Sons (22 page)

J
AN
pushed the bell on Marsha Betterman’s condo door. He checked his watch. It was just after nine o’clock. The door opened just enough for Jan to see Alexandra peeking over the safety chain.

“Mr. Phillips! What are you doing here? I mean… wait. I’ll take the chain off.”

A moment later Jan was standing in the apartment’s posh living room. The décor screamed
Coco
Chanel.

Scanning for signs of his son, Jan asked abruptly, “Alexandra, is Colin here with you?”

Pummeled since birth with what her mother declared was a matter of manners,
Yes please, No thank you, and How do you do
, were drilled into Alexandra like Hail Marys into a sinner. On those occasions when she had seen Jan Phillips, he was cool, calm, and courteous. Standing in front of her was a man frazzled. Something was definitely not right.

“No, Mr. Phillips, he’s not. I haven’t seen him since late this afternoon,” she answered honestly.

She hoped to make a good impression on Jan, especially now, since Colin had told her how much his father opposed their relationship, at least the sexual part.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Jan ran a nervous hand around his face.

“Umm… I’m not sure,” he said, scanning the room once more. “Zan, where’s your mother?”

“She went to a meeting of the Professional Women’s Association. They always meet across the square at The Barclay. I have the number for the hotel. Would you like me to call her?”

Jan shook his head no.

“When did you say you last saw him?”

“It was around six—maybe a little before.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you when you saw him?”

“Schrafft’s.”

“Did he say he was going anywhere else?”

From the look of growing panic on Jan’s face, Alexandra now knew something big was going on, but she wasn’t going to snitch about Colin’s plan to see Louis Carew about a job either. She knew if she did, he’d never forgive her.

She hesitated.

“Alexandra?”

“No, he didn’t,” she lied.

Jan wasn’t a lawyer for nothing. He knew when someone tried to mislead him. Still, there was little he could do to force information from this young woman.

“Zan, he hasn’t come home yet, and I’m worried. He doesn’t know the city nearly as well as he thinks he does. I… I don’t know.”

Alexandra felt her knees grow weak. She had warned Colin about that Lou guy, and now his dad was looking for him. And, Mr. Phillips was right. Colin wasn’t a city brat. He even gave panhandlers spare change! Just the same, this didn’t mean anything was wrong.

Maybe he just lost track of time, or maybe he decided to skip meeting with Lou and went to a movie,
she reasoned.

Whatever the answer, she didn’t feel she should send Colin’s dad to wander around the warehouse district looking for Louis Carew’s film studio, especially when she didn’t even know where it was, for sure.

Alexandra fidgeted with a silver bracelet, a gift from Colin.

“Mr. Phillips,” she said, “if Colin calls me, I’ll tell him to phone home right away. I promise.”

“Thanks, Zan, I’d appreciate it. Well, I’d better get going. Thanks again.”

As soon as Alexandra closed the door on Jan, she dashed to the phone books in the computer room and pulled out the business section.

Oh, no!
her panicked mind cried,
There’s no listing for Louis Carew!

Her mind racing, she threw the fat book aside and pulled a chair to her computer. She typed LOUIS CAREW + PHILADELPHIA in the Google search bar. Nothing. Variations of the search yielded zero hits. All she could remember of her conversation about Lou and his studio was the vague location Colin had mentioned.

If that’s where he thinks it is, then that’s where he’s probably gone,
she thought.

Alexandra pulled on a pair of jeans, slipped on thick cotton socks, and jammed her feet into her leather boots. She grabbed a cashmere sweater and a down jacket, on the off chance that, for once, the weatherman was right and a cold snap was, in fact, heading for town. She snatched up a horde of ten-dollar bills from her rainy day stash and hurried out of the apartment.

She had no idea how much bad weather she was in for.

Thirty-Five

N
ICK
F
LAMINGO
sat slouched behind the wheel of his battered 2001 Nissan Pathfinder. A custom supercharged engine, combined with a carriage suspension that rivaled a Sherman tank, compensated for what this car lacked in sheen and style. Nick required speed and rugged agility in a car when he was working, and his souped-up model was just the thing. Surveillance was the worst part of the detective business. Flamingo had been sitting behind black tinted windows since seven thirty, a scant two hours with nothing to look at but decaying buildings and an occasional stray dog chasing a cat. Sunday traffic in the warehouse district was nonexistent.

The building on this stakeout housed Louis Carew’s porn operation. Nick was into his second week, and hours of surveillance had produced nothing but a flare-up of painful hemorrhoids, another occupational hazard, besides boredom, or getting beat up by an irate husband caught cheating on his wife.

Nick studied the old warehouse for the umpteenth time. What puzzled him the most was the lack of activity. During weekdays, the other businesses bustled, while LC Enterprises was as dormant as a hibernating bear. The approach of a white van caused him to look into the rearview mirror. The car passed by slowly, turned into an alley across from the stakeout, and disappeared from view. He noted the time in his logbook.

N
ICK
sat up and fished under his seat for a Starbucks Frappacchino that had long since lost its icy chill. Stretching awkwardly for the elusive plastic coated bottle, his fingers met instead with crumpled candy wrappers, an old racing form, and something very sharp. With bloodied knuckles and a kink in his back, he sat up and grumbled, “Damn! I’m getting too old for this.”

