by Ann Raina
“Michael had a brawl at a local bar. He drove off with two other guys, supposedly callboys. The other three looked mashed. Probably a fight about their women.”
“Did he inform you about the incident?”
“No.” Linda sank back into the soft cushion and pulled up one leg. She saw a run in her hose and cursed without words. “It was just two hours ago. Meetings with him are scarce, no wonder. I still don’t think he’s the right man on the job.”
“Do you have an appointment for the escort service?”
Linda sounded miffed. “I placed my request, sir. It takes time.”
“See that you get it soon.”
Bellard hung up without saying goodbye like she knew he would. She put down the telephone gently. Well, if Bellard wanted results, he’d get them.
Chapter 9
Lady Summerston never announced her visits to the employee’s kitchen. She liked to show up when they least expected her. She did not do it for show or to catch them fooling around. She wanted them to know she was in charge and that they all answered to her. In the beginning, she had secluded herself, thinking that any contact would ruin her reputation and give her the aura of a brothel owner. By now—and after long conversations with Patricia, who would have taken over that part gladly—she had changed her mind. She enjoyed the vigor the men displayed. Their looks, their attitudes. To know their potential and what they could do to please women. She could tell by a glance who was arrogant, proud or just self-confident. All men were hand-selected and thanks to Ms. Monroe, she was up to date concerning their well-being and behavior.
Dressed in a black two-piece that was wide enough to conceal her full body, she entered the kitchen. Ms. Monroe trailed behind on high heels, a board pressed against her stomach like a protective shield. As usual, she had put on a mask of business indifference as if the men couldn’t the least appeal to her. Lady Summerston smiled warmly when the men got up to greet her. Some of them considered it an out of time gesture to rise simultaneously when their employer paid a visit, but they all did it without question.
“Good morning, boys. Please, sit down again.” They sat. She waited until the shoving of chairs was over and they looked at her. She was proud like a mother. It was an odd feeling compared to the lust she experienced, imagining those men in a bedroom. “I just wanted to let you know that customers uttered their satisfaction about your services.”
Jason knocked on the table, Eric and Patrick exchanged high-fives, the others nodded in appreciation.
“There are by far more ladies waiting for reservations than we can handle. The waiting list is long.” She lowered her chin, a joyous sparkle in her eyes. “If you do any better with the ladies, I don’t have words left for a laudation.”
Low chuckles answered.
“Nevertheless, you know that you have to keep up the good service and—” She stopped and frowned. “Eric, what happened to your face?”
Eric squirmed on the seat and almost dropped his coffee mug. His hope that the bruise would go unnoticed had just gone down the gutter.
“Would you, please, answer me?”
“I had a fight last night. At a bar.” Eric’s voice was a low pleading. He put down his mug and stared at the tabletop, swallowing visibly. Others along the table frowned and exchanged worried glances.
“Why?”
“A man thought I had flirted with his girlfriend.”
“Had you?”
Eric’s face was half-hidden behind his hair, but if he hoped to conceal his look completely, he was mistaken. Lady Summerston walked along the table until she stood opposite him. She gasped.
Eric swallowed again. “A bit.”
Lady Summerston put her hands on the backrests of the two chairs left and right of her position. “I remember, boy, that I had this conversation with you not so long ago. What shall I do with you?”
The young man shrank at his place. He bit his lips, but even the small movement hurt that he winced.
“I have the notion that my speech then was not fully understood.”
Eric didn’t dare lift his head, let alone defend himself.
Michael looked up at Lady Summerston. “It wasn’t his fault. We weren’t about to paint the town, milady. Three guys were out for trouble and went ballistic before we had a chance to pay and leave.”
“You were with him?”
“Yes, milady.”
“Tell me, what you had to do in a bar. Was the kitchen out of beer? Maybe I should talk to Mona.”
Michael’s gaze did not waver. Bellard’s cynics cut like a knife. Lady Summerston was not Bellard. “No, milady, we just wanted to have some time off. Have a drink and talk.”
