Chances were, if they catered to the adult industry, they weren’t likely to give out their clients’ names and addresses to a couple of blondes just because we asked nicely. What we needed was someone who knew computers and how to get around them.
Unfortunately, I knew only one computer hacker.
Felix.
I debated the merits of calling him. It felt a little like poking at a slug-like some of that slime might rub off if I stood too close. On the other hand, the fact that Jasmine had bought our “we’re working with the police” spiel meant the actual police had yet to attack her with the same line of questioning. They were so busy focusing on Dusty’s altercation with Mia that they’d likely have Dusty handcuffed, fingerprinted, and on her way to San Quentin before anyone ever got around to checking PayMate’s records.
So figuring I was doing a favor for a friend of a friend of my college roommate, I dialed Felix’s cell.
He picked up on the first ring, no doubt hoping I was a hot lead on Jessica Simpson’s latest nude-sunbathing location.
“Felix Dunn, ” he answered.
“Hey. It’s Maddie.”
He paused on the other end. “Yes?” he asked cautiously. Apparently he knew how I felt about the slime factor.
“Listen, I need a favor.”
He laughed. “Don’t you always? And what do I get in return for this favor? You know, my editor wouldn’t even print that story about Deveroux being gay. I got bumped off the front page.”
“Oh, don’t pout. One story about Liberace’s ghost and you’ll be back on top.”
“You know, for a girl who needs a favor, you’re not being very nice to me.”
He was right, I wasn’t. What can I say? Old habits died hard. “Sorry. How about this: Pretty, pretty please will you do me a favor?”
“Am I going to get a real story out of it?”
I looked up at Jasmine’s Mediterranean. “Uh-huh.”
“Does it involve sex or starlets?”
“Both. In spades.”
“I’m in. What’s the favor?”
I quickly explained Veronika’s involvement in Jas-mine’s Web site, the credit card company, and the regular customer. As I talked I could hear him mentally putting together a sensationalized headline: Cyber-sex Starlet Slain by Sweetheart-Bigfoot Involved? (Okay, I added that last part, but ten to one he’d be in the story somewhere. I mean, this was the Informer we were talking about.) By the time I finished he was practically salivating into the phone. He said to meet him at his place in twenty minutes and he’d pull up the PayMate site.
The address Felix gave me was in the Hollywood Hills, up Laurel Canyon, down Mulholland, and winding around until we broke through the trees and were treated to a spectacular view of the city that made my breath catch in my throat faster than a lungful of freeway smog. Below us the entire valley spread out like a fine mosaic of twinkling lights, and through the trees I could make out the Hollywood sign, starkly white against the dark hills. It was the kind of view that would make a location scout stand up and cheer.
And the house standing in front of it wasn’t any less impressive. It was a large glass structure, constructed of sleek modern angles. I could tell it was the work of some famous architect, the angles leaning to the side as if they might topple over with a strong Santa Ana. The front of the house was paneled in pale blond woods, while what I could see of the back was one solid wall of glass. In the driveway, as if to mock the grandeur of the structure, sat a blue Dodge Neon with a dented front fender.
Last year while working with Felix on the story in Vegas, I’d learned that, while he was swimming in family money from his father’s side (though he wouldn’t divulge just how much), he was a cheapskate of the highest degree, courtesy of his mother’s Scottish upbringing. I’d teased him at the time about being a cheap rich guy. Though I hadn’t realized until now just how rich he must be.
“Wow.” Dana stared up at the imposing structure. “You sure your tabloid guy lives here?”
“He’s not my tabloid guy, ” I protested a little more loudly than I’d meant to. “And I guess we’re about to see.”
Dana locked the Porsche, doing the little beep-beep thing with her rabbit’s-foot remote, and we walked down the neatly laid stone pathway and up a flight of slate stairs to the front door.
“How come you haven’t introduced me to this guy before?” Dana asked, taking in the multimillion-dollar view. “What, is he, like, hideous or something?”
“Not if you like slugs, ” I mumbled as the door opened.
Felix was dressed in the same rumpled button-down shirt he’d been in the last four times I’d seen him, though tonight he was going casual, pairing it with jeans, ripped at the knees. His feet were bare, and while his hair was still sticking up in that messy-chic way (though knowing Felix it was a messy didn’t-bother-to-comb-my-hair-after-rolling-out-of-bed way), I was glad to see he’d at least shaved since the last time I’d seen him, giving his face a deceptively boyish look.
“Maddie, ” he said.
“Felix.”
I felt Dana nudge me in the ribs. “Ohmigod, he’s Hugh Grant-alicious!” she whispered in my ear.
Uh-huh. With the moral fiber of pond scum.
“Some place you’ve got here, ” I said as I pushed past him. The floors were a polished hardwood, the furnishings simple, yet stylish, obviously the work of an interior decorator who knew when to stop knickknacking. Low sofas, pale woods, smooth, clean lines. Overall a calming atmosphere made to showcase the natural beauty of the surrounding hills.
Felix looked around himself, as if he hadn’t really noticed. “It’s a roof.”
“How many square feet have you got?”
He grinned. “Enough.”
“Hi, I’m Dana.” I watched as Dana thrust her hand out at Felix, doing a big-eyed eyelash-batting thing.
Oh brother.
I almost felt sorry for Felix. (Almost. He had, after all, spliced my head on Pamela Anderson’s body.)
“Pleasure to meet you, ” Felix said, pumping Dana’s hand. “Felix Dunn.”
“Oh, I know! Maddie’s told me so much about you.” Dana fluttered her eyelashes and leaned in closer.
“Has she now?” Felix asked, cocking an eyebrow my way.
I pretended not to notice.
“Oh, yes. I think it’s so cool that you’re a reporter. You must see some amaaaaaaazing things, ” she said, drawing out the word with a Betty Boop giggle as she laid a seductive hand on his arm.
Oy vey. It was only a matter of time before the flattery started getting laid down thicker than sunblock on a Venice lifeguard.
“Yes, just last week he saw Bigfoot run off with the Crocodile Woman, ” I added.
Felix grinned, extricating his hand (with no small effort) from Dana’s grip. “Our Maddie’s ever the comedian, isn’t she?”
The sad thing was, I think the Informer had actually printed that story last week.
“No, I’m onto bigger and better things, ” he continued. “Like starlets who work for cyber-sex sites, right?”
Right. I forced myself to rein in my sarcasm. “Where’s your computer?”
“This way, m’ladies.” Felix did a mock bow, gesturing to the back of the house.
Dana giggled and touched his arm again.
Good grief. One week off sex and already her standards were dropping faster than Paris Hilton’s panties.
My wedges echoed on the hardwood as we followed Felix through the foyer and down a small flight of stairs to a large office overlooking the back of the house. The wall of glass capitalized on the unobstructed view of the valley. Beyond the glass sat lush, obviously professional landscaping and a bubbling hot tub perched atop a large wooden deck.
“Wow, what a great view, ” Dana said, pressing her nose to the glass. “And check out the size of that hot tub. I bet you could fit fifteen people in there, easy.”