No Escape

by Heather Lowell

  Luke shrugged. “What did he find?”

  “Standard junkie arrests—possession of small amounts of heroin, prostitution, some tickets for solicitation from a couple years ago. She entered rehab several times and has been clean for eight months, according to her parole officer.”

  “Did Ed fax you a picture of Jasmine?”

  “Right here,” Tessa said. She pulled the sheet out of her bag.

  “I’ll keep it—we may need to show it to my contact.”

  “Who is this mysterious informant?” Tessa asked.

  Her mood was improving as she talked with Luke, probably because she was able to tell herself that they were working toward finding Kelly. Banging her head against the wall of blue the police had around them was fruitless and frustrating—not a good way for her to start the day.

  She had been spoiled by her dealings with Ed and Ronnie, leading her to believe that all precincts were staffed by competent and concerned officers. That hadn’t proved to be the case today, when she’d called the police department that had jurisdiction over the area where Three Sisters Shelter was located.

  “My informant’s name is Alexander King,” Luke said. “But he goes by Lex. He owns a small cigarette distribution business, primarily targeted to the vending machine market. He does most of the entertainment establishments in LA and Hollywood, including the clubs.”

  “How does he get his information?”

  “He’s tied into one of the small-time mob operations—the Ianelli Family, specifically.”

  “Is that the one Jasmine’s boyfriend is involved with?”

  “I don’t know for sure. That’s why I wanted to talk to Lex. How familiar are you with the local criminal organizations?” Luke asked.

  “I don’t know anything about them,” Tessa said, stirring her coffee morosely. “Most of my previous cases have involved misdemeanors and lightweight felonies.”

  “Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version. One of the most popular, time-honored traditions for the transplanted European Mafia organizations—mainly the Italians—is to get involved with cigarette and gasoline distribution, because of the high government tax rate on those commodities. With the Ianelli operation, the Family distributes the product and collects the tax from the retailer, then pockets the funds and gives Uncle Sam zilch. It’s an easy percentage for them, so it’s very lucrative.”

  “That’s something the ATF would be involved in,” Tessa said.

  “Among others. And with the focus now on terrorism and weapons of mass destruction, small-time organizations like the Ianelli Family are operating pretty much without restrictions as long as they keep the volume low to medium. It will get to the point that their profits can’t be ignored, and the Feds will move in, but until then it’s a nice way to make a buck.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a complicated operation.”

  “It isn’t. A lot of times the cigarette and gas schemes are used to train young managers in the Family, or are turned entirely over to independents like Lex. Then the Family comes along and collects its cut of the profits, called a tribute, and everybody’s happy.”

  “Can’t these operations be shut down, especially if everyone knows what’s going on?” Tessa asked.

  “A lot of times there are too many jurisdictions involved because the goods are smuggled in from Mexico or elsewhere. It’s not unusual to have the ATF, FBI, local police or sheriff, US Customs and Border Patrol, State Attorney’s Office, US Postal Inspectors, and the Highway Patrol involved. Half the time, multiple agencies are investigating the same operation from different angles and have no idea of the work the others are doing.”

  “That’s why there’s a new focus on multibranch task forces, right?”

  “Exactly,” Luke said. “Unfortunately, with that many agencies, jurisdictions, individual agendas…you end up with a cluster fuck more often than not. So much for the system.”

  Tessa shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s why I started Novak International. My focus is on the victim, and I don’t let the bureaucratic bullshit get in the way of that.”

  “And you’ve been able to keep some of your old informants?”

  “Hell, I’ve doubled the number. When you’re working with law enforcement, you’re not able to pay the informants because that creates a conflict of interest if the information they provide ever gets to trial. As an independent, I’m able to use whatever carrot my informants respond to. The important thing is the information,” Luke said.

  “I hope it’s good stuff.”

  “With Lex, it usually is.”

  Luke entered the slightly shabby Russian café and guided Tessa toward the table where Lex King was sitting. The two men shook hands, then Tessa was introduced, and everyone took a seat.

