Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  “I’ve been looking into this Miss Youn,” Clay said, interrupting the silence. “That’s not her real name, which is unsurprising. She’s called Seo-yein Kan, a fifty-four-year-old widow with deep ties to the Korean mob. I can’t find much on her, but her name – or pseudonyms – pop up every now and then. Suspected of many things, convicted of nothing.”

  “What does this mean for us?” I asked.

  “It means,” Clay said, “that she’s probably high up in the ranks. If Carlos wants the boss’s name, my guess is that she’s high enough up to have information on whom that person may be.”

  “You don’t think it’s her?” I broke in.

  “Not really,” Clay said with a pause.

  “Why the hesitation?” I asked, as I waited for Clay to elaborate.

  “No reason.”

  “Why don’t you think it’s her?” I pressed. Clay wasn’t one to make assumptions without hard evidence.

  “Because...”

  “Because why?”

  “She’s a woman,” Clay said on a breath.

  I gave him the eye roll to end all eye rolls. “I won’t comment on the validity of that reasoning. Do we know where she is now?”

  “I can’t find anything.” I could almost hear Clay wince as he admitted it. Clay hated not being able to find information.

  I glanced between Clay and Anthony.

  “I can’t find much on her,” Clay said again. “Her business – I can’t crack it. I can’t get in there, and it’s driving me insane.”

  “Why?” I asked. “You can crack into the NSA in a heartbeat, I wouldn’t think a spa would be that difficult.”

  “That’s the problem.” Clay shook his head. “She uses pen and paper to run the dang business! I can’t find a computer anywhere.”

  “Ah. I see how that could be a problem,” I said.

  Clay let out a frustrated sigh. “She’s a little bit old school, and she’s also quite clever. She’s probably realized there’s an advantage to working offline.”

  “Impressive,” Anthony commented, though his tone didn’t sound very impressed at all.

  “How do you recommend we find her?” I asked.

  “I can’t do anything more from a remote location,” Clay said. “You need to get ahold of her record books if you want a name.”

  “And the books are at...” I started, looking at Anthony. “The spa.”

  “Exactly. I’m not going back,” Clay said hurriedly. “But feel free to be my guest.”

  “No,” Anthony said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I doubt she’ll be there now,” I said. “In fact, it’s probably the best time to go. After an event like this, she doesn’t want to get caught. She’ll stay far away from illegal activities until the spotlight is off of her.”

  Anthony didn’t look convinced.

  I crossed my arms. “But I’m getting a manicure this time. Those clothes did nothing for my figure.”

  “I liked them.” Anthony smiled, and I cast a quick glance at the crack now running down our front door. Clay groaned and turned to his computer.

  “I’m going to the spa,” I said. “But first, I need to talk to Maria, Laura’s contact from the spa, to see what information she has for us.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Anthony said, leaving no room for disagreement.

  “I won’t say no.” I smiled. “After all, I’d love a ride.”

  IT TOOK SOME SERIOUS begging, but I finally convinced Anthony to stop off at 7-11 for a quick sugar bomb coffee on the way to Maria’s. I probably went a bit overboard with my begging, only because I somehow bullied Anthony into buying two donut holes in addition to my marshmallow-filled coffee which, historically, never happened.

  I was just polishing off the last of the sugary goodness when Anthony pulled up in front of a plain one-bedroom apartment not far from Meg’s bar. It wasn’t what I’d expected.

  “We’re here?” I asked.

  “Yep.” Anthony looked at the empty donut bag, then to me.

  “It’s just so...normal.”

  “What did you expect?” he asked.

  I shrugged. But honestly, I’d expected either a fancy pants place made possible by illegally obtained money, or a scarier apartment than mine – Pretty Woman style.

  “Shall we?” he gestured. “Please, try not to get sugar all over the inside of my car.”

  I gave a thin smile, pulled open the door, and very carefully slid out of the seat, brushing crumbs off as I stood up.

