by Lee Geiger
“Do you believe her?”
“I do, Mayes. I really do. There doesn’t appear to be any way to corroborate her alibi, but I believe she’s telling the truth. Osher was paying her a fortune. Why would she want to screw that up?”
“I don’t know, Mac. But Sheyla Samonte admitted to you that she is having an affair with a married man. That makes her a professional liar.”
“Mayes, under most circumstances I would agree with you. But my gut is telling me Sheyla Samonte isn’t the type of person who would kill anyone.”
Mayes glared at his partner. His gut was telling him something else.
DESPITE SPORTING A SUIT and tie, Mac considered himself underdressed. He felt that way every time he stepped into The Fairmont, the granddaddy of Nob Hill’s elite cadre of ritzy hotels. The lobby’s vaulted ceilings, Corinthian columns, and spectacular spiral staircase presented an aura of grandeur and sophistication. The last thing this classy century-old landmark needed was a couple of stressed-out cops loitering at the front desk asking questions.
“Just tell us when Sonia Grisham used those damn keys,” demanded Mac, rubbing the tired out of his eyes.
“Hmmm, here’s something interesting,” said the attentive and well dressed front desk clerk. “The reservations were always on a Tuesday, and always for room 1601. That’s one of our premier balcony suites overlooking the city’s magnificent skyline.”
“Why would Sonia Grisham keep renting a hotel room just one block from her apartment?” Mac asked an equally exhausted Mayes.
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Mr. Front Desk, “but the name you just mentioned…Sonia Grisham…she’s not the one on these reservations. According to our records, the person who reserved these rooms has been reserving the same room every Tuesday for the last three years.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Mayes, the strain of a long day disappearing from his face. “Who reserved the room?”
“Am I allowed to provide you that information?” asked Mr. Front Desk, who was younger than the scotch being served in the hotel’s renowned Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar. After being assured by the detectives that there was no such thing as hotel/hotel guest confidentiality, Mr. Front Desk gave it up. “Wow, this name sounds really familiar. I think I may have read it in the newspaper. Are you sure I can tell you this?”
“You’ve got five seconds, genius,” commanded Mayes.
“Okay, okay. It’s Michelle Osher.”
MAC CALLED IT A day and slumped home. He was beyond exhausted. He had been working on the Michelle Osher case non-stop for five days. He arrived home just in time to catch up with his mother, who was dressed to kill and in high spirits for a Monday night.
“What’s with the excitement, Mom? Did the stock market crash or something?”
“What rock have you been under?” replied Victoria Parker, dressed like a star in The Trader Wears Prada. “Didn’t you hear the news? Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy today. This is going to make the collapse of Bear Stearns look like a piano recital. Pardon the expression, Mackey, but I made a killing today. I’m taking a bunch of my girlfriends to Bix for dinner tonight. Are you man enough to join us?”
“I’m beat, Mom, and the last thing I need is to go out and chaperone the Cougar Committee while you ladies get toasted on dirty martinis. We’ll have our own private celebration when capitalism collapses and there’s anarchy in the streets.”
“You just wait, Mackey. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. Remember what I told you…snowballs roll downhill faster at the bottom than they do at the top…and this mortgage mess we’re in is the Mother-of-all-Snowballs. But once it’s over, it will be the greatest Wall Street buying opportunity since a bunch of Indians decided to sell Manhattan for a handful of beads. Speaking of opportunities, how’s the Michelle Osher case coming along?”
Mac took off his shoes and crashed onto a sofa. “Nothing is coming together yet, but I did have a lunch date with Paul Osher’s mistress, Sheyla Samonte. You were right, Mom. Those women who work at Pearls of Asia don’t have it easy. Her life story was both heart wrenching and inspiring. I have a lot of respect for what those girls go through. By the way, how was your date last week with Mr. Yacht Owner?”
“Oh my Lord! It was the date from hell. He wore Old Spice, which reminded me of your father. So I stabbed him in the eye.”
