If You're Going Through Hell Keep Going Page 8

  “Good work. I want them e-mailed to me as soon as you can. Once that’s done, call it a night. I’ll want you in tomorrow to write up your report about this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Theo thought the tape I’d destroyed was the only copy. I really hoped he wasn’t in for a big disillusionment.

  Honeycutt stayed in suite 1276 at the Harrison Hotel whenever he was in town, and since he was in town now….

  Looked like I’d be paying him a visit.

  Before I left the WBIS, I hacked into the Harrison Hotel’s computer system and learned that more often than not, Honeycutt would order a bedtime snack. There was nothing scheduled for tonight, so I took care of that. I took care of a few other things as well, and then jogged down to the WBIS garage.

  Vans, pickups, utility vehicles… they were stored in an out-of-the-way corner of the garage.

  The Harrison was one of the few hotels in the area that, for reasons of the management’s own, didn’t have laundry facilities on the premises, which worked fine for me. No one would question what I was doing. Guests wouldn’t care a fuck, and employees had their own jobs to do.

  I selected the van I’d need and got on the road.

  ***

  The William Henry Harrison Hotel on F Street Northwest had underground parking. I eased the van into the employees’ parking lot and unloaded the laundry cart I’d be using later.

  Just off the employees’ entrance was a service elevator, and I pushed the cart into it and pressed the button for eight. The WBIS kept a suite on that floor under an assumed corporate name, and of course I had the keycard for it. I also knew that unless something immediate came up, no one would be using the suite for the rest of the month.

  No one was around just then, but that was a matter of good, solid planning on my part and not luck. It was just shy of midnight on a Friday night. Hotel guests were either out having a good time, or they were tucked away for the night.

  And even if anyone saw me... well, who really saw the help?

  Once inside the suite, I removed a suitcase from the cart and changed out of the white uniform used by housekeeping and into the black trousers and snug white jacket of the Harrison’s room service staff.

  Then I presented myself at the kitchen.

  “Who’s taking this up to 1276?” the room service manager demanded irritably.

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “I’m new.” I started to wheel the cart out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

  “You’re rather old.”

  “What?” Between this clown and Winchester, I was going to develop a complex about my age.

  “The man in that suite is a valued patron, and he usually prefers his servers a good deal younger.”

  “Yeah? I gotta take this up with the union?”

  “No! Er… no. Make sure everything is perfect in the way you service him.”

  That sounded salacious. I glanced over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow, and he had the grace to blush.

  “I mean…I mean….” He also looked confused, and I could just hear him mutter to himself, “How is it this server is causing me to back down?”

  I swallowed a grin. He’d never dealt with a WBIS agent. I walked out, pushing the cart ahead of me.

  The service elevator was empty, not that it would have mattered—I had the clutch piece Quinn had given me for Christmas strapped to my ankle—and the ride to the twelfth floor went smoothly and quickly. The doors slid open, and the cart and I exited, went down one corridor and around the corner to another one, and there was 1276. It was showtime.

  I tapped on the door and waited.

  “What?”

  “Room service, sir.”

  “I didn’t order any—”

  “Compliments of a Mr. Anson Davies.”

  “Really? Of course, I can’t say I’m surprised.” The sound of the lock being undone was loud in the corridor, and then he opened the door.

  He was wearing brown dress slacks and a beige button-down shirt, the deep green tie he must have worn earlier now draped over a chair. His hair was an unnatural black, as if he’d touched it up. There were no wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, no jowls under his chin or lines bracketing his mouth, and his cheeks were smooth as the proverbial baby’s butt.

  All that work and you’d think he’d be on some kind of exercise regimen—his gut hung over the waistband of his trousers. Winchester was right. The man was probably about seventy-five pounds overweight.

  “I don’t know you.” He ran his gaze over me.

  “I’m new.”

  He grunted and turned his attention to the cart. “What have you got?” he asked, rubbing his hands together avidly.

  I raised the salver’s lid. “Napoleons, éclairs, chocolate pear tarts, cranberry orange scones, and of course freshly brewed coffee.”

  “This does look yummy! Bring it in and set it right over there. I’ll just wash my hands and—”

  “If you’ll just sign for this, sir?”

  “Yes, yes.” He licked his lips, so wrapped up in lusting after the pastries that he didn’t notice when I backed up against the door, flipped the lock, and began walking toward him.

  ***

  It was about half an hour later. “Now, I’m going to take the handkerchief out of your mouth, and we’ll talk.” I’d stuffed the handkerchief in to prevent any sounds from coming out as I drew patterns on his torso with my pocket knife. “However, if you do anything but nod your head yes or no or speak in anything louder than a whisper, I’ll shove it down your throat and leave you here to suffocate. Are we clear?”

  He nodded his head frantically. His eyes were huge, the whites, as bloodshot as they were, so visible his terror was obvious.

  It was nice to know I hadn’t lost my touch, even though I’d been out of the field for almost a year.

  I removed the handkerchief, and watched, bored, as he endeavored to work up a mouthful of spit, his lips, tongue, and mouth moving almost desperately.

