Faye Kellerman - Moon Music

“You two get along?”

“Sure. Why not? She did her thing, I did mine.”

“So you don’t know if she worked with a pimp?” Patricia continued to probe.

“Probably she knew a couple of guys who’d throw some business her way.”

“Bellmen? Dealers? Pit bosses? Higher-ups?”

“In the beginning, she claimed she did lots of high rollers.” Scratching her pebbly cheek. “Probably she did. I saw old pictures of her. She was cute.”

Old —as in two years ago. Would they ever learn?

Patricia paused.

At least her big boobs were her own. Guys loved her boobs. As heavy as she was, she had no trouble getting guys. She said, “Did she have regulars?”

Ria gave a quick glance to Jensen. “I guess.”

Patricia caught it. She wondered if Ria knew that Jensen had slept with Brittany. Then she wondered if Ria and Jensen had ever slept together. The guy went through hookers like she went through diets. “Why’d she move in with you?”

“’Cause she was broke and had nowhere to go. Her boyfriend had kicked her out.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend, I mean. Didn’t talk too much about him ’cept to say he had a bad temper and used to beat her. His name was Trent. He’s a dealer.”

Patricia asked, “Does Trent the Dealer have a last name?”

“I’m sure, but I don’t know it.”

“Was he her pimp?”

“Don’t know.”

“What hotels did she work out of?”

Ria gave some names.

“Good places,” Jensen remarked.

“If you can believe her.”

“She have a truth problem?”

“I dunno. Maybe at first she did work the high-end jobs. But she got into bad habits. You know, the nice places … they don’t like bad girls with bad habits.”

Jensen held up a small plastic sandwich bag. Hidden in the corner were a couple of brown crystals. He had found the shit in Brittany’s bedroom. “She was running a little low on her supply. Who’d she go to for a fill-up?”

She waved a hand, spread her legs farther. “It’s easy to buy in this city.”

Patricia spoke slowly. “Where in specific did she buy?”

Ria spoke with disdain. “If you don’t know, you ain’t much of a detective.”

“Could you narrow it down to a couple of places?”

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

He traded looks with Deluca. Patricia said, “I think we’re just about done.”

Ria stood up. “I hope so. It’s four in the morning. Night all.” She walked to her bedroom, stopped at the door, turned. “Push the button to lock the door and let yourself out.” A pause. Eyes on Jensen. “Unless you want to stick around …” A big smile. “In case something suddenly pops up.”

Jensen returned her smile with a slow, sexy one of his own. “No, I think Detective Deluca and I have finished with our questions. Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

Ria threw him back a burned look, answered, “ De nada, Detective Jensen. That’s Spanish. It means thanks for nothing.”

“She had an ex-boyfriend.” Patricia into her portable cell phone. “A dealer. Ria said he used to beat her.”

Over the line, Poe answered, “His name is Trent Minors, currently a blackjack dealer at Shakespeare’s. I have his address. I’m going there now.”

“She ended up a mess, sir. I mean even before she died. A washed-out, dead-broke crack addict. Her roommate, too. Also a user. Both of them so young. It’s so sad.”

On the wire, Jensen said, “Sad but true.”

Poe said, “I don’t think I’m going to make it back to the Bureau right away. You two finish up your paperwork, then go home. I’ll run what we have by Weinberg. Let’s all try to meet with the loo sometime in the late morning.”

“Where?” Patricia asked.

“How ’bout Myra’s?” Jensen suggested.

“Okay. Myra’s at ten.” Poe checked his watch. “That should give you two about five hours of shut-eye.”

“Sounds good,” Patricia said.

“Fine with me,” Jensen added.

Poe cut the mike, drove to Minors’s address. The neighborhood was a mixture of small one-story houses and low-rise apartments. To Poe, even in the dark, it looked more than familiar. He had been here before, recognizing landmarks down to the apartment with the wrought-iron horsehead fence.

Then he realized he was about five minutes from Honey’s. He had entered the area from the north instead of the south. He thought a moment about Ruki’s keeping him at arm’s length.

He depressed the accelerator, did a couple of screeching right turns, then parked in front of Honey’s building.

Well, what does Ruki expect of me?

Nothing. That’s the problem.

The call girl wasn’t pleased to be awakened. Her hair was messy, eyes still heavy from sleep. She wore a bulky terry robe and had bunny slippers on her feet.

Her greeting to him: “Go away.”

Poe put his foot in the door before she could close it. “Please?”

“Why don’t you go bother Rukmani?”

“I would except she’s working.”

“So? One of the slabs is bound to be empty.”

Poe kneed his way inside. “You are one sick woman.”

A brush of pecan hair from midnight-blue eyes. “You know what time it is?”

“Four-fifteen.”

“Big night, Rom?”

Hands in pockets, Poe bounced on his feet, stared at the walls decorated with hundred-year-old Audubon prints. “Professionally, yes.”

Honey shut the door. “Professionally as in playing? Or professionally as in cop?”

“Unfortunately the latter.” He turned the security lock. “You should always use your deadbolt, Honey. It’s there for a reason.”

“You look upset.” She tightened her robe over ample breasts. The real labonza. Made her very popular. “Bad?”

“Girl named Brittany Newel. A former dancer at Havana. When she died, she was turning tricks for crack. Who knows? Maybe she was a runner as well. I’m about to visit her boyfriend. A dealer at Shakespeare’s. His name is Trent Minors.”

Honey shrugged.

Poe took out the stolen photo of Newel. “Know the girl, by any chance?”

Honey stared at the picture, but shook her head. “Nope.”

A stretch of silence.

Honey sighed. “All right. Go sit on the couch.”

Poe obeyed without question. She stood before him, then dropped to her knees and spread his legs. Unzipped his pants and went to work. Five minutes later, she was making coffee in the kitchen. She felt Poe encircle her waist from behind, kiss her neck.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Pleasure’s mine,” she answered. “You’re very good, you know.”

“Good?” Poe was puzzled. “You mean fast?”

She laughed out loud, broke contact. Turned to face him, holding a coffee urn. “Am I making this for nothing?”

“Probably.” Poe rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Poor Romulus.”

Poe took out his wallet. Honey put her hand over the billfold. “It’s on me.”

“No, no, no.” Rom pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “I pride myself on paying my bills.”

Honey snatched the Franklin. “Far be it from me to deny a man his dignity.”

Poe took out Brittany’s picture, showed it to Honey again. “Look at it, Honey. Doesn’t look a little familiar?”

Honey blew out air. “Rom, she’s a face in the crowd.”

“She danced at Havana—”

“You already said that.” Irked, she pushed the picture aside. “I don’t know her.”

“Don’t get peeved. I’m just doing my job.” Poe paused. “You know how it is. A young girl working strange men. I wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

He looked at her pointedly. She matched his stare. “I know what I’m doing.”