  We made it up to the door, knocked, and waited. There was no response.

  “Maybe we should break in?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “But you never even knock when you come to my apartment. I know you can get in here, no problem.”

  “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” Anthony said, knocking again.

  I grumbled loudly about how he didn’t have any qualms about should and could where my apartment was concerned.

  “Sugar, that’s because I know the truth deep down.”

  “What truth?” I turned to him.

  “You like when I’m around.” He leaned over and gripped my stomach with his hand, just above my hips. He ran his thumb in a circle over my skin while planting a quick kiss on my forehead.

  By the time I processed everything and had a moment to react, the door opened, and Anthony’s face morphed into a mask of professionalism.

  “Yes?” A Hispanic girl with Skittle-colored fingernails and a large wad of gum in her mouth eyed us up and down.

  “Maria?” Anthony asked, leaning forward against the door and placing one hand subtly on the wooden frame, preventing her from locking us out.

  “Yah, that’s me,” she chomped. “What brings a sexpot like you here?”

  “Questions,” I said, stepping forward. “Can we speak with you?”

  “You two togetha?” she asked, glancing between us.

  “N-no,” I said quickly. “I mean, business partners. Working friends, only.”

  “Yeah, right. Sure. I definitely believe that. Anyway, I don’t make a habit of talking to strangers, but I can tell the big guy here won’t be leaving.” She gestured to where Anthony’s hand blocked the door from closing. “Come in. And don’t get that powdered sugar crap on my furniture.” I looked down and saw a large white stain down the front of my shirt. I sucked in a breath, noticing Anthony’s hidden smirk as we stepped inside.

  Her apartment was overly furnished. Stuffed animals lined every surface, a huge collection of shot glasses sat proudly along the top of the mantel, and a bookshelf along one wall contained four different fish bowls instead of the books it was meant to hold. I peered closer, and noticed at least two of the fish were belly up.

  “Uh,” I said, gesturing. “I think Goldy here needs to be tossed.”

  She barely looked back. “He’s sleeping.”

  I glanced at Anthony, who gave me a subtle shake of the head.

  “We’d like to make this quick,” he said. “Tell us what you know about the spa where you work.”

  “I work there. I give massages,” she said, not sounding surprised about our spa inquiries. “’Bout it.”

  “We got your information from a source who believes there is more going on at the spa than meets the eye,” I said.

  “More going on than what?” she asked.

  She was going to make me say it. I took a deep breath. “Special services. You know, the kind that are off the books.”

  “Maybe,” Maria shrugged. “Wouldn’t be surprised, but I’m not involved.”

  “We’re not saying you are,” I said. “We’re not trying to get you in trouble. We’re just trying to find out who might know something about it. We’re only interested in the head honcho.”

  “Can’t help ya,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “No,” I said firmly, “I think you can help us.”

  “Why should I, even if I could?” she asked.

 
“We’re trying to help you. It’s dangerous to have these sorts of activities going on,” I said.

  “So? I get my money, I’m happy. I’m just living a normal life. I don’t bother nobody. Why do you care, anyway – are you cops?” She glanced between us again. I looked at Anthony.

  He leaned forward. “No. We’re...not even close to cops. We work for someone else, who has a vested interest in the business. All we need is a name. We get a name and we get paid. Then, we leave you alone – and no offense, but I don’t care what you do for a living.”

  “I’m not a rat,” Maria said. “Even if I knew something.”

  “Under most circumstances, I’d approve of your loyalty to not rat out your coworkers. We value that quality in our line of work,” I said. “However, things have changed – and it is dangerous. Does the name Kim Cho mean anything to you?”

  “No,” she said, but she glanced at her fish tank, and I thought there might be a flicker of untruth in her eyes.

  “Well I suppose you can’t be of help to us.” I waved for Anthony to follow me. “We’ll be out of your hair, then.”

  “Great,” she said. “Glad we could work things out.”

