Текст книги "The Two Deaths of Daniel Hayes"

Автор книги: Marcus Sakey

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Would you stop screwing around?”

She had been mid-stretch, but his tone froze her arms. “Would

you?”

“I’m not.”

“I’m a vegetarian. You work for a show called Candy Girls. How

are we supposed to kill him? What are you going to do, write him

to death?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Apparently you need coffee too.” Laney spun, sat on the edge

of the bed. The blood running from her head made the world spin. “Listen. It’s simple. All we need to do is get him to come to us.

We’ll write a scene for him, a play to lure him. He’ll think he knows

what’s going on. But he won’t.”

“Simple as that.”

“Well, not simple. But I did come to it by thinking like a writer.

I made Bennett into a bad guy, a character. And I thought, what

would you do if this was a script?”

“And what would you do?”

He told her.

When he finished, she stood, moved to the window, opened the

other curtain. Stared out at sunlight blinking off the windshields

of moving cars. L.A. smog had gotten better in the time she’d lived

here, but “better” was a long way from “vanished,” and the distance was filtered a nicotine yellow. She stared for a long moment,

feeling him waiting on her the way he always did when he’d pitched

an idea, with impatient hope. “What if he sends someone else?” “He won’t,” Daniel said.

“He did yesterday.” And in a concrete canyon.

“The difference is, this time we’ll have the necklace. Not only

that, but he’ll know we have it. Not think. Know. Bennett is cagey,

right? Yesterday he must have suspected we weren’t going to play straight. So he limited his exposure. But if he’d known for sure that

we were bringing it, he’d have been there.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t trust anybody. A necklace worth half a million dollars is too much temptation. There’s the chance that whoever he sent would run, and then he’d be back where he started.” “What if you’re wrong?”

“We have to make sure that I’m not. We have to use the necklace

as bait. That, and the sense that he knows what we’re going to do.” I’d buy it in a script. But this isn’t a script.

“So what do you think?”

I think I’m tired and sore and scared so deep that I can’t remember what it was like not to be. I think we’re going to lose. She said,

“I think I should have given him what he wanted in the first place.” “He would have killed you.”

“At least you would have been okay.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, and smiled that lopsided grin she liked.

“You can see how okay I turned out when I only thought I’d lost

you.” He took her hands. “I know this is scary. But it will only work

if we commit all the way. That’s the only way we can beat him.” There was something in his expression that reminded her of their

first date. It was a couple of years after she’d moved here, midway in

her journey from model to actress. She’d dated a predictable string of

L.A. boys. Producers and finance guys, eager to impress, hitting the

restaurants of the moment, clubs that didn’t have signs. But Daniel

had taken her to an East L.A. taco joint, the kind with laminated

menus and piñatas. He was the first guy she could remember who

didn’t flaunt or flex. Instead he asked about growing up in Chicago.

About her first kiss. Over margaritas he talked about coming from

Arkansas—something the others would never have admitted, not in this town where everyone pretended they’d sprung full-formed from the froth of the cold Pacific—and about his regrets over the relationship with his family. Then, just when things were getting a little serious, he told that stupid joke of his, about sex with twenty sevenyear-olds, and the way he said it was so gleeful and innocent that she couldn’t help laughing, and by the time he drove her home in his Sentra, she’d known that this was what it was supposed to be like, two people connecting, not shiny dangled bait, not motorcycle bad boys, not full-time glamour, but this, two people who talked and

listened and laughed.

Plus he was a really good kisser.

She looked at him now, at his earnest expression and goofy hair

and burning eyes, and she thought, So we’ll lose. Bennett will take

from you the only thing he hasn’t yet. At least your secret will stay

secret.

You’re an actress. Act.

“I committed all the way years ago.” She held his gaze, matched

it. “What do we do next?”

Something happened to his body, his affect—his shoulders

relaxed, his eyes warmed, his lips unclenched. It was as though

her support was the fuel he needed. “The necklace. I was thinking about it. Do we have a safe deposit box, a storage locker,

anything like that?”

