First Class Killing

Chapter 31

ANGEL FLIPPED HER HAIR OFF HER SHOULDER. Her long blond mane looked particularly untamed today, as if she’d swept her fingers through it when she got up and let it fall where it wanted. It added to her relaxed appearance, which came, no doubt, from her stay in “the country,” as she called it.

The two of us had settled in the den of her cabin, yet another of her many properties. It was lovely, exactly what you would expect in the woods of New England. It had a deep front porch with split log railing and a pitched roof with a stone chimney. The sound of a running stream came from the back of the property, but otherwise there was a blessed absence of sirens and car alarms and garbage trucks and grocery carts filled with aluminum cans rattling down alleys. It was peaceful. The air smelled clean. It was like being in a sacred place, which made our discussion feel all the more inappropriate.

“I need a what, doll?”

“A frequent fucker program,” I said. “That’s the answer.”

“What was the question?”

“How do you make both your women and your clients want to stay with you? You build a loyalty program and lock them in.”

Her first reaction was a tweak around the corners of the mouth that could have been the beginning of a smile, but then she sank back into the couch’s downy cushions and continued to file her nails. “That won’t work.”

I was only a fake consultant and she was only a fake client, and a criminal at that, but I had enough pride of ownership to want her to appreciate the subtlety and the creativity of the idea, and the absolutely pitch-perfect solution it represented.

“Why not?”

“Because I would have to give away free pussy and I don’t want to do that. Especially since I don’t have to.”

I scooted out a little farther on my end of the L-shaped couch. The inside of the cabin had the same rough-hewn quality as the outside only softened in a very un-Angel-like way with lots of pillows and cushions and quilts. The couch was so soft I had a hard time sitting comfortably. If I wasn’t careful, I would sink down and disappear into its cushy folds.

“You’re looking only at the cost. Let’s talk about the benefits first.”

“I’m all ears.”

“A good, well-designed loyalty program would keep your current clients in the fold, it would be powerful enough to pull back the ones who have left, it would give your providers a reason to stay, and the best part is…” I paused for dramatic effect. “You can do it, and the women in LA can’t.”

A slightly different tilt of her head signaled a subtle shift in the way she was listening. I had her attention.

“How would it work?”

“Just like the airline programs. It will have different tiers, or status levels, which clients qualify for based on the number of points they have. They earn points by buying services.”

“My services. Dates.”

“Right. The more they buy, the more points they earn. The more points they earn, the more hooked in they are to the provider of those services-you. You know how people are about their frequent flier miles. They’re insane.”

“Which brings us to the awards, right? The free dates?”

“You can’t think about them as being free. These guys will probably increase their activity to earn more points. More dates mean more revenue for you and your women. You also charge an annual subscription fee, right?”

“I do.”

“Every time a member qualifies for a higher tier, you raise his subscription fee. That will make it seem more valuable to him. You can name the tiers to reflect the status. Bronze, silver, and gold, or-”

“Emerald, ruby, and diamond. I like that better. It’s not so common.”

I made a note, although it was hard to see. When it had gotten dark outside, Angel had lit the fire in the fireplace with a flip of a wall switch. It was apparently a gas unit, now our only illumination. “The idea is to hook your customers and to dangle some free stuff out there to encourage them to spend more. It also gives you a way to reward the women who are the top earners.”

“How does it do that?”

“Right now you have a pool of beginners, women just starting out. You stop referring to them as the pool and start calling them emeralds. The other-”

“I could even give the gals a little something, a kind of emerald pin or ring or doodad showing that they’re one of mine. ‘Emerald class.’ I like the sound of that.”

I had her. She had put her fingermail file down, she was sitting up straight, and she was starting to think of the idea as her own, which meant it would work, at least for what I needed. “A little recognition never hurts. You use the emeralds just as you use your pool now-to service your lowest-tier clients. But once the woman develops enough of a list, she’s earned her right to move to the next level. What did you call them?”

“Rubies.”

