The Retro Look

by Albert Tucher

  Novotny grinned. “Do you know something about men?”

  “I guess.”

  “Trust me. That’s just as good.”

  * * *

  She itched.

  Diana couldn’t concentrate on what she had to do. Clients often requested sexy lingerie without knowing what discomfort they were inflicting on her, but this tape job was something new on the misery index. And the microphone between her breasts reminded her of something stuck in her throat.

  At least Novotny had let her change into the business casual slacks and blouse that Diana usually wore when she was working.

  The sign in front of the building read, “Regal.” It figured. Fleabag motels usually had pretentious names.

  Her pose felt reassuringly familiar. She had stood in front of hundreds of motel room doors with her fist raised to knock, but this time she had no idea what to expect or what she would say.

  She rapped on the cheap wood veneer. Thirty unbearable seconds later someone inside the room started fumbling with the chain and the deadbolt. Diana felt a jolt of adrenaline in her core. What would a man who could kill his own son look like?

  Ordinary. Harold Lax Sr. looked like an ordinary man in his mid-sixties. His son must have taken after his mother, because Diana saw no resemblance.

  “Hi. I’m Diana.”

  “I didn’t call for anyone.”

  He knew hookers. That figured, if he had come close enough kill one.

  “I know,” she said.

  He started to close the door.

  “I’m here about your son.”

  The door stopped closing, and they studied each other. He was starting to look less ordinary. Most men would have shown some sign of fear or panic.

  “Why don’t we talk inside?” she said.

  “Why should we?”

  He was as cool under pressure as she was, and that impressed her. She almost played the Roswitha Loschky card right then, but her instincts told her to save it.

  “I just talked to your son.”

  He glared at her. When she didn’t wilt, he stepped back and let her enter. More glaring followed, but she waited him out.

  “Okay, you talked to him. Why do I care?”

  “He told me a lot.”

  Another staring contest.

  “Such as?”

  “I know he wanted to be an artist.”

  That was a guess, but she was confident of her ground.

  “He had talent. But you bullied him out of it.”

  “If he thought that was bullying, he should have seen how life would treat an artist. Artists starve.”

  “You wanted him to follow in your footsteps. So what is it—insurance? Accounting?”

  It was insurance, but Diana didn’t plan to let him know that the cops had found out and fed her the information. She needed an edge.

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No, but I’m guessing it’s a business that would give him an opportunity to steal from clients. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  He glowered at her.

  “To save the business you had to make good. And you couldn’t teach him a lesson by sending him to prison, because it would kill your reputation.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this. You’re guessing.”

  “But I’m right.”

  He nodded unwillingly.

  “I’ve been in this business for twelve years. That’s a lot of men. Three hundred? I don’t keep statistics, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “So?”

  “So, about ten percent of my job is fucking.”

  She waited for the follow-up question, but he wasn’t playing.

  “You know what the other ninety percent is? Listening. That’s what a lot of guys really want. At this point I can practically look at a guy and tell him his life story. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Okay, he stole from me.”

  “You washed your hands of him. But his mother didn’t.”

  “I kept catching her sending him money.”

  “But he couldn’t live on it. Not the way he wanted to. That’s why he started scamming casinos.”

  “Idiot. You can’t scam a casino.

  “He did well enough to pay me five hundred for an hour.”

  “Well, you can’t get away with it for long.”

  “That’s true. This scam was about to come crashing down. He just didn’t know it.” She stopped and looked at him. “What’s that grin about? You think it’s funny? “

  He shook his head but kept smiling. She decided to make him stop.

  “Your wife just died, didn’t she?”

  Another tidbit from Novotny.

  “How…?”

  “I know because you’re here. In Atlantic City. All those years, your son never told what he knew about you, because of what it would have done to his mother. But now nothing can hurt her.”

  “You can go.”

  “I don’t feel like going.”

  “You need help leaving?”

  “Let me just run a name by you. Roswitha Loschky.”

  There it was. He looked as if he had been waiting a long time to hear the name.

  “Your son knew you killed her. He’s been sitting on what he knows, and you just found out. What happened? Did he tell you at the funeral? No, that can’t be it, or you wouldn’t have let him come back here. He must have come here and then called you.”

  “What was that name?”

  “Don’t even try it. It’s way too late for that.”

  “What kind of bullshit did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t tell me. He showed me. It’s in one of his drawings. You remember his notebook?”

  He had decided to keep his mouth shut. She knew she couldn’t let him.

  “Did I mention how good the drawings were? He even got Roswitha’s unshaved legs. She was European, and it was a while ago. And he got you perfectly. I recognized you right off. The cops will too.”

  She held her breath. If Lax Sr. had looked through the drawings, he would know that he didn’t appear in any of them.

  “What do you want? Money?”

  She tried not to exhale audibly.

  “Money is always good. But I want to hear you say it.”

  “Why? Why do you care about some whore?”