Laney felt a tremor rise, killed it before it made it to her face.

“No.”

“Perfect. Then it has to be at the house.”

“Why?”

“It was there the day you died, right?”

“You think you hid it?”

“It was the worst day of my life. Would I have given a damn

about a necklace? I probably just threw it in a drawer.” He rubbed at his chin with a sandpaper sound. His eyes were red, and he badly

needed a shave. “Only thing I don’t get . . .”

“What?”

“Well, I knew about B ennet t, right? T hat he was blackmailing us.” “Yes.”

“And since I thought you were dead, I must have thought he was

responsible. If I believed that, why didn’t I grab a gun and go after

him? Maybe he’d have killed me, but I wanted to die anyway, and

better to do it trying to pay him back. But it doesn’t seem like I even

tried, and I don’t know why.”

Laney stared. Desperate to think of an improvisation that would

make sense to him. When nothing came, she just said, “I don’t

know, baby. Maybe you didn’t want that on your conscience.” “Come on. I’m sure it’s not easy to kill someone, but that fucker?”

Daniel scowled. “There had to be a reason. Either that, or I really

don’t like the guy I was very much.”

“I do,” she said, and put a hand on his cheek. She smiled, then

changed the subject. “So, the necklace.”

“First we have to figure something out. This all depends on the

location. I was thinking the airport, but it won’t work. We’d need

tickets to go through security, and we can’t show our ID. Can you

think of somewhere else that has metal detectors?”

Laney clicked her tongue against her lip. Metal detectors. Hospitals might have them, in the emergency room. Government buildings, but Bennett would never go for that. A school, but then, no way. She stared out the window at the low sprawl of Los Angeles. The

angle of the sun sharpened contrasts. The 405 crawled along.

The sky was crisscrossed with contrails. A billboard for Die Today

faced the window, Too G pointing a gun at them. A lot of people made fun of rappers who tried to become movie stars, but as

a model turned actress, her horse wasn’t any higher than theirs. And really, it was too bad that other than Will Smith and Mos Def and Queen Latifah, all they got were movies about urban gangsters and slums and drug dealers. In order to get a role, they had to

maintain all the trappings of ghetto toughness—

Laney laughed. “Want to go to a party?”

5

It was like fishing. Not that Bennett had ever been fishing, but he’d read Hemingway. He liked Ernest. The man would have been hard to beat. When it came to his sinning, he was up-front and unabashed. And he was a self-contained dude too. Hence all the wives.

Anyway, from what Ernest had to say about fishing, if you were fighting a big one, you had to let it out some before you pulled it in. You couldn’t just yank the whole time, or the line would break.

So he’d given them the night. Let them twist and run and flounder, wear themselves down trying to fight his hook. Let them run the options over and over and over trying to think of a way out.

When his phone rang, he was taking in the sun on Jerry D’Agostino’s pool deck, shirtless and pants rolled up so his feet could dangle in the water. He answered without looking at the display. “Morning. You sleep okay?”

“You win.” Daniel sounded ragged. “We’ll pay your blood money.

But there are conditions. First, you stay away from us. Forever.” “You got my word.”

“Second, we’re going to do it where we choose, not you.” “No.”

“Listen to me, you psychopath. You wanted to scare us? It

worked. We’re scared. And we’re not going to meet anywhere you can hurt us.”

“Sociopath.”

“Huh?”

“I’m really neither, but probably closer to a sociopath. A psychopath is in it for the fun. I don’t get off on hurting people. I’m just willing to do it for money.” He swung his legs, watching sunlight dance on the bottom of the pool. Were they recording this? It didn’t matter. All they’d end up with was a voice on a tape, and a phone number he would walk away from tomorrow. “Anyway, what do you have in mind? What will make you feel safe, brother?”

