A Mighty Fortress (12 page)

She appeared. I was pretty sure she recognized me before I did her.
 

“You know Milo, don’t you?” Mattie asked her.

She froze for a moment. Her head started shaking before she said a word, but it was her eyes that gave it away: two eyes the size of golf balls etched with desperation, pleading:
Please don’t tell him you saw me last night with Scalzo
.
 

No doubt. She was the blonde sitting to Scalzo’s right at Armani’s the night before. “No, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she finally said.

Mattie turned to leave. “Milo, this is Kara. Kara, Milo. Show him the Pilka file and then meet me in my office.” Mattie glanced at me. “I’ll get your money, Porter.” Then he waved and disappeared down a dark corridor.

“Follow me,” she said, avoiding my eyes.

She led me upstairs, where she opened a creaky door and flipped a double-switch. The file was already spread across a cheap conference table, along with piles of pleading binders and stacks of documents tagged with exhibit stickers.
 

She closed the door behind us. “Here you go,” she said.

“You know the cops will want to talk to you.”

She cleared her throat. “So you remember me?”

I nodded. “Kind of hard to forget. In fact, I was just describing you to a detective about an hour ago. I take it you heard about Scalzo?”

 
She crossed her shaking arms across her chest. “Mattie just told me when he got back.”
 

“You didn’t already know?”

She shook her head. “I swear, I didn’t.”

“Mattie know about your moonlighting?”

“No, he doesn’t. And promise me you won’t tell him anything.”

“Why should I do that?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think?”

She sighed as though trying to muster courage. “I can see where you’d need some blanks filled in.”

“When did you see Scalzo last?” I asked.

“When we left the restaurant last night. Angie and I left with the other guy.”
 

“Who was he?”

“All I know is his name’s Brian, and he’s someone Chad wanted to impress.”
 

“This Brian have a last name?”

“Blare or Blane or something like that.” A sheepish grin interrupted her train of thought. “Chad ordered us to show him a good time.”

“How’d that go?”

“Angie flaked out about an hour into it. That’s typical for her.”

“What do you mean?”

Mattie yelled for Kara from downstairs.
 

Her hands trembled, and the skin on her neck had turned blotchy. “Listen, I can’t talk here. I don’t know what I can talk about. I need some time to think all this over.”

“Kara!” Mattie was getting closer.

“Okay!” She bent over, scribbled on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Call me later tonight. I should be done here by eight.”

“Kara!”

She smiled uneasily. “If I’m lucky.”

She closed the door behind her and left me alone with the disarrayed file.

An hour later, I found Mattie at his desk, his chair turned around so his back was facing the door. It sounded like he was talking to himself.
 

“Practicing your opening?” I asked.

He turned and nodded. “It’s not going well.”

“You want an audience?”

“I’m getting one tomorrow. We’re doing a practice run with a mock jury.”

“A mock jury for a landlord-tenant dispute?”

“You read the file. You tell me what this case is about.”

I took a seat and pulled out my notes. “So your landlord, this McSwain guy, says Pilka’s running a sex shop on his premises and terminates the lease.”

Mattie nodded, matter-of-factly. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

“And your client counterclaims that the lease was terminated wrongfully, and wants the jury to award him damages for loss of profits.”

“So you did learn something in law school.”

“You think you can prove that?”

“Lost profits? Absolutely.” Mattie propped his feet up, apparently with newfound confidence.

“What about your client?”

“What about him?”

“
Is
Pilka running some kind of sex shop?”

Mattie shook his head. “It’s not a sex shop. It’s lingerie modeling. A guy pays for the room, takes a seat. The model, she may give him a lap dance. He tips her right, maybe he gets a little something more. More than that may go on, I don’t know. More importantly, I can prove that McSwain knew this all along. He was taking a cut of the action.”

“So there must be something more going on there.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, my client won’t let me go too hard on McSwain.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No shit.”

“So how’s Pilka want this to play out?”

“He tells me to play it cool. And wait.”

