Hooked

happening. “Who else have you told?”
    Colin blinked a few times. “Um, no one. Only you. I figured when Martell’s death hit the news, you’d give everything away. You’re not the cool guy you think you are, Benny. You get too excited. You could flip out in front of people. They’d be suspicious. You’re not supposed to know a guy like Martell.”
    “Okay, okay.” Colin was right, but that didn’t make anything better. This disaster was like an infection immune to medication. Every action to cover up one sore required something stronger to cover up a much worse disease. Pretty soon they’d need to amputate.
    “Oh, and here’s the best part,” Colin said, although Benny couldn’t imagine there was a best part. “Martell left a note saying he killed both Serena and Cindi in a fit of passion in a Brooklyn motel. He wrote where Reggie actually dumped the body. It’ll all work out. You’ll see. They won’t be able to connect Serena or Cindi to us, and the cops will get off our backs.”
    Benny wanted to say he didn’t think the cops were on their backs till now, not really. One phone call from the Walsh cop and a visit to Melody when she wasn’t even home hardly constituted harassment. She’d keep her mouth shut. It didn’t make sense for her to do anything else. Everything was fine. No need to get rid of Martell unless Russo had another reason to dispose of the fat man.
    He couldn’t think about the dead accountant anymore. If he did, his head would explode. He’d use his precious gift of denial to rid his mind of Russo, Martell, Serena, Cindi, Dirk Hansen, and especially Reggie. He had other plans. Big plans. And he couldn’t let a little thing like a mob hit get in his way.

Chapter Thirty-One
    Haven’t We Met Before?

    T awny arrived at Upper Eighties at eight thirty, an hour and a half before her appointment. She hoped to find someone to chat with on the fourth floor. After punching in the day’s code, she slipped the key in the door lock, and the door popped open. Colin issued individual codes for clients, then Charles verified the appointment when they arrived and called the hostess. The subterfuge made wealthy men feel important. The strategy reminded her of the rich dupes who begged that crook financier to invest their money so they could become a member of a club so exclusive, only the crème de la crème were allowed. Then they lost all their money. The lure was nothing more than psychology.
    She was about to close the door when a young woman scurried up the stairs and dashed by her. “Hi, I’m Marsha, and I’m late. I like to get here early, but traffic was ugly. I thought my cab driver would stroke out.”
    The woman hardly took a breath, and her greeting exploded into one long sentence. She was exotically pretty, either Greek, Italian, Indian, or perhaps Turkish. Wild curly black hair hung halfway down her back, and her eyes were so dark and smoky, Tawny couldn’t see her pupils. She wore a deep shade of lipstick that only flattered someone with her coloring, and her smile was blinding. Marsha headed for the desk where she scribbled her name and pulled Tawny along to the stairs, by-passing the elevator. “Are you Tawny?”
    “Yes, how did you know?”
    “Well, I know everyone else, so you had to be you. I’ve got to run. What time’s your client?”
    “Ten.”
    “Mine’s now. Want to meet for a drink on four in an hour? That’d make it nine thirty? We’ll have half an hour to get to know one another. By then I’ll have unwound.” Tawny barely had time to agree before Marsha said, “See ya,” and she was gone, taking the stairs two at a time, her full gypsy-styled skirt rustling in her wake.
    What a whirlwind. She spoke with a slight accent, British but not British. Tawny liked her and had the feeling Marsha would tell her what she wanted to know, if she didn’t find out before. After Marsha’s colorful exuberance, Tawny’s simple black halter-cut sheath appeared sedate and boring. At least she wore her hair loose and accessorized with artsy hand-made silver and turquoise earrings she’d bought in Peru because the stones matched her eyes. She couldn’t wait for nine thirty. Not so for the ten o’clock appointment, whoever he was. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to get back in the game. Her thoughts flashed to Walsh. It’s all your fault .
    The hall was quiet, the door to the office closed. She turned the knob. No one, but this time papers