“There’s a party tonight. After a screening. It’s at a club downtown, Lux. The cast from the movie has rented out the VIP room. They’re rap stars, and they want to look tough, so there are going to be metal detectors at the entrance.”

Bennett laughed. “Why, Daniel, that’s ingenious. Bravo.”

“We’re going to get the necklace now. We’ll be at the club at nine-thirty.”

“Sounds like fun. I’ll see you there.” He started to hang up, then said, “Hey, what’s the movie?”

“What?”

“The screening, what is it?”

A beat. “It’s called Die Today.”

“Yikes. Bad omen, huh?”

Another long pause. “Nine-thirty. After that, you leave us alone.” The line went dead.

Bennett smiled. Leaned back on the stone of the pool deck. The sun had cooked the tiles, and the warmth felt nice against his back. He traced the dimpled scar tissue on his stomach, fingers finding the pockmarks of healed bullet holes, one-two-three. Mementos of a deal in Baltimore.

It was possible that Daniel and Laney still believed he’d let them live. But he doubted it. Before, maybe, but now things had gone too far.

No, they’d try to get clever. Maybe have police there undercover. Or a friend, some half-assed tough guy to help. Could even be the rap star.

Most important, they’d be counting on him not having his gun. Taking comfort in the location. Feeling safe because he was unarmed and all those witnesses were about, as if that meant nothing bad could happen to them.

It showed a lack of imagination on their part.

5

Daniel closed his phone, set it in the cup holder. Squirmed in his seat. The half a bagel and coffee he’d managed to choke down lay heavy in his stomach, and the ride out to Malibu wasn’t making it better. Last night he’d treated this like a story, and written an ending for it. But Bennett wasn’t a script problem. And no story had just one ending.

“They fixed it already,” Laney said.

“What?”

She took a hand off the steering wheel, pointed. He didn’t see

anything special, just a metal barrier on a wicked curve—oh. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Are you—”

“I’m fine. It’s just strange.” She spoke to the windshield. “It’s as though nothing ever happened. Already.”

“Life is a raindrop.”

“What?” She turned to look at him.

“Something Sophie told me. Life is a raindrop.”

“It’s pretty. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.” He paused. “I guess that every life is beautiful and self-contained and unique and yet also short and totally insignificant.”

“You really know how to cheer a girl up.”

“Sorry.”

The traffic on Highway 1 was light. She kept it at the speed limit. The road was as beautiful as ever, the homes as magnificent, the view as lush, but it felt distant, as though seen through thick glass.

“Are you sure the cops won’t be there?”

“I don’t think so,” Daniel said. “They’re busy. Having someone parked on our block day after day would add up, especially since they wouldn’t guess we’re headed there.”

“They came when you were there before. Getting our wedding photo.”

“Yeah, but it was just a patrol. They probably drive by once an hour. And more at night.”

“What if—”

“We don’t really have a choice.”

She nodded slowly. Her grip on the wheel didn’t loosen any.

Half an hour later, they’d made it to their neighborhood. Everything seemed calm as ever. The PT Cruiser was spotless and shiny and no one should be looking for it. Laney had her makeup back on, the port wine stain painted around her eye, her now-blond hair down. At a glance, they were normal people.

They drove the neighborhood first, avoiding their street, just getting a sense of things. He used the time to review the plan again. Picturing it as a plot outline. Looking at surprises, at twists, at the expected actions of their antagonist. On paper, it looked good.

But she’s right. You don’t write the world.

His stomach churned, but he kept his face calm. “Looks clear. Let’s go.”

Three minutes later, they were pulling up to their security gate. It was strange how many different things it meant to him, this California Contemporary with a lot of glass. The house he’d seen on television. In his dreams. The one he’d visited when he didn’t know who he was, and returned to in order to find out when his life had begun. And now, this final visit, and final incarnation. The central element in their plan to win back their life—or die trying.

Laney keyed in the code. Their anniversary. Of course. The gate swung open, and she pulled in, then around the circle so the car was out of sight and facing forward.