I nodded. “Like I said, for what—Scalzo to get whacked?”

Mattie chewed on that for a moment. “I don’t know. Nothing would surprise me.” He stared into space, and I could tell he was giving it more thought, admitting to himself that his client could have pulled it off. Then he remembered I was still there and returned his glare to me. “I need to get ready for trial. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get to work. And I know just where to start.”

Mattie nodded to ask where.

 
“Your guy Pilka sounds like a good place to start. Would I be better received announced?” I checked the clock on his wall. It was almost four-thirty. Pilka seemed like the kind of guy who might stay in the office until five, or six if I was lucky. I stood to leave.

“I’ll try him in the morning,” I lied.

Mattie turned back around in his chair. “I’ll call you if he doesn’t want visitors.”

I left without reminding him that I didn’t have a phone anymore.

Pilka’s office was easy enough to find. His business was named VLP Industries, Inc. I knew the V was for Vincent and the P for Pilka, but I had no idea what the middle initial stood for. The Secretary of State database showed that his office was in the Westshore district in a plaza of mid-level office space. I rushed to get there before 6:00, when I figured the doors might lock and elevators close to people like me who didn’t have a key. I made it with five minutes to spare and took the elevator to the third floor. The directory had shown that VLP Industries was one of half a dozen tenants on that floor.

The elevator opened to a musty corridor with gray carpet and outdated red paneling. To my left, an accounting firm appeared to have a large spread taking up half the floor. That meant VLP and four other tenants shared the other half. I went right and entered a maze of hallways. Most of the offices had placards naming the business next to a wooden door. VLP Industries was tucked in the far corner. I almost passed it up. I turned the door handle. It was locked.

I placed my ear to the door and barely heard voices. I knocked. After a moment, I listened again. The voices might have been talk radio. Maybe someone left the radio on before leaving. I knocked louder and shouted, “Porter here, open up,” with the authority of the police. I heard the radio die. Then feet.

The door was pushed open by a small brunette. Her lipstick was smudged, and it looked like she’d just done a quick job of tucking her cream silk blouse into her tight tan skirt. “Can I help you?” she asked, apparently catching her breath.

“I’m here to see Mr. Pilka.”

“He’s not here.” I sensed she was annoyed because I’d interrupted something. “Can I get him a message?”

The door was open enough that I didn’t have to force myself in. She didn’t put up any resistance, either. The office looked like a movie set—a space that was trying to look like an office even though not much work was done there. “Milo Porter. I’m working for him.”

Her eyes squinted. She knew the name, maybe knew I wasn’t supposed to be there right now. “I told him Mr. Pilka wasn’t here.”

“You told who that?”

“The lawyer. He called and said you might be stopping by.”

I was about to apologize for interrupting whatever I’d interrupted, when I saw a man’s head peek around a corner down the hallway.
 
I’d barely made eye contact before he retracted his head like something on Animal Planet. I caught a quick glimpse of a thin mustache that looked too dark for his sandy blond hair.

“Excuse me, but didn’t I just see Mr. Pilka back there?”

“That’s not Mr. Pilka.”

“Then who is it?”

“Hello there.” The voice was smooth and low. He reappeared, straightening the pleat of his silky tan slacks. He wore a shirt and tie of dueling shades of blue, and the shirt was the shade and kind of material that highlighted perspiration. Though he was drenched in sweat, he wore a nice professional smile that grew when he reached for my hand. “I work with Mr. Pilka. I’m Don Alexi.”

I returned the shake—maybe firmer than I intended. Regardless, it got his attention. I told him my name. “I was hoping to talk to Mr. Pilka. I thought you might be him.”

He laughed heartily. “You obviously haven’t met Vinnie Pilka. I just work for him.”
 

“Yeah, I’ve heard your name a lot the last few days.”

His grin turned soured. “What do you want with Mr. Pilka anyway?” He sounded more concerned with what I wanted with him.

I couldn’t wait to see his reaction to my answer: “I need to talk to him about Chad Scalzo.”