Lady Summerston’s eyes narrowed. “Ms. Monroe informed you about house rules. They include that I don’t tolerate blatant behavior in public. And if I’m not mistaken—and I’m sure I’m not—Eric here didn’t just sit with his drink and talk about the rise and fall of shares at Wall Street.”
There were no chuckles this time. All men held their breaths.
Michael realized that he walked thin ice. If Lady Summerston was out to fire Eric, she might as well fire Michael the same instant. “No, that’s true, but he wasn’t looking out for a fight either.”
Lady Summerston did not heed Michael’s words the least. “Eric, this time I won’t rest this incident by just admonishing you to behave properly.”
Eric looked up, horror clearly showing on his face. His brown eyes were deep pools of fear and sorrow. Lady Summerston appeared unruffled by his silent plead. She let him wait until he squirmed on the seat.
“This time you lose your monthly salary for I cannot offer any lady a bruised callboy, who will not be able to perform more than wincing throughout the evening.”
“Yes, milady.”
Her glare turned to Michael. “I thought you to be more reasonable, Matthew, yet I was mistaken. To make up, you will take over Eric’s date at the opera. No discussion.” When he nodded, her attention went back to Eric. Her voice was strong, her expression severe enough to frighten him. “I will also arrange a date at the dungeon for you. There are two ladies already waiting for a night with a willing subject so you will get what you deserve. And I advise you to be the most willing boy she expects.”
Eric nodded slowly.
Jason sighed so loud the men sitting next to him had trouble hiding their grin.
Of course, Lady Summerston noticed. “Jason, you cannot have all the fun. Your reputation is fine, yet this date will be for Eric only.”
“Yes, milady, as you see fit.”
“Thank you, Jason.” She looked from one man to the other. “In plain English—if this incident does not warn you the way it should, I will decide for more severe consequences next time. Ms. Monroe, see that the dates are exchanged and inform Matthew about his duties. I hope, Matthew,” she added in his direction, “that you know about the opera. They lady is very special and I expect you to follow her wishes to a T. Know that I will ask her about your behavior afterward. Boys…” She gave the briefest of nods and left the kitchen with measured steps.
Silence fell. Eric slumped on his chair, stunned but recovering.
Michael patted his shoulder. “See, it went better than you thought, right?”
Eric wiped his eyes. “Hell, for a moment I thought she’d really threw me out.”
“I told you she wouldn’t.”
Eric turned his head, fear still in his eyes. “It was a close call. Losing my salary is no fun. And the date…”
“Hope you get Ms. Redhair,” Jason muttered and two men close by nodded with a smut grin. “She’s one severe mistress, I can tell you. Won’t have no fun then. She’ll slice you to pieces and sew you back afterward.” He shook his head. “Damn, she’s good at what she does.”
Ms. Monroe cut him short. “Your behavior, Jason, is questionable. You do remember house rules, don’t you?”
Jason turned red in no time. He had completely forgotten that Ms. Monroe was
still in the kitchen.
“Eric and Matthew, if you’d, please, follow me?” Ms. Monroe shot Jason a last, warning glance and waited for the two men to follow her into the corridor. When she turned, she raised her brows, disapproving of Michael’s glance at her well-formed legs. “You’ll have to take Eric’s date to the opera with Mrs. B.”
“Okay.”
“A tuxedo is obligatory, but there’s more. She prefers toys during her dates and she will ask for more than your understanding of Verdi. Did I make myself clear?”
“I have to expect some fancy sex stuff, is that what you mean?”
“Not that blunt, but correct. Since all of what she uses is harmless, I do expect your cooperation.” She turned to Eric. “I hope your gratitude exceeds your performance. If you haven’t noticed, Lady Summerston gave you a last chance.”
“I see.” He put his hands in the pockets and hunched his shoulders. His voice was quiet. “What do I have to do?”