The keys jingled in her shaking hands as she shut off the motor.

5

INT. DANIEL & LANEY’S FOYER—NOON

The shot is from a locked down camera, low and pointing at the front door.

The door opens. LANEY THAYER and DANIEL HAYES enter. He closes the door, then peers out the window beside it.

DANIEL No sign of him.

LANEY

Yet.

They walk toward the stairs.

DANIEL

We can always go to the police instead– LANEY

We’ve been through that.

They pass the camera as they climb. Their voices continue, tension evident, but the words unclear.

INT. MASTER BEDROOM—CONTINUOUS

The camera seems to be shooting from the nightstand. Laney moves to the dresser and starts opening drawers. Daniel glances longingly at the bed.

LANEY

You really don’t have any idea where you put it?

DANIEL

Nope.

He moves to the nightstand, checks it. Drops to his knees, looks under the bed.

LANEY

Anything?

DANIEL

Nope.

He straightens, looks around, obviously frustrated.

LANEY Maybe it’s not—

DANIEL It has to be.

LANEY Why?

DANIEL

Just keep looking.

They continue searching.

Laney straightens, rubs her back. They look at each other. She shakes her head.

They exit.

INT. DANIEL’S OFFICE—CONTINUOUS

The camera angle is high and wide. The couple walk into the room and resume the search. Daniel ransacks his desk, tossing the contents on the floor. A rain of paper and pens and junk. LANEY

It’s not going to just be laying in a drawer.

DANIEL Why not?

LANEY

Because Bennett would have already found it.

Daniel yanks a drawer out, turns it upside down. Everything falls to the floor. He squats to sort through it.

LANEY (CONT.)

If it’s here, it’ll be hidden.

DANIEL

Do we have a safe?

Laney shakes her head. Then a thought strikes her. She stands.

LANEY

Wait a second.

She walks to the bookcase, reaches for something near the camera. Steps back, smiling. She’s holding a thick book, which she passes to Daniel.

DANIEL

Studies in Contract Law, Volume 2?

LANEY

Open it.

He does.

The book is hollow, a hiding place for small valuables.

LANEY (CONT.)

You and your toys. You always wanted a reason for that thing.

He dips his hand inside, comes out with a breathtaking DIAMOND NECKLACE. It glitters like it’s lit from within.

DANIEL

So that’s what half a million dollars looks like.

(shakes his head)

This is Sophie’s life. A string of sparkly stones.

LANEY

I’ve been thinking. I want to pay him.

DANIEL

No.

LANEY

He’ll go away if we do.

DANIEL

I don’t want him gone away. I want him dead.

LANEY

You’re not a killer.

Daniel tucks the necklace into his pants pocket. He closes the book, tosses it on the desk. DANIEL

We just have to focus. Get through tonight.

LANEY

So you can pretend you’re Charles Bronson?

DANIEL

What do you want, Laney? He almost killed you and he cost me my memory and he murdered my friend.

LANEY

So you’re going to commit suicide? Daniel shakes his head. He turns to face her. DANIEL

This will work.

LANEY

What if it doesn’t?

Daniel strides to the door. Laney hesitates a moment, bites her lip, then follows.

LANEY (CONT.)

I’m sorry, but I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt. And Bennett is a killer. They leave the room.

DANIEL (O.S.)

Not tonight.

INT. DANIEL & LANEY’S FOYER—CONTINUOUS

The two of them hurry down the stairs, Daniel in the lead.

LANEY

Listen—

Da niel whirls to face the ca mera. He raises his arms in a what-do-you-want-from-me? gesture. The movement tightens his black T-shirt, revealing a SIG SAUER tucked into his belt.

DANIEL

I don’t know what to tell you, Laney. I don’t have any choice.

LANEY

(softly)

I’m scared. If anything happens to you . . .

DANIEL

Look. At the end of the night, I’m going to be holding a loaded gun. And he’s not.