  “Me too,” I said, taking long steps towards the door. “Good luck. I’m glad you didn’t know Mister Cho. If you did, I’d have to tell you his funeral will be next week.”

  “Funeral?” Her eyes definitely flashed with concern. “What do you mean? Just because, like, I don’t know him, but...funerals...” her eyes glazed over, and I didn’t believe her for a second.

  “His apartment was blown up the other day, but it doesn’t affect you,” I said. “It revolved around the spa’s illegal activities, but if you’re not involved, you’re probably not in danger.”

  I was lying a little – I didn’t know if Mister Cho was the target, and I also didn’t feel the need to explain that the bomb had been in my apartment. But I did want to get a little fear into her bones, see if that would make her talk.

  “Was he the only person...uh, involved?” she asked.

  “Are you asking if there will be more attacks?” I asked, shrugging after a moment. “I assume so. He clearly wasn’t the head of the operation, but he was a liability. I assume that anyone who is involved in the business is a liability, and therefore in danger. After all, it seems like whoever is in charge doesn’t want any evidence left behind. Nothing linking him to the scene of the crime.”

  Maria leaned back heavily on her couch. She looked between Anthony and me, and when she spoke, her voice was feeble. “If I had a guess at some information that might be relevant...what would telling you do for me?”

  “Help us find the leader,” I said. “We’ll take care of the problem, and you’re free to move on with your life. Preferably not in the prostitution business.”

  “I’m not in the prostitution business,” she said.

  “Fine,” I said. “But do you know someone who is?”

  She bit her lip.

  I leaned forward. “Give us a name.”

  Maria gave a long, heavy sigh. “I interviewed with this woman when I first got my job. I don’t know if she runs the thing, but she’s high up. I don’t know her name, but all of the girls call her Kitty.”

  “No real name?” I asked, wondering if Kitty could be the one and only Miss Youn. Or whatever her real name was.

  Maria shook her head. “I’ve never seen one written down, never heard one tossed around. She was Kitty from day one. That’s the truth.”

  “Mmm. Anything else we should know?” I asked. “Do you have any idea how the process of booking appointments works?”

  Maria wrung her hands, and glanced again at her poor, dead goldfish. She appeared to be debating the pros and cons of divulging more details.

  “The more you can give us, the safer you’ll be,” I said.

  She nodded with hesitation. “Every detail is kept separate. Nobody knows who books the appointments. We – er, the girls get a text message with the date, time, and client’s name from an anonymous number.”

  My eyes flicked to Anthony.

  “The scheduler was Mister Kim,” I told her. “He’s the one that was blown up. He did the bookings and worked for Kitty?”

  She tilted her head. “I suppose.”

  I tapped my front tooth with my finger in thought. “But if Kitty’s higher up than Kim, why did she want to meet the girls? I thought she’d want to stay separate.”

  “Because Kitty’s real proud of the business we run,” Maria said, a slightly satisfied smirk on her face. “Kitty hires only the best, and we all interview with her personally. I didn’t have much interaction with her after the first meeting.”

  “Lovely,” I said. “Quality assurance.” I rolled my eyes at Anthony. “Listen, is there anything you can tell me about where to start if I want to find this Kitty?”

  Maria put a manicured fingernail to her purple lips. “Well, I’ve heard a rumor that she only comes to the spa for special occasions. Like, if we have a particularly high paying client, she’ll show up and greet him personally.”

  “Interesting,” I said. I sat on the couch next to her and thought for a moment. “But if I wanted to make an appointment...now that Mister Kim’s gone, I don’t see how I could do that.”

  “Referrals. Most of the high rollers are referrals from the girls.” Maria nodded. “It’s a word of mouth kind of business.”

  “Ah,” I said. “And... are you in the position to make a referral?”

  “No,” she said, but I didn’t sense that her answer was a firm no.

  “A hundred dollar referral?” Anthony asked.

