“I think it reeks of Moroconi’s personal style. Emphasis on reeks.”
“Okay. What’s our plan?”
“Our plan?” Travis shrugged. “I suppose we’re going to bust the door open and grab Moroconi by the short hairs before he has a chance to slither away.”
“Once a cop, always a cop. And people wonder why prosecutors lose so many cases on technicalities.”
“I’m not trying to build a federal case. I’m trying to extract information from a walking waste pile who’s standing trial for a sexual felony and is wanted for murder. This guy has very little to lose. If you stop to read him his Miranda rights, you might as well kiss your pretty little butt goodbye.”
She gave him a withering look. “I suppose that’s a compliment, of sorts. But I plan to ignore it. Okay, Dick Tracy, you do the busting, I’ll bring up your rear.”
They scanned the outer perimeter of the motel, saw no one, and stepped out of the car. Travis held back the fence while Cavanaugh stepped through a conveniently placed hole. He glanced at the desk clerk, visible through the large bay window in the front office. He appeared to be reading a magazine and didn’t notice them.
Travis and Cavanaugh silently approached Room 14. Travis aimed his foot at the door.
“Don’t you think we should knock first?” Cavanaugh whispered.
“No.” Travis kicked the door just below the doorknob. The thin, warped plywood splintered and cracked down the middle. Travis kicked again, this time opening a hole wide enough for his arm. He reached through, turned the knob, and unlocked the door.
He burst into the room just in time to see someone crawling beneath the bedcovers. Travis dove onto the bed, throwing his arms around the cloaked figure.
“Don’t bother trying to get away, Moroconi. I’ve got you.” His captive squirmed and kicked, trying to get free of the bedspread and Travis. Cavanaugh tried to help, to little effect. Despite their best efforts, one foot got free of the covers and kicked Travis between the legs. Fortunately, the aim wasn’t exact.
“Damn it, Moroconi, hold still!” Travis shouted. He ripped the bedspread away—to find a dark-haired teenage girl wearing a black lace teddy and too much makeup. What’s worse, her face was familiar.
“This is Moroconi?” Cavanaugh asked. “He’s changed a lot since he got out of the slammer.”
“Not hardly,” Travis said, staring at the girl. “Where is he?”
“Al? I dunno.” The girl looked puzzled; then, suddenly, a smile of recognition appeared. “Hey, you’re the sex weirdo.”
Cavanaugh raised ah eyebrow. “I take it you two have met?”
Travis took the girl roughly by the arm, and scrutinized her face. Yes—it was the same scantily clad young woman who had waltzed into his apartment two nights before. “What are you doing here?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “This is my room. What are you doing here?”
Travis pressed her back against the headboard. “We don’t have time to play around. Where the hell is Moroconi?”
“You’re hurting me.”
“I could do a lot worse. Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, squirming. “He left sometime last night.”
Travis pushed her away and crawled off the bed. “Is he coming back?”
She rubbed her arm. “I don’t think so. He took all his stuff.”
Travis paced back and forth beside the bed. “And what’s your story? Who are you, his long-lost sister?”
Cavanaugh looked pointedly at Travis. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the answer,” she said, popping a lace garter beneath the girl’s teddy.
Travis’s face flushed red. “How long have you known Al?”
“Since night before last.”
“Night before last? The same night you were in my apartment? The night he broke out of jail?”
“Al broke out of jail?” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Omigod. Are you a cop?”
Travis intentionally failed to answer. “How did you meet him?”
“I was on my usual corner downtown late that night, after I left your place. Al drove up in a pickup and asked if I wanted a date.”
“I thought so,” Travis said. “You’re a—”
“I’m a private entrepreneur,” she interrupted.
“Right.”
Cavanaugh sat down on the bed beside the girl. “Relax, kid, we’re not cops. We won’t bother you, we won’t report you. We just need to know as much about your trick as possible.”
The girl seemed considerably relieved. “Well, he’s about five foot seven with black hair—”
“We know what he looks like,” Travis barked. “What else can you tell us?”
“Well, he’s heavily into bondage, and his favorite snack is edible panties—”
Travis turned away, thoroughly disgusted. He spotted a pair of handcuffs dangling from the headboard of the bed. “We don’t want to hear about his kinky …” Travis searched for the right word, but it wasn’t in his vocabulary. “We want to know about his other activities. Do you have any idea where he’s gone, or what he’s been doing?”
“He was gone for several hours yesterday. That’s all I know.”
“He must’ve said something when the two of you were together.”
“Mostly it was just grunting noises.”
Travis pressed his fingers against his temples. “If Moroconi isn’t coming back, why are you still here?”
The girl shrugged. “Checkout time’s not until three o’clock, and the room’s paid for. It’s a decent place. Lot nicer than where I usually stay.”
To say the least. Travis silently swore. Sometimes, Travis Byrne, you are an insensitive son of a bitch. She was obviously just a pawn in this scenario. And how could he help but feel sorry for anyone who thought the Million Dollar Motel was a pleasant change of scenery?
“Look,” he said more quietly, “are you sure you can’t think of anything that might help us find … Al?”
She shook her head.
“One more question. Who sent you to me the other night?”
“I dunno. Someone had the money delivered, then called on a pay phone and gave me your address. I assumed you were calling the shots, till you started acting so strange.”
“So you just go to any address someone phones in, without checking first?”
She drew her shoulders back. “Most people are delighted to see me. Most normal people.”
“You don’t ask your employers many questions.”
“My employers prefer it that way.”
“Okay, okay. Why don’t you collect your belongings and leave.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yeah. We’re not the only ones looking for your buddy Al. But we’re the only ones who don’t carry big guns.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll go.” She jumped off the bed, then hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a quick date?”
Travis stammered incoherently.
“If you’d like,” Cavanaugh said dryly, “I could step outside.”
“We could do whatever you like,” the girl added.
Travis shook his head. “No, really …”
“I could call a friend. You know, two at once.”
“Uhh, no …”
“We could use this.” She reached under the bed and withdrew a foot-long wooden handle with long gossamer-looking angel hair dangling beneath.
A profound line creased Travis’s brow. “What on earth is that?”
“It’s the Cosmic Spider.” She leaned forward and whispered the rest into his ear.
“Good Lord! That’s … that’s …”
She giggled. “It’s kinda fun, actually.”
“Look, miss, you really need to get out of here.”
“You like guys, don’t you? I should have known. The only time I get turned down is when the trick likes boys better.”
“I do not like boys better. I mean, I don’t like them at all. I mean—”