PAULA1>I feel your fingers on my back, rising to the occasion, searching for my buttons. They find them, and a moment later I feel my negligee flutter to the floor. I stand before you naked, vulnerable, wanting—
FINGERS>You and me both.
PAULA1>You pull me to you in that strong manly way that tells me that we were meant to be joined, that now that we’re together you will never let me go. That I’m your personal love slave, now and for all time, and that whatever you want me to do, I will do without question. Come to me, Jones.
FINGERS>I’m coming, I’m coming.
PAULA1>You take control. I groan with ecstasy. We’ve gone too far to turn back. Your hands find my sweet spot, the button that turns me into a mindless ball of uncontrolled desire. I part my lips, searching for a target. And then—
There was nothing more. Jones lurched forward, typing frantically into the keyboard.
FINGERS>Yes? What happens next?
PAULA1>(licking her fingers) I don’t know. Want to meet me Friday night and find out?
FINGERS>Yessssssssssssss!
PAULA1>The club opens at seven. I’ll meet you there about seven-thirty. Bring your candles. ;)
The line disconnected. The scroll bar on the right told Jones he was now alone in the chat room.
He took a personal inventory. He felt as if he had just finished running the Boston Marathon. He was drenched in sweat; dark patches showed through his shirt. His hands were equally sweaty and trembling slightly.
He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the bathroom, thinking he would strip off his shirt and splash cold water all over himself. If they didn’t have cold showers here, he would have to improvise one.
Ben stepped out of the elevator and headed toward Jones and Loving’s office on the seventh floor. To his surprise, he met Jones in the hallway. He seemed a bit shaky on his feet and his face was devoid of color.
“You feeling all right?” Ben asked.
Jones looked up, startled. “Oh—I’m … fine. Must’ve been something I ate.”
Something he ate? It was only ten in the morning. And he knew Jones never had breakfast.
He opened the door and they walked into the office. “What about you?” Jones asked. “What’s with the big bandage on your nose? Christina said you ran into some trouble.”
Loving leaped out of his chair. “Are you okay, Skipper? Should you be on your feet? Here, take my chair.”
Ben waved him away. “I’m fine. Promise. I just wanted to see how your investigation is going. From what I hear from Mike, the police are likely to file charges against Earl at any moment.”
“Didn’t have any luck tracking down the Rug Man,” Loving grunted. He was obviously disgusted with himself. “I can tell you this—he ain’t workin’ for any of the honest-to-God carpet companies or rug dealers in town.”
“What about the van?”
“None of the rug companies reported a missing van. I also checked the rental agencies, but I came up with nada. I think it must be a privately owned van that our man just dressed up for the occasion. And probably repainted as soon as he was done. Even if we could peer into every garage in town, we wouldn’t find it.”
“What about paint companies? There can’t be that many places around that sell auto paint.”
Loving snapped his fingers. “You’re right, Skipper. There ain’t.”
“Good. Check ’em out. Maybe you can work up a sketch based on the disguise he wore to Earl’s club. Maybe he wore the same disguise when he bought the paint.”
“But even if I find the place where he bought the paint—what good will it do us?”
“Who knows? Maybe he said something to the salesperson that might help us track him down. Maybe they took down his address for the receipt or their computer records. Maybe he paid with a credit card.”
“All right.” Loving grabbed his coat. “It’s a long shot, but I’ll give it a go.” He hustled out the front door.
Ben turned back toward Jones. “As for you—”
“I could help out on the investigating,” Jones said quickly. “Let me do a little fieldwork. I might turn up something.”
“Actually,” Ben said, “I have some more pleadings I need you to type. And I have a list of cases I’d like you to pull off Lexis.”
“Ooh, how exciting.”
Ben frowned. “Is something going on I don’t know about?”
“No, nothing.” Jones folded his arms unhappily. “It’s just—well, sometimes I get tired of the same old drudgery. I’m underutilized.”
“No doubt. Have you finished your report on the first smile-murder?”
“Natch. On my desk.”
Ben picked up the computer printout and skimmed through the first few pages. He began to read aloud: “ ‘I can feel your strong arms drawing me near … I can feel your strength, your hardness …’ ” He looked up. “What on earth is this?”
Jones’s jaw dropped. “Give me that.”
Ben moved it out of his reach. “ ‘I’m your personal love slave … whatever you want me to do, I will do without question.’ ” He flipped through the next few pages, grinning. “This came out of one of those chat rooms, didn’t it?”
Jones snatched the printout from Ben. “That is absolutely none of your business.”
“Jones, you old dog. Have you been swapping fantasies with some cybertramp?”
“Paula is not a cybertramp.”
“Paula?” Ben’s eyebrows rose. “On a first-name basis, are you?”
“And what of it?”
“Oh nothing, nothing.” Ben continued to grin. “Have you actually met this Paula?”
“Not yet. But we have a date for Friday night.”
“You’re going out with her?” Ben grabbed Jones by the shoulders. “Have you lost your senses?”
“It seemed harmless enough.”
“If she were harmless, she wouldn’t be spending her time in chat rooms! Why do you think people do that? She’ll probably turn out to be a transvestite. Or a psychopath. Or both.”
“Paula is not a transvestite or a psychopath.”
“How do you know? She could be an axe murderer, for all you know.”
“She’s not an axe murderer. She’s a librarian.”
“Oh, well then.” Ben shook his head. “I’d give this a second thought if I were you, Jones.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Maybe not, but I consider you my friend, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Jones frowned. “Maybe you’re right. But I promised her—”
“Unpromise her.”
“I can’t do that.” He paused. “But nothing says I have to go alone.”
“It would be safer if you didn’t.”
Jones grabbed Ben’s arm. “You could come with me.”
“Now wait a minute!”
“C’mon. We’re meeting at that club where you play. You’ll be there anyway. You can just step down from the stage and hang with me for a bit.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You said you considered me a friend. You said you cared about me!”
“Well, true, but—”
“You meant it, didn’t you?”
Ben drew in his breath. “Yes, I meant it. But—”
“Good.” He held tight to Ben’s arm. “So I’ll show up a little early. You can come down from the stage during your first break. And we’ll see what happens. Good enough?”
Ben sighed. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter 36
AS SOON AS Ben got out of the office, he headed for the west end of town, across the Arkansas, toward the Buxley Oil refinery. Once you were on the west side of town, it was impossible to miss it; like any other blight on the horizon, it stood out for miles around.
Tulsa didn’t have much urban sprawl, didn’t have many ugly skyscrapers, didn’t have a high crime rate. But it did have refineries. Big sprawling monstrosities with metal catwalks and huge storage tanks and tall smokestacks that spewed smoke and fire into the air. The rotten-egg smell of refinery was so intense people had been forced to move, unable to bear the odor, especially when the Oklahoma winds were sweeping down the plain. The constant output of smoke didn’t create that much smog, but it did help create an ozone problem so severe that radio DJs tracked it all summer long. The refineries were the dark side of the economic boom that had brought in people from all over the world and made Tulsa the cosmopolitan city it was.