Buried In Buttercream

chest.
    Savannah hoped that Dirk had noticed these burly qualities and was taking them into account when he was taunting him like this.
    Dirk reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo copy of Ethan Aberson. He shoved it under Vadim’s nose.
    “Vadim shoved the picture away. “No. I know nothing about him. I—”
    “You look again,” Dirk said, shoving it back in his face. “He was here. We know that. I want to talk to the gal who serviced him.”
    “My ladies do not ‘serve.’ They are companions.”
    Savannah couldn’t resist the urge to enter the fray. She stepped forward and held the menu up to him. “Okay, then which one of your lovely lady companions provided one of these ... um ... tasty dishes for that man in that picture.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “That’s too bad,” Dirk said, “because that means you’re going to have to blow your whistle, or whatever you do, to get your ladies to all come parading in here and line up so that I can show each one of them this picture and see who remembers him.”
    “They shouldn’t mind too much,” Savannah said. “They do it all the time, day and night, for your customers. And we’ll even let them wear their clothes and retain their dignity.”
    Vadim wrestled with his anger, staring at Dirk with those pale blue eyes that got colder by the second.
    “You have some paper to show you can make me do this?” he asked.
    “No, but I can get one,” Dirk lied. “And while we’re interviewing all of your women, we’re going to look them over really closely for any signs of bruising, any indications that they aren’t happy in their work here.”
    “This is legal brothel.”
    “Oh, I’m sure it is,” Savannah replied. “And I’m sure that you’re abiding by absolutely every single rule regulating its operation. There are so many of those pesky laws, I don’t know how you people can keep them all straight.”
    “And I hear the penalties are pretty harsh,” Dirk said. He paused, letting their message sink in, then he said, “I need to speak to the young lady who was a companion to this gentleman at this establishment. Now. We ain’t got all day.”
    Stoically, Vadim stood, staring at them, a muscle in his massive jaw twitching furiously.
    Dirk stared back. And so did Savannah.
    The only sounds were of an old regulator clock on the wall ticking and the whistling of air that was rushing in and out of Vadim’s flared nostrils.
    Finally, he whipped a cell phone out of his pocket and barked into it, “Come up here.” Then he snapped it closed.
    Less than thirty seconds later, a pretty little blonde came rushing in, wearing nothing but a bikini bottom. She had a baby face, and Savannah would have guessed she was no more than fifteen.
    On that sweet face was entirely too much makeup and an obviously fake smile. When she saw Savannah, she looked mildly surprised. She turned questioningly to Vadim.
    “Both of them?” she said.
    “No. He just wants to talk,” her boss told her.
    “No,” Dirk interjected. “Both of us. Her and me. Both of us just want to talk.”
    The girl motioned for them to come with her, but Vadim held up one hand.
    “Stop,” he said. “Pay first. Both of you. You just talk, you pay, too.”
    As Dirk forked over the cash, Savannah watched Vadim and the girl and saw a look exchanged between them. Having seen that look far too many times, Savannah was familiar with the subtext it contained. “Watch what you say, or else,” was the message, loud and clear.
    Savannah wasn’t sure how much they were going to get out of this young woman. But she was sure of two things: This professional “companion” was terribly afraid of this barely glorified pimp. And the two of them had something to hide.

    When Savannah entered the tiny room with its big bed, she had to breathe deeply to avoid an attack of claustrophobia.
    The small, single-wide trailer made Dirk’s mobile home feel positively palatial by comparison. And the dark red walls and heavy drapes that blotted out all sunlight didn’t help.
    Like the reception area, it was lit with red lights and dusty chandeliers. Apparently housekeeping wasn’t high on Vadim/ Monique’s list of priorities. Or his customers’ either.
    “Do you want to shower first?” the young woman asked, waving a listless hand toward the narrow hall.
    “No, darlin’,” Savannah said. “We told you we’re here just to talk and we are. What’s your name?”
    “Trixie,” was the