Gray Area
Page 7
“Marianne, hardly at all,” Linda said. “A few words in the lounge, that’s it. She was real estate, I’m contracts and litigation. Not much cross-over there. She seemed quiet, polite. And beautiful … in a Victorian kind of way. Not the kind to screw on library tables. Then again, I’m a poor judge of character sometimes. And people can surprise you now and then.”
“Linda,” Marshall sighed.
“As for Jason,” Linda pushed on, flatly ignoring Marshall’s patronizing tone, “well, how can I put this delicately?” She paused, looking out at the aqua perfection of the Pacific. “We—”
“Yes?” Diamond nudged.
“—fucked a lot,” Linda finished. She shrugged a little girl shrug. Turner cleared his throat and glanced at Lou. Marshall again tried to sound like Big Daddy.
“Very elegant, Linda,” he said dryly.
“Could you be more specific?” Lou was not in the mood to be indulgent.
“We fucked often,” Linda said. “Everywhere, whenever we could. Enthusiastically. Jason was a walking hard-on.”
Marshall stood and stared out at the ocean. Lou shared his brother’s irritation; Linda was being deliberately outrageous.
“How long had you and Mr. Randall been together?” Lou asked.
“We were involved for two months. I ended it about six weeks ago.”
“He didn’t waste time finding a new girlfriend.”
“He did not.”
“Why did you end the affair?”
“Because he liked to fuck everything with a heartbeat,” Linda replied undramatically. “And I tend to be proprietary. Not to mention paranoid when it comes to sex. Dangerous business, these days. Fucking, that is.” She smiled at Lou now, and leaned forward in her lounge chair. “Don’t you agree, Inspector?”
Marshall turned around now, his patience at an end. “Do you have to be so crude, Linda?”
“I’m being direct,” Linda fired back at him. “You used to admire that about me.” She looked from Marshall, to Turner, then finally back at Lou, anger flashing in her brilliant green eyes. “I like to cut through bullshit. It invariably saves money and it always saves time.”
“Cutting through the bullshit,” Lou said in a low, direct voice, “you’ve just given us a justifiable motive for murder.”
“That being?” Linda challenged.
“Theoretically, you could have killed Ms. Simpson and Mr. Randall out of a jealous rage.”
“The same theory could apply to Marianne’s husband. Anyway, I dumped Jason, he didn’t dump me. And I don’t get jealous. Besides, I told you I was here last night.”
“Alone,” Lou reminded her. “That’s a lousy alibi, Linda.”
“It’s the truth,” she shrugged. “Besides, there were a few other folks inside and outside the company who had better reasons to whack Jason than myself.”
“You’re of course referring again to Mrs. Simpson’s husband,” Turner jumped in.
She gave a slight nod his way, but somehow Diamond didn’t think Linda had given Turner the direct answer he needed. Lou’s head was pounding, his shakes had increased, and he was tired of the pissing match atmosphere that prevailed. He decided on a different tack. He glanced at his brother who still looking annoyed and uncomfortable.
“Marshall, would you advise your client that she seems unduly hostile to this entire investigation and that her flippant, noncommittal attitude towards the death of her colleagues puts her own position in a very unfavorable light.”
Marshall glanced at Linda. “That’s Lou’s way of being intimidating.”
Linda stood and wrapped the robe tighter around herself. “I’m not being hostile. I know my rights. You don’t have shit. And I think I’ve been more than patient. Again, for the record, I can’t say I’m crushed to hear Jason got whacked.”
“So you’re glad he’s dead,” Lou pushed.
“I’m a lawyer, Lou. Not a monster. What happened last night was tragic, but not surprising.”
“If he was a prick, Ms. Baylor, why fuck him?” Lou jabbed again.
Linda laughed, and he could tell there was genuine amusement there. “Oh, come on, Lou. Haven’t you ever found yourself in the position of fucking someone, almost against your will? Jason surprised me. I like to be surprised.”