5

Bennett hit pause and leaned back in D’Agostino’s ergonomically correct chair. On the laptop, Daniel Hayes was frozen. The pistol butt protruded from his belt. Bennett clicked his tongue against his lip, looked out the window, where the Valley spilled out in all its earth-tone glory. It looked better at night.

He could send someone else. Little Suzie hadn’t worked off her debt just by making a run out to the pier. And no way, no way would she try ripping him off.

On the other hand, Daniel and Laney probably wouldn’t give her the necklace. If they wanted to take their turn trying to kill him, they wouldn’t give up the only thing that would bring him there.

He could make an end run on the whole thing. Maybe snatch Laney’s actor friend. Call them at the last minute, make the guy whimper into the phone, give them a new venue. But it would mean yet another body, and more police attention. Besides, why bother? He knew what they were up to. A secret plan wasn’t much good once the secret was out.

They had the necklace. They were willing to meet.

So meet. But do it your way.

5

Daniel hadn’t slept much.

When was the last time you did, amigo? He rubbed at his eyes, yawned deeply. Lifting his shirt, he pulled out the Sig Sauer, opened the glove box, stowed it inside. Then he put the Smith and Wesson snub-nose he’d taken from his desk drawer beside it. The two guns looked ominous in the dim light.

Hope we don’t get pulled over.

He must have snatched a few hours of sleep toward dawn, because he’d dreamed again. The concrete canyon, the darkness, the guilty terror. And a new dream too, Sophie screaming, but when she opened her mouth, the sound that came out was the roar of jet engines. He’d come to propped in the desk chair, his feet on the windowsill. Stiff and sore and too tired to move, he’d just sat there, let himself drift.

For some reason, he’d been thinking of last Christmas. Some years they flew to Chicago to see her family, but the visits were always glum and awkward times. His father-in-law was a mechanic, a man who fixed broken things. He didn’t know what to make of a life spent creating something so ephemeral as entertainment. And her brother had the conversational skill of a watermelon.

So last year they’d decided to stay home. They’d slept late, lounged over coffee and scripts. Her first Christmas gift for him, she’d looked up from the other end of the couch, said, “Want me to be Emily for you, baby?” They’d piled into the bedroom laughing, and she’d stayed in character, made love to him like Emily Sweet, her moves and mannerisms and moans all her but just a little different, and it had been so hot they’d both finished fast and coated in sweat. They spent the afternoon watching movies and reading and cooking an elaborate supper. She was a mostly-vegetarian, but had always wanted to roast a chicken, and it had turned out weirdly picture-perfect, crispy and golden brown. They’d eaten with their hands, fingers shining with grease, pairing it with store-bought eggnog spiked with rum, a combination that had flattened them both, left them food-stoned but warm and happy. Around nine they’d shared a joint in the backyard, sitting beneath the avocado tree he’d strung Christmas lights in, staring up at what stars they could see and holding hands.

He’d found himself caught in a labyrinth of dope thought, one of those Gordian knot moments where he couldn’t quite put his finger on what had brought him to this exact spot. The long chain of events, forged one decision at a time, that had led them from the places they were born to the softness of this Malibu evening. He’d tried to explain it to her, what he was thinking, how improbable it was. How impossible. If his mother hadn’t married that asshole, or if his high school girlfriend hadn’t dumped him, he might have ended up in a suburb of Little Rock. If Laney’s car hadn’t dropped its muffler in West Hollywood, she would never have pulled over at the Midas where he was having his own changed out, giving them half an hour to chat in the waiting room over terrible coffee, his heart thumping as he tried to work up the nerve to ask her out. How, when viewed mathematically, their coming together was a near impossibility, a miracle of chance.

“It’s like tossing a dart,” he’d said. “There’s nothing amazing about it. You throw and it sticks somewhere. But if you try and backtrack every factor that led there, the force of the throw and the angle and the air resistance, all of it had to be perfect, just exactly right, for it to end up where it did.”

