“Getting distracted, Lieutenant?”
“Distracted is a good word.”
“Hey, you said it was important. I figured we can talk while I work.” He regarded Decker’s eyes, his face cold and expressionless. “But if you want to talk to me alone, you’ll have to wait.”
“How long?”
“Beats me. But you can sit if you want. You can even take a cup of coffee.”
Decker’s eyes swept across the room. There was a coffeepot resting on top of one of the cabinets. He walked over, poured himself a Styrofoam cup of black coffee, and looked around for a chair.
Donatti said, “Matt, get the lieutenant a box to sit on.”
One of the young boys snapped to it, bringing Decker a wooden crate. Decker thanked him, then watched Donatti pose the girl while trying not to stare too hard. Donatti positioned her, head back and legs apart. Then he nudged a reflector upward with his toe. “Up… up. Like this, okay?”
Matt nodded, gripping the silver surface.
Donatti took a lens out of his pants pocket and switched it with the one in his camera. “Keep the damn thing up!” Again he kicked the reflector. “Like that! Jesus! Reading?”
The other young boy held up an exposure meter. A flash went off and the boy gave Donatti some numbers.
The two assistants appeared almost prepubescent-narrow-hipped and narrow-shouldered, without any signs of facial hair. One was of dark skin-Latino or Puerto Rican-the other was Anglo. Both had long, silken hair-perfect chicken-hawk material. Decker wondered if Chris was swinging both ways, or at the very least pimping both ways. The boys were all work and showed no interest in the young girl, who was the center of attention-licking her lips provocatively as she parted her legs, her eyes on Decker.
Again Decker looked at his feet. “Nice place,” he said absently.
“Like it? I own the building.”
“Very entrepreneurial, Chris.”
“I like business. It suits me.” Donatti did a slow turn and faced Decker with lightless eyes. “By the way, I called you Lieutenant. That means you call me Mr. Donatti.”
“I stand corrected.”
Donatti went over to the center and peered through the camera. “Matt, you got to lift up the reflector around an inch… yeah, there. Richie, you want to kick up that back light, I’m getting a nasty shadow… to the left. That’s good. Hold out the meter.”
A flash went off.
“Reading?”
Richie gave him the numbers. Donatti was not happy. He played with the lights, the umbrella, and the reflectors. As his frustration increased, Donatti’s assistants seemed to grow more and more anxious, exhibiting nervous twitches. There was no attempt at camaraderie. It was Mr. Donatti this, and Mr. Donatti that. Finally, the conditions met with Chris’s approval, and Donatti started snapping, talking the girl through it as he worked. He was fast and furious, dripping with sweat under the hot lights. The model was also sweating profusely. He worked continually for about five minutes; then without warning, Donatti stopped, swore, picked up a spray bottle of ice water, and blasted it over the young girl’s chest and vagina.
The model shrieked. “God-”
“I know it’s cold,” Donatti told her. “It can’t be helped.” He tossed her a cold pack. “Put it over your hot spot.”
“Huh?”
Donatti marched over to her and slapped the cold pack on her vagina. “Hold it. And stop looking angry. You’re supposed to be a fantasy, and fantasies don’t look like they sucked on lemons. If the men I sell to wanted that expression, they’d fuck their wives.”
“It’s freezing,” she whined.
“Just hold it and stop bitching.” He turned to Decker. “Ice shrinks the membranes down. It makes for a prettier picture. I gotta get air-conditioning in this place. Not only would I be more comfortable, but it would also keep the nipples erect.”
“It’s cold outside,” Decker commented.
“The windows don’t open. Security.” He turned back to the model. “Okay, you can take it away… good. Now give it to me, Tina. C’mon, baby, make your moves.”
She began to pose in a provocative manner while Donatti snapped away, then stopped again. He growled, “You keep sweating.”
“I can’t help it!”
He sighed. “If you can’t beat ’em…” He went over to one of the cardboard boxes and started pulling out props. He chose a sweatband, a pair of sneakers, socks with pom-poms, and a calculator. He tossed her the accessories. “Put those on. We’ll go for the fucked cheerleader look, all right?”
She took off the black spiked heels, put on the socks, then tried to put on the sneakers. “They’re too small.”
“So cram your foot into it, Cinderella. Don’t lace it up, all right. You know what? I got an idea. Put one on, let the other one dangle. Yeah… like that. Now put on the sweatband… Wow, that’s good!” He placed the calculator at her feet, then squirted another round of ice water on her. Waiting a few moments, he opened the girl’s legs and fluffed up her pubic hair. “Throw your head back, but keep your eyes fucking the lens. Good girl. Now put your finger in your spot, but not all the way… just the nail. Good… real good.”
She whined as she talked. “Like why do you want a calculator?”
“Because you’re supposed to be a schoolgirl. You remember school, don’t you?”
“Like ha-ha, I’m laughing.”
“You be polite,” Donatti growled. “We have company.”
His voice was menacing, putting fear in the girl’s eyes. In a toe tap, she was all business.
“That’s good,” Donatti complimented. “That’s really good, Tina. C’mon, give me those luscious lips, baby!”
The girl gave him a wide smile that made her look around twelve. Donatti was pleased. “You got it, baby.” Snap, snap. “Do the camera, honey, do it hard and nasty. Man, you are fucking good.” Snap, snap, snap. “You got the look, sugar, the perfect wet dream for all old farts who can’t get it up.”
She leered at Decker. “Old farts like him.”
Donatti stopped and followed her gaze. He had been so distracted, he’d forgotten about Decker’s presence. His eyes went dead. “Yeah, old farts like him.” Snap, snap. “Not him specifically.” Back at the model. “I’ve seen his wife.” Snap, snap, snap. “Getting it up probably isn’t one of his more significant problems.”
After fifteen minutes, he stood up straight and shook out his shoulders.
“That’s the roll.” He took several fifties out of his wallet and gave them to Richie. “Take an hour break. Bring Amber and Justin with you. Be back by noon. If you’re late, I’ll be pissed.”
Richie nodded.
“I expect change.”
“Yes, sir.”
Donatti grinned, then tousled the young Latino’s hair. The boy smiled shyly. The girl slipped on a pair of sloppy sweats and threw a knapsack over her back, making her appear even younger.
“Tina,” Donatti called out.
She turned around.
Donatti gave her a thumbs-up. Her face instantly lit up… like turning on a switch. After everyone left, Donatti said, “I’ve got to look at the rolls. Help yourself to some more coffee. I’ll be out in about a half hour.”
The loft held four interior doors. He walked through one of them and was gone from sight. Thirty-two minutes later, he reappeared, a timer in his hands.
“This way.” He motioned to Decker, taking him through a different door. As soon as Decker stepped across the threshold, Donatti flipped several switches-including the light-then locked the door with two solid dead bolts. The office was spacious but had no windows. The illumination was muted, the ventilation provided by an overhead fan. Again there was very little furniture. A thirty-by-sixty table surrounded by four chairs probably served as a desk. Donatti had a lamp, a phone, and a fax machine, but nothing else sat on the table’s surface. There was a single file cabinet against the wall, a clock above it. The wall also had a half-dozen video monitors that gave Donatti a view of the lobby, his own front door, and several other sites around the building’s exterior. Next to the monitors was a wall panel containing ten lights-some were green, some red. Decker figured that they represented various security zones.