“So, then she services your ruby-level clients, who have earned the right to be more selective because they’ve earned the points. They pay a higher subscription fee. At the same time, you raise the per-session fees so the women can make more money, too. That gives them incentive to climb the ladder and a reason to stay with you.”

“What does a diamond get?”

“Whatever you want to give him. You make this the ultra-elite tier and make it really hard to attain. They’ll love that. Once they get there, though, you have to give them something good. Maybe you put only your most expensive, experienced, and in-demand women in there. People like you.”

“I’m a double black diamond, doll baby. There is no one else in my tier.” In spite of herself, a note of edgy excitement had worked its way into her tone. “What’s to keep the LA bitches from copying it like they do everything else?”

“You have something they don’t have. You have history.”

She nodded, which meant it was true, which meant I was one step closer to Web Boy.

“So what? That’s all in the past.”

“If you have records of all your clients’ activity to date, you can award points and status retroactively based on prior transactions. You’ll lock in the current customers, and you might get back some who have left you. Throw out a limited-time offer. Tell them they can come back within the month and get credit for all their prior activity.”

“The LA group can make up history.”

“It’s not the same. You know how much guys love those loyalty programs. They covet the status, they love earning those points or miles and getting free stuff, and they love to play the game. They love togame the game. This will work, Angel.”

“This is like a real marketing strategy.”

“It is a real strategy, and it solves both of your big problems.”

She eased back and put both feet on the coffee table. In her loose-fitting jeans, bulky sweater, and thick woolen socks, she looked as if she’d just come in from a day of skiing. The dim light of the fire softened the rougher edges that usually showed in her face. Without all her makeup, she looked almost vulnerable. It was time to move in and try to wrap it up.

“Ultimately,” I said, “the group in LA will figure it out and catch up. Competitors always do, so we should get started right away.”

“We? You figure on sticking around, do you?”

“Someone has to design the program.”

“That’s why I have Sluggo.”

“Sluggo?”

“He’s my programmer. He looks like a slug.”

The nape of my neck tingled. Finally, she acknowledged his existence, and he even had a name…sort of.

“You just write it all out, and I’ll give it to him.”

“To design a good program that fits your setup, I need to know how your data are stored and tagged. No offense, but using you as a go-between, it would take forever to go back and forth on this stuff.”

“Sorry, sugar. No one meets Sluggo but me.”

“If you don’t trust me, we can meet him together.” Not ideal but…

“Bits and bytes make my eyes glaze over. Besides, every time I get around that boy, he drools all over me. I don’t believe he’s ever had sex. I should initiate him someday. That might be fun. His head would probably fly off.” She glanced over at me, looking for a reaction. I gave her nothing. “Cheer up, doll. I like your idea. It’s fun. I’m going to use it.”

This was a problem. If she used my idea and didn’t give me what I needed to get her busted, I was in danger of actually making her business stronger. Not what the client had in mind. “You would put the future of your business into the hands of a programmer? A guy?”

“My business already is in his hands. Besides, why would I put my business in your hands? I barely know you.”

I set my notes on the coffee table. Shadows from the fire danced on the rug beneath it, clearly visible through the glass top. It was hard not to show my frustration. I’d already spent the entire afternoon with her, I had a long drive back to Boston, and I was bumping up on a deadline. Harvey was right. This was my last shot at her. If I were ever going to get what I needed, it would have to be now. I ran through my options. Offer up the rest of the names I had stolen in LA? It wouldn’t be enough. She understood that her programmer was her biggest vulnerability. Threaten to take the idea to her competitors? That was an empty threat. The only way to get what I needed was to play her game.

“What would I have to do to get you to trust me, Angel?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“The rent is due, my credit cards are maxed out, and I’m out of money. I need to know what it will take. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

She looked at me with a satisfied smile as she stretched out and rubbed her feet together, feline style. She understood what I was doing, and she liked it.

“There might just be something you could do for me.” She grabbed a strand of her hair and looked at it, as if inspecting for split ends. “Tell me, Alexandra, have you ever fucked a boy on the first date?”

