My contact, no doubt.
I made a quick visual sweep of the street to be certain he was alone, and then I walked to the car. As I approached, he climbed out, circled to the curb, and reached for the back door handle with his left hand.
“Miss Thomas?”
I nodded. “Hello, Eddie.”
“Going to the ballet?”
“How about the park?”
“Yes. They have ducks.”
I suppressed a smile, amused that the only noun beginning with the letter D he could manage on the fly was ducks. His danger vibe went down a notch.
He opened the door and I settled into the leather seat, then he circled back to his spot behind the wheel, and soon we joined the flow of cabs, limos, and delivery trucks.
Traffic moved well, and it took less time than I’d estimated for us to get through midtown, take the Queens Midtown Tunnel under the East River, and hit the Long Island Expressway. Industrial landscapes gave way to shopping malls and carefully managed green space, then on to nature preserves, beaches, and country clubs. I inched the window open. The scents of salt water and fresh cut grass tinged the air and the screech of gulls rose over the whistling wind. The expressway dwindled to winding roads and the housing seemed to range from vacation mansions to vacation palaces.
“These aren’t nice men, you know.” The first words he’d said since I’d climbed in the car.
His face tilted up to the rearview mirror, and I met his stare.
“I’m not nice, either.”
I watched his lips turn up in the barest hint of a smile. “I know we’re strangers, but can we get on a code-name basis?”
“Call me Chandler.”
“Call me Morrissey.”
I wished I could see his eyes, but they were hidden by his sunglasses. “Thanks for the tip, Morrissey.”
He swung the car into a long drive that wound through a copse of salt-stunted trees.
“They aren’t going to let you take her. Not without a fight. And they’re armed. You’re not.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Your purse doesn’t have anything heavier than a cell phone in it. I can tell by how it hangs. And that dress … you couldn’t conceal anything in that dress.”
“Just make sure you’re ready to pick us up when you’re called.”
“I’ll be ready for more than that.”
The car emerged from foliage, and I caught my first glimpse of the house. All contemporary angles, glass and sprawl, it looked cold and hard and expensive. The blue of the water beyond held the unreal look of a movie set.
I scooped in a breath of salt air. My big break. Photos on the beach. My name is Claire Thomas, and The Bradford and Sims Modeling Agency is going to make me a star.
“Remember,” Morrissey said out of the corner of his mouth, “she can’t be harmed.”
That again.
I was going to ask him what the deal was with that when the front door opened, and a man wearing a blue polo shirt and gray trousers stepped out. Shoulders as wide as a linebacker’s, he squinted blue eyes into the sun, his scalp pink under blond stubble. He stood at the top of the staircase, a Tec-9 submachine gun hanging under his arm on a strap.
What kind of modeling agency required that much fire power?
“Follow my lead.” Morrissey gave me a final look and stepped out of the car. He circled the Lincoln and opened my door. Like a good chauffeur, he offered his hand to help me from the car.
I took it. His skin felt rough, a man used to doing more than driving for a living. Jacob hadn’t told me anything about him, but most likely his work was similar to mine. Though I didn’t let on, I liked that he noticed my dress. After all this, maybe we’d have an opportunity to get together. There was no room in my life for a real relationship, but that didn’t mean I had no needs. Someone like him might be just the ticket. No strings, no complications.
He hauled me out into the sun and released my hand. I allowed myself to look him over as I followed him up the steps. The stillness I’d noticed earlier left his body, and his stride took on the swagger of a man who fancied himself a player. He tossed a look over his shoulder, pride with a hint of ownership in his gaze, as if he’d just won a hand of blackjack in Vegas and I was his prize.
I had to wonder if I changed that drastically when settling into character. Probably. It was hard to know who another person really was, but in this line of work it was damn near impossible.
I’d be smarter to stick to the usual outlet for my sexual energy; random men picked up in bars.
Morrissey stopped in front of the burly sentinel and cocked one leg. “Hey, Udelhoffer. How’s it going?”
The behemoth eyed me. “Who is this?” His accent carried hints of Eastern Europe but with Brooklyn overtones, suggesting to me he’d been in the States for a while.
“Nice, huh?” Morrissey said, continuing with his schtick. “Your boss said if I found girls to model, he’d give a bonus. If they had something special clients liked, a little extra.”
“This is a closed shoot.”
“Not what I heard.”
The big man gave Morrissey a dead-man’s stare. “You heard wrong.”
I kept silent. A young girl in my situation wouldn’t dare be too forward, not with her dreams on the line. If Morrissey couldn’t pull this off, I’d find another way.
Morrissey thrust out his hand, palms up. “So, what? You expect me to turn around and drive all the way back to the city?”
Another stare for an answer, silent this time.
Morrissey shook his head. “Not gonna happen. I was given promises. I stuck my neck out here. This one?” He motioned to me, “A favor for Tony D’Angelo.”
The man didn’t even spare me a glance but kept his attention on Morrissey.
“You know who D’Angelo is, right?”
A nod from the hired help.
Morrissey continued, punctuating his words with thrusting waves of his hands. “I said I’d help her get a job, know what I mean? He’s not going to like it if I don’t come through on my word. He might even call some of his friends, you know? And I ain’t going to take all the blame.”
Udelhoffer let out a heavy sigh. “Wait here.” He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.
I did a quick scan of the doorway and eaves. No closed circuit cameras. Probably not needed with an armed guard at the entrance. Even so, I kept my voice low, paranoid about bugs.
“D’Angelo? Let me guess. Gambino family?”
Morrissey gave a curt nod. “I needed to make it easier to let you in than turn you away.”
“And you think they’ll buy that I’m some mistress he needs to get rid of?”
“That depends on how well you sell it.”
When I’d assumed a cover identity in the past, I had prided myself on preparation. Knowing everything about who I was supposed to be and who I was dealing with had saved my ass more than once. This operation had been rushed from the beginning, and now I was supposed to be the pawn of a mob figure I knew nothing about. I had to wonder if, in getting me in the door, Morrissey had just handed me a death sentence.
“I can sell it.”
I would have to. Not only was my life dependent on it, but so was a girl’s future.
The door swung open and Udelhoffer motioned me inside. As soon as I stepped into the marble foyer, he held up a hand, blocking Morrissey. “You’ll hear from me if she works out.”
Morrissey nodded and the door closed in his face.
I was on my own.
The man stared down at me with the dim look of hired muscle. “You wanna be a model, huh?”
I channeled eager. “More than anything.”
He shrugged a shoulder and heaved another sigh. “Yeah. We’ll take care of you. Purse.”
“Huh?”
He grabbed it without asking, digging a paw inside, fingering my phone and make-up. If he noticed I was conveniently missing a wallet or any kind of ID, he didn’t give me any indication it made him suspicious.