She’d rolled her head sideways, smiled, said, “You’re funny when you’re stoned.”

“I’m funny when I’m not stoned too.”

“Meh.” And she’d laughed, and he’d joined her, and that had been perfect too. It was like those French philosophers’ ideas of love and life, the sense that there was nothing real but what you chose. That when most people talked about love they really meant habit, whereas maybe love wasn’t about commitment—it was about choice, about choosing to be with the person you were with, and choosing it every moment.

Then he’d realized he was really, really hungry, and they’d gone inside and stripped the rest of the flesh from the chicken before collapsing into bed.

It was only after he’d been smiling for a long time that he realized he remembered it. Fully and completely. His past was coming back to him. The thought was enormously comforting for about ten seconds, and then he’d thought of Bennett, and wondered if he would have the chance for the rest of it to trickle in.

And since then, he’d been thinking about the future. About the visit to the house, and about tonight. About killing Bennett and getting away with it, so that there would even be a future.

Enough with the past. Enough with the future. The now is what you have. Focus on it.

He looked over at Laney. She was staring out the window and chewing on a cuticle.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? I got us into this, not you.”

“For . . . everything. For all the things I should be sorry for. All the moments I wasted, and the stupid fights, and working too many hours, the drinking that made you worry. All of it.”

“Don’t be. I’m not sorry for anything that happened between us. Not one minute of it.”

“Sucker.”

“Yep.” She drove with one hand, rubbed at her neck with the other. “Honestly, I just wish this was over. It’s the waiting that’s killing me. Hours to go, maybe our last, and I can’t let myself enjoy them. It’s like that first week shooting Candy Girls.”

He laughed. “You barfed every morning. I thought maybe you were pregnant.”

“I barfed in the afternoons too. You carried gum for me. I was so sure they were going to fire me and bring Evangeline Lilly back in. Remember?”

“You know what? I do. I also remember that you nailed it. Nervous or not, you went out there and killed.”

The word was out of his mouth before he could think about it. Jesus Christ, for a guy good with language, what a boneheaded choice. He spoke fast to cover it up, saying, “Think we can get into Lux now?”

“They’ll probably have some staff prepping for the party.”

“Then let’s go.” He gestured at the glove compartment. “Having those two on us is making me nervous.” Plus, it will distract us from the thought we’re both having:

So long to wait. But if this doesn’t work, such a short time to live.

F

rom this angle, Daniel and Laney looked like pieces on a chessboard. It was an image that pleased Bennett immensely. He’d found Lux no problem. The place was anything but subtle.

A former warehouse, it took up most of a city block. The exterior had been painted gold—not yellow, gold—and there was a huge cursive “L” hanging above the entrance. The front walk was wide enough to allow for a rope line or even a red carpet. At night, it probably looked opulent, but by the hard light of afternoon, the word was garish.

He’d arrived a couple of hours ago. After watching the video, he’d packed his gear and loaded the truck, then he’d spent an hour cleaning Jerry D’Agostino’s house. Used an entire tube of those premoistened disinfecting wipes, swiping down every hard surface, every spot that might have held a fingerprint. He’d run the dishwasher and vacuumed the whole place. There were no absolute certainties when it came to DNA, but he’d done the best he could. And after tonight it was bye-bye La La Land, hello sunny Mexico.

The building he stood atop was in the process of being converted to a club itself, and it had been the easiest thing in the world to walk in like he was inspecting it, passing Hispanics hanging drywall and Polacks wiring electricity, then climb the rear stairs. The roof afforded a panoramic view. To the north, the mirrored towers of financial companies bounced sunlight. To the east, he could make out the concrete canyon of the Los Angeles River basin, dry at this time of year. South was the 10, followed by a wasteland of industrial buildings.