“A boy?”

She shrugged. “A man. Have you ever put out on the first date, just because you couldn’t keep your hands off him?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been in a threesome?”

“I’m not as adventurous as you.”

“Have you ever had sex with another woman?”

“I like men.”

“Men are pigs.” She said it dismissively, as if it were a scientific fact. “Cocks with wallets is all they are. Or wallets with cocks if you like that better.”

“Your sample is skewed. The men you do business with might all be pigs, but-”

“What type is that?”

“Those willing to pay for sex.”

That brought one of her whoops of delight. “Oh, doll baby. You really do need to learn the ways of the world. There isn’t a man alive who isn’t about one cocktail away from blowing everything he has in his life for a secret poke.” She winked. “Especially if it’s with me. I don’t care who or what he is, I’ll lead him to the trough, and I guarantee you, he’ll be snout deep in all that forbidden fruit before you know it. Men are easy. It’s women that are hard. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re so much smarter. Like you for instance.” She pulled her legs up underneath her and went up on all fours. Then she started toward me, doing a slow, seductive tiger crawl across the couch. Her hands and her knees sank down into the soft cushions so that when she was right next to me, it was hard not to tumble into her.

Angel up close was such a vivid presence, she was almost too much to take. Her size. Her scent. The way her eyes shone. Tristan had said it best. She was always hungry, and I was just figuring out how famished she seemed tonight. She was almost purring. “You never answered my question.”

“What was-”

“Have you ever been naked with another woman?”

“I’ve never had sex with another woman.”

“But you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

I was trying to stay a step ahead of her, trying to figure out what answers she would want to hear. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help thinking that I had started something I wouldn’t be able to stop, something that wouldn’t go well for either one of us. “Maybe.”

“That’s what I thought.” She curled her legs beneath her and sat back, which had the advantage of moving her half an arm’s length away. “When you close your eyes alone at night in your bed, you think about it, don’t you? About the way a woman’s lips would feel touching your skin or a tongue that knows what it’s doing, all warm and wet and exactly where you want it.” She started moving her hands over her own body, caressing herself. “Does this get you hot? Because I’m all hot now, sugar. I think you should stay here with me tonight.”

She pushed closer and put her hand on my thigh. I watched her do it. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. I felt her fingers through the fabric of my jeans. It didn’t turn me on. It didn’t feel erotic. It felt like business.

“If I stayed with you tonight, you would introduce me to your programmer?”

The heat was coming off her in waves. I imagined I could hear the blood racing beneath her skin. She was revving. “Put your tongue in my mouth right now,” she said, “and I will give you whatever you want.” She tried to kiss me. I turned my head. When her hand began to creep into forbidden territory, I put mine over it.

“You know, Angel, I keep trying to treat you with respect. I keep trying to maintain a professional relationship with you, because you say that’s what you’re about. But the truth is, you’re a whore, plain and simple.”

She pulled away. I turned to find her staring at me. Then she pulled her hand off my thigh. “What did you just say?”

“I’ve come to you with a good marketing strategy. I’ve provided you with important proprietary information from your most aggressive competitor. I’ve even screwed a man for money because you said to. I’ve done everything you asked and more. What’s your response? You will only trust me if I have sex with you. I’m beginning to think you have trust issues.”

“Did you…did you just call me a whore?”

“You think like one, you act like one, you make decisions like one. You hate yourself like one. That’s why you can’t trust me. You can’t understand anyone who would give you something and not expect sex in return.”

She was still kneeling on the couch next to me, holding perfectly still. The only sound in the room was the hissing of the gas fueling the fire. She didn’t seem horny anymore. She seemed speechless.

“So what happened to you? Were you molested by your father? Raped by your brother? What was it that turned you into such a cliché? Or do you even know?”

“You’d better stop right there.”