A flash of the previous night, with Juanita, tormented Diamond for a few seconds before he consigned the image back to the dark abyss of recent memory.
Linda moved closer to him now, voice lowering. “Nice people generally tend to be lousy fucks, I’ve found. The really good bangs come from those individuals who have little conscience and no moral integrity. Throw in a dicey environment, and you’ve got a real party happening.”
“By that criteria, a date with an ax murderer in Disneyland is a real joy ride,” Lou said evenly.
“Are we going someplace substantive with all this?” Marshall asked.
Linda ignored Marshall and focused on Lou, smiling. “That’s very funny. But we’re digressing. What were we discussing earlier that was more germane to your investigation?”
Lou waited for just a moment.
“How you weren’t a monster.”
Her smile abruptly disappeared. “If we’re finished, gentlemen, I’d like to continue with my swim.”
“We’re done for now,” Lou said, standing. “I’m afraid they’ll be more questions, Ms. Baylor. Until this matter is concluded.”
“Again, Lou, I’ll keep an open door policy in your case,” she said, then turned her back on him and headed onto the beach. She took off her robe, her magnificent body exposed to taunt and entice. She hit the surf running, then disappeared beneath the surface.
“That is one tough lady,” Turner remarked through a whistle.
“She has her moments,” Marshall agreed.
Lou turned and walked back into the house, snarling at his brother. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Marshall?”
“I don’t understand—” Marshall stammered.
“You could have told me last night that she was screwing Randall. I knew it already—but I wanted to hear it from you, directly. Why are you protecting her?”
“I’m not,” Marshall protested. “I knew she’d tell sooner or later.”
Lou stopped dead in his tracks and stood face to face with Marshall. “No more surprises or I’m off this case.”
Marshall swallowed what looked to be a watermelon, then nodded.
Turner gave Lou a wide eyed stare that seemed to say, ‘well, that went real good,’ then followed his friend back down to the car.
Five minutes of strained silence later, Diamond looked at Turner. “Well?”
“Beats the fuck out of me, Lou,” Turner said, scratching his chin and driving at his usual as-slow-as-piss speed.
“Look, we have motive and no alibi. Yet the pole-up-her-ass attitude is almost challenging us to book her.”
“She’s a scary woman, that’s a fact,” Turner said. “But she’s right about being judgment proof. So far, anyway. Half the people you question at your brother’s firm will have alibis just like hers.”
“Half the people at the firm weren’t dicking the guy that got whacked,” Diamond said, annoyed again.
“That you know of,” Turner reminded him. “The lady did say this guy Randall was a bit of a Stick Man. Who knows where that wick was and with whom.”
Diamond had already considered that possibility. But the meeting of just minutes ago was downright, goddamned rankling. Something about Linda Baylor was really bugging him; moreover, something about his brother’s involvement in all of this didn’t smell all that poop-free either.
“What now?” Turner asked.
“The most probable hitter, according to everyone in the goddamned known universe,” Diamond sighed. “We try to find Marianne Spencer’s husband. Mind if we do a quick run by his house, just for good clean American fun?”
“He’s not there,” Turner said. “But what the hell. It’s only the first day off I�
�ve had in three months. Why not spend it working?”
TWELVE
Preston Giles lay back in the bed and yawned as techno jazz howled in the background, his living room to be precise, just two walls away. He sighed as he absently watched the two girls pleasure each other at the foot of his bed. Tanya, the closest girl to his right hand, turned and smiled at him, her mouth half open in either genuine or simulated pleasure. At $700 an hour, Giles wasn’t sure, nor did he care. She moved closer to him by a foot, and he idly fondled a breast as the other girl, a brunette (in this light, who could tell) slowly drew him in and out of her mouth, moaning as her young friend manipulated her with her tongue and a vibrator. It all got so complicated, these threesomes, Giles thought distantly. He was a precise man in general … yet there were fetishes to be indulged and today he was indulging them in earnest.