Victoria Parker grabbed her Dior purse and wished her son a pleasant evening.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Monday, September 15, 2008 - 9:00 pm
“James E. Grisham, a partner at the prestigious law firm of Goddard and Goddard, held a Republican Party fundraiser at his apartment, located one floor below Paul and Michelle Osher’s, on the night of September 10th, which ended just hours before her murder.”
The New York Times
MAC TRIED TO WATCH television, but nothing grabbed him. He cracked open a book, The Red Harvest, one of his favorites, and read the same page seven times before he flung it across the room. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.
He decided to do the one thing he knew would interest him; he called Sheyla. As usual, he got her voicemail. She must have left for work, he thought. Frustrated, Mac grabbed his keys and guided The Sub to Pearls of Asia.
There wasn’t as much action on a Monday night, so Mac was able to score a small table by himself. The energy inside the restaurant was still high, thanks to a table of casually dressed women hoisting glasses of champagne. Upon closer inspection, Mac noticed they were the same group of gals he saw tumble out of a limo Thursday night celebrating a bachelorette party, only this time they all wore t-shirts that said “Hurray for Linda’s Divorce.” These girls knew how to party.
Diamond’s fake blue-eyed contact lenses spotted Mac’s entrance, and she sprinted toward him in her sky-high stilettos. Funny, mused Mac. Flies don’t go to road kill that fast.
“I knew you’d want to see me again” she gushed, giving him a huge hug after practically jumping into his lap.
Mac barely budged, hoping his lack of physical interest would cause her to downshift her excitement. It didn’t. “Actually, I heard it was Ladies Night, but my dresses are still at the dry cleaners.”
“You are so funny, Mac. Hey, I heard you went out with Sheyla yesterday. Did you remember to disinfect afterwards?”
Diamond’s comment hit Mac like a bucket of ice water. He wanted any contact he had with Sheyla Samonte to stay off the radar screen. “Ah…I just needed to ask her some questions. Is she here?”
“Not tonight, thank God. She’s probably getting her nose fixed again. The last seven or eight haven’t worked out so well.” Diamond took a load off her heels and placed her ample derrière on the bar stool next to Mac. She sat so close he could pick up the scent of her perfume, which smelled like Eau de Unleaded. Diamond was wearing a skin-tight latex dress that had the Budweiser logo silk-screened across the front of it, making her body look like a walking billboard, albeit with dimensions of 38-24-36. “Anyway sweetie, now that you’ve had the rest, it’s time you go out with the best.”
“Is that right?” responded Mac, pushing away Diamond’s chair. Her perfume was making his eyeballs sweat.
Diamond persisted without hesitation. “Look at my lips, baby. Men don’t call me ‘Diamond Head’ for nothing. Besides, Sheyla’s already got a sugar daddy. She goes out with that jerk that’s been in the news a lot…Paul Osher. Have you heard of him? Anyway, Sheyla may be a slut, but Paul’s nothing but a disgusting tranny chaser. They’re made for each other. The only reason the girls even acknowledge his pathetic existence is because he throws gobs of money at them.”
Mac’s seat wasn’t even warm, and already Diamond was dropping more bombs than a B-52. “Are you telling me you know Paul Osher?”
“Who doesn’t, honey? Paul used to come here all the time until that piece of Filipina ghetto trash put a leash on him. I used to go out with Paul myself, but having sex with him was as much fun as plucking my eyebro
ws. A suppository is bigger than his dick. Paul still keeps asking me out, but I always blow him off.” Diamond wrapped her arm, which featured a dozen plastic bracelets most likely purchased at the Costco discount table, around Mac’s shoulder. “I’d never blow you off, Mac. Unless, of course, you wanted me to.”
Mac gave Diamond back her ninety-nine cent arm. “As tempting as that sounds, Diamond, I’ll have to take a rain check. But your dress is making me thirsty. Could I get a beer?”
“Nothing would please me more, except maybe biting your ass. But I’m not your server tonight. You can’t see her because she’s in the bathroom servicing a customer. Nadia always does that when she’s fishing for a bigger tip. Let me get her for you.” Diamond stuck two fingers into her mouth and belted out a whistle that would have made a football coach proud.
