Hooked

unnerve him even more. “When is she scheduled next? If it’s the Cindi I know, I’d love to see her again.”
    “I…I don’t know. I have nothing to do with the schedules. I’m just the doorman. Anyway, I doubt you’d know her. She’s from Kansas . Hasn’t been here long. Couldn’t be anyone you know.”
    Screwed up again, Charles. She reached out to him. “You look sick, Charles. Are you all right?”
    “Who’s from Kansas ?” Darlene swept down the hall, not a hair out of place, lipstick perfect. She looked coldly beautiful, except for the frown that caused a vertical crease between her perfectly-arched eyebrows.
    “N-no one,” Charles said. “Ms. Tawny was just leaving.”
    Darlene eyed Charles suspiciously. “You look terrible, Charles. Why don’t you knock off. It’s slow tonight. I can handle the rest of the evening. When the girls call down to usher out their clients, you won’t have to summon me. I’ll be right here.”
    “Yes, that’s good,” Charles said. “I don’t feel well. Something I ate. I’ve felt out of sorts all day. Think I’ll go to my apartment and take something.”
    “Good idea,” Darlene said.
    Tawny reached into her satchel. “I carry antacids with me. Would you like one?”
    “No, th-thanks. I have some in the apartment. Thanks for covering, Miss Darlene. Good night.”
    He darted to the door so fast Tawny expected to see skid marks streak the marble floor. “Well, I’d better be going.”
    Darlene blocked the way. “How was your evening?”
    Digging deep, Tawny mustered her most confident attitude. “Quite pleasant. Mr. Cooper really knows how to treat his customers. Caviar, champagne. Very elegant.”
    “Caviar and champagne, huh? Must have been someone important.”
    Tawny studied her. Did Darlene know who the client was, or was she trying to find out? “You heard the name. Mark Seymour. You said you didn’t know him.”
    “Sometimes clients use aliases for privacy. The name meant nothing to any of us. What was he like?”
    Tawny picked up her bag. She didn’t want to get on the bad side of Darlene, even if her first inclination was to tell her the client was none of her business. After all, she did say not to talk about them. “Old. Had to work hard to get him hard.”
    Darlene relaxed, even smiled. “I’ve had a few of those.”
    “Well, nice to meet you, Darlene.”
    “Same here. Oh, and Tawny, if you need information, ask Benny. Don’t pump Charles. He’s a sweet guy, but he’s on the dim side. I wouldn’t count on anything he says.”
    “What makes you think I was pumping him for information? Why would I?”
    “Just saying.” Her smile was fake and forced. “Good night, Tawny.”
    Tawny smiled back. She didn’t have to force it either. She felt pretty good. She’d call Walsh in the morning with the name. Cindi Dyson, from Kansas. And she’d bet the thick wad of cash in her satchel the woman was dead.

Chapter Twenty
    Bad Start to a Bad Day

    “D addy, what’s a pimp?”
    Benny’s coffee shot through his nose and spattered like mud all over the table and The New York Times. He was about to read the paper, something he did every morning he was home with his family, and his daughter’s question left him literally speechless. He eyed her hunched over her bowl of cereal and blotted the coffee dripping from his nostrils with his napkin. When he cleared his throat, he asked, “Where did you hear that word, Jennifer?”
    “Ashley heard her daddy call you that.”
    “Ashley who?” Who the fuck is Ashley? “Eileen,” he yelled. “Would you come here, please.” His son Ethan snickered. Benny turned to him. “What are you laughing at?”
    “Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “But a pimp? Wow, that’s way cool.”
    “There is nothing cool about being called a pimp. Not if you know what it means.”
    “I know,” Ethan said. “It’s―”
    “Never mind,” Benny said, cutting him off. “I know what it is.” He returned his attention to his daughter. “What’s Ashley’s last name, Jennifer? What’s her daddy’s name?”
    “Mr. Mokler.”
    Benny could feel the blood draining from his face. Herb Mokler. That schmuck couldn’t find his asshole with both hands. “Eileen.” His voice came out an octave higher and filled with panic. “Where are you?”
    “And he called Mommy a tart,” Jennifer said. “A tart’s like a pastry, isn’t it, Daddy?”
    “Jesus.”
    “You shouldn’t say the Lord’s name in