Running Dark

47

BANNER PULLED THE CAR’S LEFT WHEELS ONTO THE SIDEWALK as he parked in front of a dark wooden door. A neon sign hung over it that said ARIES EROSCENTER. To the right was a framed poster with a graphic of a man and a woman entwined in a sexual position. Both were naked, with shadows artfully arranged to hide the woman from view. The man’s naked back was exposed. Under the picture, the logos of the biggest credit-card companies in the world were proudly displayed. Banner folded in the car’s sideview mirrors so as to avoid getting them clipped in the narrow lane before stepping up to ring the bell. He waited for a response, eyeing the LED light glowing from a camera placed in a discreet location above his head. When a clicking sound indicated that the lock was sprung, he pushed through the entrance.

It was a dramatic lobby. Black and white marble tiles set in a geometric pattern adorned the floor, and a plush black velvet couch hugged one wall, with two large red wing chairs facing it. A man whom Banner guessed to be about fifty sat behind a paneled reception desk watching a computer monitor. He was bald, with a thick neck and broad shoulders, but despite his large physique he seemed a cut above the average bouncer. He wore a dark brown sweater with a shirt underneath, and reading glasses hung from a chain around his neck. He nodded at Banner.

“Welcome. Can I help you?” The man spoke in English.

“Is it so obvious that I’m American?” Banner said. He was seeking to put the man at ease, to form some sort of connection before plunging into the reason for his visit.

The man smiled. “Yes.”

“Are you the owner?”

The man shook his head. “No. I’m the manager. Can I help you?”

“How much does it cost?”

The manager slid a rate card at him. “Ninety euros cover charge. We give you a key for a locker, a robe, and slippers. You can shower, then take one of our saunas. Upstairs we have a bar, a lounge, and a wellness center, as well as a theater.”

Banner glanced at the card. The man had given him one translated in English. The fees listed were not exorbitant but rose according to the time spent. One fee was for what was euphemistically called a “sleepover.” Banner thought it was an unfortunate choice of the English word. While it was a direct translation, he suspected that the establishment probably didn’t understand the childish connotation. Or at least he hoped they didn’t.

“I’m looking for a particular patron.”

The man frowned. “We don’t reveal our clients. They depend on our discretion.”

Banner pretended to sympathize. “I understand, but this particular client is quite famous, and if he were to be found here, it would throw both him and this establishment into an unfavorable light. I’m sure your owner wouldn’t care to have that happen.”

The manager seemed to consider this. “You can pay the fee, and then you are free to look around. If he’s not busy in a room, you may find him between sessions in one of the common areas.”

The last thing Banner wanted to do was go padding around a brothel in a robe and slippers. He was even less enthused about the idea of watching a bunch of other men padding around in robes and slippers. But by far the worst thing would be to find Rickell in a robe and slippers. Unfortunately, it was possible that he’d end up doing just that before the night was over. If he did, Banner didn’t think he’d be able to sit in a Department of Defense meeting with the man ever again.

He sighed. “I don’t want to throw my weight around, but I am willing to arrange for the authorities to come here and run a search.”

The manager waved a hand at the sofa. “Please sit. I’ll get the owner for you.”

Banner sat. Ten minutes later a tall, striking middle-aged woman with blond hair, a willowy body, and a regal air walked toward him. She wore impeccably fitting tailored pants with a white silk blouse and peered at him through expensive eyeglasses that lent her a serious, professorial air. Banner stood to greet her. If she was indicative of the quality of the women inside, he was already impressed. She held out a hand to him.

“I’m Isabelle Kartiner, the owner here. I understand that you wish to speak to me?”

“I do. I’m looking for a particular client who may be inside. If he is, I need to arrange to get him out without anyone noticing.”

Ms. Kartiner gave Banner a sad smile. “I apologize, but we will be unable to help you. Our clients insist on maintaining their privacy. We wouldn’t last a week if it were discovered that we were free with their information.”

Banner tried another tack. “Then I won’t ask you to find him, but perhaps I can ask you questions that may reveal whether it’s worth my while to remain?”

She smiled. “I think it would be worth your while to remain in any event. Our girls are the best at what they do. I’m sure we could find one to suit you.”

“Thank you, but I don’t normally frequent places like this.”

Ms. Kartiner gave him a shrewd look. “Generally I wouldn’t believe that statement, as many of our newer patrons claim to be novices to the trade yet really indulge themselves frequently. However, it occurs to me that a man with your looks would have little need to come here for female companionship.”

