BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  “And then some,” I said.

  Alisa ignored our idle chatter and continued the questions. “How did it end with Benjamin?”

  Pinching the corners of her eyes, she shook her head. “It’s embarrassing as hell, but I lost my pride a while back.”

  “So…” Alisa gestured with her hand, an impatient glare on her face.

  Des huffed, arched her neck while rubbing it. “I threw myself at Benjamin. That’s right. I went to the bathroom and came out naked as a newborn.”

  “We all have our moments,” Alisa said. “I guess the two of you aren’t madly in love?”

  “Hardly. I groped and pawed at him, but he still didn’t respond. I even put my boobs in his face, practically suffocating him. Geez, I’m a piece of work.” She paused, took another sip of water. “I would have thought he was gay if he hadn’t been calling and texting Natalie while he kept drinking his scotch.”

  “Did she ever respond?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. He kept ranting and raving over her lack of appreciation for his affection. Said he could have any girl. Said he could pay for any girl, but Natalie ignored him.”

  “Did you see Natalie again that night?”

  “I passed out in Benjamin’s condo. I woke up on the couch coiled up in a blanket.”

  “Had you been…?” Alisa asked.

  “Hell no. I couldn’t have gotten laid if I had handcuffs and a thousand bucks. All I got out of the deal was one hell of a hangover that next day.”

  “But not so bad where you didn’t recall what happened?”

  “I remember all my embarrassing, forgettable moments. Every last one of them.”

  “Did you speak with Natalie again on the trip?” I asked. I already knew our next step on this investigation.

  “We actually sat next to each other on the plane ride home. She complained that we weren’t flying first class.” Des chuckled. “Typical Natalie. We had a semi-normal conversation for a change. I was even getting ready to tell her about my failed bit with Benjamin. I thought she’d get a good laugh, and allow me to not feel so self-conscious about it.”

  Alisa shook her head, while she picked up and organized the mound of loose papers Bree had handed us earlier. “Let me guess. Natalie didn’t want to hear about your life. I can just see her now, babbling about some shit that sounds really important, like it’s the end of the world.”

  “I guess you know your sister.”

  “Boy, do I. When I see her again, I’m going to…” Her voice faded, as she brought a closed hand to her mouth.

  Leaning over, I squeezed her shoulder. “It’s okay, Alisa. We’ll find her so you can give her a piece of your mind.”

  She nodded and took in a breath, which appeared to fortify her spirit and focus.

  I got up and reached over to shake Des’ hand. “We really appreciate you opening up. If you think of anything else, please call us. You have our card there.”

  Des held it up. “Will do.” She reached over to shake Alisa’s hand, but my partner didn’t notice. Her eyes were pouring over the updated client list that Bree had printed off.

  Des shrugged and exited the room.

  “Interesting. Not sure what to make of it though,” Alisa said.

  I sidled up next to her, looked over her shoulder. “Whatcha got?”

  “I guarantee you this name was not on the last client list they gave us.” She popped the paper with one finger.

  “Who?”

  “Zahi Kareem.”

  14

  A jet engine screamed overhead as Alisa and I trudged along in my Silver Streak, moving at a brisk pace of about five miles per hour.

  “Damn, that seems awfully low. Sure that’s not going to crash before it reaches the airport?” She coiled her neck as she watched the blue and red jet fade into the haze of the low sun, a thin film of orange smog lining the horizon.

  “Not so far,” I said, catching a flying earbud in my right hand, slightly annoyed Alisa had forgotten we were essentially chained together.

  We’d been sharing a pair of earbuds since we pulled out of Alisa’s apartment complex thirty minutes earlier. The other end was plugged into my phone sitting in the cup holder between us. We were listening to music, a soothing soprano sax that could have put me to sleep if I wasn’t so irritated by being placed on hold for almost ten minutes.

  “Did Zahi’s admin forget we’re on the line?”

