Got the Look (27 page)

Theo managed to find two open stools right beside the large glass-encased colony of leaf-cutting ants. The South American insect was the club's signature insect. (L'fant was short for leaf-cutting ant, and it hardly seemed coincidental that this particular species was also known as the big butt ant). Jack watched as the bartender reached inside the glass container, plucked out a live ant, and dropped it into a vodka martini.

Has a walnut taste, said Theo. And they say it's an aphrodisiac.

Jack glanced at the couple sucking face beside him, while a third guy was feeling his way through the gaping hole in the backside of the woman's jeans. As if they needed the ants, thought Jack.

The crowd was getting drunker and louder with each passing minute, and Jack was beginning to question whether this was the best way to track down Gerard Montalvo. A distracting dance-enhanced version of his favorite Matchbox Twenty song started to play loudly over the sound system. Theo was trying to sing along but obviously didn't know the words, twisting the lyrics into I'm not crazy, I'm just a British au pair.

Finally, as Theo's friend had promised, Tony Fontino, the club owner, arrived with a bodyguard bigger than Theo. After the introductions, Fontino said, Richie said you wanted to talk business. Come on over to my table.

Fontino and his bodyguard led them around the ant tank to a small round table beside the stage. The little sign on top said RESERVED, which struck Jack as slightly ironic, since Fontino struck him as anything but reserved. He was wearing a shiny silk suit, and the matching diamond ring and earrings would have made Paris Hilton jealous. Jack and Theo sat with their backs to the stage, opposite Tony and his bodyguard. A waitress brought refresher drinks for Jack and Theo, a signature ant martini for Tony.

So what kind of business you wanna talk about? asked Tony.

Theo said, I'm thinking of opening a club here in the Design District.

Jack sat back and listened. It was a ruse, but Theo could smoke a con man if he had to.

So? said Fontino.

Call it professional courtesy, Theo said with a shrug. Don't want to step on nobody's toes.

Tony offered a condescending laugh. No worries, man. You can have the losers we turn away at the door.

Your partner feel the same way? said Jack.

Partner?

Jack did a little gut check before posing the next question. It was, after all, the whole reason they'd come to this place. It's our understanding that Gerard Montalvo is your partner.

Was my partner, said Tony. I haven't seen or heard from Gerard in seven years.

That so? said Jack. Hope he didn't leave owing you money.

That's none of your concern, Tony said in a voice so serious that it sounded almost like a threat.

Easy, said Theo. No reason to get stressed about it. You tell us you got no more connections to the Montalvos, we believe you. That's it.

What's with all the questions about Gerard? You guys cops or something?

Just a couple of careful businessmen who've done their homework. We know you and Gerard was co-owners of Club Vertigo on South Beach and Club Vertigo two in Atlanta.

So what?

So, we wanted to make sure that if we open up a new club here in the Design District, we don't end up pissing off Gerard and the whole Montalvo family.

Tony glared from across the table, then shifted his gaze toward Jack. You two shits can't cut it in this business, Gerard or no Gerard. He rose, and his bodyguard popped from his seat. Keep the table if you like, boys. It's as close as you'll ever get to owning a successful nightclub.

Tony turned and disappeared into the crowd, his bodyguard right behind him.

Jack said, That didn't go exactly as planned, did it?

Theo downed the rest of his beer. Let me go talk to him. I can get more out of him one on one. And at the very least, I gotta kick his ass for calling me a shit. He was out of his seat and tailing Tony before Jack could tell him not to bother.

Jack just shook his head, alone with his thoughts. Going to Montalvo's old business partner had been a low-percentage plan to begin with, and Jack was now wishing that he hadn't let Theo talk him into it. If Jack's theory about what had happened seven years ago was correct, Montalvo skipped town after he threatened - or maybe even tried - to kill Teresa. That was the price she paid for bringing the rape charge. Rather than stand and fight, Teresa panicked and ran, fearing that Montalvo would come get her. All these years later, it looked as though he'd finally found her. But the idea that Montalvo's business partner would confirm any of that seemed remote, at best.

Jack heard noises from behind as the band was setting up onstage.

The chair beside him scraped against the floor, and he turned the other way to see a woman joining him at the table.

Don't mind Tony, she said. He's a certified asshole.

You know him? said Jack.

Yeah. Terri's my name. She offered her hand, and Jack noticed that her nails and lips were the same dramatic red. The hair was blond, and she had lots of it. A perfect tan covered a body that was definitely no stranger to the gym. She looked to be in her midtwenties, but taking the kindness of dim lighting into account, Jack guessed she was a little older - still pretty, but with an edge. She leaned forward as she spoke, cutting him a look which only confirmed that her strong suit was not class but raw sex appeal.

I'm Jack. How do you know Tony?

He's my producer.

Movie producer?

Yeah. Adult films.

So you would be a

A porn star, yeah. She copped a little attitude, then added, Do you have to say it like you're my father?

Sorry.

It's okay. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just really nervous tonight. My husband, he's in the business, too. They're filming right now.

Jack nodded, as if he understood, but this conversation was headed in a direction that was way beyond his comprehension. That must be tough, knowing he's with someone else.

Nah, please. He has his films, I got mine. We got an understanding.

I guess it would be hard to have a conventional marriage in your situation.

Who the hell wants one anyway? There's your conventional marriage, right over there. She was pointing at the ant colony on the bar.

Leaf-cutter ants marry?

No. But here's something interesting. Queens and drones are the only ants in the colony that can fly. Guess what happens to the queen when she mates.

She dies?