  Lex passed them a menu. “I don’t recommend the borscht but you can’t go wrong with the pilmeni here.”

  “Why meet in a Russian restaurant? I think we’re the only English speakers here…” Tessa’s voice trailed away as realization dawned.

  “Exactly,” said Lex. “Sure as shit we’re not going to meet any Italians in this place.”

  Luke hesitated. “Is that something we need to worry about?”

  “If you’re digging into Miss Jasmine Jones, it might be.” Lex sat back as a waiter brought him a shot glass, a small bottle of vodka, and a teacup. A pot of steaming tea had already been placed on the table.

  “What do you have on her?” Luke asked.

  “Not much. Do you know how long it would take to check out all the potential aliases of strippers named Jasmine in Southern California?”

  Tessa almost choked on a sip of water as she laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. I guess there are lots of them out there.”

  “Too many, and all with the same story. God damned depressing research.”

  Luke interrupted. “But what did you find?”

  “A stripper named Jasmine Jones used to turn tricks to support her heroin problem. Then she got pregnant by her dog, a guy named Street.” Lex caught Tessa’s blank look. “Street was her pimp. He also used to collect a percentage from all the girls and dogs in the club for the Ianelli Family. In fact, the pimp boyfriend was the main point of contact for Family activity in that club.”

  “What’s the name of this club?”

  “Forget about it, the place burned down last year. Insurance scam. Now Street is working at a dance joint called Mr. Chubby’s.”

  This time Tessa did choke. “What a name for a strip club.”

  “The owners aren’t looking for subtle,” Luke said. “About Jasmine—what have you heard on her lately?”

  Lex shot back the vodka in one swallow, then followed it with sweetened tea. “Nothing new on her in particular. Seems like she dances and keeps her nose clean. She doesn’t hang with Street anymore and doesn’t seem to have a pimp at all. If she’s turning tricks, she’s doing it freelance with low volume.”

  “That doesn’t help us,” Luke said.

  “This might—last few days the skin joints have been in an uproar. Management asking people to keep an eye out for some chick—I figure she must have stiffed her pimp or run off with the till, something like that. Then I talk to you, and I think maybe not, maybe this girl is into something else.”

  “Who were they looking for?” Tessa asked.

  “Can’t say. The manager caught me talking to the girls and sent them back to work. But the next club I go to, the girls are talking about the same thing. And the next one. Someone put the word out looking for this chick in bars and clubs all over town.”

  “No one mentioned why they wanted to find this girl?” Luke asked.

  “One dancer told me she thought the girl used to work at a Family location and was running her mouth about customers. That’s all I know.”

  Tessa reached for the hot tea, suddenly needing its warmth. “I sincerely hope she isn’t the same girl we’re looking for.”

  “You don’t kno
w the half of it, lady. Employees don’t screw over the Ianellis—or anyone who works for them. They’re small-time, but ambitious. And mean.”

  Luke reached under the table and gripped Tessa’s thigh. She wasn’t sure if he was comforting her or telling her to be quiet, so she let him make the next move.

  He leaned toward Lex and lowered his voice further. “What about Jerry Kravitz? Have you heard his name on your rounds.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s a player on the So Cal club scene, no doubt about it. He announces for the Arena Football League here, and uses that to get a foot in the door at hot spots and parties. He also plays up his relationships with other athletes and gets a lot of mileage out of them.”

  “He moved to L.A. recently. What did he do before?” Luke asked.

  “He came out West about a year ago, following several years of playing college football and tryouts for the NFL and CFL.”

  “He wasn’t good enough to make it as a pro?”

  “No, he probably could hold his own. But he couldn’t keep a position in the starting lineup because of ankle problems following a bad fracture. Finally, he went to arena ball because the level of play isn’t as demanding—but even that was too much. He moved to announcing and came here shortly after.”

  “Does he have any links to the Mafia?” Luke asked bluntly.