  “She did the exact same thing when I called the other day to try to locate her boss,” Alisa said, scrunching her eyes from the piercing sun. She flipped down the visor, but realized she wasn’t quite tall enough to gain the benefit. She cupped her hand under a flock of hair and turned to face me, still squinting from the unrelenting rays.

  A tow truck plowed into our lane, nearly clipping the Saab’s front left panel.

  I punched the horn. “Asshole.”

  “You sure you’re on mute?” Alisa asked, her hand still shading her eyes.

  Raising an eyebrow, I pressed the button on the cord dangling in front of my chest.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Frickin’ Dallas traffic. Can’t get anywhere fast, at least not during drive time.”

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, for the first time in a while, I thought about the luxury of being a cop, flipping on the lights and sirens, and watching the cars part like the Red Sea. The smooth jazz music playing in my ear helped calm my nerves.

  “How long until our flight takes off?” I asked as we drove by the old site of Texas Stadium, the former home of the Cowboys and now just an empty swath of dirt surrounded by intersecting highways. We were headed west on Highway 114, the Bush Turnpike off in the distance.

  “It takes off in ninety minutes. But you know what they say about getting through security.”

  Alisa had booked the last flight of the evening, a straight shot from DFW International Airport to Miami, to confront Benjamin Luna. She’d insisted on going, even though we considered splitting up, her taking the lead with Zahi while I dealt with the man who’d been characterized as obsessed with Natalie. How far did he take it with her? We knew he’d called her twenty-seven times since the Miami shoot. I didn’t trust a phone call or Skype or any other method of digital communication with Luna. I didn’t know him, so I didn’t trust him. I had to meet him face-to-face to get a better feel for what he was all about.

  Zahi, on the other hand, was a bit of an enigma. When we had our discussion at the charity gala two nights prior, his effusive nature came across as cocky and self-serving, except when he spoke about Natalie. He was either a damn good actor or genuinely cared about Alisa’s sister who was twenty years his junior. I said the number again to myself—twenty.

  “Hi, sorry to keep you holding, Mr. Booker.”

  I glanced at Alisa and mouthed, “She lives,” then hit the mute button again to turn it off.

  “That’s okay. I’m just stuck in traffic. By the way, Booker is my first name.”

  “Right. Mr. Kareem is still stuck in that meeting. Let me take down your number, and he’ll call you at his earliest opening.”

  I figured his earliest opening would fall in between next year and next decade.

  “Not good enough. I need to speak to him now.”

  “No need to be so direct,” she said. “You can be as rude as you like. That won’t free him up any faster. Like I said, he’ll call you—”

  “Please tell Zahi that if he’s not on this line in two minutes that I’m calling my friend, the assistant DA, and he’ll have Zahi picked up for questioning in the disappearance of Natalie Lopes in two hours.”

  “Please hold.”

  Alisa popped an eyebrow. “I like your style.”

  “The fact that Henry’s in Hawaii eluded my memory.”

  “Wonder how he and Cindy are meshing together?” Alisa said.

  “Not something I want to think about or visualize.”

  “Booker, come on.”

  “Just being hones
t. Maybe I’ll get there, but I’m not there yet.”

  A shuffling sound on the line just as the traffic opened up. I switched to second gear and the Silver Streak surged ahead.

  “Zahi Kareem.” He couldn’t have sounded less gregarious, the opposite of the other night when he was the center of the show.

  “Hi, Zahi. Booker.”

  “Yes, I know, Mr. Adams. You strong-armed my admin to get me on the phone. I’m here, so what can I do for you?”

  “You never told me you were a client of Natalie’s employer.”

  A Corvette to my right honked, then gunned it to juke its way into my lane.

  “Zahi?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Sorry, I was distracted by one of my employees sending me an instant message. I’m a very busy man, Booker. The time I spend with you is worth tens of thousands of dollars. That’s right, more than you make in a year.”

  I chuckled. “Are you in the eighth grade? You just love swinging your dick around, don’t you?”

  “I don’t understand your crass American street jargon.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “It’s a simple answer. We had some marketing brochures made, and my marketing director used PPI for the talent.”