  I wasn’t going anywhere just then, and I waited until he could speak.

  “Anything! Anything! Just don’t hurt me anymore!” Honeycutt finally managed to get the words out in a hoarse whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

  “So you understand I’m not fucking around.” I switched the knife to my other hand, and his gaze flickered from it to my eyes and back. I ran the blade of the knife over his lower lip. “You know how sharp this is. Just a slight shift in angle, and I could take your lip right off.”

  “I… I… I’ll give you money! Girls! Boys! Whatever you want!”

  “I don’t need money, I don’t want girls, and I don’t need a boy.” I had a man.

  He whimpered and tried to pull his head out of range. Wasn’t going to happen. I had him right where I wanted him. “Then what do you want?”

  “I want every copy of the video you gave to Anson Davies.”

  He licked his lips again, and his eyes shifted from the knife to the closet behind me. “You didn’t have to do this. I’ll be more than happy to sell—”

  “You don’t understand. You’re going to give them to me. Every one of them. Because if you don’t….” I let the threat linger.

  “All right! All right! They’re… It’s in this room’s safe.”

  “That’s very fortunate for you.” I rose and went to the closet. You’d think hotel management would show a little more ingenuity in finding someplace to conceal the safe. But then maybe all they wanted to do was give their guests the illusion of security.

  “Why… why do you say that?” he asked as I fiddled with the keypad

  “Your bank is closed over the weekend, and I have no intention of spending the next two and a half days with you. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “How do you know about my bank?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “You’ll never figure out the combination!”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. />
  “It’s my birth date!”

  “Sure it is.” There was a slight click, and I opened the door.

  “See? I’m cooperating!”

  “And I’ve duly noted that.” Inside were a couple of passports, one for him, the other… It had a lot of false information in it, including a bogus name, but the picture was of Theo. “Planning on leaving the country, Honeycutt?”

  “I… I have some business overseas.”

  “And this?” I waggled the second passport.

  “He’s a companion!”

  “Yeah.” I set aside the passports and the wallet containing a wad of Bahsrani currency, and took out a black video cassette case. When I opened it, I found the tape inside labeled, My Red-Headed Greek Boy Toy. “This is the original?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how many copies are there?”

  “None.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I gave a copy to Davies, but this video is available only on demand.”

  “Okay. So how many others have demanded it?”

  “None.” He could see my disbelief. “Oh, all right, there’s a steady demand for it, but I won’t sell copies.”

  “But you offered to do that for me.”

  He looked away. “What did you expect me to say when you expressed interest? Normally, I set up a viewing. Champagne, caviar.”

  “Why?”

  “The champagne and caviar? That’s good customer relations. In addition, I offer a boy or two for relief. It’s a very hot video!”

  What a stinking son of a bitch. “Why not sell copies?”

  “Once a client has a copy, it would be easy to make duplicates, and then my profit would go down the tubes. And besides,” he added sullenly, “the more I watched what was on it…. I thought I might keep the boy for myself.”

  “Why a passport for him?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I’m going to ask you one more time: why a passport for him?” I closed the knife, folded my fingers around it, and slugged him across the cheek, and he cried out. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

  “All right! All right! I… I have a customer in Bahsran who’s seen the tape. He wants the boy for himself.”

  “And how long would he keep Sweetcheeks?”

  He shrugged. “That’s not my concern.”

  No, I guessed it wasn’t. I didn’t like the thought of Theo being taken into the Middle East. I liked even less the thought of him disappearing into the desert. Not only was white slavery alive and well in that part of the world, but life was cheap.

  “How’d you get the video?”

  He was reluctant to answer, and I let him see my folded fist.

  “An acquaintance who lives in Florida obtained it for me as a… a birthday gift you might say. She did quite a healthy business off it.”

  “Yeah?” Jesus, I couldn’t believe these sickos!

  “She knows what I like.” And what he liked was boys. Honeycutt was unaware of how close I was to gouging out his eyes.

  “She made copies?”

  “Oh, no. She was the one who gave me the idea to set up individual showings.”

  “Give me a name.” Maybe I’d fly down to Florida and pay the bitch a visit.

  “Jane Smith. And I know that isn’t her real name, but I had no inclination to find out what it was.”

  He expected me to buy that bullshit? “Where in Florida?”

  “The east coast, I think. She travels throughout the state. We did some business together in Miami.”

  “Was that when she gave you the tape?”

  “Yes.” So he’d actually seen her.

  “What does she look like?”

  “Brown hair, brown eyes. She… uh… she had some plastic surgery done.”

  “Where?”

  “The usual places—her eyes, her nose, around her mouth and under her chin….”

  “Jesus. Did she have the plastic surgery done in Florida?”

  “Yes. That is, I believe so.”

  Innocuous name and coloring that would match the majority of the world’s population. I’d talk to Romero, see if he had any goodies up his sleeve that could help me track down “Jane Smith.” It was probably a long shot, but he came up with some pretty impressive toys, so who knew.

  “What makes you think she didn’t keep a copy of the tape for herself?”

  “She gave me her word! She’s very protective of her reputation, and if she had copies, she’d have said as much.”

