by S. D. Thames
The elevator opened to a musty corridor with gray carpet and outdated red paneling. To my left, an accounting firm appeared to have a large spread taking up half the floor. That meant VLP and four other tenants shared the other half. I went right and entered a maze of hallways. Most of the offices had placards naming the business next to a wooden door. VLP Industries was tucked in the far corner. I almost passed it up. I turned the door handle. It was locked.
I placed my ear to the door and barely heard voices. I knocked. After a moment, I listened again. The voices might have been talk radio. Maybe someone left the radio on before leaving. I knocked louder and shouted, “Porter here, open up,” with the authority of the police. I heard the radio die. Then feet.
The door was pushed open by a small brunette. Her lipstick was smudged, and it looked like she’d just done a quick job of tucking her cream silk blouse into her tight tan skirt. “Can I help you?” she asked, apparently catching her breath.
“I’m here to see Mr. Pilka.”
“He’s not here.” I sensed she was annoyed because I’d interrupted something. “Can I get him a message?”
The door was open enough that I didn’t have to force myself in. She didn’t put up any resistance, either. The office looked like a movie set—a space that was trying to look like an office even though not much work was done there. “Milo Porter. I’m working for him.”
Her eyes squinted. She knew the name, maybe knew I wasn’t supposed to be there right now. “I told him Mr. Pilka wasn’t here.”
“You told who that?”
“The lawyer. He called and said you might be stopping by.”
I was about to apologize for interrupting whatever I’d interrupted, when I saw a man’s head peek around a corner down the hallway. I’d barely made eye contact before he retracted his head like something on Animal Planet. I caught a quick glimpse of a thin mustache that looked too dark for his sandy blond hair.
“Excuse me, but didn’t I just see Mr. Pilka back there?”
“That’s not Mr. Pilka.”
“Then who is it?”
“Hello there.” The voice was smooth and low. He reappeared, straightening the pleat of his silky tan slacks. He wore a shirt and tie of dueling shades of blue, and the shirt was the shade and kind of material that highlighted perspiration. Though he was drenched in sweat, he wore a nice professional smile that grew when he reached for my hand. “I work with Mr. Pilka. I’m Don Alexi.”
I returned the shake—maybe firmer than I intended. Regardless, it got his attention. I told him my name. “I was hoping to talk to Mr. Pilka. I thought you might be him.”
He laughed heartily. “You obviously haven’t met Vinnie Pilka. I just work for him.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard your name a lot the last few days.”
His grin turned soured. “What do you want with Mr. Pilka anyway?” He sounded more concerned with what I wanted with him.
I couldn’t wait to see his reaction to my answer: “I need to talk to him about Chad Scalzo.”
He shot the brunette a furtive glance, and then smiled to me again. “Come back to my office.”
I followed him to his office. The brunette followed us too and offered coffee or tea. Having passed the break room, which looked like it was due for its monthly cleaning, I declined.
“I’m fine too, Charlene,” Alexi added. “But why don’t you stick around a while. I might need you to send that fax out.”
She gave him a blank look, as though she didn’t know how to use the fax machine, but then she seemed to get it after he gave her a few assuring nods. “Yes, of course,” she said and scooted away.
He eased into a sleek black chair and gestured for me to take my seat. Then he stretched his fingers into an odd fist and smiled, a smile that wanted to be in control of the situation.
“Sorry if I interrupted. You must be a very busy man.”
He nodded and grinned proudly.
“So what do you do here?”
“I’m CTO and COO for VLP Industries.” He pointed to his office like Vanna White showing off a grand prize showcase. Alexi’s office did look like a place where work was done. The far wall was lined with computers and servers. The room was surprisingly neat and organized, with the exception of a section of his desk where papers were scattered. And even that had a pattern to it, one suggesting that he and the brunette had just made a mess there while engaging in extracurricular activities.
“CTO. Chief—” I stumbled.
“Technical Officer,” he finished for me.
I was out for redemption. “And Chief Operating Officer.” That was easier.
He nodded. “That’s right. I’m a jack of all trades.”
“Actually, I meant what exactly does VLP do?”
“No offense, but I find it hard to believe Wilcox would hire a dick who doesn’t know Vinnie Pilka’s business.”
“Who said Wilcox hired me?”
“I heard Charlene say Mattie called about you.”
I shrugged. “I know Mr. Pilka is a purveyor of adult entertainment. I know he owns numerous strip clubs and adult theaters around town.”
He nodded. “Among other things.”
“So what’s VLP’s role in it?”
“VLP is it. He does all his business through this company.”
“And how do you fit in?”
“I oversee hiring, firing, security, and surveillance across the board at all his establishments.”
I scanned the equipment in the office. “And you do that all from here?”
He ginned again. “Let’s just say I have eyes everywhere.”
I scanned a few of the photographs behind him. It looked like he was married, but no signs of kids. The woman I figured was his wife had blonde hair in the picture. It looked like their honeymoon, on a beach in Cancun or some such place I’d never been to. “So what do you know about the lawsuit?”