“Am I hitting close to home? You like poking around in other people’s psyches and you’re good at it. It’s probably what makes you good at your job. But when the game turns around, you run. You’re scared.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“All you do is hide. Behind your big tits and your makeup and your fancy clothes and your money. You’ve had fun dissecting me and making me strip for you. Come on out here into the light and show me what you’ve got.”

“Ooh. Are we going to play doctor now? Should I stretch out on the couch for this part? I’d much rather stretch you out. I could make you forget all about men.” She tried to sound sultry, but she was off her rhythm.

“That’s not going to work with me. I want to know about you, but I don’t want to have sex with you. Can you grasp that?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to do business with you. You know better than anyone how important it is to understand your client. I’m trying to understand you.”

She stared for a long time before letting her shoulders relax. She put her elbow up against the back of the couch and rested her head against her hand.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing what?”

“Nothing happened to me. I saw the way the world worked and I made a choice. That’s all.”

“How does the world work?”

“When I was fifteen years old, I had to take a job in a department store after school, because my daddy was such a dumb bastard that he couldn’t support his own family.”

I recoiled slightly, the way I always did when I heard one person call another one dumb, and especially someone they were supposed to love. But I also thought that maybe, just maybe, this could go in the direction I wanted it to.

“There was a dress in stock that I wanted to wear to the freshman dance. It was a teal green with a sweetheart neckline. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and there was no way on God’s green earth I could pay for it. I was going to steal it, but then one day the store manager saw me pawing it. He was this dickhead who wore short-sleeved shirts where the sweat stains under his arms never quite came out. His oldest daughter was in school with me. He told me I could have the dress if I went to the back room and sat on his lap. I remember he had this pocket watch he used to wear. It was a gold watch and he wore it on the end of this cheap old chain. I never did understand that. The chain got caught under my thigh, that’s what made me think of it. He came in thirty seconds.” She smiled. “I came home with my dress, and I wore it to that dance, and I had a blast. After that, I could get anything I wanted if I went with him to the stockroom. Easy as pie.”

“That’s your life-altering moment? You fucked a man for a dress, and that set your life on the course it’s on?”

“Not really. I fucked a priest. That’s probably what did it.”

“You…” I looked at her more closely. She stared into the fire.

“You’re a Catholic, aren’t you?”

“I was raised Catholic,” I said.

“I knew it. I can always tell.” Her voice had gone all dreamy. “Dried-up old men in collars and nuns in burkas, they teach you that sex is dirty and anyone who engages in the sins of the flesh is a filthy heathen who will rot for eternity in hell. What do they know? They’ve never gotten any in their lives. The only priest that ever taught me anything worth knowing was the one who stuck his dick in my mouth.” She gave me a half smile. “He taught me everything.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged as though revealing this much had left her with a chill. “I went down on him, up on him, inside and out with him. It’s the ones who know they’re doing wrong that make me the hottest.”

“Did you ever tell anyone?”

“Tell them what?”

“That you were molested?”

“Doll, if there was any molesting going on, it was me doing it to him. I was what you’d call an early developer. He couldn’t resist me. No man ever could and I needed it, too.”

Right. “How old were you?”

She offered a gentle smile. Her face softened. She rested her hands on her thighs. She looked as tranquil as I’d ever seen her. She dropped her head and looked as though she were in some kind of meditative pose. I almost wanted to reach out to her. Then she raised her head and I saw into her eyes. Something had gone off inside, some kind of light had been extinguished. She stared right through me. When she spoke, her voice was scarily dull, completely devoid of emotion.

“So tell me, Alexandra, does any of this get you hot?”

“Molestation? Not generally.”

“Because you won’t let it.” She started to come at me again, moving slowly. She reached over and started to play with my hair, running her hands through it and pushing it behind my ear. “You know what your problem is? You’re all about control. You need to lose control, or have it taken away from you. Then you could just lie back and enjoy.”

“That would be rape, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, that would be rape. Don’t you ever fantasize about being raped? Taken against your will with all choice removed. No choice means no games, no angst, or confusion, or questions. Just giving in. Letting go…and enjoying. It makes it so easy.”