And due west was Lux, gaudy as a showgirl, and in front of it, the PT Cruiser that Daniel had just climbed out of. Bennett squatted behind the lip of the roof, a three-foot abutment of brick. The sun warmed his shoulders and heated the tar of the roof to stickiness. Below him, Daniel turned a slow circle, one hand shielding his eyes. Satisfied they were alone, he gestured, and Laney climbed out of the car. The two of them hurried to the entrance.

Bennett took the parabolic mic from his bag, propped it on the brick, the dish pointed down at the front door. The earpiece crackled as he flipped the thing on, and then scraped with the sounds of their footsteps.

“Locked.” Daniel’s voice thin in his ear. The man banged on the door. Laney seemed ready to crawl out of her pretty skin. Her blond hair was limp and fried. She looked much better brunette, and without that shit around her eye.

After a moment, the door rattled and then opened a few inches. A burly guy with tattoos down both arms looked out at them. “Help you?”

“Hi,” Daniel said, “I’m John Freyer, and this is Belinda Nichols.

We’re with the publicity team for Too G.”

“Uh-huh?”

“The rest of the crew will be here later, but Too wanted us to

come by and take a look, make sure things were set up in the VIP room.”

“We’re not ready yet—”

“I know. But you mind if we just stroll through, take a look? That way we can tell the boss we did.”

The tattooed man shrugged, said, “Sure, I guess.” He stepped aside, held the door open. “Not really much to see.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure it will be—” The slamming door cut off the rest of whatever lie Daniel was telling.

Bennett took out the earpiece, glanced at his watch. What’s your plan, kids?

He had a bet. A couple, actually. Bennett reached into the bag again, pulled out a sandwich wrapped in paper, tore it open, took a bite. Needed salt.

The necklace had looked every bit as spectacular in the video as it had when he’d gone into Harry Winston to pick it. As with a lot of jewelry at that price point, some of the value was in the craftsmanship and the style. But what had sold him on this piece was the number of high-quality stones, all about the same carat. If it felt too risky to sell the necklace as a whole, he could move it a diamond at a time. Even if he had to sell it cut-rate, it would still be worth three, three-fifty. More than enough to get him clean papers, a safe location, and operating expenses for his next move.

He’d just crumpled the paper around the crusts of his sandwich when the front door opened and Daniel and Laney walked out. They headed straight for the car. Bennett didn’t bother with the mic, just watched them drive down the block and around the corner. He waited ten minutes, then shouldered his bag and went downstairs. A foreman in a hard hat glanced at him, and Bennett nodded, kept walking.

It only took a couple of seconds of banging for the tattooed guy to open the front door. “Yeah?”

“Hi. Listen, I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m John Freyer’s assistant. The guy who was here a few minutes ago? The woman he was with, Belinda, she just called me, said the dumbass thinks he might have left his cell phone. You happen to find it?”

“No.”

“Mind if I take a look? Only be a minute.”

The guy shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” He stepped back, and Bennett followed him in.

The entrance hall was bright with houselights. There was a coat check to one side, and a winding staircase to the other. Double doors led to the main body of the club. An enormous chandelier of dripping crystal had been lowered almost to the ground, and a guy was fiddling with it, replacing lightbulbs. Thick fabric draped the walls. Liquor boxes were stacked five high, two set by the front, where Tattoo must have dropped them to open the door.

“Nice place,” Bennett said.

Tattoo grunted. “VIP’s upstairs, he probably left it there. There or the can.”

“Where’s that?”

Tattoo pointed to the bar area. “Halfway down, to the left.”

“Thanks. Listen, I don’t want to waste your time, go ahead with what you were doing. I’ll just be a minute.”

Bennett went up the curling staircase. The VIP room was a balcony overlooking the main floor. Couches and cushions were scattered about. The space was divided by huge black-and-white photos suspended from the ceiling. Steamy stuff, all tangled flesh and fabric tight across thighs and backs. A Hispanic woman maneuvered a vacuum, dodging photos and shoving chairs aside with her hips, headphones in her ears.