“Are you always this charming?” asked Mac, half interested in her answer.
“Hell yes, especially when I’m on my knees. By the way, if you think I look good now, wait until you see me next week. I’m leaving right after work tonight with my girlfriend Anna and driving to Tijuana. We’re going to pick up some hormones and go to a pumping party.”
“A pumping party?” queried Mac. “Sounds like a convention of tire technicians.”
Diamond took a step back and placed her hands on her hips. “How do you think I got this fabulous figure? You see, we cross the Mexican border, meet up with some doctor guy, and he pumps silicone into our hips. I might even get some in my cheeks. It’s fast, easy and cheap.”
Mac was incredulous. “It’s also stupid and dangerous. Why would you want to put crap like that in your body?”
Diamond waved her hand up and down her body like a game show model. “Because I want to be flawless…”
Mac shook his head in disgust. “Of course you do.”
The too-busy-to-be-bothered waitress known as Nadia finally appeared at his table. “Mac, allow me to introduce you to the second most beautiful woman working here tonight. Say hello to Nadia. She just got back from New York, where her unique services were required over the weekend.”
Mac recognized Nadia as the skinny brunette from the Friday night cigarette break. “Nice to meet you. You’re the webcam mistress, aren’t you? That must have been a quick trip.”
“Babe, you have no idea! This stock market crash is creating a tremendous amount of stress. I just spent the weekend with a Murderers’ Row of Wall Street bankers,” she announced while nuzzling up against him. “So you’re the famous Mac Fleet. Wow, babe, I’m impressed. Sheyla’s told me so much about you. She has such good taste in men. Too bad Diamond still measures a man by how many tattoos he has.”
“At least my men aren’t collecting Social Security,” retorted Diamond before running off to tend to another table.
“Can I get you anything, babe?” Nadia addressed every man, woman, or child she met as ‘babe.’ The way she viewed it, it eliminated the need for such superfluous tasks as remembering names
“A beer would be nice, that is if you didn’t already know that. It’s amazing how fast news travels in this place.”
“There aren’t many secrets among the ladies at Pearls of Asia, babe. We call it PG-TV. It comes with the territory. I’ll be right back.”
Nadia’s hair color was a touch redder than the first time he saw her, and much fuller as well. She also didn’t have breast implants, which made her stand out from the other full-figured waitresses. She was thin, small-boned, and attractive, but her features seemed edgier than the other girls. She wore a skin-tight tube dress with leopard spots that bore the outlines of a barely-there thong, which was wrapped around an ultra-firm ass that must have spent hours on a Stairmaster.
A familiar voice caught Mac’s ear. “Well, look who we have here. Are you stalking me?” It was Reyna. Her black hair, black dress, black nylons and black shoes reminded Mac of a Mafia godfather. She looked like Marlon Brando in drag.
“I’m afraid I’m not man enough for you, Reyna. By the way, we’ve never been formally introduced, I’m…”
“Mac Fleet,” she interrupted, catching him off-guard. “I know. You went out with my former roommie yesterday. I hear you’re also a submarine commander. You know what they say about men and their cars; the more expensive they are, the smaller their penis. You must fold yours in half. Anyway, Sheyla’s quite smitten with you, and she’s excited about your date tomorrow night. Which reminds me…why are you here?”
“I heard the ribs were good.”
“Honey, the ribs may be good, but the breasts are better. Speaking of breasts, or the lack thereof, what do you think of Nadia? She’s not like the rest of us.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say Nadia is into role playing, and being a woman is just one of her favorite roles. Nadia is a girl of many…talents. That’s why she doesn’t take hormones.”
Mac was taken aback by Reyna’s response. “That’s the second time tonight I’ve heard about hormones. What’s up with that? Is it that time of the month or something?”
Reyna laughed out loud. “Honey, it’s a good thing you’re a hung like a fire hose, because for a cop you sure are naïve. Now pay attention. Girls like us take estrogen hormones to get our bodies used to the idea of being female, like softening our skin and promoting breast growth. They take care of things a scalpel and electrolysis won’t. Unfortunately, hormones can also make you go from an angelic princess to a blazing bitch in less than sixty seconds. You have to be careful, though. If you abuse them they can turn your liver into a weapon of mass destruction.”