Banner smiled. She had delivered the compliment with an aplomb he admired.

“I imagine that the men who patronize your establishment don’t come here because they are unable to obtain female companionship on the outside. I’ll wager that they have other impulses that drive them to engage in such a transaction.”

Ms. Kartiner looked amused. “That’s true. And you? Do you have any impulses that you’d like to explore?”

Banner shook his head. “Just the impulse to locate my friend.” He pointed to the entrance. “Do they all leave through this door?”

She smiled. “Yes. Do you wish to wait and see if he appears?”

“I do.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable. This isn’t our main sitting room—we have a bar and lounge area upstairs, but only paying guests are allowed to proceed to that level. Nevertheless, I’ll have a drink brought to you. There is the magazine rack”—she pointed to a Lucite rack that held magazines behind transparent sleeves—“and newspapers in every language are on that wall”—she pointed to a wooden ladder that held folded newspapers. “What would you like to drink?”

“A double espresso would be greatly appreciated.”

“Of course.” She glided away, her heels making a clicking sound on the marble floor.

Banner watched her as she left. As professional as she was, it was clear to him that she wouldn’t give him the information he needed. Despite what he’d told her, he didn’t have the time to sit in the lobby waiting for the off chance that Rickell would emerge from the upstairs rooms. He was going to have to work on the manager some more.

Ten minutes later a stunning cocktail waitress appeared carrying a black tray. This one was young; Banner estimated that she was no more than twenty-five, with long, shiny brown hair and brown uptilted eyes set in an exotic face. She wore a short black dress that revealed miles of leg and high stiletto heels. She placed before him a narrow silver tray containing a black-and-white demitasse cup filled with thick, sweet-smelling coffee, a tiny silver spoon, and a glass of water. She bestowed a practiced, seductive smile on him.

“Can I get you anything else?” She also spoke in English, but with a slight Eastern European accent. Banner handed her a five-euro bill.

She refused the offer. “Frau Kartiner said that you were not to be charged.”

Banner placed the money on the tray. “Tell her thank you.”

“Shall I escort you inside? Frau Kartiner suggested that I ask you.”

Banner was beginning to understand why Frau Kartiner was the owner of the establishment. She had excellent marketing skills.

“I’ll just stay here, thank you,” Banner said.

The young woman looked surprised. “You’re not going in?”

Banner shook his head. “Not my habit.”

A look of yearning came over the woman’s face. All the practiced seduction was gone. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m looking for my friend. An American man about fifty years old.”

The woman looked puzzled. “There aren’t any Americans here right now. Only locals and a group of Asian men in town for a convention.”

Banner frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. You see, it’s early yet. While we have walk-ins, they don’t typically occur until much later in the evening. The early hours are usually filled with the regulars and preregistered conventioneers.”

Banner considered the girl worth her weight in gold, because he was now free to move on. He followed up his four euro bills with twenty more.

“Thanks for saving me a lot of time sitting here. Do you have any ideas where my friend might be? Are there any other establishments nearby?”

She seemed to consider his question. “Does he have a specific requirement? If he does, that would narrow down the choices.” Banner knew nothing about Rickell’s predilections, if he had any at all. If Rickell had been drugged, it meant his judgment was impaired. He could be acting in a manner foreign even to himself.

“None that I know of.”

“Try the Speakeasy. Two streets down and left. It’s not as nice as here, but the American GIs like it.”

He could only hope that Rickell was not so impaired as to walk into a cathouse loaded with American army men. Banner would go there last.

“Anyplace else? He likes poker. Are there any places where he could play a game?”

The waitress turned toward the manager and fired off a long question in German.

The manager shook his head. He directed his attention to Banner. “None of the houses have girls and a casino together.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean that call girls don’t work off the books in casinos, but that’s the same everywhere.”

Banner downed his espresso in one gulp. “How about an off-the-books game in a regulated house?”

The manager gave Banner a knowing look. “Try the VIP Lounge. It’s a block north on the diagonal. There’s no sign, just a small plaque that says ‘Private Club.’ They often get a game going there.”

“Thanks.” Banner stood. The whole time he’d been there, not one man had entered. “Is business always this slow?”

The manager smiled. “Not at all, but there’s a championship soccer game on television tonight. Business is always slow when that happens.”

Banner didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Soccer trumps women?”

The manager nodded. “In Germany soccer trumps everything.”