"Then you walk in, see the dead body and call the police. You and I both had motives to kill him."
"But I didn't call the police. The killer miscalculated that part."
"Yeah. But eventually we're going to be right where he wants us: in jail. Unless we can catch him before the police catch us."
Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
Rebecca said, "It could have been his wife, Kimberly. She's a trophy wife. He was 60. She's 29. But apparently even that's not young enough. He's out there screwing teenagers."
"I wonder if there was a prenup?"
"If not, I'd put her at the top of my list. Next, would come any business partners who stood to gain."
"Could have been one of those teenage girls."
"Maybe. But they had sex with him willingly. After two of his waitresses were discovered by a Hollywood agent, the word got out: get a job at Big Bill's Café Nue, and first thing you know—you'll be a star. Some girls will do anything to be famous."
"Some do it just for the money. Those waitresses make a fortune in tips. Ever been there?"
"No."
"It's three blocks from my shop."
"Good. After you do our makeovers, let's go down there and nose around."
Gabby stopped for a traffic signal. "Well, there it is. My baby. What do you think?"
It was smaller than Rebecca had imagined. The bold neon letters were spread diagonally across the entire width of the storefront: Gabby G'Blee Boutique. "Very nice, Gabby."
"It's bigger than it looks. I keep the high-priced stuff on the second floor, which is adults only—since the accident."
"Somebody got hurt?"
"No. But one of my dresses did. I don't allow food or drinks in my shop. But some girl pulled a bottle of grape soda out of her backpack."
"And spilled it on one of your dresses?"
"The very thought of it makes me cringe. It was completely destroyed. Unsalvageable."
"Well, I guess when something like that happens, you just write it off your taxes."
"Oh, Honey, they won't let me write it off. The IRS doesn't understand the value of my creations."
"What was the value?"
"The sales price was ten-thousand dollars."
"Whoa. You can get that much for a frigging dress?"
"Not a dress. A Gabby G'Blee Original."
"Then you must be loaded."
"I've only sold two at that price. Most of my designs go for under a thousand. But lately, business has really been picking up. I think I'm finally becoming known."
"Well, I've heard of Gabby G'Blee. So I guess you're right. I just didn't know it was you."
Gabby drove around to the alley. They got out of the car, and she followed him into the back of the building. He flipped on the lights and locked the door behind them.
"Can you see these lights from the front of the store?"
"Worried about the police getting suspicious? That won't be a problem. I'm always here at night. They're used to it. And they know my car."
"So, they won't bother us."
"Nope." Gabby led her to the back stairs. "We need to go up to the third floor." He began to attack the stairs, two at a time.
Rebecca followed suit. It brought back high school memories. She could almost hear Mrs. Mattison fussing at them for their enthusiastic, but illegal climbing of stairs. Right now she longed for those days— when the only laws she was breaking were in the school handbook.
They walked through a work room, past several large tables and industrial grade sewing machines, to the doorway of his office. "It's not much, but—"
"—at least it doesn't have a bloody corpse in it."
"Yeah."
Rebecca noticed the pillow and blanket on his couch. "You sleep up here?"
"Yeah. I had to give up my apartment. Couldn't make the rent."
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's not that bad. I'd do anything to keep my shop. Whatever it takes."
"Don't say that to the cops."
"Oh. Right. So, let's see..." He walked across the work room. Gabby's Originals hung all over the walls. "Oh, this would be marvelous on you."
She followed him to a pink, low-cut dress.
He took it off the wall and held it up in front of her. "Try it on."
"Oh, no, Gabby. I don't really do pink."
"Which is why this will be perfect. We need something your best friend wouldn't recognize you in," said Gabby. "Do you have a best friend?"
She hesitated. "Melanie. She's dead."
"Oh, wonderful. Don't you have any friends or family that are still breathing?"
"Just you, I guess."
"That's sad, Girl. But don't worry. I'll be like five friends."
"You always were."
"That's right. Now try it on."
"Is there a dressing room?"
He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. "Really?"
"Oh, what the hell."
She stripped down to panties and bra.
"You always did have lovely legs. And, Honey, your butt is still nice and firm. Good job."
"Will you quit looking at me?"
"It's just that I admire the human form...particularly when it's so damn perfect."
Rebecca frowned at him.
"A little over the top?"
"Yeah."
"That bra won't work. Hang on." He scurried into his office and came back with a bra in hand. "Here's what you need."
"You've got a selection of bras in your office?"
"I like bras." He grinned and shrugged.
Rebecca reluctantly unhooked her bra and took it off.
"Oh, my. You always had perky breasts. Probably from all that weight lifting and basketball."
"Stop it!" She covered herself with her hands, and turned her back to him. "All those times in high school when I let you watch me get dressed—I thought you were gay."
"Why? Because everybody else thought so? I told you I wasn't. And you said you believed me."
"I did. Sort of." She spun around. "Well, if you weren't gay...if you're not gay, then why didn't you ever make a move on me? Was I not pretty enough?"
"Not pretty enough?"
"I had zits all over my face. And because I was a tall basketball player who liked to get physical on the court, some of the kids thought I was gay too."
