Jonathan Kellerman - Deception

Milo said, "King Kong was ambivalent, this critter's licking his chops. Hungry, indeed." He rapped the metal door, evoked a barely audible thud.

One of the cart-pushers rounded a corner, spotted us, and nearly overturned as he attempted a sharp U-turn. Contents shot out of the cart. We caught up as he stooped to reload cardboard boxes, newspapers, cans, bottles.

Milo bent to help him with the last few treasures.

"That's okay, Officer, I'm fine."

"Know anything about that club, friend?"

"I know to stay away, Officer."

"Bad influence, huh?"

"Bouncer getting upside your head is a bad influence, Officer. Used to be quiet around here, nice place to spend the night, then that place opened and it's like they own the whole street."

"Ever get close enough to see the girls?"

"The girls go in through the back."

"Same question, friend."

"Something happen there, Officer?"

"Still the same question."

The man said, "Sometimes the girls come out in front to smoke."

Milo produced Brianna Blevins's and Selma Arredondo's DMV photos. "That include these two?"

"These two," the homeless man echoed. "Big and little." Massaging his chest. "Yeah, they're always together."

"When's the last time you saw them?"

"The last time… hmm." Something changed in the man's eyes. Clearer, more purposeful. "I could sure use some breakfast, Officer."

"It's closer to dinnertime-what's your name, by the way?"

"I'm called L.A."

"Love your city?"

"It's for Loving Albert. My auntie who raised me called me that. She was a moral lady, would sure like me to have breakfast-I like breakfast anytime of day, Officer."

"Help me out, L.A., and you'll be breakfasting with the best of them. When's the last time you saw these two girls?"

"The last time… I'm thinking two nights ago, yeah, two, not last night, last night was the Ebony Princess contest, they had only black girls. Plenty of white guys coming in to watch, though."

"Two nights for sure or a guess?"

"For sure, Officer."

Milo gave him a twenty.

The guy stared at the bill. "I guess that could go two breakfasts."

"Who said anything about two?"

"My auntie was big on nutrition."

"Ever see these girls with the same customers consistently?"

"No, sir," said the man. "They with each other, always laughing, you know?"

"Know what?"

"I get the feeling they like each other." Three rapid winks caused the opposite side of his face to contract like a harried sea anemone. "Wonder which one gives and which one gets."

The twenty remained in his outstretched palm. Filthy palm but when he closed it over the money, he exposed trimmed nails. Go know.

"Twenty more, I could have three, four breakfasts, Officer."

Milo peeled off an additional ten.

"Another twenty would be nicer, but thank you, Officer."

"You lie to me, we're going out for a four-course dinner and you're picking up the tab, L.A."

"Whoa." Laughter. "That could clean out my 401(k)."

As we edged out of the downtown business district and got on Sixth Street, Milo said, "I'll be back when it opens, need to figure out a good watch-spot."

"Let's buy gold chains, return as gentlemen."

"Acrylic shirts I've already got-all that breakfast talk got me thinking Paul Revere."

"Little too early for a midnight munchie ride, Big Guy."

"I'm talking one by land, one by sea. As in surf and turf, as in the T-bone-fillet-langoustine combo at that place on Eighth."

I said, "Don't want my patriotism questioned."

We were well short of the steak house when Sean Binchy phoned in.

"Got Bri and Selma, Loot. Right in front of the father's house, I barely turned off my engine when they showed up."

Dropping names as if he and the strippers were old friends. Sean loves the world, an attitude unchanged by facing felonies daily.

Milo said, "Take 'em into custody."

"Already done, we'll be at the station in twenty. They've got interesting stories, Loot."

"About the murders?"

"No, nothing like that, just how they're thinking of turning religious, leaving the life."

"Tell 'em to hold off on repentance, Sean. I need 'em in full sinner-mode."

Brianna Blevins and Selma Arredondo wore white tank tops cut high enough to expose drum-tight midriffs, second-skin jeans, backless high-heeled sandals, oversized hoop earrings, gold-plated bangles cuffing their right wrists.

Both girls had eyebrow pierces, tongue studs, multiple holes in their ears. Selma sported a diamond between a perky mouth and a cute chin.

Brianna's visible tattoos were: a left forearm sleeve filled with roses and thorns, a barbed-wire biceps ring, a female devil's face in the hollow beneath her neck, Love inked in black gothic across one collarbone, Devotion stretching the length of the other.

Selma 's neck was circled by a blue-and-red-ink necklace of yellow diamonds and red links "supporting" a pear-shaped black pearl that was a masterpiece of trompe l'oeil. Both of her arms were slave-braceleted three times. Chinese characters rose up from where cleavage would be if her breasts could produce such.

Milo asked her, "What does that say?"

"Something about life."

Cell phones confiscated and purses searched, the girls were placed in separate interview rooms and left to contemplate.

Fueled by adrenaline, detective room coffee, and a vending-machine roast beef sandwich that made him grumble about "turf that didn't deserve surf," Milo started with Brianna.

The girl, looking older than nineteen, eyes already running to crow's-feet, kept her eyes on the table.

"Hi, Bri. Me, again. And this is Alex."

"Uh-huh."

We sat down, crowding her. "Tell us about Tristram and Quinn, Bri."

"Don't know 'em."

"Actually, you do, Bri."

"I don't."

Milo showed her pictures. "Tristram Wydette and Quinn Glover, hot guys, I can see the attraction. Hot rich guys, Tristram drives that Jaguar, Quinn's got that yellow Hummer. They tip well for lap dances?"

The girl barely glanced at the images. "I still don't know 'em."

"Actually, you still do, Bri."

He gave her a few seconds to reconsider. When she remained mute and sullen, he scooted even closer. She looked over her shoulder, searching for room to escape. Saw blank wall and exhaled.

"Bri, we already know a lot, so you might as well help yourself. Let's start with you and Selma meeting Tristram and Quinn at the Hungry Lion, then partying together for months. We've got their credit card records, so we know when they started coming in, how much money they spent on you. We've got other sources, so we also know about the promises they made."

Pausing to give her a chance.

Bri Blevins shook her head.

"Promises of amazing stuff," he went on. "Like taking you guys on a private jet to Aspen. And all you had to do was be nice."

He let the last word sink in. The taut flesh sheathing Bri Blevins's scapulae turned rosy, bottoming the love-devotion message in rose.

She still had the capacity to blush.

Milo said, "We don't care about that kind of nice, Bri. The only nice that interests us is a favor you did for them on a certain night. Something you worked out with Gilberto Chavez. Know who that is?"

"No." Emphatic.

"He's a Spanish guy you paid to buy dry ice, out in Van Nuys."

False eyelashes quaked. The blush across her chest seeped out as if liposuctioned. "Remember that, Bri?"

No answer.

"Different kind of ice from what you're used to," said Milo. "We found that nice little chunk of meth in your purse. Selma said you're the one always bought, she just shared."

"That's a lie!"

"Your word against Selma's, Bri, and Selma's being helpful. But honestly, Bri, the dope's no big deal, I couldn't care less about that kind of ice. What I do care about is dry ice. 'Cause that was used for something bad, Bri. You know what I'm talking about."