Sorority Girls With Guns (20 page)

“
I'm an escort,” Delilah says. “Escort services are perfectly legal, and yes, you do have to pay for  the
companionship
we provided. If you're game for going to court over this, so am I.”

“
You're not asking for money for companionship, you're asking for money for sex,” Richard says.

Delilah tosses her head. “The judge won't see it that way, but everyone who reads about my case in the paper will. You think you're the first guy who ever refused to pay for sex after the fact? We deal with cheapskate rich guys like you all the time.”

“
You're not going to take me to court,” Richard says, taking a step back from Delilah. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and quickly taps a few buttons. “I just emailed myself a copy of the conversation we just had, the one in which you demanded I pay you for
sex
.”

Delilah makes a dive for the phone, but Richard jumps back out of her way. “I told you, I already emailed the file,” he says, jumping onto the bed. “Even if you got the phone, it wouldn't help you.”

Delilah's lips pull back in a sneer. “I know you rich boys,” she says in a low, I-hate-your-guts sort of voice. “You won't embarrass your rich parents and their high-society friends by dragging a case like this through the court systems. Not when it's so much easier just to pay the bill.”

Richard glares at her. “Fine,” he says. “You're right, I don't want to embarrass my family with this. I will pay whatever bill the escort service sends me for tonight, but you will
not
get one dime extra for what we did here.”

Delilah stares him down for a second, then she grabs his wallet off the nightstand and starts pulling bills out.

“
Give that back!” Richard yells, grabbing the wallet from her. She lets it go, but hangs onto the cash.

And that's when the door bursts open behind me and the bouncer, Muscles rushes in. He's followed by a middle-aged, pudgy guy in a suit and two police officers.

I really hope they turn out to be strippers.

“
Whoa, what are you doing?” Richard asks, staring at the intruders. “This is a private room!”

“
We just got word that that there was some illegal activity happening here, and it was my duty to report it to the police,” Muscles says.

“
As the manager of this establishment, I can assure you that we do our best to discourage our guests from participating in
any
illegal activity,” the pudgy guy says.

Muscles holds up a tablet, frozen on an image of me and Phil at the bar. “During my smoke break, I've been watching these kids on GluedToYou,” he says. “Recognized them as soon as they came in. Couldn't believe it when I saw  Phil telling Shade here about his employers and how they use our club to conduct illegal activities.”

I frown. “What you saw was Phil telling me that he works for a perfectly legal escort service, nothing more. Have any of you even
seen
the tape?”

One of the cops, a fortyish woman with an I've-seen-everything expression on her face, takes out a notebook. “You seemed to think he meant something else on that tape.”

I shrug. “I had suspicions, but nothing I could prove. Phil never admitted to anything, but just in case I decided to find someone else to hang out with.”

“
I see.” The other officer, a guy with blonde hair and a bad overbite, looks at Richard and Delilah. “So what's going on in here?”

Delilah shrugs a shoulder. “Two consenting adults having a good time together, nothing more.”

“
And the money in your hand?” The female officer points at Delilah's hand, which is still clutching a handful of hundreds. Richard looks down at his own hands, one of which is clutching his wallet. “The bouncer overheard you telling this woman earlier that you'd take care of the bill for tonight.”

“
We talked to your friend Matt,” the male officer adds, consulting his own notes. “He gave us the name of the escort company. We're familiar with them, and they only accept payment by credit card. So what are you giving this young lady cash for?”

“
A person can have more than one job.” Delilah tosses her enviably shiny red hair. “And I was obviously off the clock when I came in here with my former client.”

“
Uh-huh,” the female officer says. “And what's he paying you for, then? What's this second job that you do with people in private?”

“
Consulting.”

“
Consulting on what?”

“
Public relations,” I say, as an idea occurs to me. “Richard told me yesterday that he needs help publicizing that charity event he's been planning to throw. I'll bet that's what he hired her for, right Richard?”

“
Yes,” Richard says quickly. “Delilah here told me about all her experience working in...public relations, and I asked her if she'd like to do some consulting work for my firm.” It's a struggle, but he valiantly manages to keep a straight face.

“
You always pay your PR people in cash?” the male officer asks.

“
I asked him for a small retainer, just until we can work out a contract,” Delilah says.

“
I suppose you wouldn't mind sending us a copy of that contract after you've worked out the details,” the female officer says, staring at Richard like she's heard better bullshit from Bernie Madoff.

“
Of course not,” Richard says, as she hands him her card. “I'll have my business people send over the contract in a few days.”

“
Then I guess we'll have to be going,” the officer says sourly. “But don't worry, we'll keep in touch. We at the police department are really enjoying this video blog thing you guys are doing.” She shakes her head. “I'm still trying to figure out how you got
this
rich reusing and recycling.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“
So, what exactly is Richard going to do about his, um, contract with Delilah?” Morgan asks, as we pull into the One Man's Trash Thrift Store parking lot.  After studying demographic data on the area, I'd determined that One Man's Trash was optimally located for our purposes.