"I knew you weren't."
"Then why didn't you ever try to kiss me?"
"Because...I wanted to be the strong one in the relationship. And that was never going to happen with you."
"So, I never even turned you on?"
He smiled. "Oh, I didn't say that." He gave her body the once over with smiling eyes.
"Quit looking at me that way."
"Okay. I'll try to restrain myself."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No."
"Ever been married?"
"No." He hesitated. "Okay, I know how that looks. But I've been busy. How about you?"
"Have I ever been married? No. I've had a few boyfriends. In fact, I moved here to Dallas to be closer to a guy I was dating. I really thought we had something. But it didn't work out. I always seem to scare them off."
"I'm sorry, Becca."
"It's no big deal."
"Now...the ponytail has got to go. You wear it up most of the time, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Let it down. Nobody will recognize you." He went into his office and came back with a brush and a wig. He handed her the brush. "Here you go."
Rebecca took the brush. "Is that for you?"
"Yep. This is all I need." He positioned the wig on his head.
"So, you're going to be the one with the ponytail. You look like Paul Revere."
"I was going for hippie. Alright, we'll grab you a pair of shoes on the way out. They're on the first floor. You still wear a 10B, right?"
"I can't believe you remembered."
"Are you kidding? How many times did y
ou throw your smelly basketball shoes at me?"
Rebecca laughed.
"Okay. Let's go to Café Nue and do some investigating."
"You like to go there because of the sexy young waitresses."
He grinned. "Sure. As well as the food. It's exquisite. I love their chateaubriand with pommes de terre truffée and the Cabernet Sauvignon."
"I'd rather have a burger with fries and a diet Coke."
"They have that too."
As they went down the staircase, Gabby said, "I love the name of the place. Café Nue. It's French, you know. It means—"
"—I know what it means. Nude Café."
CHAPTER 5 - Monday, 11:25 p.m.
As they walked up to the entrance, Rebecca pointed to the sign on the door: By Reservation Only.
Gabby waved it off. "Don't worry. I'll handle it."
They walked into the foyer and stepped to the end of the line.
The maître d' towered over the podium as almighty judge of the mere peasants below hoping to gain entrance. Rebecca couldn't tell whether he was male or female. Male, she finally decided. And he was either standing on a platform or he was seven feet tall.
He raised his long arm, extending his index finger toward the exit. The couple at the front of the line turned around and cursed their way back out to the street.
Rebecca whispered to Gabby, "This guy's got an attitude. There's no way he's going to let us in."
Three men moved forward to await their verdict.
"Name?"
"Johnson," said one of the men. "Bill Johnson."
The maître d' searched his list. "Yes, Mr. Johnson. For three." He offered a fake smile of approval. "You may enter."
A beautiful young woman led them inside.
Gabby leaned over to Rebecca. "This is not the regular guy."
The couple in front of them were rejected out of hand—apparently due to their lack of respect. Or perhaps he didn't care for the color of their eyes.
Gabby stepped forward.
"Name?" The man was scary-tall up close.
"Gabby."
"Hmm. I don't see—"
"—it's Gabby with double B's."
The giant stared down at Gabby. "I don't think so, Honey. You're a Double A at best."
Rebecca glanced at Gabby's chest.
"Sorry," he said, looking down his nose. "There's no Gabby here."
Gabby leaned in and whispered, "Perhaps it's under G'Blee."
"G'Blee? You're Gabby G'Blee? The hot, new designer?"
Gabby smiled and put a finger to his lips—as though he wanted to stay under the radar of the paparazzi. "Yes. That's me."
The maître d' bent down and whispered, "Oh, Darling, I absolutely adore your work."
"Thanks."
He reached over and placed his hand on Gabby's shoulder. "I would give my right arm to have one of your originals. Any chance I could get you to design an evening gown for me? Something low-cut?"
"Come and see me. We'll talk."
"Wonderful. Oh, that would be scrumptious."
"What about my...reservation?"
"Oh, of course." He returned to his standing position.
"For two."
"Yes. Please enjoy yourselves. See you soon." He winked at Gabby, and nodded to the lovely young hostess waiting by the entrance. "Table twenty-one."
They followed the woman through the door into a long, dark hallway. The black walls faded to beige, curved outward, and were gone. One moment they were walking through the hallway. The next, they were several feet into the café. What a weird sensation, thought Rebecca. When she looked back, she understood. They had walked out between two enormous, but beautifully sculpted, butt cheeks.
Rebecca hadn't seen so many bare breasts since her high school locker room days. And she knew the waitresses wouldn't be completely nude. But when she saw how tiny the thongs were, she wondered how the place could be legal.
The café was larger than Rebecca had expected. More of a hall than a room. The bar, which was located at the back, in the center, was oval-shaped, topped with white marble. There was a pool at the center of the bar which was fed by a fountain. The gentle flow of water into the pool provided a soothing drone.
Nice touch, thought Rebecca. But not at all Big Bill Smotherburn's style. Then she realized the bar resembled a toilet seat. And the stream of water flowed from a large pipe hanging out over the pool which looked very much like a penis.