  Alisa twisted her lips. We both were thinking the same thing. His reasoning sounded plausible. But why didn’t his name show up on the previous client list? We’d have to quiz Bree, or better yet, Tiara at PPI to get that answer.

  I pondered pushing Zahi further, but there was only so much I could do over a phone line. And I needed more information. I could feel a prickle at the base of my skull. I couldn’t help but think there was more to Zahi’s affiliation with PPI beyond marketing brochures, something that crossed into his relationship with Natalie.

  I told him we’d be in touch, and I cut off the line, then focused on maneuvering through traffic to reach the south end of DFW airport with just forty minutes until our flight was scheduled to leave.

  <><><>

  “Got any more peanut butter crackers?” Alisa asked, her voice crackling like a fire.

  “Those are the first words you’ve spoken in the last two hours, as long as we don’t count the grunts,” I said, closing my eyes for a moment. A gust of wind brushed across my face. I could smell salt in the air.

  “I’m grumpy. Don’t push me, Booker.” She took a sip of her venti mocha with whipped cream and nudged her shoulder against mine as we both gazed across white caps that disappeared into a mystical blue ocean.

  Orange rays of a morning sun peeking through a bank of silver-lined clouds shimmered off the saltwater, as miniature waves lapped against the Miami Beach shoreline.

  “Damn, this is the life.” I splayed my long legs off a park bench facing the ocean, my Doc Marten heels four inches deep in fluffy, white sand.

  “Fuckin’ A.” My partner snorted as soon as the words left her full lips. “When I get no sleep, I can get slap happy and crude.”

  I chuckled, then sipped my own venti coffee with extra sugar. Twelve hours earlier, we’d hustled into the terminal to check in, only to learn that the incoming flight had been delayed due to bad weather in Houston. I spent my first hour of airport captivity saying good night to Samantha. What is normally a five-minute call morphed into an endless array of questions, covering topics from the planets in our solar system to the motivations of people to eat a vegetarian diet.

  She finished our conversation by asking a doozy. “Daddy, chickens come from eggs, right?”

  “Yes, Samantha.”

  “But people don’t come from eggs. They come from mommies.”

  “Right again, Samantha. You’re learning a lot.”

  “But how do we get inside mommies? Can you tell me that? Because if I’m going to be a mommy someday I need to know this stuff.”

  I could practically see the spit flying on her last word. “Uh, it’s pretty complicated. But you don’t need to worry. You’ll be taught all of that when you get older.”

  “When I’m seven?”

  I wanted to say thirty-seven. “Much older than that, Samantha.”

  She kissed into the phone, and we hung up.

  Two hours later, our incoming flight landed and pulled up to the gate, and unexpectedly, the crew walked off the plane. An announcement followed from a woman standing about ten feet from me holding a black phone. “We’re sorry to inform you that because of the delay, by regulations of the FAA, the current crew has worked the maximum number of hours allowed in a day and is no longer legally able to fly to Miami. A backup crew has been called in. We apologize for the delay.”

  She then hung up the phone, picked up her purse and a bottle of Izzy, and walked off, leaving the station unattended. The flight didn’t take off until almost one thirty in the morning. Alisa had drifted off to sleep in the middle of the flight, leaning on my shoulder. She’d probably deny her elongated nap if I asked—if for no other reason she wasn’t about to admit she couldn’t push through a sleepless night to keep up with me. But I had the wet patch of her drool on the shoulder of my Hugo Boss shirt to prove it.

  Once we landed, we bypassed the hotel Alisa had previously reserved and headed east, taking Highway 112 across the bay to Miami Beach. We made two stops in our generic blue Camry: a gas station so Alisa could get her peanut butter fix, and once they opened, another generic American icon, Starbuck’s.

  The jolt of caffeine was doing its thing, and I could feel my mental engine coming to life. I glanced at my phone. Ten after eight. I elbowed Alisa, and we both took final swigs of our coffees, then dumped them in the nearby trashcan. As we traipsed across sand to the rear entrance of the glass office building that housed Cool Breeze Marketing Concepts, I offered a gentle reminder.