No, worse. She loses her wings. Can't fly no more. She has to stay home with the drone, who of course is such a lazy son of a bitch that he doesn't do anything but mate. He doesn't gather food, doesn't build shelter, doesn't fight off predators. Just fucks the queen and takes her wings. Sort of symbolic, don't you think?

So you still have your wings?

Yeah, she said with a suggestive smile.

Jack figured that someday, perhaps in his eighties, he might look back on tonight as one of those moments in life when he should have stood up and shouted, Thank God I'm not married! But a quick reality check told him that she was probably coming on to his wallet, not him. He took the safer route, steering her back to her husband. If you and your husband have this understanding, then why are you so nervous?

She leaned closer, lowering her voice, as if sharing a secret. Because tonight he's doing anal sex. It never fails, whenever he comes home from an anal scene, he's in the mood for a blow job. Always. I swear, sometimes it seems like he does that just to gross me out. It's a power thing, I'm sure. You think I should say something, or am I being a prude?

It was a mood killer of monumental proportions, and Jack was doing his best to be polite. She had genuinely bared her soul to him - which was undoubtedly much more difficult than taking off her clothes - but damned if Jack could come up with an intelligent response. Terri, I'm the last guy on earth you should ask for marriage advice. I'm sure you'll work it out.

But -

Look, I gotta get going. It was nice talking to you.

She grabbed his forearm. Please, don't go. I heard you asking Tony about Gerard Montalvo. That's why I came over. We should talk.

Jack settled back into his chair. You know Montalvo?

She nodded. Intimately.

It was as if someone had turned off all the bar noises, the laughing, the chatting, the music. Terri had his complete attention. He was your boyfriend?

Nothing like that. He just always took an interest in my films.

Like Tony? Your producer?

No. Tony is strictly a money guy. He doesn't get involved in the actual production. Gerard was different. He'd come watch.

So he was more like a director?

No. More like a pervert.

Jack thought for a moment, then figured he'd take his shot. Terri, if I were to say you've got the look, would that mean anything to you?

She laughed, then took a long drink. You do know Gerard, don't you?

So you know about the rape case?

Sure. We all knew about it. Gerard denied it, of course. Said that girl made it all up. And we all pretended to believe him. Until he split. Why does a guy run if he's innocent?

Do you have any idea where he went?

Nobody does. Guy just vanished, gave up everything. Like I say, kind of tells you he was guilty, doesn't it?

Did you know the girl he attacked? Teresa?

No. But I saw her picture once. She's definitely got the look.

What do you mean by that?

You don't know what got the look' means?

In a general sense, yeah. But what does it mean to Gerard?

She sucked the olive from her martini glass, then popped it back. You ask really smart questions, you know that?

Thanks. It's what I do. But tell me. What does got the look' mean to Gerard?

Okay, here's the thing. This is going back seven years, and I was really young. Gerard wanted me to do this movie for him. It's about a guy who pays women to have sex with him.

How original. He wanted you to play a prostitute?

No. Not at all. See, that's what the movie was all about. This guy would approach women who were married, or who sang in the church choir, that kind of thing. These are women who would never take money for sex in their life - until someone came along and offered them enough cash.

So he'd look for women who what? Looked like prostitutes?

No, no. You're totally missing the point. There's a ton of women out there who won't admit what they are. These are women who act like they're above it, but the honest truth is they'd sell their body in a minute if the price was right. That's the woman he's looking for.

And he's able to find this type of woman because

She shrugged and said, She's got the look.

Jack's gaze drifted toward the crowded dance floor. It was a subconscious thought, but he found himself making snap judgments on a case-by-case basis. She's got the look. She doesn't. Does. Doesn't. He was forcing himself to think like Gerard, and it was as if someone had finally switched on the lights.

You okay? said Terri.

I'm good, he said with a thin smile. You have no idea how good.

Chapter
41

The FBI issued a BOLO for Gerard Montalvo at 8 A. M. the following morning. Andie stood to the left of the assistant special agent in charge as Paul Martinez, special agent in charge of the Miami office, made the televised announcement. The press conference had originally been scheduled for 5 P. M. Wednesday, but Andie had persuaded Martinez to postpone it for an additional fifteen hours. Her hope was that the kidnapper would call before his picture was on every television screen across the country. That way, Jack could explain his apparent breach of silence and hopefully stem any retaliation against Mia. The kidnapper didn't call, and the FBI couldn't wait any longer.

Montalvo's face was on every morning news show, albeit a seven-year-old photograph.

Jack caught an early flight from Miami to Atlanta. It wasn't exactly a trip back to the scene of the crime, but close. Jack wanted to talk to the assistant district attorney who'd prosecuted the Got the Look Rapist.

Charlene Wright was in her third year of private practice after a fifteen-year career as a Fulton County prosecutor, the last eleven in the Crimes against Women and Children Unit. Before that, she was director of the rape crisis program at Grady Memorial Hospital. Her legacy at the DA's office was a victim/witness assistance program that earned her a special commendation from the governor, but she was no less proud of her string of convictions that added up to several thousand years of prison time for Atlanta's worst sex offenders.

Jack was curious to know how Gerard Montalvo had slipped through her fingers.

He called ahead from the airport, and Charlene agreed to meet with him at her midtown office before lunch. It turned out to be one of those rare instances where the actual person was nearly an exact match for the image Jack had attached to the voice on the other end of the telephone line. Charlene was a forty-something African American, not a centimeter of extra hair on her head. She was thin as a steel rod and tough as one, too. Her demeanor was pleasant enough, but her tight handshake was a subtle reminder that she could crush you like a bear trap at any moment. She offered Jack a seat on the couch, and she took the striped armchair, her back to the window.