  She watched him remember who she was.

  “Why do I care? A hooker gets killed, anywhere, anytime, I take it very personally. But you’re lucky I’m a whore, because that means money can make it right. Roswitha isn’t here to get paid, so it might as well be me.”

  Diana liked that line. It sounded like the kind of sleazy rationalization a blackmailer would use.

  “That bitch.”

  She jumped at the sudden fury in his words.

  “I knew what she was. There’s no way to hide it. But she thought she was too good for me. Wouldn’t take my money.”

  “She was on vacation. Things are different in Germany. Hooking is legal. They can act like real people and take time off. But you didn’t want to hear that. So you forced your way into her room.”

  “You weren’t there.”

  “He was. He wasn’t in the room, but he drew her lying on the ground outside the hotel. I don’t think she was a nice woman, if that’s any consolation, treating a young boy like that. She must have teased him, lying around the pool, showing him enough skin to drive him crazy. He was probably hanging around under her window at night, trying to see her naked. Instead, he saw her go out the window. Then he saw you up there. Did you want to kill her, or was it some kind of accident?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out for almost thirty years.”

  For several moments they sat there trying to figure out which of them was more surprised at his admission. The silence lengthened, until Diana began to wonder where the cops were.

  Idiot, she told herself.

  She had orchestrated the wrong confession. Novotny wouldn’t mind clearing the Loschky homicide, but what sh
e really cared about was her own case.

  Diana felt so exhausted that she wondered whether to risk sitting on the bed. How could she get him to confess all over again?

  “You know,” said Lax Sr., “I can see why men talk to you.”

  He studied her.

  “What would it take to get you to come with me when I see him?”

  “What?”

  “I have to try and talk him out of going to the police. I’ll pay you to help me.”

  “Talk to your son? Your son is dead.”

  He gaped at her.

  “You killed him.”

  He closed his mouth, and the sharpness returned to his eyes. Faster than a man his age had any business moving, he darted forward. He grabbed two handfuls of her blouse and tore it open.

  “Bitch.”

  He groped between her breasts and pulled the microphone out. She gasped as the tape tore away. He threw the microphone aside and grabbed her again, this time around the throat.

  Diana tried to pry his little fingers away and sprain or break them, but his grip was too strong. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he twisted and caught her knee under the back of his thigh. Black spots began to appear in front of her eyes.

  The door burst open behind her. It hit her in the back and bounced off, but she didn’t complain. Help had arrived. The room filled with blue uniforms. Lax’s hands released her.

  Five minutes later she was sitting on the bed. She tried to test her neck by rolling her head from side to side. A little water from the smudged drinking glass in her hand spilled onto her thigh.

  At least it wasn’t gin and tonic.

  Lax had left the room in handcuffs.

  “That explains one thing,” said Novotny. “I couldn’t understand how the security cameras in the casino area didn’t catch him passing through. It’s because he was never there.”

  She grimaced.

  “Which means I have to start over on who killed Junior.”

  Diana started to speak, but her raw throat refused to make a sound. She took a swallow of water and tried again. “I have an idea about that.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Diana explained.

  “Let’s wire you up again,” Novotny said.

  An hour after Lax had nearly strangled her, Diana stood in a different hotel room with the door open a crack. She was back in her black dress, because that was how the other woman had first seen her.

  “It’s five minutes past,” Novotny whispered in her ear. “When is she coming out?”

  “I guess she doesn’t always watch the clock,” said Diana. “I don’t either, especially with regular clients. They like to think they’re getting special treatment, like a little extra time.”

  “A hooker with a marketing strategy,” Novotny said. “Who knew?”

  “Some of us could teach MBAs a thing or two.”

  “Can I go back to work now?” said a shaky male voice.

  Novotny turned to the bellhop standing behind her in the bedroom of the unused suite.

  “I told you, I don’t want you warning her. You go back to work when I tell you.”

  Diana felt sorry for the man for two reasons. One, he was still humping suitcases at an age when most men are retired. Two, he had taken the woman’s twenty dollars for steering her to a new client, and now the cops had leaned on him to give up her location. It obviously hurt his pride.

  Novotny turned back to Diana.

  “Here I was thinking for once I’d have a nice easy stakeout—one hour and out.”

  “Worst case, it’s a two-hour date. You can stand it.”

  A door opened. Diana almost missed the sound under the hum of elevators and ice machines.

  “Go,” Novotny whispered.

  Diana had already gone. She concentrated on making it look right—a casual encounter in a hotel hallway, between two women everyone was used to seeing without noticing them.

  Nothing in the hallway had changed, but Diana knew that outside, darkness was yielding to daylight. Everyone was tired, whether it was the end of the work day, or the beginning.

  When she had come close enough, Diana stopped, blocking the other woman’s way.

  “Let’s talk.”

  “Let’s not.”

  The forty-something brunette tried to maneuver around her.

