grabbed the car phone, and called Jack.
“Jack, it’s Cruz. They’ve got a girl in there. We’re going in.”
Chapter 37
CRUZ AND DEL RIO bolted from the fleet car, ran like hell to the parking lot on the same side of the street, then along the sidewalk fronting the hotel, which was littered with runners and ladies with strollers and bike riders. They took the front steps two at a time and arrived in the lobby of Shutters on the Beach, breathless.
Cruz flashed his badge at the desk clerk, a thin young man with a beaky nose and glasses and a look on his face like a mouse had run up his leg.
Cruz said, “A crime is being committed in a third-floor unit, northwest corner.”
“What crime? How do you know that? Are you the police?”
Del Rio snarled, “Where’re the stairs, dimwit?”
Cruz and Del Rio ran up two flights, pushed open the fire door on the third floor, and sprinted to the room at the end of the hallway.
Del Rio banged on the door, banged on it again, Cruz shouting, “Open up. Do it
now
.”
The door opened, and Gozan Remari, fully clothed in a white shirt, tails out over blue dress pants, said, “What is this? What is going on?”
Cruz said, “Stand aside, sir. We have to check the premises.”
Remari said, “Be my guest.”
Cruz and Del Rio shoved past Remari and entered the homey suite. They found the woman in the room-service outfit standing by the table at the far end of the room. She looked confused but was still in her blue uniform, her hair neat and held back in a headband. She was apparently unharmed.
She was saying, “I didn’t do
anything
. What did I
do?
”
Cruz said, “We’re private investigators and these men are sexual predators. Are you all right?”
“Oh my God. No. Yes. I’m fine.”
Khezir came in from the other room. He was scowling, said, “What’s going on here?”
Del Rio said to the young woman, “Did anyone put a hand on you?”
“No. Like I said, I’m fine.”
“You should go,” said Del Rio. “Get out of here, now.”
The young woman scurried out of the room, and Cruz said to the Sumaris, “We know who you are. We know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, mind readers,” Gozan said with a laugh. “And who are you again? Secret police?”
“Watch yourself,” said Del Rio.
“
You
watch
your
self,” Khezir said, rolling up his sleeves. “You are clowns. You need red noses and big shoes. You want to make my day?”
Cruz stepped in front of Del Rio, took a picture of the men with his phone, and said, “Your faces are going out to every hotel in LA. After today, you’re going to be sleeping in your car.”
Gozan was on the phone, “Suite three W. I need security. Immediately.”
Del Rio and Cruz took the fire stairs down.
“I don’t know. I don’t think that went so well,” said Del Rio.
“We got the girl out of the room.”
“There’ll be another one,” said Del Rio.
Chapter 38
SANDRA STOOD BESIDE the enormous bed watching the neon lights outside her windows fling spangles of color onto the white bedding. She wore her husband’s dress shirt, unbuttoned all the way, showing off her large, natural breasts and her small black thong.
She said, “Harry?”
Her husband wasn’t paying attention.
Actually, he wasn’t breathing, but his skin was still warm, almost as if he were still alive.
Sandra gave his arm a little shake, then went to the vast marble-tiled master bath and got into the shower. She let the jet spray beat down on her for several minutes as she thought about how she’d distracted Harry all day long, keeping him too busy to think about food. When he went into hypoglycemic shock, she just closed the door and let him drift away.
Not a bad death, really. Not at all.
She lathered her hair with a fragrant spa shampoo, followed up with a special rinse that made her dark mane bounce and reflect light. She toweled off with yards of Egyptian cotton, then stepped out of the stall and stood naked in front of
“Jack, it’s Cruz. They’ve got a girl in there. We’re going in.”
Chapter 37
CRUZ AND DEL RIO bolted from the fleet car, ran like hell to the parking lot on the same side of the street, then along the sidewalk fronting the hotel, which was littered with runners and ladies with strollers and bike riders. They took the front steps two at a time and arrived in the lobby of Shutters on the Beach, breathless.
Cruz flashed his badge at the desk clerk, a thin young man with a beaky nose and glasses and a look on his face like a mouse had run up his leg.
Cruz said, “A crime is being committed in a third-floor unit, northwest corner.”
“What crime? How do you know that? Are you the police?”
Del Rio snarled, “Where’re the stairs, dimwit?”
Cruz and Del Rio ran up two flights, pushed open the fire door on the third floor, and sprinted to the room at the end of the hallway.
Del Rio banged on the door, banged on it again, Cruz shouting, “Open up. Do it
now
.”
The door opened, and Gozan Remari, fully clothed in a white shirt, tails out over blue dress pants, said, “What is this? What is going on?”
Cruz said, “Stand aside, sir. We have to check the premises.”
Remari said, “Be my guest.”
Cruz and Del Rio shoved past Remari and entered the homey suite. They found the woman in the room-service outfit standing by the table at the far end of the room. She looked confused but was still in her blue uniform, her hair neat and held back in a headband. She was apparently unharmed.
She was saying, “I didn’t do
anything
. What did I
do?
”
Cruz said, “We’re private investigators and these men are sexual predators. Are you all right?”
“Oh my God. No. Yes. I’m fine.”
Khezir came in from the other room. He was scowling, said, “What’s going on here?”
Del Rio said to the young woman, “Did anyone put a hand on you?”
“No. Like I said, I’m fine.”
“You should go,” said Del Rio. “Get out of here, now.”
The young woman scurried out of the room, and Cruz said to the Sumaris, “We know who you are. We know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, mind readers,” Gozan said with a laugh. “And who are you again? Secret police?”
“Watch yourself,” said Del Rio.
“
You
watch
your
self,” Khezir said, rolling up his sleeves. “You are clowns. You need red noses and big shoes. You want to make my day?”
Cruz stepped in front of Del Rio, took a picture of the men with his phone, and said, “Your faces are going out to every hotel in LA. After today, you’re going to be sleeping in your car.”
Gozan was on the phone, “Suite three W. I need security. Immediately.”
Del Rio and Cruz took the fire stairs down.
“I don’t know. I don’t think that went so well,” said Del Rio.
“We got the girl out of the room.”
“There’ll be another one,” said Del Rio.
Chapter 38
SANDRA STOOD BESIDE the enormous bed watching the neon lights outside her windows fling spangles of color onto the white bedding. She wore her husband’s dress shirt, unbuttoned all the way, showing off her large, natural breasts and her small black thong.
She said, “Harry?”
Her husband wasn’t paying attention.
Actually, he wasn’t breathing, but his skin was still warm, almost as if he were still alive.
Sandra gave his arm a little shake, then went to the vast marble-tiled master bath and got into the shower. She let the jet spray beat down on her for several minutes as she thought about how she’d distracted Harry all day long, keeping him too busy to think about food. When he went into hypoglycemic shock, she just closed the door and let him drift away.
Not a bad death, really. Not at all.
She lathered her hair with a fragrant spa shampoo, followed up with a special rinse that made her dark mane bounce and reflect light. She toweled off with yards of Egyptian cotton, then stepped out of the stall and stood naked in front of
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