Giles was a tall man, roughly six foot one, and possessed of one of those bodies that usually graced the cover of men’s magazines. The kind that rippled with muscles and was meant to entice sand-kicked-in-your-face girlie men to purchase them with the dim hope that they, too, could look like that. Giles had worked on his physique for years, but not for the purposes of looking great on the beach.
He kept his strength because sometimes you had to have that kind of power to snap a man’s neck, or break his back … all at a moment’s notice. Part of his on-the-job requirement as a paid killer. Heck, it’s a living, he thought absently, willing himself to concentrate on the blonde’s wet mouth now consuming his cock.
Tanya and Astrid, both from Guadalupe, had charming French accents. They were lovely, Giles thought. They had told him that they were trying to break into the theater.
“Very nice,” Giles whispered to Tanya, the head-giving blonde. “Yes, very nice indeed.”
Tanya was a singer. He forgot exactly what Astrid’s claim to fame was … dancer, maybe? Yes, probably so. It didn’t really matter. They had a double trouble thing that they had marketed to discreet gentlemen of discriminating tastes, and Giles was currently enjoying the proficiency of their performance.
“You have pretty face,” Tanya had told Giles as she walked through his door half an hour earlier.
“Thank you,” Giles gave an almost courtly bow, then led both Tanya and Astrid into his bedroom. It was true—Giles was possessed of one of those faces that was almost feminine; an amalgam of beauty, sexuality and ruthlessness. It had served him well in the past. Some of his targets had been women and, before he had killed them per contract and per pre-payment, he had enjoyed romancing them for one last evening of pleasure. Giles viewed himself not as an assassin but as a civilized man who was good at his job. And it was a job, like any other … with a few exceptions. He didn’t want to dwell on those exceptions at the moment, as he smiled at both girls, doing their very best to bring in the bacon from daddy.
Neither one of the young ladies could have been more than eighteen or so. All the better. Tanya shifted from cocksucking to moaning, as Astrid expertly brought her nearer and nearer to climax. She lifted her head and looked at Giles through glazed eyes.
“Fuck me, pretty man,” she said. “Hurry, baby!”
She swiveled around on her knees and he mounted her doggie style, as Astrid moved below them and continued with her oral ministrations, transitioning to include both of them. Astrid, the faux brunette with a shaved mons, was masturbating furiously as she licked and sucked, fondling Giles’ balls as he slid in and out of Tanya. He felt the latter spasm rhythmically only a few moments later and he thrust in deeply and stayed still, savoring her orgasm as it pumped at his member. Astrid extended the contractions by pressing a vibrator against Tanya’s clitoris. He held off on coming, remaining still as she throbbed at her core. Giles then withdrew and winked at Astrid. He was still rock hard.
“In the ass,” he panted.
She smiled and cocked an eyebrow. She’d done this before.
And that’s when his cell phone rang.
He was tempted to ignore it, inasmuch as there was about to be some significant anal fun in the very near future. But his professional sense kicked in as he sighed and looked to both girls.
“Please excuse me, luvs,” he said, then reached for the phone, and flipped open the speaker.
“I hope this is pretty fucking important,” he said in a very calm voice.
“Yes, Preston, it is.”
Ah, the distinct, dulcet tones of authority and money, Giles thought, recognizing the voice of Charles LeMay.
“Wishing me a very merry Christmas, Charles? If so, thank you, but I’m busy, and may I call you later?”
“We need to talk.”
“Now?”
“If you don’t mind,” LeMay said. The phone went suddenly dead. Which did not surprise Giles at all. His former boss was not a man of gentle small talk.
Giles studied the two hard bodied island girls in his bed, the empty champagne bottles, the mirror with the dusting of power. Tanya was now tonguing Astrid and sliding her thumb into Astrid’s anus (a romantic touch, Giles thought absently), lubricating it with saliva in preparation for the next round. Astrid appeared enthusiastic about the proceedings. Giles moved toward her, wondering even as he did, what in the hell LeMay wanted him for this time.
He smiled at Astrid.