“That’s interesting, because Diamond just told me she’s going to Mexico tonight to buy some hormones and get her hips pumped full of silicone.”
Reyna sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I swear, sometimes I think Diamond’s dumber than a box of hair. She’s having a D.U.I. tonight.”
Mac flashed a double-dimpled grin at Reyna. “You girls and your lingo. I can’t understand a word when you speak Tagalog, and I can barely keep up when you speak English. What’s a D.U.I.?”
“‘Dramatically Under the Influence.’ Diamond got another hormone shot today. I do worry about that girl. Nothing is more important to her than chasing this mythical dream of becoming ‘flawless.’” Reyna used her fingers to mimic quotation marks. “Diamond takes an injection once a week when she should only be taking them once a month. Another side effect is what it does to your sex drive. Too many hormones in a girl’s body can make her libido as limp as an overdone linguine noodle. What remains of Diamond’s penis isn’t even worthy of the name.”
Mac was sitting on the edge of his chair, hanging on every word. “This is amazing, Reyna. Listening to you is better than watching the Discovery Channel.”
“Oh wait. There’s more. We girls also have an unofficial rule at Pearls of Asia. You must wear heels at least as tall as your…how shall I say this…‘equipment’. That’s why most of us wear these skyscraping heels you men are so fond of. But in Diamond’s case, she takes so many hormones she could get away with wearing flats.”
Mac howled in laughter. This was the kind of chatter he’d expect to hear in the precinct locker room. “So what does this have to do with Nadia? Why doesn’t she take hormones?”
“Because…well…let’s just say it’s bad for business. In Nadia’s case, if she could find nine-inch pumps in her size, she’d wear them.”
Nadia presented Mac his beer before she playfully sat down on Reyna’s lap. Seizing the moment to poke fun at her boob-challenged colleague, Reyna asked Mac a question. “Mac, do you know what a transvestite is?”
Mac shook his head.
“An ugly transsexual.”
THE LIGHTS DIMMED, AND Mac recognized the song that soon rocked the room; “Bitch,” the signature tune by Meredith Brooks. Denise used to play it all the time back at their apartment in the Marina. Victoria Parker would later refer to it as “The Denise Fleet National Anthem.”
The statuesque girl in the middle o
f the stage was Ashley. She was wearing white hot pants, a wide white belt, and white thighhigh boots over a pair of legs so long and firm they could easily become a man’s best friend. Ashley danced like a Broadway showgirl, and the audience reacted as though they’d be willing to pay her a premium to have her walk all over them. As the last note played, Ashley jumped up high in the air, extended her legs, and pulled off a leg split worthy of an Olympic gymnast. The crowd rose to its feet and roared its approval. Mac was awestruck. It was the second time he had seen Ashley dance, and both times she had walked off to a standing ovation.
When the lights returned, Nadia was standing next to Mac holding two shots of whiskey. “Babe, I figured you would need one of these after watching her perform, so I brought enough for both of us. Isn’t Ashley sexy? Normally I don’t think blonde hair works on Filipinas, but it does on her.”
“She should come with a warning label,” Mac announced while knocking back his shot.
“You know what we say around here, babe? If good girls are sugar and spice, then Ashley is vodka and ice.”
Like every other customer at Pearls of Asia, Mac was still in awe of Ashley’s leg splitting talent. “I thought only a real girl could pull off doing the splits. What is she like in real life?”
“Ashley is quite the story, babe. Three years ago she was known as Mark Ashley, and he got kicked out of Beverly Hills High School for dealing ecstasy on campus. After he got his G.E.D., he shocked his parents and volunteered for the Army. That amazing pair of legs managed to survive a year in Afghanistan searching for land mines. He also looked fabulous in camouflage, and soon the guys in his platoon started to read the fine print in their ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ manuals. After he got discharged by both the Army and his parents, Mark Ashley decided to become Ashley Marks.”