  “We’re both tired, which means our fuses are short. We’ve got to maintain our cool with Luna.”

  “I get it. I’ll be a good girl.”

  “I said it to remind myself as much as you. Coffee might have given me some energy, but it’s synthetic energy. This Luna guy says the wrong thing and I might…well, now I’ll just chew a hole in my mouth.”

  After a brief stop in the ground-level restrooms since we both looked like we’d spent a homeless night on an outdoor bench, we took the elevator up to the eighth floor.

  “Look,” I said as we strolled through double doors with etched waves on the tinted glass, “it’s Bree’s Miami twin.”

  The same white-blond straight hair, a prominent pair of eyelash extensions, and even an angel tattoo—although this one was drawn on her chest, perfectly symmetrical with wings arching across her bulging breasts. I assumed she did that just for the 3-D effect. It worked.

  I found her nameplate with some type of faux diamonds and glitter attached.

  Ashley turned out to be quite accommodating. Acknowledging our long night of travel, she offered us a tray of fresh fruit and juice. I took her up on her offer, attempting to infuse my body with slightly more natural means. I might have said that we worked for PPI as the new account team assigned to Cool Breeze, and had some new ideas to run by Mr. Luna.

  We were escorted into his ocean view office in ten minutes.

  Luna, wearing an aqua silk suit with a cream-colored shirt, was perched behind two screens at a glass and chrome two-tiered desk. He was standing, an arm folded across his chest, his free hand scratching what looked like perpetual three-day-old stubble as he glared at the screen and chewed on a toothpick. I could hear the sandpaper scratch thirty feet away.

  I shifted my glass of tomato juice to my left hand and shook Luna’s hand. It was rigid, and he held it for an extra second, as he finally looked me in the eye. I think he saw this as a power move, like a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory.

  “Booker Adams. And you must be Alisa Lopes.” Luna paused and kept his gaze on Alisa.

  If I didn’t know better, it appeared he was sending signals that she was on his sex radar screen.

  “Your name sounds a bit familiar.” He extended a h
and toward a pair of white leather and chrome chairs. I noticed the Cool Breeze logo etched in the back just before I sat down. He did the same in a chair twice as plush as our chairs, his arms draped on the sides. He was probably pushing five nine, so it wasn’t surprising to see the high-back chair extend another two feet above his head.

  A quick image of Al Pacino, a.k.a. Tony Montana, zipped through my mind from the movie Scarface.

  “It’s nice to see such great customer service from PPI. I’m a face-to-face guy, so this means something. But I would have thought you would call first to set something up, to give us more time.” With his elbows anchored on the arms of the chair, he popped the ends of his fingers together, his creased eyes holding their gaze at Alisa as he spoke. “Frankly, I’m not even sure why you’d fly all the way here. Unless you just wanted a good excuse to take in all of this.”

  Swiveling his chair, he turned to face floor-to-ceiling windows, his arms spread apart as if showing off his own personal toy. The ocean view was mesmerizing, especially with the beams of sun piercing through cloud pockets.

  “You can’t beat the view.” I crossed my legs and cupped my knee with both hands, stretching my right hip. It seemed like my body was still waking up.

  He completed a full loop in his chair, then returned to tapping his fingers.

  “It isn’t just your name. I could swear we’ve met,” Luna said, staring at my partner.

  Alisa played coy, grinning like a compliant female sidekick while curling a lock of curls around her ear. In reality, she wanted to leap across the desk and pound the shit out of Miami Vice until he spilled everything he knew about Natalie.

  “Benjamin. I can call you Benjamin?” I asked.

  He dipped his head slightly. “It’s all cashz around here.”

  “Good, Benjamin. I think Ashley slightly misunderstood the purpose of our visit.”

  “Yeah? Stupid bimbo. So, why else would PPI fly overnight to meet with me?”

  His right eye twitched slightly, and he continued popping his fingertips. I wasn’t sure which was the nervous habit.