“Now … where were we?…”
Preston Giles had only one objective at this stage in life (aside from three-way fun with young hookers): retirement. He deserved it. He had fought and worked for it over the decades and, by god, it was within reach. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to be an impediment to that objective. Well, almost nothing. That ‘almost nothing’ being this last assignment which was literally forced down his throat by the Vice Chairman of Arc-Link Industries himself, Charles LeMay. LeMay had called him again half an hour earlier while Preston was still in his car.
Apparently, there was one helluva mess over at Arc-Link’s representative law firm of Berenson & Marelli, and only Giles could band-aid it to everyone’s satisfaction.
That was the party line, anyway.
Translated it meant someone else screwed up big-time, and now he was being called in to “fix things.” That’s what he did. Fixed things. He’d been doing it for Arc-Link for years. Arc-Link, a monster of an arms manufacturer contracted exclusively to the Defense Department of the United States of America, was presently obstructing any attempt on his part to purchase a motor home, look for that beachfront property he’d promised himself now for a dog’s age and, for that matter, to finish his tender ministrations with the young island girls. At least to his full satisfaction. Oh, sure, he’d charge their asses for his trouble, for his talents, for LeMay’s rude interruption, but still … this was his time.
It was the principle of the thing.
Giles had officially given notice to Arc-Link three months ago and was rewarded with a substantial pension and a modest little bonus of around four million dollars. He had performed well in those years with Arc-Link and put out a few fires that would have otherwise proved embarrassing. Like when Vice President John Tildon embezzled one point five million dollars of petty cash from Corporate in Washington D.C. and, once caught, threatened to go to the Senate Subcommittee on Defense Spending with house secrets. That was a no-no. So, John Tildon and his wife disappeared one night while traveling to their Maine summerhouse from Georgetown. Their car and their bodies were never found.
The Giles Signature of Success.
There was also the incident with Congressman Peter Glenn who had insisted on an executive order for a complete audit of all defense contractors within the United States, along with a list of off-shore clientele. Congressman Glenn was a vocal fellow and had the ear of the president—the two gents being old asshole buddies from Texas A&M a hundred years ago or so. Tragically, the Congressman was carjacked one night just outside his home in Arlington, Virginia. They found his body near the car, but they never found his head.
Good, clean, professional craftsmanship.
Well, that had been the plan ninety days ago.
But now he was being called back. For just one last assignment.
Why did he say yes? Why, again? Why not just tell the good Vice Chairman to go stuff it where the sun would never shine?
A little thing, really. One million dollars for a few days work. Okay, so call me weak, he thought. But one million willy-wonkas could pay for a new boat, the Emperor Package at Caesar’s Palace for a couple of years, and a panoply of young, red-hot smoking hookers. Not to mention a few other luxuries he couldn’t immediately think of but knew were on the list of ‘Giles Must-Haves.’ It always came down to money, and that was the truth of it. The tawdry temptation of coin.
Now, driving up from Escondido and heading for Anaheim, Preston Giles ruminated as to what was so damned important that Arc-Link would require his time and effort. The only clue he was given was that the problem had to do with Arc-Link’s legal personnel. Another embezzlement issue? No, there were other “fixers” within the inner circle that could take care of such a mundane issue. A special contract on yet another ill-behaved Arc-Link executive? Perhaps but, again, there was no reason to bring him back for something like that. Besides, LeMay would never bring Giles back for something as pedestrian as a family hit. No, this was something different. And if a million bucks was being paid for the job, then it was worth it to the company to have Giles personally involved. Personal involvement by Giles guaranteed zero failure – and Giles knew everyone knew that.
So, there it was. Big and important.
He pulled into the familiar parking lot and was ushered through by the security guard without even a blink of an eye. Few employees of Arc-Link were so easily admitted to the sacrosanct inner workings as Preston Giles. Few ex-employees either.
LeMay was waiting for him, office door wide open. Giles gave an informal wave to the Vice Chairman, who motioned him to sit down, as he nodded into the phone.