Hooked

“You know, I’m not sure I want to go through with this. There are other women working for Cooper. I don’t want to get them in trouble.”
    “They’re already in trouble. Prostitution is a crime. You ought to know that.”
    “It’s a victimless crime. No one gets hurt. These women are only making a living.”
    “That’s what you all say to rationalize what you do. What about the woman who washed up in the harbor? Isn’t she a victim?”
    “You don’t know she’s dead because of her profession, and from what you’ve told me, there’s no proof Cooper’s involved. None.” Tawny didn’t say anything more until she stopped in front of a recessed door between an art gallery and a trendy woman’s clothing shop.
    “This is where I live. But you already knew that, didn’t you. You know everything.”
    “I knew the address. I hadn’t checked it out.”
    “You’re falling down on the job. I thought you guys knew everything about me.”
    “I have a feeling no one knows everything about you, not even us.”
    She hesitated, pulling her glorious bottom lip between her teeth in a picture of contemplation.
    “I’ll go through with this on one condition. You don’t go after the women who work for Cooper. I mean that. If I find out Cooper is blackmailing his clients, that’s fair game. If he had anything to do with the dead woman, also fair game. But unless one of his girls is involved, they’re off the hook, like me.”
    “I can’t promise that. I don’t make the rules.”
    “Get my deal to someone who does. That’s the only way I’ll play. Otherwise, we’re back to square one, and you can charge me with tax evasion. My lawyer will see you guys in court. I’ll make sure I hire one who knows how to buck the system. Maybe one of the big-time tax attorneys. You know the ones. They actually divert the money their clients are overpaid so they don’t pay taxes.”
    “You don’t want to do this, Tawny. You don’t make demands of the government.”
    “Watch me. Oh, and one more thing, Walsh. I want the deal in writing. Everything. I’m not going into Cooper’s place, do your dirty work, and then have you or your boss say, ‘Too bad, kid. Don’t know what you’re talking about. What deal?’”
    He blew out a long breath. “I don’t know if I can get you the first of your demands. Doubt I can get anything in writing.”
    “That’s the deal,” she said, not giving an inch. “I have an engagement at Cooper’s Monday night at five to get the tour.” She stared at him a long time. “Let me know before then if your bosses agree to my requirements. No arresting any woman unless she’s involved in misconduct other than prostitution. If any are, I won’t hold back the information, but I don’t want anyone’s life ruined because she’s caught in a sting. And a written statement affirming that I will not receive a prison sentence for tax evasion. I’ll pay all back taxes, interest, and penalties, take probation, whatever, but no prison.” She faced him straight on. “That’s it. Otherwise, I’ll take my chances. Let me know.” She slipped a key into the lock, said, “Bye, Walsh,” went inside, and closed the door behind her.
    Linc stood on the street in the middle of SoHo , feeling the noose tightening around his neck. He also felt like a first-class shit.
    * * * * *
    T awny entered the old freight elevator and rode it up to the fourth floor. Decades before, the building had been a factory, then a series of artist studios. The neighbor on the floor below still used his place as part studio, part living quarters. In the late 90s when many of the galleries moved to Chelsea , she found the loft and paid rent for the first few years. When she had enough money from her modeling jobs, she bought the loft for what she considered a fair price. Nothing near what selling it today would bring, even in the downturn market. She gutted the inside, refinished the floors, and painted it a soft taupe. The windows were almost floor to ceiling. She blocked off part of the space for a large bedroom, away from prying eyes, but the rest of the area was open and comfortably furnished. Nothing fancy. She liked simplicity. Straight lines, no frills. She’d never used her home for clients, preferring hotel arrangements and away-from-the-city trips. This was her sanctuary.
    Not today, however. Along with the added anxiety of getting into something that felt wrong, she felt vulnerable. She was being