Hooked

the baby sister act triggered a repressed memory or something. He went ballistic.”
    Benny nodded. “Freaked. I’m not sure how to handle it from this point.”
    Colin swiveled his chair around. “Reggie will get rid of the body. No one but your doctor friend and the three of us will ever know she died here.”
    Benny plunked down in a chair and dropped his head in his hands. “Why is this happening to me?” he whined. “I’m just a guy who loves sex, Colin. I know you don’t understand that, at least with women, but that’s what got me started in this business.” That and Eileen. “It wasn’t the money. I made enough money so I’d never have to work again. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but for me it’s always been about sex. Sex, and lots of it.”
    Benny took a bottle of scotch out of the office cabinet. He poured three fingers and guzzled it down. “I’m ruined.” He poured another shot, swallowed, and grimaced. “Remind me to keep a good bottle of scotch in here. The way things are going, I should carry a flask in my pocket.” He drank the inferior scotch anyway. “Why did this have to happen?” Colin didn’t answer. Benny wanted the night over with. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow morning and realize this was a bad dream. He pinched himself. Fuck! Hurt like hell. This was no dream.
    Reggie arrived shortly after midnight. Benny was always a little intimidated when he saw Colin’s significant other. No one on the planet would suspect Reggie was gay. The man stood six-five, weighed at least three-twenty, and had skin that defied detection on the darkest night. His pecs bulged like they’d been silicone; his head was shaved smooth as polished onyx. If Benny passed Reggie on a lonely street, he’d shake in his Ferragamos for fear Reggie was a gangbanger, ready to pounce like a panther on unsuspecting prey. He hated to think like that because he was profiling. Not something he liked to think he did. But that’s the way he felt and he couldn’t help it.
    Reggie nodded to Benny and followed Colin upstairs to room twenty, carrying a large suitcase as if it were weightless. Benny assumed it would contain the beautiful Cindi when he left.
    Benny didn’t ask Reggie what he was going to do or where he was going to do it. He didn’t want to know. He crept into his apartment, bone-dead tired. Melody was zonked out in the bedroom, and he nudged her awake, like Max said to do, in case she had a concussion. He’d wake her a few more times during the night and speak to her in the morning when they both felt more like talking. He thought about taking one of the pills himself, but opted instead for one last well-deserved drink before he turned in. He breathed in the heavy aroma, lost in his thoughts. Why had a plague of death crashed down on him like a giant meteor after years of peace and prosperity? First Serena, now Cindi, and poor Melody was out cold.
    More importantly, how could Martell’s history have slipped under the radar? Colin had done a thorough background check on him, taken the necessary precautions. That was one of the things Benny required, along with paying his taxes on time and keeping his properties in tip-top condition so he wouldn’t have trouble with either the building inspectors or the fire marshals. He paid well, mistreated no one. But you couldn’t catch everything. You couldn’t catch a client who suddenly flipped his marbles and went off the deep end. Now an innocent young girl was dead.
    Serena was another story. If the cops went full force, eventually someone would turn in Upper Eighties in a trade, if they hadn’t already. Benny wasn’t naïve enough to think that burying ownership of his buildings in a tangle of red tape would keep them off his back. Someone would talk. That was human nature. So why hadn’t the cops busted the place? What the hell were they waiting for?
    Benny felt like he was sitting on a live grenade. Aside from one instance of rough sex getting out of hand and a client’s heart attack, tonight was the only time Benny experienced an occupational hazard. Cindi’s brutal murder swirled in his head. Then he pictured big Rick Martell. And Mario Russo. One of the fucking crime bosses of New York . Sweat poured off him. He didn’t think even Eileen could make the jitters disappear. He’d be awake all night thinking what he was going to say to the accountant.
    Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Martell. Your secret is safe with me. Oh, and yes,