  I wasn’t sure how much of this I was willing to buy, but for the time being I’d go on the assumption there were only these two tapes. If it turned out otherwise….

  “You know Sweets isn’t fifteen anymore?”

  “I saw him recently. With a little work, he could pass for thirteen.” Sick fucker.

  “So you went looking for him?”

  “No! I had no idea he was living in Washington.” His gaze shifted away from mine. The bastard was lying through his teeth. I waited to see what else he had to say. “It… uh… just so happened I saw him a few days before Valentine’s Day—purely by chance!—and I thought he looked familiar.” Now he was telling the truth. “Bailey knew him—”

  “Who?”

  “The boy who was with me at the time. I like the name Bailey!” He glared at me, even though I hadn’t said a word. “I told him that was the name he would answer to while he was with me.”

  “What was his working name?”

  “You can hardly expect me to remember!”

  “Where’d you pick him up?”

  “Here, in DC.”

  I’d have to check with someone I knew. It might not be important, but then again, it just might. “So what does this Bailey have to do with it?”

  “As I said, he knows him. At any rate, he verified his identity. He was supposed to contact Sweetcheeks and invite him to dine with us.”

  “Where’s this boy now?” I didn’t like the idea of Theo being lured into this creep’s web.

  “I have no idea. For some reason, things didn’t work the way I’d expected. And then Bailey was gone.”

  “Gone as in dead?”

  “No.” He bared his teeth at me, and that got his lip to bleeding. It must have reminded him that he wasn’t in a good position to lose his temper, because abruptly his expression was conciliatory. “Gone as in gone. I had some business out of town, and when I returned to DC, to our suite, I found he had departed and left nothing behind. No clothes, no suitcase. He even had the temerity to leave with the Cartier watch I’d bought for him.”

  Yeah, how dare the rent boy make off with gifts given for services rendered? “Okay, so so far we’ve got you wanting Sweetcheeks and your boy Bailey out of the picture. What happened next?”

  “I called in some favors to learn what Sweetcheeks’s status is. It turns out someone in Davies’s organization is keeping him.”

  Davies’s organization? The Boss was going to be interested to hear that.

  “I arranged to have the man sent out of town on business.”

  Son of a bitch! So that was what was behind Matheson’s lengthy stay in California. Come Monday morning, I was going after Gershom as well as Davies.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I thought if Sweetcheeks wasn’t distracted, he’d be more... amenable to my approaching him.”

  “Only that didn’t work.”

  “No. And then I had to go out of town.”

  “But when you returned, you still had hopes of getting him.”

  “Yes. Why not? He’s a whore, so why shouldn’t I have the use of his body for a while?”

  Whether Theo was willing to go with him or not. I studied the knife in my hand. “Why’d you give a copy of the video to Davies?”

  “How did you….” He gulped and tried to smile. “You see, Sweetcheeks is very expensive. I understand his fees run to more than a thousand dollars a night! Once the person who’s keeping him is fired, he won’t be
able to afford him anymore.”

  “And who else would Sweetcheeks be willing to turn to keep him in the style he was accustomed to but you?”

  “Yes. Exactly!”

  I tapped the video case. “This is the original?”

  “I told you it was, didn’t I?”

  “It always pays to be certain.” I grinned at him, and for some reason that seemed to disturb him. He pissed himself.

  “Wait! Why are you doing this? You don’t have to, you know. I’ll split the fee with you! And once the boy is out of the country, we can make a fortune selling copies. I have a list of men who’ll pay!”

  “Where’s the list?”

  “It’s in the Bible I keep with me. By the bed. If you… if you look carefully, you’ll see certain letters and passages are underlined.”

  In the bedside table was a pocketsize Bible, and I took it out and flipped through the pages. There were some pictures of a naked guy tucked in it as well. I didn’t have any religion, but it seemed a shame it had been put to such a use.

  Honeycutt licked his lips again and forced a smile. “See? I can cooperate.”

  “Yeah, you can.” I slipped the Bible into my trouser pocket. “You asked why I was doing this.”

  “No, no, that’s okay! You don’t have to tell me!”

  “You’re not curious?”

  “No!”

  “Not even as a little FYI? You see, Sweetcheeks is a friend of mine. I don’t like it when anyone fucks with my friends. And the man he’s living with? He works for me. Yeah, I’m WBIS too.”

  “Please!” He’d been pale, but now whatever color had been in his cheeks drained out, leaving him almost gray. “You can keep the tape!”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  “I’ll… I’ll tell my client the rent boy’s real age. He’ll lose interest, I promise you! Please, just let me go!”

  “I can’t do that, not after having given you all this information.”

  “I’ll forget it! I swear!” His voice was becoming strident. “I’ll leave the country! You’ll never hear from me again! I’ll…. What are you—”

  The rest of his words were cut off as I stuffed the handkerchief back in his mouth and used his tie to secure it in place.

  Busy, busy. Once I had the coffee cup looking as if it had been used, I poured the coffee down the john, along with the pastries and flushed. I tucked the video case into the back of my waistband, took Honeycutt’s keycard, and put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door.