Copp In Deep, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (21 page)

I said, "Let's be sure I have this straight. It was Angelique, not you, who made the buy from
Dostell
."

He replied, "I, on her behalf."

"Who put up the money?"

"Angelique gave me the money."

"How much?"

"Two hundred dollars."

"So you bought the stuff and gave it to her."

"Yes."

"And she had it with her when she left you in Brentwood Park."

"That is correct."

I said, "Thanks, you're a prince. See you at
Cherche's
."

I hung up and told
Cherche
, "He'll be here. For a while, anyway. But if this guy starts getting antsy and thinks up a reason to leave before midnight, maybe we'll know a lot more about cousin Nicky than he's dared to tell us."

Cherche
was very distressed by that.

"I would have staked my life on Nicky," she quietly commented.

"Well don't write him off yet," I suggested. "Let midnight tell the tale."

"Very well," she said. "But if he tries to leave early, I feel that I might wish to kill him myself."

I almost believed she meant it.

I guess she did mean it.

I asked her, "How long has Alexandra been with you?"

"Quite some time," she replied absently, the mind obviously still playing at Nicky's throat.

"Before or after Angelique?"

"What do you mean? Oh. I found her months before Angelique found me. Is it important?"

Important enough, yeah.

The theory of the case was closing on itself fast, maybe too fast. At least I was in the saddle now and riding hard.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I "borrowed" Alexandra
to keep me company at the airport. Working on a hunch, see, and thinking I might need an extra set of eyes to keep everything in sight. She was good company too. There'd been a chemistry between us from the beginning, besides which she was smart and observant. Took us half an hour to get to LAX, even at that hour of the night, and I used the time to satisfy some questions that still remained in my mind concerning
Cherche's
operation.

I asked her, "How does it work for a guy like Nicky
Gudgaloff
? Did he actually buy into the corporation?"

She replied, "Oh yes. There is no other way, really. Once in, though, the stockholder can distribute his dividends however he chooses."

"Gift certificates?" I asked with a grin.

"Subject to certain limitations," she said soberly. "He couldn't send a dividend to skid row, for example."

 
"No packages for the needy, eh?"

"Not that kind, no. These are usually business packages, Joe."

I said, "Suppose I was a stockholder. And I had cert- ain dividends to collect. So I pick you up and we're riving about town in my limousine. We bump into a business acquaintance. I want to impress him. So I give you to him for the night. Would that be kosher?"

"To a point," she replied.

"What point?"

"It's more or less up to the girl, at that point."

"She could refuse?"

"If she felt uneasy about the situation, yes."

"But the pressure is on her to please the stockholder, isn't that true?"

"To a point, yes.
Cherche
is most careful, though, to educate the girls about certain dangerous situations and how to avoid them. She is really very protective of her employees. The final decision is always theirs."

"Have you ever had a situation like I just hypothesized?"

"Similar, yes."

"For example."

"I have gone to parties with one man and departed with another. Or I have gone with one and ended with several."

"You aren't afraid of those?"

"Depends. Generally, Joe, we are treated very well y our stockholders, with total respect. And you develop a relationship with some that furthers your sense f security."

"Like Nicky."

"Nicky is always the gentleman. He has never placed a girl in a dangerous situation."

I said, "But, generally speaking, these guys—stock- holders—can pass you girls around to whoever they please."

She replied, "Well, that is the beauty of it. For them. Each man who joins the corporation becomes like a
sul
- tan with his own private harem. He can dispense favors that few men alive today have at their disposal."

"Quite a business advantage, then, I would guess.'

"From what I have seen, yes."

"Nicky has done a lot of that."

"Oh yes."

"Could he, say, set up a party on his own turf, have a number of girls attending?"

"He does so frequently. Nicky is one of our major stockholders."

"And the girls all respect him?"

"Oh yes. Nicky is a doll."

“Well I didn't know about that. But a certain scenario was setting into my head. I asked, "Has he thrown private parties in
Cherche's
apartment?"

She gave me a sharp look and said, "We're getting rather specific, aren't we?"

I explained, "
Cherche
hired me to protect her best interests. I'm trying to do that. I know about all the hid den microphones and concealed television cameras in her apartment. I'm just trying to put together now an understanding of how they might be employed. You told

me the other night that video parties have been

arranged. Would that be part of that?"

"Could be," Alexandra replied quietly.

"Could be or has been?"

"I don't know if I should be . . ."

"I'm working for
Cherche
too,
dammit
."

She showed me a smile; said, "Did you know that he is planning to make you an offer no sane man would refuse?"

"What's that?"

"She wants to keep you on annual retainer as a

security consultant, check out prospective stockholders and that sort of thing. Opportunity of a lifetime, Joe."

I said, "That would be like hiring a diabetic to run candy store. Don't think I could take the heat, kid. It's an offer I could refuse."