  “A couple of possibilities, don’t know as anyone has tried to prove it,” Lex said.

  “Maybe we can connect the dots. What are they?”

  Lex thought about it. “Back when he was in college, there were rumors that Kravitz was heavy in debt. Sports betting. And we’re talking debt to the kind of people who break ankles rather than garnish your paychecks, if you know what I mean.”

  Luke nodded. “What about since he arrived in LA?”

  “Kravitz’s name is linked pretty exclusively with a joint that the Ianellis have a partnership in—it’s called Club Red.”

  “The Ianelli Family runs it?” Tessa asked.

  “No, a businessman and real estate developer runs the place—guy named Roderick Hedges. Goes by Ricky. But the rumor is the Ianellis collect a tribute, throw business in Ricky’s direction, and keep him supplied with drugs and other toys to keep the customers happy. They also provide security to keep the club grounds locked down tight—it would be a disaster if the media or a photographer from the tabloids got into the place. Believe me, no one messes with the Ianelli security guys.”

  “Club Red is the only business venture with Ricky Hedges and the Ianellis?” Luke asked.

  “No. The Family is also helping Ricky expand his operations into organized betting, prostitution, creative accounting, and the like.”

  “How did he hook up with the Ianellis?” Luke asked.

  “Can’t answer that. But from the outside looking in, I’d say Ricky and Club Red give the Family a legitimate front for some of their other business activities. And they keep Ricky’s cash flow liquid. Like a regular symbionic relationship, you know.”

  Tessa cleared her throat at Lex’s gaffe. Luke shot her a look with twinkling eyes, then turned back to his informant. “What are the vices of Kravitz and company? Drugs? Women? Young boys?”

  “They don’t seem to be his deal, no. I mean, he likes women and all. But it’s more his thing to score girls for the people around him. He’s like a fixer or a doer, you know? He gets stuff for others whose high profile might keep them from getting it for themselves.”

  “Like Sledge Aiken,” Tessa said flatly.

  “Exactly. He’s a regular in most of the high-end clubs I service, but he spends more time at Club Red than any other place.”

  “And does he like young girls?” Tessa asked.

  “Oh, yeah. He’s hooked up with most of the girls in his favorite clubs and is always looking for fresh meat. He likes variety—and he likes to brag. Club Red caters to guys like Aiken. They get him anything he wants so he keeps coming back, bringing other high roller members with him.”

  Luke nodded. “That’s how the place gets established as a hip location—because there are celebs in there every night, yet the clientele is very exclusive.”

  “Right. So the management wants to keep their VIP customers happy, and the Ianellis help them do that. Drugs, women, betting—it’s like a home away from home.”

  Tessa bit her lip; suddenly feeling ill as she recalled Sledge’s saying he’d bought Kelly.

  Did they want to keep customers happy to the extent that they would offer a teenager like Kelly to Sledge Aiken on a silver platter?

  She looked at Luke, saw the sympathy in his eyes, and understood for the first time that he had been right. She wasn’t going to like the answers to the questions she was asking on this case.

  Chapter 18

  Los Angeles, California

  Thursday afternoon, March 4

  “Please don’t say ‘I told you so.’ ” Tessa fastened her seat belt and sat back for the drive to see Jasmine at Three Sisters Shelter.

  “You don’t know me very well, Swiss.” Luke started the engine and refused to let himself get mad. Tessa was under an enormous amount of stress, and worry for Kelly had to be eating away at her right now.

  “No. I can only go by what I’ve experienced in the past.”

  “That sounds pretty ominous, and one day soon we’ll talk about it in depth. But until then, don’t judge me based on how people in your past have acted. I haven’t ever let you down, and I don’t plan on doing it, either.”

  “Who does plan on letting others down? In my experience it just happens,” she observed.

  “Maybe. But I’m not going to say I was right about Kelly. In fact, I’m still hoping like hell that I was wrong.”

