R Jagger - Lawyer Trap

“Good. Let me know.”

DAY ELEVEN-SEPTEMBER 15

THURSDAY MORNING

Draven woke around 9:00 a.m. feeling like a dried leather shoe. His muscles screamed from burying the tow-truck woman out in the goddamned rock-infested mountains yesterday. Burying the stripper later in the day had been a lot easier, but had still taken its toll.

He looked at Gretchen, still sleeping.

Nice.

He stretched and hit the shower, getting the water as hot as he could stand it. Unfortunately, today he’d need those same muscles again, to bury the tattoo woman.

He didn’t care.

Putting an end to that phase of his life would be worth it, whatever the cost.

When he got out of the shower, Gretchen was up and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with hot coffee made.

“So what’s the plan today?” she asked.

“I have some surveillance work I need to do,” he said.

“Can I come?”

He laughed.

“No,” he said. “It’s all confidential stuff.”

“Can you drop me off downtown first, then?”

“Why?”

“The Granada won’t start,” she said. “And I don’t feel like sitting around here by myself all day.”

He nodded.

Then he pulled out his wallet and gave her a thousand dollars.

“In case you see something you need to have,” he said.

They ate breakfast.

Then she gave him a long slow blowjob, until he came in her mouth.

He dropped her off downtown, gave her a long sloppy kiss, turned the radio to an oldies station, and then wove his way into the mountains toward the cabin.

On the way, Swofford called with bad news.

“The client’s schedule got all jacked up yesterday and he didn’t make it into town,” Swofford said. “So we’re going to Plan B, which is, you go up to the cabin and feed the woman, let her go to the bathroom, walk her around a little, etcetera. Basically, just keep her alive and in relatively good shape.”

Draven slammed his hand on the dashboard.

“This is nuts,” he said.

Swofford couldn’t agree more but said, “We have no choice.”

“Yeah?” Draven said. “Well you know what I think? I think that when I get up there this morning I’m going to find that the poor woman choked on her own tongue last night.”

Swofford laughed.

“I hear you, but this guy’s paid a lot of money. We owe him some indulgence.”

“This is more trouble than it’s worth,” Draven said.

“Sometimes that’s the way it works,” Swofford said.

Draven shifted thoughts.

“I scooped out this new one-Davica Holland-last night,” he said. “She’s a rich bitch, meaning she’s going to be a lot trickier than the average snatch.”

“I know that.”

“A lot trickier,” Draven emphasized. “I’m thinking twenty-five grand trickier.”

Swofford laughed.

“Nice try, but I’ve already given the client a fixed price. Here’s the good news, though. No rush with her. Take your time, do it right, and then let me know when you have her. The client’s totally flexible on the timing. Don’t hurt her, though. She can’t be marked up.”

“Has he paid yet?”

“Yep, cold hard cash.”

“Good.”

“As soon as you have her, let me know and I’ll get your cut to you.”

Suddenly a deer appeared on the road.

From out of nowhere.

Just standing there, staring at the vehicle.

Draven hit the brakes as hard as he could.

DAY ELEVEN-SEPTEMBER 15

THURSDAY EVENING

The club, Cheeks, was packed when Teffinger showed up shortly after six o’clock. Strippers were on all five stages and lots more were grinding out in the crowd, giving table dances. He ordered a Bud Light, leaned against the bar, and then called Sydney at home.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Call Cheeks again and see if the same guy answers who called you a bitch before. Then call me back and let me know.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Just a little something.”

A minute later the phone behind the bar rang. A large man with a shaved head and a muscle shirt answered, muttered a few words, and then hung up. Ten seconds later Teffinger’s phone rang.

“The same guy answered,” she said.

“Okay. Thanks.”

He watched the dancers, particularly the ones giving the table dances. They were friendly, very friendly in fact, rubbing their crotches in the guys’ faces and occasionally sticking a hand down someone’s pants.

Suddenly a woman appeared in front of him. By the time he registered her as there, she had already put her arms around his neck and brought her lips to within inches of his.

“I’ve got a special table dance that I’ve been saving just for you,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?”

She rubbed her stomach against his.

“We can go over there, in the corner,” she said, pointing. “You can feel my pussy if you want.”

“How much?”

“Only ten dollars.”

Teffinger pulled out his wallet and handed her a ten-dollar bill, but remained leaning against the bar. “There’s a dancer who works here called Chase,” he said. “Do you know her?”

“No.”

“Her real name’s Samantha Stamp.”

“Don’t know her.”

Teffinger pulled a photograph out of his shirt pocket. “This is her,” he said.

She looked at it, then at him. “She works nights,” she said. “I work days.”

Teffinger nodded.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

Teffinger ended up in a back room three times smaller than it should have been. The walls closed in as soon as the manager, a man named John Stevens, shut the door. Teffinger explained that the body of a woman had been found today, a woman who they subsequently identified as Samantha Stamp-Chase. He explained that he’d be in the club tonight talking to the dancers to see if anyone had any information.

The manager himself had none.

But he had no problem with Teffinger talking to the women.

“You can use my office if you want,” he added.

Teffinger smiled and stood up. “One more thing,” he said. “One of my associates called here today. The man who answered hung up on her when she identified herself as a detective. He called her a bitch.”

The manager stared at Teffinger and said nothing.

“It turns out that it’s the guy behind the bar, the one with the shaved head,” Teffinger said. “I’m sure that’s not the way you do business around here.”

The manager agreed.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“So my suspicion is that you’re going to walk out there right now and fire his ass,” Teffinger said. “The rest of my suspicion is that I won’t call vice and have them live down here for the next month.”

The man considered it.

“Both your suspicions are right,” he said.

Teffinger shook his hand. “Good. Be sure he knows why you’re letting him go. And be sure to point me out to him. If he has a problem with anything, he can come over and talk to me about it face-to-face.”

The manager frowned.

“The guy’s dangerous,” he said.

Teffinger headed out of the room and said over his shoulder, “Be sure you point me out.”

The day dancers knew nothing. The night shift started wandering into the club shortly before seven and disappeared into a back room. They showed up in the crowd a half hour later, looking drunk and stoned and loose. Teffinger talked to six of them before he finally found someone with something to say, a petite black-haired beauty who went by the name of Mercedes.

She had actually talked to Chase on Monday, the day she disappeared, because they were supposed to go to the gym together. Chase told her that she had to cancel to do a trick that afternoon, someone from the club who was paying her big bucks.