"You ought to give it some thought, at least.
Cherche
is a very generous employer."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'm a man who knows his limitations."

She laughed softly. "I do believe that you are a hopeless square, Joe."

"Hope so," I said.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Nicky has used the apartment for parties. Several times."

"Did the participants know about being on candid camera?"

"Oh yes.
Cherche
is very careful about that."

"So why is it all so hidden?"

"The idea is to be non-intrusive, not secretive Helps the inhibited relax and get into the spirit."

"But each participant can buy a video?"

"Only the stockholder may order videos."

"But as many copies as he wants?"

"Yes."

"Has Nicky bought videos?"

"Yes."

The scenario was developing nicely, yes.

We reached the Eastern terminal at eleven-fifteen and I called
Cherche
at eleven-thirty. "Is he there?" I asked her.

"Nicky is just now arriving, Joseph."

"In full force?"

"In two cars, yes."

So it was all set.

The next half-hour should cast the scenario in concrete.

      
I placed Alexandra in the cocktail lounge in a position with an unobstructed view of all passengers arriving ii the gate area, instructed her to watch for familiar faces then I went on to meet an arriving flight from Washing ton due in at 11:45.

This was part of the hunch I was working. It had seemed a bit too easy to get that departure line on Toni under her legal name and all. If she had set it up that way as a decoy, then maybe also she was the consummate operative I'd suspected her to be, selecting a decoy that would allow a sudden switch at the last moment, should it be necessary. LAX is one of those modern airports where individual airlines have their own separate terminal buildings. It is not easy to move from one to the other.

And I had a hunch about the 11:45 flight from Washington.

They were posting the flight to arrive on time, at a gate at the opposite side of the hub from which the midnight flight was scheduled to depart.

I got over there at 11:40, joined a crowd of fifty to sixty people waiting to greet the flight, tried to be as inconspicuous as possible while scanning the faces of those assembled there.

A noisy group of teenagers were part of the crowd, several obvious family groups as well, but most of the greeters appeared to be individuals waiting to meet someone. I got no whiff of Toni in that. The other flight would start boarding at 11:45 so I didn't want to devote too much time to checking out my hunch, was about to write it off and go to the other side when the incoming plane rolled up to the gate a few minutes early and the passengers immediately began deplaning.

So, what the hell, I gave it a few more minutes and hung around out of respect for my quivers.

It was the usual scene at such moments, weary travelers moving through the gate and searching the crowd for familiar faces, that crowd thronging about the exit point and also anxiously scanning every new face

that appeared—delighted exclamations, smiles, tears, embraces, shy looks as people paired off or grouped off and moved on toward the baggage area.

My quivers leapt to full alert about halfway through all that when a
whitehaired
man of military bearing moved through the gate and started along the exit ramp. I had never seen Gordon Maxwell before, nor even a photo of him, but if this was not a retired brigadier general than I had never seen one—man of about fifty-five, vigorous and erect, tailored and coiffed for Wall Street, carrying a light hanging bag suspended from the shoulder.

One of the "kids" detached from the group of teenagers and stepped forward to take his hand.

It was Toni, yeah, but it required a good eye and an imaginative leap to identify her. A very expert use of cosmetics had all but neutralized the effects of her beating, except for a slightly puffy eye and lip.

She looked just like the other kids, in dress as well as demeanor—and I would bet dollars to doughnuts that she could alter herself again in a few seconds inside the ladies' room.

They moved aside from the flow of traffic to embrace in greeting—it seemed a rather warm embrace— then Toni produced a manila envelope from beneath her jacket.

That is when I made my move.

I closed immediately, grabbed the envelope, told them, “
I’l
have to detain you both."

Toni was mad as hell.

"You have no authority!" she cried.

I unbuttoned my coat to reveal the hardware at my waist, told her, "All I need, kid. I am licensed by the state of California to investigate crimes and to halt criminal activity by deadly force if necessary. Please don't make that necessary."

She was still mad as hell.

The
PowerTron
chairman just looked very sad.

I escorted them to the cocktail lounge and told them, "Be good and stay put until I get back, maybe I'll return your envelope and you can both go on about your business."

Then I collected Alexandra and we went on to check out the midnight flight.

I was feeling a bit sad, myself, about the whole thing.

Nicky's "black book" was in the envelope, yeah, along with a page-by-page translation into English. As I'd already suspected, it was a record of his many "business contacts" and compromising events beneficial to his mission in this country—very little to do with espionage but quite a bit with business advantages and arrangements, insider trading and the like, all the dirty tricks common to the capitalist creed now avidly sought by a nation just beginning to emerge from nearly a century of economic isolation and hardship.

The notes contained some pretty good avenues for blackmail, too, in unscrupulous hands—enough so that