Nick wiped the wide-mouthed bottle clean with a rag, gave it a hard shake, and unscrewed the cap. He lifted the bottle to his lips and then paused. A white teenage girl wandered down the trash littered street, stopping periodically as if looking for an address. The city streetlights burned with spotty efficiency, making her progress slow. The detective knew the girl was begging for trouble by showing up in a rough neighborhood, dressed in teen high fashion. He figured this was a poor little rich girl looking for edgy kicks. If that was the case, she picked the right place but the wrong day. Sunday was the wrong day and early evening the wrong time.

Nick looked at the beverage in his hand, frowned, and replaced the cap, setting the bottle next to him on the seat.

I oughta warn her to go home.

He reached for the door handle and then stopped.
Wait a minute.

The PI racked his memory, finally recognizing Alexandra as one of the teens who frequented the mini-concerts put on by PhillyGoth Inc. Only this time, she didn’t look like a hard street punk.

Darkness had settled in quickly. This part of town had yet to see the advanced outdoor lighting every city politician promised at election time but never delivered once in office. The businesses lining the street had taken it upon themselves to erect makeshift floodlights. Kids looking for an outlet for boredom had smashed many of these. The result was a landscape made eerie by insubstantial light and shadows that seemed to live and breathe.

Nick lowered the smoke-colored glass to get a better look.

What the hell is she up to?

Nick watched as Alexandra stopped in front of Louis Carew’s building. He reckoned she was considering her options as she looked up at the warehouse façade. Suddenly, she turned on her heel, retracing her steps.

“That’s right, kid, go home. This is no place for you,” he whispered.

The hard-bitten detective’s hopes turned to dross when the girl abruptly turned into the alley.

Aw, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Should I wait and see if anything happens, or should I go after her?

Aside from her age, gender, race, and out of place clothing, nothing indicated she was in danger. There wasn’t a soul on the street. Nick glanced at his watch. Nine thirty. He’d give her twenty minutes. If she didn’t come out by then, he’d check the rear of the warehouse.

Thirty-Six

C
OLIN
sat rigid with rage as the Arab chain-smoked short cigars and Louis sprayed air freshener in an attempt to clear a space not
laden with nicotine and tar fumes.

Finally, Louis looked at his watch and said, “It’s about time. I’ll call to make sure everything is on schedule.”

Colin watched as Carew picked up the phone and punched a single digit. He waited and then said, “This is Carew, everything a go there?”

Ben stood, stretched his body, and stood over Colin, who shrank back as far into the chair as it allowed.

He turned to Louis, still on the phone, and asked, “Well?”

Louis nodded once and then said, “Got it. We’ll be there ASAP.”

“We’re on,” Louis said to Ben with a smile. “It takes a good thirty minutes to get to the field, so we’d better get going.”

With that, Ben grabbed Colin by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. Louis yanked the belt from his pants and twisted it around Colin’s neck. As the three struggled, the office door burst open with a loud bang. Louis’s chauffer came into the smoky room dragging Alexandra by her hair.

“Hey, Boss, look what I found. Can I keep her?”

“You bastard! Let me go!” Alexandra bellowed as she clawed the air with impotent defiance.

Louis eased up on the belt enough for Colin to yell, “Zan! What the—”

Colin wept frenzied tears as he struggled to free himself from Ben’s strong grip. His fine yellow hair, by now a tangled mat, dripped sweat from saturated ends. Louis pulled on the leather belt.

Air deprived, all Colin could manage was a strangled, “Let her go!”

“Colin!” Alexandra screamed. She reached out her hand just inches from his tortured face.

“Enough!” shouted the Arab.

Ben glared at Louis.

“What is this?” he growled. “What is this girl doing here?”

Louis looked sheepishly at Ben as his mind worked out an explanation. Then a thought—
of course
!

“This is the other half of the package I promised. You wanted a teen couple, and now you have one. You can enjoy them both.”

Ben didn’t buy the excuse, but he didn’t argue either. Time was wasting.

Colin’s stomach muscles tightened to the point of pain. He felt his bowels begin to loosen. His mind flashed back to the scene of Billy ramming his cock into Troy’s ass. Fright and rage battled for his soul. Rage won.

My God, they’re going to rape us!

His throat now raw, Colin croaked, “You
can’t
do this, take… take me,” he sobbed. “Let her go. You can have me.”

Genuinely surprised, Louis said, “Really?”

Colin hung his head, his voice just above a whisper. “I won’t try to stop you.”

“A generous offer, but no thanks.” Then Louis added cryptically, “We have bigger fish to fry.”

Mario eased his hold on Alexandra. Foolishly, she took this as a chance to break free. She jammed her elbow backward, finding hard, unyielding muscle. She squealed as Mario pulled her hair and swung her around. Yanking her head upward, he forced a kiss on her.

“Noooo!”

Ben cuffed Colin across his mouth. He turned on Louis with a sharp, reproving glance.

“Enough of this! Carew, we need to go!”

Mario said, “Boss, can I break her arm, or maybe her neck?”

“Quiet!” Louis yelled. “And shut that bitch up!”

“Zan!” Colin reached for his lover.

Louis grabbed a knot of Colin’s hair and pulled his head back.

“Listen to me, you little shit. Mario likes to hurt people. Now, either you shut up and keep still, or Mario here will start with her little finger and go on from there. Now, do I have your word you’re gonna do as I say, or not?”