Ms. Monroe imitated Lady Summerston’s severe expression quite well. “The lady has come here a few times. She knows the rules and will do nothing that you haven’t agreed to before. Her proposals often exceed the men’s tolerance. Lady Summerston expects you to allow her more lenience. Of course not more than you are willing to grant.”
Eric’s mouth twitched. “She doesn’t mean to permanently harm me, does she? I mean, I’ll still be in one piece after the session?” He made it a question, wincing at the prospect of being used as an all-enduring toy.
Ms. Monroe answered with a small, nasty smile. “One piece, yes, but a happy piece, no.”
Linda’s call forced Michael to change plans. He had investigated the upper floors to find the room where the camera feed would be watched, but came up with locked doors, too many to break in during the day.
He met with his contact at an Italian restaurant in Frederick and as Michael had known it was an established venture, short of getting stars from Michelin. He sighed when he sat down. A small cup of espresso sat on the white linen, just for decoration. Linda was smoking and turned a page in her notebook.
“Make this meeting count, Linda,” he greeted her and waited until the immaculately dressed waitress brought him a glass of water and a basket with fresh bread. “I have a customer later tonight.”
Linda shut the notebook with more force than necessary, squinting as smoke stung in her eyes. “A man was murdered yesterday night. He might have been an employee at the Summerston estate.”
“Any hints going that way?”
“He had no face and no hands.”
“No ID.”
“Correct. I want you to find out if a man is missing. Five feet seven, dark skin, Middle East origin, black, curly hair, slim. Coroner takes him to be about twenty-five. His torso showed massive signs of whips and burns from cigarettes.”
Michael frowned. “I’ll ask around, but why do you assume him to belong to the Summerston staff?”
“Call it a hunch.” She stubbed the cigarette. “I need this information ASAP. Bellard wants a new report on your progress.”
“I’m about to establish a relationship with George Summerston’s secretary.”
Now he got her attention. She sat up straight as if preparing for an interesting story. In between, the waitress appeared. Linda ordered salad, Michael took the same. He wasn’t hungry at all. The waitress left.
“You already gained her trust? Did she tell you what she does for a living?”
“I met her once. She seems interested in me and we’ll meet next week.”
A knowing smile curved Linda’s lips. “I knew you had it in you.”
“No, you don’t.” Michael let out his breath and held Linda in his stare. He was pissed for telling her about Alyssa and Linda’s pompous way of dealing with him. “I know you don’t approve of my MO. I know you expect more results faster. So why don’t you stop pretending any understanding of my situation?”
The smile was gone like switched off. “The bugs you installed don’t work.”
“Sorry to hear that. I placed them at the most promising places. So they have jammers?”
“They obviously do. Why didn’t you notice? Didn’t you check their function right away?”
“I placed them, Linda, but there was no time to fool around. If I can’t take heavy equipment with me, I’m relying on the tec I get. What do you want me to do?”
“As far as I understood it between the lots of slander of the op tec jerks, the jammers can’t be cracked. We’re still deaf.”
“Great.” Michael sighed.
Their salads were served and for a while, they stopped talking and ate.
“How long will it take you to interview the secretary?” Linda took up the conversation. She used a napkin on her lips and put her plate to the outer edge of the table. “She should have some ideas about her boss’s second job.”
“I can’t tell you, so stop pestering me. Please,” he added seeing her annoyed expression, “I can’t work miracles. It was a nice surprise to have met her at all, but I’ll need some time to work on her. What about you?”
“Police tries to put an ID to the dead man.” She shrugged elegantly. “And I searched for the background of Jason Finnigan as you requested.”
Michael listened up.
“He comes from a poor social background. The usual pair of bad parents. Mr. Finnigan senior was a drug addict, hit his wife and son, but seemed to have loved them in his sober minutes. Which meant, he didn’t leave them and his wife never filed for divorce. His father died five years ago and Jason had to pick up the debris and find a job. He started as a kitchen help.” Linda cocked her head. “He came here, obviously impressed his employers, who made him a waiter a few weeks after that. Now he’s one of the callboys.”
