.”
“It is all about the eternal quest of man. Goes back thousands of years.”
“What?”
She was annoyed but I could not resist. “Every man’s quest to get to the Promised Land.”
“Really? You think that is funny? I’m the one who has to go wait on those guys.”
“Maybe you should wear a housecoat and hair net from now on?”
“Now you’re sick and perverted.”
8
Carlos had taken a bag of trash to the bin in the alley and was coming back in through the kitchen as I was headed out.
“Boss, wait,” he said. “You expecting company?”
“Why?”
“Black Jeep Cherokee with black rims at the end of the alley. Been there for a while.” He held up his phone with a picture of the car and the plate number. “Sending it to you now.”
“How many in the car?”
“One woman. Brown hair. Thirties, maybe.”
“Great work, thanks. We’ll be upstairs.”
“Sure. Hey, is Stan Shelton your client?”
“Yes, and keep that to yourself.”
“Copy that, chief. I was always a fan.”
He went on his way, and I turned around and went through the bar and out the front. I remembered why I always used the back stairs and it was not for the exercise—the elevator in the residential side of the building was so slow Stan could shoot a car commercial in the time it took to travel the four floors to my condo.
He was parked at the table with his cell phone cradled between his head and shoulder and a small day planner opened in front of him. He jotted in the notebook as he confirmed appointments.
I looked to Katie, who had a pot of coffee brewing.
“His agent.” She leaned against the kitchen counter with her arms folded across her chest.
Over the past few months of getting to know her, I had become adept in reading her moods. Adept as any man could be at reading a woman’s mood, which was lousy at best. I slid beside her and whispered, “You don’t have to like the client.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me.
“We want to help most of the people who hire us. They are usually victims—being cheated on or taken advantage of. We want to help them because we see the ugly side of life and want them to get what they rightly deserve. Stan is different. He hired prostitutes and cheated on his wife, which makes him despicable in some eyes, maybe yours, but he hired us because he is being blackmailed, and that makes him a victim. Like I told Paul, Shelton has a good heart and is not a bad guy. Only arrogant, crass, crude, and creepy.” That drew a smile. “Are you ready to work?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“There is a black Jeep Cherokee in the alley. Might be a tail on Stan.”
“Serious?”
I showed her my phone with the picture of the license number. “Are we good?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Stan ended his phone call. “Sorry, Johnny. I should have answered your calls last night, but I was overjoyed Dee Dee was okay. Had to go out and celebrate.”
“You now need to be a hermit. Stay home, limit the personal appearances, banquets, golf tournaments, whatever else you got lined up—”
“Wait. Can I say something?” He pushed back from the table, stood, and faced Katie. “Miss Katie, I embarrassed you down in the bar, and I want to apologize. When I’m in groups like that, guys expect me to be…a certain way.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I used you in the moment and it was disrespectful, and I’m sorry.”
I had not expected him to apologize and neither did Katie, judging from the fact she was almost speechless. She was never speechless.
“Oh, um…sure, I accept your apology.”
“Thanks. I take it we need to talk?”
“Yep. Sit,” she said. He pulled a chair out for her and sat beside her as she opened her computer. I poured coffees.
“Stan, know anyone who drives a black Cherokee with black rims?” I asked.
Katie’s fingers flew over her keyboard, running a search on the car and plate.
“No, nothing comes to mind.”
I paced around the kitchen. “You came to me because you were being blackmailed. A few days later, the girl who came to your office was murdered and dumped at your feet.” I tapped on the table. “Message killing.”
“Message? Jesus, Johnny.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t understand…message about what? The blackmail?”
“No idea, but don’t think the blackmail is over. You tell anyone else about this?”
“No, I swear.”
“You could be mixed up with some real nasty people. You are a public figure. You have money—they know it—and now you made yourself vulnerable. Maybe someone knew about the girl approaching you and decided to double down on the blackmail.”
“How so?”
“They remove her from the equation and then come at you for more money. Set you up for murder unless you pay.”
“Damn, Johnny. I didn’t do anything.”
“You did when you hired escorts. You inserted yourself into the world of prostitutes, drug dealers, thugs, and gangsters. Where do you think those girls come from? Huh? Strip clubs. Massive amounts of drugs go through those places. Those girls are all hooked. High on money and drugs. They make a lot dancing, quickly learn how much more they can make by turning tricks. Then the hot ones figure out they can make even more as a high-end escort. More money, better drugs.”
“Dee Dee doesn’t do drugs.”
“Stan, the point is, these are desperate, heartless people who will do anything. They dumped a dead girl in the middle of a crowded street, for God’s sake. All they care about is money.”
“I got something,” Katie said.
I sat at the table and she turned her computer to me.
“Anthony DeRenzo. Sound familiar?” I asked.
“DeRenzo?” The blood drained from Stan’s face. “That’s Dee Dee’s real last name.”
“Stan—” Katie and I glared at him.
“Sorry.”
“We’ll address that later. There was a black Jeep Cherokee in the alley just now. Registered to an Anthony DeRenzo. Did Dee Dee ever talk about an Anthony?”
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“No. Never. I don’t understand.”
“Ever mention a brother? Cousin?”
“No.”
“I got a birthdate. He is forty-two,” Katie said.
Stan raised his hands and shrugged.
“You need to stay home until we figure this out. No events, no going out for dinners, nothing. Stay out of the public eye,” I said.
“I can’t do that. My agent books my appearances. What would I say? In fact, I’m shooting a promo spot at the dealership in an hour.”
“Can you come back here after the shoot?”
“Nikki and I are going to a fundraiser tonight for the hospital. How about I drop her off at the house after and then come back?”
“No, on second thought, go straight home after your event. And stay there. Call me first thing in the morning.”
“You’re the boss.” He took a deep breath. “Please tell me you’ll figure this out.”
“We will, but you need to do what I say. Is there anything else you’re not telling us?”
“No. I promise.” He got up from the table and stood before Katie. “I was sincere in my apology, and I want you to know you are way more attractive than any of the hookers I’ve hired. You could make a fortune as an escort.”
I couldn’t blame her if she had lashed out with a kick to his groin. Instead, a small half-smile sort of leaked across her face. She nodded and went back to the computer.
He walked out.
She kept her focus on the laptop. “I dare you to say one word.”
9
“You won’t believe it.” Katie yanked me from behind the bar and pulled me to the back booth. She opened her computer. “Anthony DeRenzo’s car and Entertainment Ventures use the same address.”
“Well, what do you know?”
“Also, he has two priors for possession with intent to distribute.”
“He sounds like an upstanding citizen. I say we put eyeballs on the place. Meet you at my car in ten.”
###
Entertainment Ventures, LLC, was located in an old business park on the west side of Port City called, the Commons. The complex was made up of one-story cinder block buildings, each having six separate businesses. The units had an office entrance in the front and a loading area in the back. Entertainment Ventures was in the first six-unit structure, sandwiched between Gary’s Auto Body and Amazing Graphics, a T-shirt design shop. We circled around the rear of the building and only the body shop had their large roll-up door open.