  Tessa sighed. “Me, too. I’m sorry to be such a bitch. I just can’t stand the thought of a kid like Kelly working as a stripper. Or being offered as a party favor to Sledge Aiken.”

  Luke didn’t know what to say to that, so he reached over and gave Tessa’s hand a comforting squeeze. Nothing more was said as they drove to the shelter to speak with Jasmine.

  When they pulled into the driveway at Three Sisters, the security guard waved them over to a spot in front of the manager’s office. He told them Eunice had left a message for them to see her when they arrived.

  Tessa got out of the car and gripped her bag as she went to the office. She was grateful for Luke’s steadying hand at her back, because her legs had begun to quiver with nerves as soon as she heard that Eunice wanted to speak to them. Maybe she was starting to develop the instincts Ed was always talking about.

  “What’s going on?” Tessa asked, as soon as Eunice opened the office door.

  “Jasmine isn’t here anymore,” the woman said.

  “Where did she go?” Luke asked. “And why didn’t you call us? You knew we wanted to speak with her.”

  “She won’t do you much good in the state she’s in. She fell off the wagon.”

  “Shot up?” Luke asked.

  Eunice nodded unhappily. “Went on a thirty-six-hour heroin binge, starting yesterday morning, apparently. She never went to rehearsals, and didn’t make it to work, either. She got back last night just before curfew. One of her neighbors complained today that Jasmine’s baby had been crying all last night and into this morning.”

  “Is the baby all right?” Tessa asked.

  “He is now,” Eunice said. “Child Protective Services has him. He hadn’t been changed or fed since sometime yesterday—that’s how we know Jasmine went on a major toot.”

  “Where is she now?” Luke got out his notebook to write down the address.

  Eunice shrugged. “Evicted. We packed her bags and dropped her off at a friend’s apartment in Gardena. Nasty neighborhood. I don’t imagine Jasmine will be sober for the rest of the week.”

  Luke took down the address anyway, then led Tessa back to his car.

  “Where are we going?” Tessa asked.

  “To see Jasmine.”

  “But you heard Eunice—she’s going
to be high.”

  “The way I see it, Jasmine has a vice to exploit right now. That will make it easier for us to get information from her. It won’t be pretty. But it is necessary, so I need you to back me up and not say anything. No matter how ugly it gets.”

  Chapter 19

  Gardena, California

  Thursday afternoon, March 4

  “Are you sure you want to leave your car parked here?” Tessa asked. “It will probably be stripped down to nuts and bolts by the time we get back.”

  The neighborhood where Jasmine was staying was the type of place where even the police would hesitate to enter. Luke glanced around, then headed for a group of teenagers hanging out on the corner. Tessa saw him wave money in front of the kids; some kind of deal was struck, and Luke returned to the car. As he walked toward her and a gust of wind caught his coat, she saw a holstered pistol underneath his right arm. Apparently, he was a lefty.

  “The Mercedes will be fine. Stay close to me as we go up to Jasmine’s place. Make eye contact with people you see, but don’t maintain it. Don’t be afraid, but try not to display attitude, either. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Tessa swallowed hard as they approached the group of men hanging out in the entryway of the building. They ranged in age from fourteen to twenty, and clearly spent whatever money they had on gold chains, designer denim, and the hot rods parked out front. Conversation stopped as she and Luke approached.

  She met the eyes of the group’s leader enough to show that she saw him, then looked away. Her skin crawled as a chorus of hoots and catcalls followed her up the shallow steps. At one point, she and Luke had to pass within inches of a man who was leaning on the door frame. He pelted Luke with a question in rapid-fire gutter Spanish. Luke responded in the same bastardized dialect, and they were allowed to pass.

  Tessa could smell sweat and beer on the man as she squeezed by him in the peeling wooden doorframe. She felt his eyes on her like a violation, peeling away the layers of business clothes and leering over what lay underneath. Her skin continued to twitch as she followed Luke through the dark, damp courtyard toward the cracked cement stairs at the far side of the building.