“That’s not one of my fantasies.”

“Taken by someone more powerful and more experienced than you are. Someone who would know what you wanted before you did and would do it to you even when you said no. Someone who would make you do…things…to her…that you’ve never done before.”

The smile was still there, but tighter, crueler, and deeply unsettling. She moved her hand to my face. This time when she touched me, it set off an adrenaline surge that ripped through my bloodstream with one clear message:run.

I tried to get up. She put her knee and all her weight on my thigh and locked me down. At the same time, she grabbed my wrist, wrenched my arm around, and held it up between us like half a turkey wishbone. The come-on was over. The pretense was gone. Now we were down to the pure, unvarnished conflict that had been there between us all along.

“You’ve been trying to get close to me, sugar.” Her smooth-as-maple-syrup voice was back. So was her attitude. “Is this close enough?”

“Angel, all I was doing was-”

“You bitch.” She twisted my arm half a turn in the wrong direction. It hurt like hell. “You think you’re so smart. Did you find out what you wanted to know? Do you understand your client now?”

I did understand some things. First, that there wasn’t much point in engaging in discussion. I could look into her eyes and see what I hadn’t seen before. Second was that it wasn’t the sex that turned her on. It was the manipulation. She got off on making people do what they didn’t want to do. She liked making them uncomfortable and ashamed, how she might have felt giving a blow job to a priest. Sadly, I understood too late that making her feel that again would result in this kind of reaction.

“You’re nothing but a whore like me. What’s your price? What will make you do what you don’t want to do?”

She was now stroking my forehead with her free hand. I tried to figure out if I could push her off. Probably not. If I could twist out from under her. Doubtful. If I had any advantage at all. Not really. Not physically.

“I could force you,” she said.

She looked crazed, like an animal. It reminded me of something I had read about wolves, about how the weaker wolf in a fight can save itself by offering its throat, giving the stronger animal the choice to rip it out. Or not. All I had left was to offer her my throat.

I let the wave of pain in my arm subside and tried to talk slowly, with some semblance of confidence. “I know you could force me. I know you could hurt me, and I believe you would. If that’s your plan, then do it. Otherwise, let me go.”

She stared into my face and twisted my arm again, this time approaching the limit of what my normal skeletal structure could endure. My fingers went completely numb. Tears sprang to my eyes. It was as if her shell had fallen away, leaving something truly scary to look at. It was raw physical desire and a bottomless pit of loathing, for herself and everyone else. I wasn’t sure which was fuel for the other, or even if one could be separated from the other.

“I could force you,” she whispered again, “if I wanted.”

She twisted until we were both shaking. When I finally cried out, she let go of my arm and backed off of my thigh.

I was on my feet instantly. When I dropped my hand to my side, the blood rushed back in, making my fingers hurt as if they were throbbing against a thousand needles. I grabbed my things and started backing out the front door.

“Twelve,” she said, without looking at me.

“Twelve what?”

“I was twelve years old.”

I left her sitting alone in the dark, staring into the fire.

I could barely keep my car on the road on the way back to Boston. After I had blown out of Angel’s place and buckled in, a wave of delayed adrenaline had washed through me. I had started shaking and sweating and hadn’t stopped. Felix heard it in my voice when I called him.

“What’s the matter, Miss S? You sound freaked out.”

That was the perfect description. “I just had a disturbing experience.” At least I was out of the cabin, but I was out without the contact information for Sluggo. “Did you get e-mails and attachments from a guy named Bo or Bulatovic?”

“They just came in. What are they?”

“They’re the original blackmail correspondence to Arthur Margolies. I was hoping you could use them to track back to Web Boy. I need to get to him fast. You’re my only option now.”

“Maybe,” he said. I heard his keys tapping. “I’m looking at it, and it won’t be that straightforward. Let me get to work, and I’ll get back to you.”

I didn’t want to hang up, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Felix, can you stay on with me for a little while?”

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. Sure thing. Did I tell you about the boarding pass printer problem I’ve been working on?”