Hooked

quickly, then said he’d call him later.
    “Where are you?” Harry asked.
    “On my way to Tawny’s apartment as soon as I get dressed. She may have triggered suspicions. I don’t want her hurt.”
    “Watch out, Linc. She’s a snitch, nothing more.”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    “Do you? You’re too concerned for my taste.”
    “We obviously don’t have the same tastes. See you later, Agent Winokaur.”
    “Detective Walsh. If all pans out, you have enough to close Cooper down.”
    “That’s a decision for my captain, Harry. I don’t call the shots.” Silence on the other end of the line. There were times when Harry thought Linc was his man, forgetting the NYPD was city and he was federal.
    “Right. Forgot my place.”
    Linc caught the sarcasm for the second time. “I want to wait until I talk to Tawny. We need specifics, like who told her what, before we bust in the place without knowing who we’re supposed to bust.”
    “Right again. Call me later.” Harry cut him off.
    Linc shut his phone down, irritated not only at Harry’s attitude but at the snide I bet remark that felt like a slap in the face. Even if Tawny never turned another trick, she’d always be a hooker in the eyes of anyone who knew her past. He wondered how many of the Hampton crowd knew about Eileen Cooper, and if they did, how they reacted to her. Did they talk behind her back or did she suffer face-to-face insults? Linc knew women who’d turned in their date books for two kids and a house in the burbs. He guessed they had as high a marital success rate as anyone else. Maybe better, considering they knew at least part of what made a man happy.
    Dammit, he thought, chiding himself for being a sexist pig. As if all it took to please a man was a roll in the hay. He finished dressing and headed for the city, mind revving along with the car’s engine.
    Why had Hansen visited Upper Eighties? Did Cooper contract men for women or for other men? Many clubs did, although it wasn’t a fact that made news. Sex was sex, and everything was on the table between consenting adults when money called the shots. One thing Linc was sure of―Dirk Hansen wasn’t a john. He didn’t have five minutes worth of the fees Benny and his ladies charged. Besides, the guy was an actor and enough of a stud to snag any woman he wanted for sex, even if he was a wife-beating asshole. There were enough women with low self-esteem to fall prey to a bad boy like Hansen.
    Then Linc was in SoHo , half a block from Tawny’s apartment, with no recollection of how he drove into the city. He pulled into a commercial vehicle space near her building and put a tag on the windshield. He went inside the store, flashed his badge, and told the owner he wouldn’t be long.
    “Make it fast,” the guy growled, undaunted by the cop’s presence. “I’m expecting a delivery.”
    Linc didn’t have time to argue. “I’ll be back when I’m back, and I don’t need any crap from you. Persist in giving me a hard time, and I’ll come back with a city inspector. Bet he finds something to close you down for a few days.” That shut him up.
    Linc hurried to Tawny’s door and pressed the bell. He waited, but she didn’t buzz him in. He pressed the bell again. Again, nothing. Damn. He told her to wait and she left anyway. An appointment. He figured what that meant. Tawny was meeting a john. At nine o’clock in the morning. So much for retiring.
    He started back to his car, then remembered something Tawny said at the beach about her neighbor watering her plants. Bet he had a key to her apartment. Wonder if she left an appointment book around. He went back to the bank of buzzers and hit the button under Tawny’s with the name Tony Ambrosio on a plastic strip. Tawny’s bell had no name, but they were in vertical order, top floor on top.
    “Yeah,” a gruff voice answered.
    “NYPD,” Linc said.
    “What’ya want?”
    “Buzz me in and I’ll tell you.” He heard a grumble before the intercom switched off, but the buzzer popped the door. Linc bypassed the ancient elevator and took the stairs. The aroma of curry wafting from the second floor turned into the odor of paint when the third floor door opened and a thin, wiry man covered in paint-spattered overalls stood waiting. His black hair was pulled into a pony tail, revealing two earrings, and he was wiping his hands on a wet cloth. Large abstract canvases sat on easels behind him, similar to a painting he’d seen on Tawny’s