  “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other,” said Diana. “You tried to take me out of circulation, and it didn’t work.”

  The woman glared but didn’t deny anything. That was a good start.

  “I don’t blame you for trying. I’m as territorial as any other girl in the business. But I’m here, I’m not going away, and we’d better work something out, or it’s going to be war.”

  “It’ll be war,” said the woman, “but not with me. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Okay, let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me about it.”

  The woman tried to stare her down, but Diana didn’t feel like cooperating. She decided to stand there and be an aging hooker’s worst nightmare. Here was a competitor who was younger, blonder, and probably tougher.

  “Okay,” said the woman, “let’s go.”

  They waited for the elevator in silence and rode down to the lobby in more silence. Instead of turning toward the bar, the woman headed toward the side entrance where the tour buses unloaded the AARP members.

  “You’re not walking away from me.”

  The woman gave her an impatient look.

  “I don’t drink, and if I did, I wouldn’t do it here. You can buy me coffee.”

  Diana realized that it was a good idea from her own standpoint. Jeffrey might still be drinking in the bar, and he would have lost his inhibitions quite a while ago.

  Diana followed. On the sidewalk she fell into step beside the woman. Their silence continued to grow. Diana could usually outwait anyone, but she felt an urge to make a pointless remark. She pressed her lips together.

  She had seen the real Atlantic City from Novotny’s car, but it looked even more discouraging without a dirty window to blur the details.

  Four blocks inland the woman veered right and pushed open the door of a tiny diner.

  “Hey, Frances,” said the young black man behind the counter.

  “Hi, Jules. Two coffees.”

  Diana didn’t mind coffee, but Frances obviously didn’t care whether she did. They sat at the counter with an unoccupied stool between them. The coffee came in no-nonsense mugs.

  Frances looked straight ahead as she spoke.

  “I’ve been waiting for this to happen. Sooner or later, it had to.”

  “You never had any competition before?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle. But you get to where your age starts with a four…you’ll find out what I mean.”

  The woman looked great, but she probably didn’t feel it. At thirty Diana sometimes wondered how long she could keep it up.

  “I knew I was getting vulnerable,” said Frances. “But the real problem is, I used to care about fighting for this territory. I don’t anymore. I can’t even remember why I ever did.”

  She sipped coffee.

  “I don’t know where you’re from, and I don’t care. But I doubt you’ve ever seen as many hands out as you’ll see here. Everybody wants a piece of your action. Cops, security, bellhops, bartenders, all day long. And they don’t do a thing except threaten to ruin it for you.”

  She paused.

  “I assume you’re wearing a wire.”

  Diana stopped with her mouth open. She had no idea what to say.

  “It doesn’t matter, but you didn’t have to go to all the trouble. All the cops had to do was ask.”

  “You killed Harold Lax?”

  “He was a regular. I could always count on him to get me over the hump for the week. Sometimes every cent he paid me went straight into somebody else’s pocket, but what the hell. It was easy work. Well, you know that.”

  They sat in silence,
until Diana began to wonder how to get the woman talking again.

  “The cops must have nothing else on me. Or they wouldn’t be using you.”

  “They have fingerprints, but you could explain that away. You’ve been all over the casino for years.”

  “Fingerprints, blood, sweat, you name it. It’s there with my name on it. If stuff like that counted, I’d own the place.”

  “You went to see him after you saw me come out of his room.”

  “I braced him about it. He thought he could get away without talking to me, but I said no way. After all this time, you’re not cutting me off without a word. In the stairwell I just grabbed him and wouldn’t let go.”

  “You had the ice pick with you?”

  “He said I was good, but he had found perfection. He turned away, and the ice pick was in my hand. I don’t even remember getting it from my bag.”

  Frances smiled suddenly.

  “How do you like being perfect?”

  “Hah,” said Diana. “It’s all in their minds. You know that. Just charge the guy enough money, and he’ll convince himself that you’re worth it.”

  Frances raised her coffee mug. Diana lifted hers, and they clinked in a toast.

  “To their tiny minds,” said Frances.

  She set her mug down. “Hey, Novotny. Come get me.”

  Diana almost jumped. The young man behind the counter turned and looked. Frances waved okay at him.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell, but I want to get this over with.”

  She lowered her voice.

  “Don’t get too comfortable with Novotny. That place always calls her when they need the cops. You know Bergsten was her partner?”

  “That I figured out.”

  Novotny and two young men in uniform entered the diner. There wasn’t much room for anyone else. Frances slid off her stool, and the uniforms handcuffed her and led her outside.

  “Let’s go back to the station,” Novotny said. “You can watch me shred your fingerprint card.”

  “I wasn’t sure you would hold up your end.”

  “I always do. I didn’t hear that last thing Frances said, but I can guess. Thing is, this is Atlantic City. I don’t make the rules.”

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

  “I have my limits, or I would have let her slide on this. They liked her at the casino. She played the game.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have to.”