“With a specialty no one rivals.” Michael shook his head. “So being hit is a way of expressing love for him. That’s weird stuff.”
“There’s weirder stuff around the world if you but open your eyes.” Linda took a deep breath. “I paid the wellness farm another visit, bought wine and tried the caskets. You’re right. There’s one leading to a tunnel behind the basement. I wanted to check it out, but the guard or assistant, as you like to call him, was with me the whole time. It’s still not enough to go into action.” She stared at him. “If we can nail the body to George Summerston’s door, we’ll get a go from Langley to rout them. But if we don’t have a clue, we might as well twiddle our thumbs.”
Michael nodded. “I’m on it. And tonight I’m gonna enjoy a night at the opera.”
“Suddenly interested in culture?”
“Got a date.”
Linda gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re one lucky boy, aren’t you?”
Outside the restaurant, Michael spotted Alyssa’s car. It parked on the other side of the curb in front of a health food shop. He was about to escape to the parking lot of the restaurant when he heard his name.
“Matthew? Is that you?”
He cursed under his breath, then turned. It wouldn’t be for a minute and Linda would leave the restaurant. Here’s to pretending Alyssa didn’t notice their connection. She was already on the way across the street.
“Hey, what are you doing in Frederick? Shopping? Eating?” She laughed. “Thought you’d be fed well enough at home.”
Michael smiled pleasantly. “Ah, you know, even guys like us need to be out of town for a while.”
“But Frederick? Don’t you prefer Washington if you want to paint the town? And where’s the rest of you?”
“I’m not here for fun, just some shopping and a bite. Alone. None of the boys wanted to join.”
“Boys! I like that. Ah, the restaurant, hum?” She looked at the front door and the large window with the name on it and whistled through her teeth. “Quite an expensive place.”
Linda exited, put on her sunglasses and walked past Michael and Alyssa without shedding a glance.
“For expensive people,” Alyssa went on, judging Linda with a knowing glar
e. “Wow, she spent more money on that dress than I earn in a month!”
“What are you doing here? Do you live around here?”
“No, I was just shopping.” She held up the paper bag. “You can’t buy such stuff at a grocery store. Just can’t. It’s all garbage. This is the only place.” She cocked her head. “I’m sure you got some time. I invite you to some really good sandwiches, yoghurt and a cheese that deserves the name.”
“Alyssa, that’s kind, but I have to—”
“It’s fate that we meet again. If you don’t come with me, I might never find the courage to ask you out.”
“But I’ve got very little time today.”
She dismissed the argument with a wave of her hand. “I promise, you’ll be back in time.”
Michael thought of Hugh Lewis’s song, the movie and that the teenager had hardly made it back.
“You can’t say no, Matt. Please.”
He pulled himself together. He was out for a job and that included Alyssa’s friendship and trust. And since when could he resist the pleading eyes of a woman? Testosterone, male pride and responsibility did their job. “Okay, you win.”
“Yes!”
“But I have to be back at seven to dress and go.”
“Seven.” She glanced at her watch and almost spilled the contents of the bag. He caught it in time. “Oops! See, you’re so needed. It’s hardly three. Long time till seven.”
Alyssa parked her small Honda in front of a row of clean, medium-sized houses with freshly cut lawns, flowerpots and bougainvillea around the porch. Though all houses in the street were built the same, every owner had added a personal touch to the front. Michael’s car slipped in the free place behind Alyssa’s and he got out standing for a moment and staring. He loved how she had arranged the flowers from small to large so that you could see them at the same time. Even the colors of red, yellow and a light blue matched to bring them out the brightest. He felt instantly better. She had ornated the front door and the window with taste for color and compilation. All decorations appeared to be handmade.