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’m not taking the chance this referral will get tied back to me.”

  “Can you direct us towards someone who can?” I asked.

  “Maybe for a hundred bucks I can come up with a name,” she said.

  Anthony glanced at me, pulling a wallet from his pocket. “Details, and I give you the money.”

  “Call Cammie. Tell her you’re a referral from Miguel. He’s one of my – er, another girl’s clients. Brings in a lot of his buddies and refers lots of business. Just let Cammie know and she’ll help you out with an appointment. For a hundred bucks, she’ll give you a—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “We don’t need to know.”

  Maria continued, unfazed. “You won’t have a problem getting an appointment with her.”

  “That’s exactly what I need,” I said. “How could I get in touch with Cammie?”

  “Here’s her number,” Maria said, handing me her phone with the digits splayed across the screen.

  I typed the number into my phone, and looked up at Anthony. “Got it.”

  “Cammie’s great,” Maria continued. “I’m sure you’ll be happy with your service.”

  I wrinkled my nose, not sure if there was a pun in there or not. “Cammie it is. Thanks. We’ll...be going now.”

  Anthony handed over the money as we made our way to the door. On the way, Maria stopped and dumped a few fish flakes into the bowl. “You really think Mr. Wiggle is dead?”

  I looked at him sadly, taking in Maria’s hopeful expression. “You know, he might just be napping.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Maria said. “Oh, yeah. By the way – when you talk to Cammie, use the name Marcus. She prefers an exotic flavor of men.”

  Anthony raised his eyebrows as we bid Maria goodbye. She shut the door behind us, and as we descended the front steps towards his car, Anthony turned to me. “What flavor of men do you prefer?”

  “I go for Salted Caramel and Boom Chocolata,” I smiled. “I find that Ben and Jerry are the only two men with whom I have success on a regular basis.”

  Chapter 14

  THE CAR RIDE HOME WAS short and sweet. Or, as sweet as it could get without marshmallows. Anthony had denied me round two at my favorite 7-11. He pulled up in front of my apartment, leaving me by the curb with instructions to go straight inside.

  “I’m
gonna send Cammie a text,” I said. “I’ll let you know what she says.”

  “Ask Clay for help. He’ll know what to do. Also, do not leave until I come back.”

  “Where are you going?” I leaned in the window.

  “Business.”

  “Mmm. That explains so much,” I said, an air of sarcasm floating along with my words. “I’ll see you.”

  Anthony waited by the curb until I shut the front door. He even waited until I opened my apartment door and waved down at him from the front window.

  “Clay,” I called. “I have a contact. I need your help.” I typed out a message on my phone, as I listened to the groans and grumblings that meant I’d caught Clay’s reluctant attention.

  I reread the message as my cousin entered the room.

  Cammie, this is Marcus, I’ve been referred by Miguel. I have money – a lot of it – that I would like to put to good use for a special appointment. Could you please find time to fit me in today? Thank you!!! If not, no problem. We could reschedule. Maybe for tomorrow, but let me know. Thanks!

  Clay leaned over my shoulder, rolling his eyes. I agreed. Too polite. I deleted the whole thing.

  “How’s this?” I asked Clay. He read the words on my screen:

  Cammie – Marcus here. Referred via Miguel. Appointment today. Will pay $$$$

  “Better,” Clay said.

  Send.

  I set the phone on the coffee table, and turned to make a snack while I waited. But a response pinged me back before I’d taken two steps. Staring wide-eyed at Clay, I held the phone out for him to read the message.

  “We’re in,” I said.

  Clay’s expression brightened at the note:

  1 p.m. Bring the Kitty Cash. $$$$$$

  I smiled and typed: OK.

  Send.

  “We’re in,” Clay said. “Let’s get you wired up.”

  I nodded. “I’ll tell Anthony. Also, the girls call Miss Youn, Kitty. Who would have thought?” I asked. I paused a moment. “Speaking of...where’s Tupac?”