He shot the brunette a furtive glance, and then smiled to me again. “Come back to my office.”

I followed him to his office. The brunette followed us too and offered coffee or tea. Having passed the break room, which looked like it was due for its monthly cleaning, I declined.

“I’m fine too, Charlene,” Alexi added. “But why don’t you stick around a while. I might need you to send that fax out.”

She gave him a blank look, as though she didn’t know how to use the fax machine, but then she seemed to get it after he gave her a few assuring nods. “Yes, of course,” she said and scooted away.

He eased into a sleek black chair and gestured for me to take my seat. Then he stretched his fingers into an odd fist and smiled, a smile that wanted to be in control of the situation.

“Sorry if I interrupted. You must be a very busy man.”

He nodded and grinned proudly.

“So what do you do here?”

“I’m CTO and COO for VLP Industries.” He pointed to his office like Vanna White showing off a grand prize showcase. Alexi’s office did look like a place where work was done. The far wall was lined with computers and servers. The room was surprisingly neat and organized, with the exception of a section of his desk where papers were scattered. And even that had a pattern to it, one suggesting that he and the brunette had just made a mess there while engaging in extracurricular activities.

“CTO. Chief—” I stumbled.

“Technical Officer,” he finished for me.

I was out for redemption. “And Chief Operating Officer.” That was easier.
 

He nodded. “That’s right. I’m a jack of all trades.”

“Actually, I meant what exactly does VLP do?”

“No offense, but I find it hard to believe Wilcox would hire a dick who doesn’t know Vinnie Pilka’s business.”

“Who said Wilcox hired me?”

“I heard Charlene say Mattie called about you.”

I shrugged. “I know Mr. Pilka is a purveyor of adult entertainment. I know he owns numerous strip clubs and adult theaters around town.”

He nodded. “Among other things.”

“So what’s VLP’s role in it?”

“VLP
is
it. He does all his business through this company.”

“And how do you fit in?”

“I oversee hiring, firing, security, and surveillance across the board at all his establishments.”

I scanned the equipment in the office. “And you do that all from here?”

He ginned again. “Let’s just say I have eyes everywhere.”

I scanned a few of the photographs behind him. It looked like he was married, but no signs of kids. The woman I figured was his wife had blonde hair in the picture. It looked like their honeymoon, on a beach in Cancun or some such place I’d never been to. “So what do you know about the lawsuit?”

“Honestly, probably a lot more than Vinnie does.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded proudly. “Vinnie doesn’t worry himself about things like lawsuits. He trusts me to take care of them.”

“And what’s take care of it mean with this one?”

“Like everything we do, we’re going to make a lot of money.”

“You’re that confident?”

He smirked. “Wilcox has his marching orders.”

I took another look at the computers against the far wall.
 
Some of it resembled the equipment I’d seen in Scalzo’s condo. I’d made it a point not to mention Scalzo yet, and it felt like Alexi was getting antsy about that.

“So what else do you want to know?” he asked.

Scalzo could wait. “How long have you worked with Mr. Pilka?”

“Five years.” He sighed and leaned back in his ergonomic chair. “Did you say you had some questions about Chad Scalzo?”

“Now that you mention him, how did Scalzo fit in here?”

“That piece of shit? He didn’t fit in. He was a pain in my ass from Day One. I never had any idea what Pilka saw in the guy.”

“Any idea how they met?”

Don looked jittery, like he wanted a smoke. “I think he approached Vinnie a few years ago with a business model.”

I waited for elaboration, but he wasn’t offering any. “What was that?”

He bobbled his head, trying to articulate the right response. “I guess you could say private entertainment.”

“Like private escort entertainment?”

“There are more escorts in Tampa than lightning storms. I got to hand it to Chad, though. He did have a decent idea. A way to reach guys who wanted the escort experience but couldn’t get away, didn’t want to get a room.”

“So these would be local guys?”

“For the most part. But it got so good, even out-of-towners would opt for this experience over calling a girl over to their hotel.”

“Why was that?”