“Honestly, probably a lot more than Vinnie does.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded proudly. “Vinnie doesn’t worry himself about things like lawsuits. He trusts me to take care of them.”
“And what’s take care of it mean with this one?”
“Like everything we do, we’re going to make a lot of money.”
“You’re that confident?”
He smirked. “Wilcox has his marching orders.”
I took another look at the computers against the far wall. Some of it resembled the equipment I’d seen in Scalzo’s condo. I’d made it a point not to mention Scalzo yet, and it felt like Alexi was getting antsy about that.
“So what else do you want to know?” he asked.
Scalzo could wait. “How long have you worked with Mr. Pilka?”
“Five years.” He sighed and leaned back in his ergonomic chair. “Did you say you had some questions about Chad Scalzo?”
“Now that you mention him, how did Scalzo fit in here?”
“That piece of shit? He didn’t fit in. He was a pain in my ass from Day One. I never had any idea what Pilka saw in the guy.”
“Any idea how they met?”
Don looked jittery, like he wanted a smoke. “I think he approached Vinnie a few years ago with a business model.”
I waited for elaboration, but he wasn’t offering any. “What was that?”
He bobbled his head, trying to articulate the right response. “I guess you could say private entertainment.”
“Like private escort entertainment?”
“There are more escorts in Tampa than lightning storms. I got to hand it to Chad, though. He did have a decent idea. A way to reach guys who wanted the escort experience but couldn’t get away, didn’t want to get a room.”
“So these would be local guys?”
“For the most part. But it got so good, even out-of-towners would opt for this experience over calling a girl over to their hotel.”
“Why was that?”
Don shrugged. “I really never knew the specifics. This
was like a side project. Vinnie gave Scalzo a lot of leeway in running it.”
“So what happens to Scalzo’s line now? You going to be running that?”
He shrugged again. “That remains to be seen.”
“And you weren’t involved in security and hiring for this line?”
“Security, some. Hiring, not so much. Unless it was cross-selling.”
“What’s that?”
“So we have a few lines of business. Scalzo’s experience turned pretty lucrative. It appealed to some of the stage girls. They’d want to give it a try. But they worked for me. Had to go through me.”
I nodded and waited. I didn’t want to rush this one. “You ever have a brunette work for you, went by the name Angie?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She has a heart with the word ‘love’ tattooed on her hip.”
Something flashed in his eyes. “You mean Evie?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. When I met her at Scalzo’s, she said her name was Angie.”
He shook his head. “Her name, her stage name, was Eve, and we called her Evie.” The proud smile returned. “I found her a few years ago. She started dancing for me when she was eighteen. She’s a prime example of the cross-selling I mentioned. She got in good with Scalzo. Then she was too good for me.”
“So Scalzo stole her from you?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
“What about the brunette out there? You recruit her, too?”
He stood up to say my time was coming to an end. “Charlene? She’s a peach, eh? Yeah, you could say she’s risen through the ranks here.” He handed me his card. “Give me a call if you have any more questions.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s time to send that fax.” I stood and got a glance behind his desk. There was a Fed Ex box leaning against the wall; a gun barrel a dark shade of charcoal with what appeared to be a familiar black sheen protruded from the box. “That what I think it is?” I asked.
“Oh, check this out.” He bent over and picked up the Fed Ex box. He opened it and pulled out a black frame. “You know what this is?”
“Looks like a frame to a gun. A Fleming automatic, if I had to guess.”
“You’re good. Were you in the service?”
I nodded. “But we never used those. What about you?”
He shook his head. “I just collect these things. This here is a class three fully automatic.”
“Seems like an expensive hobby. What’s that gun worth, twenty grand?”
“Try at least thirty. I don’t see it as a hobby. I invest in these. I have no doubt I won’t be able to sell any of these by the time Obama leaves office, so I’m looking to unload some of my stock. I’ve got some beautiful handguns, too, if you know anyone in the market.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
He nodded and extended his hand across the desk. I returned an obligatory shake. “Good luck selling your guns.”
He nodded thanks. “Yeah, let me know if you know anyone in the market.”
I thought of the one person I knew who collected guns, and it made me think of one more question. “Actually, you wouldn’t happen to know a guy named Sal Barton would you?”
He shook his head with his best poker face. “Can’t say that I do. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Just curious.”
Back in the lobby, Charlene was trying to act busy on the computer but had her cell phone pressed against her ear. “Do you need anything before you go, Mr. Porter?”
Something about shaking Alexi’s hand made me reach for the squirt bottle of hand sanitizer on her desk. “Do you mind?” I asked as I reached for it.
She raised it for me and pumped it a few times. “I know the feeling,” she said.
I rubbed the gel across my hands. “There are a lot of jobs out there.”
“Not that pay like this. I’m just getting myself through school.”