The hostess led them to their table and they sat down. "Please feel free to adjust the table lights to your liking. They're touch sensitive." She flicked the nipple of one of the hanging boob lights and it got brighter. "Your waitress will be with you shortly." She walked away.
Gabby smiled at Rebecca. "I told you I could get us in."
"Do you really enjoy looking at these women?"
"Well, I don't hate it."
"You're a regular horndog of a man, aren't you?"
Their waitress appeared from nowhere. "Hi. My name is Cotton Candy. May I take your order?"
Gabby said, "Two Diet Coke's. With lemon. Two steak burgers. Well done."
"Yes, Sir. I'll have you order right out. Thank you." The waitress walked away.
"You still take lemon with your Diet Coke."
"I figured you did too. Was I wrong?"
"No." Rebecca smiled. "What are the steak burgers like?"
"They're just fancy hamburgers made with Angus Beef."
"I'll bet they're expensive?"
"Twenty bucks."
"For just the burger?"
"Yep. Don't even ask how much they charge for the booze."
"And then there's the tip."
"Yep. But that's the best part. Oh, I hope I've got some cash."
"Where do you put the tip?"
"Under the thong strap."
"Men." Rebecca shook her head. "So predictable when it comes to sex."
"True."
"Grabbing a hamburger with you kind of reminds me of when we used to go to Jackie's after home games."
"Except Jackie was wearing clothes."
Rebecca winced. "Oh, great. I'll never get that image out of mind."
"What image?" Gabby grinned.
"Of Jackie walking up to our table in a thong. How old was she? Ninety?"
"At least."
Rebecca grimaced.
"You just pictured the boobs, didn't you?"
"I'm changing the subject now."
"Okay."
"This is kinda fun, Gabby. But what can we hope to accomplish here? Our waitress is not going to tell us anything."
"A guy named Joey Ketrousie runs the place for Big Bill. I hear he's from New York City. Maybe he's Mafia."
"Oh, great."
"Anyway, we'll find out if he knows what happened to Big Bill tonight. He wouldn't know yet, unless..."
"Unless he had something to do with it."
"Right."
Cotton Candy delivered their food and drinks.
"Wow, that was fast," said Rebecca.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said Cotton Candy.
Rebecca didn't appreciate being called Ma'am by the perky young thing.
After the waitress walked away, Rebecca leaned in. "How are we going to talk to Joey? I mean, where is he? And even if you find him, how are we going to ask him about Big Bill without getting ourselves killed?"
"You mean capped, right? I love that cool gangster talk."
"You won't love it so much when you're dead."
"Gabby grabbed his burger with both hands, took a big bite, and began to chew. He stopped and contorted his face.
"What?"
He jumped up from the table and yelled, "What the hell kind of crap is this?" He threw the burger on the floor.
"Oh, God." Rebecca slumped down.
Cotton Candy ran over to Gabby, followed by two other waitresses. "What's wrong, Sir?"
"How much was this so-called steak burger? Twenty bucks?"
"Yes, Sir."
Gabb
y's face turned red with rage. "Well the damn thing's not worth fifty cents. Hell, it's not worth one cent."
Cotton Candy said, "I'm so sorry, Sir. Please let me get you another one that's cooked to your liking. Now if you'll have a seat—"
"—no. Hell, no. I want to speak to the owner of this joint. Right now."
Throughout the room, half-chewed bites and half-spoken words awaited the resolution of the spectacle Gabby had created.
"Yes, Sir. Sure. Come with me."
Gabby motioned for Rebecca to come too.
They followed Cotton Candy down several hallways to an empty office in the back.
"Please have a seat. Someone will be with you in a moment."
"The owner," Gabby insisted.
But Cotton Candy had already closed the door.
Rebecca glared at him. "You're crazy. Just plain crazy."
Gabby held a finger up to his lips, indicating that they should not be talking.
Rebecca looked around for cameras, but didn't see any.
The room became dead silent. They stared at each other, not knowing what to expect.
The door flung open and two large men strode in.
"I'm Joey Ketrousie." The accent was obvious. New Jersey. "What's the problem here?"
Gabby said, "Are you the owner?"
"That's right. And I understand you had a complaint about the food."
"The hamburger tasted like leather."
"Didn't my waitress offer to get you another one?"
"Yes. But I've lost my appetite."
"I see. Well, look, here's what I can do for you. The meal's on me, okay and—"
"—what meal? I couldn't eat it."
Joey's face turned red with anger, and Rebecca thought he might rip Gabby's head off with his large, paw-like hands. But he quickly regained control. "Whatever. My associate here, Mr. Ballentini, is going to give you a nice, clean, crisp one-hundred dollar bill. Would that make you happy, Sir?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Good." He motioned for Bobby to give Gabby the money.
"Now," said Joey, "you will never ever come back here again. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, Sir. No problem," said Gabby.
"Good," said Joey.
"You did say you were the owner?" said Gabby.
"That's right."
"I thought William Smotherburn was the owner."
"I'm buying the place."
"When?"
"Hey, what's with all the questions? We're done." He motioned to Bobby. "Get them the hell out of here, Bobby."
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