I waited for the shame to pass from her face. “There was just one thing. Don said you could get me the contact information for an investigator he recommended I talk to. I think his name was Sal Barton. Do you know him?”
She smiled. “Of course, one minute.” She typed on the computer and nodded. “There it is. Would you like me to write it down for you?”
I glanced at the screen and made sure it was my Sal. Sure enough, right there in the company’s contacts. “No thanks. That’s all I need to know.”
She gave me a vague smile. “You must have a good memory.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
The rush hour traffic on I-275 North was trudging along like a colony of ants in a molasses jar. I wanted to give Mattie an update and follow up with Kara, but I wasn’t going to get far with this investigation without a new phone. I had about an hour to kill before I was supposed to be at Rico’s gym, so I got off on Dale Mabry and headed south a few blocks to the AT&T store. As I neared the parking lot, I feared that a new iPhone might have been released over the weekend, and the line to get in the place would be wrapped around the building. I was relieved to see there were a few open spaces in the parking lot.
I signed in and waited. I kept going back to my conversation with Don Alexi. He was the kind of character you couldn’t truly appreciate until you’ve had a while to reflect on him. I wondered why he’d lied about Sal Barton. It could be that he lied simply because he’s a liar. Liars sometimes do that because it’s in their nature; they don’t need any particular motive other than fear of knowing why the person they’re lying to wants to know the truth. I’d like to hear what Mattie had to say about Alexi, too. Ditto for Kara. I had so many questions for her that I hoped I’d work on them in my dreams that night.
It took about five minutes before a sweetheart named Nikki was shaking my hand and showing me the latest model. I usually don’t go for the latest release; I’m more of a last-year’s model kind of guy. Still, I couldn’t pass on the iPhone 6, especially since Mattie was paying for the deductible. I welcomed its size, because I have hands like a lumberjack’s. I did pass on the 6 plus, as I had no interest in holding a mini tablet to my ear. I liked the 6 enough to agree to the increase in my bill. Nikki confirmed that I had insurance on my last phone, but I still had to pay a hundred-dollar deductible.
Hector would have liked Nikki, because she showed me the same hard case he was always pushing on me. I declined. I figure if I’m going to pay insurance, then what do I care if the phone gets shattered again?
It was almost 6:30 by the time my new phone was activated and I was heading north on Dale Mabry again. I made a pit stop to pick up a pita wrap with grilled chicken, hummus, feta, and rice. Then I called Mattie once I was back in the car.
“I met your boy Don Alexi today.”
“Why’d you go by there, anyway?” Mattie sounded tired.
“What can I say? I like spontaneity. Besides, it was very informative.”
“How so?”
“Did you know Alexi’s an arms dealer?”
“I did not. Did he confess to shooting Scalzo?”
“Hardly, though he didn’t hide his disdain for the guy.”
I heard Mattie cover the phone and scream for Kara. Then back to me: “Doesn’t sound like he has anything to hide, then.”
Other than that he knows Sal Barton, I thought, but saw no reason to mention that to Mattie just yet. “I guess not.”
“Great,” Mattie said. “Oh, hey, I’m getting another call.”
“I’ll let you go.”
“No, I need to talk to you about something else. Just hold on.”
Mattie put me on hold. The traffic was finally moving again, and it wouldn’t be long before I reached the exit for Hillsborough Avenue that would take me to Rico’s.
I was about to hang up when the line clicked.
“Porter? You’re not going to believe this.” Mattie sounded like a different person now, his voice thin and hoarse.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“C
onnie Barton. Sal’s wife.”
“What’d she want?”
He took a deferential pause—too deferential for the likes of Mattie Wilcox. “It’s Sal.”
I gripped the steering wheel tight enough to bend it. “What about him?”
Then he laid the bomb on me. “Sal’s dead.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rico's House of Pain
“What do you mean, Sal’s dead?” I realized that I’d come to a full stop on the interstate.
“That’s what she said,” Mattie said dully. He sounded more exhausted than indifferent.
“How? When did this happen?”
“I don’t know, Porter, she was hysterical. She said something about him hanging himself.”
“What?” Horns from passing cars blared around me. I flipped on the hazard flashers and pulled onto the shoulder.
“Listen, man, that’s all I know,” Mattie replied.
I could imagine Sal Barton doing a lot of things, but hanging himself wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t even imagine a rope strong enough to do the job. “Do you know where she called you from?”
“Milo, I told you all I know.”
“You know, I just asked Don Alexi if he knew Sal.”
That put some heat back into Mattie’s voice. “Why the hell’d you do that?”
“I wanted to know about Sal’s conflict of interest. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Are you serious? His conflict of interest was that he was scared of Scalzo!”
“I don’t think so. Sal wasn’t scared of anyone, much less that little punk.”
“Then I guess you’re going to have a busy day tomorrow.”
I sighed. “I guess so.”
“By the way, you can find Pilka at the club tomorrow morning.”
“The club?”