“
Well, obviously, he's going to hire her to do PR for his charity event,” I say pointedly as I get out of the car.

“
What charity event?” Tiffany asks, climbing out of the backseat.

“
The one he's having to benefit the local homeless shelter,” I say, glaring at Tiffany.

“
Oh, right.” Her eyes brighten. “So we can help the homeless by attending that party instead of buying cans of food?”

“
We can if we can afford the tickets. How much are they going to cost?” Morgan asks.

“
I don't think he's decided yet.” The truth is, he just got off the phone with the homeless shelter today. Fortunately, they were thrilled to hear that a well-heeled individual wanted to help them by throwing a benefit party at a swanky hotel – and that he was picking up the tab for the entire event, catering and drinks included. All proceeds will go to the homeless shelter, and Richard gets to burn through some more money – a win-win. Besides, as Matt pointed out after the fiasco, throwing a charity event is another common millionaire activity.

“
Well, maybe we'll make enough money with this crap that we can afford tickets, whatever they cost,” Morgan says as we walk into the store.

“
So what are we looking for?” Tiffany asks.

“
Shh!” I say to both of them, looking around for any lurking employees. “Thrift store employees aren't always friendly to Feebayers.”

“
Oh,” Tiffany whispers. “What kind of crap are we-”

“
Heard you the first time.” I head for the clothing section. “Let's start here. You should start with a product category you're familiar with.” I pause and look back and forth between Tiff and Morgan. “But you guys don't have to start here if you're more familiar with something else.”

Morgan looks around the shop. “I don't see any scanning electron microscopes or MCAT study guides.”

Tiffany puts a hand on her skintight-denim clad hip, lets her sunglasses slip down her nose and gives me her best are-you-stupid look. “Do I look like an expert on...” She spins around, looking at the rest of the store. “Whatever that thing is?” She points at a stuffed beaver mounted on a fake log.

“
Taxidermy? Why, yes, Tiffany, I always thought you were a closet taxidermist. Can't believe I was wrong,” I say.

Tiffany rolls her eyes and shoves the sunglasses back up her nose. “Let's just find some clothes and get this over with.”

We start pawing through the racks. “Who's Al Godon?” Tiffany asks behind me. “Is he a famous designer?”

Suppressing a smirk, I turn around and look at the label she's inspecting, which is attached to a green sweater. “That's the care tag,” I explain. “The designer label has been ripped out, probably because it's
not
an expensive brand.”

“
But it says 100% Al Godon. That means it's authentic, right?”

Morgan can't keep from laughing any more. “Algodon is Spanish for cotton, Tiff. You're reading the wrong side of the care tag.”

Tiffany snorts and shoves the sweater back on the rack. “I knew that. I just wanted to see if you guys did.”

Moving on, I flip through several more tops. Mostly I'm seeing department store brands, nothing too fancy, although a few might bring a profit of five or ten dollars. Still, based on my research, I'd really like to a find a-

“
Blue Fish?” Morgan asks, holding up a long, sleeveless dress. “I've heard of them, but I have to say I was expecting something better. This design is a little-”

“
Tacky?” Tiffany looks down her nose at the dress.

To be honest, I agree with her. The dress is a marbled blue, with sections of random geometric designs printed on the front. It looks like something my  grandmother would wear on a “Sixty and Single” cruise.

And yet, it's one of the most sought-after, highest grossing clothing brands on Feebay, at least according to my research – and I've spent a lot of time searching completed listings to figure out what has the best chance of selling.

And of course, Morgan found it.

“
It
is
ugly, but it might do okay on the 'Bay,” I say casually. “Some people like that crap and will pay for the brand name. How much is it?”

Morgan peers at the tag. “Ten dollars. Do you think that's too much?”

“
I think you should search for it on the Feebay app like I showed you,” I whisper.

While Morgan goes in search of good news, I turn back to the clothing racks, hoping to find something good.

“
Holy crap!” I hear Morgan yell, and a pair of old ladies down in shoes turn to glare at us.

“
May I help you?” One of them asks, and I see she's wearing a name tag that lists her as a store employee and a disapproving frown.

“
Sorry,” Morgan says, sliding her phone into her pocket. “I, ah, have been looking for this dress for a long time and I'm happy I found it.”

“
That looks a bit big for you,” the clerk says, frowning at the dress. Great, she's starting to seem like one of those thrift employees who get off on harassing people who do what they're not smart enough to do – buy other people's refuse and make a profit.

“
I'm shopping for someone else,” Morgan says, then busies herself in a rack of sweaters.

The clerk turns her attention to Tiffany and me. “Anything I can help you with?” She frowns at Tiffany, who's digging in her purse, trying to adjust her phone to a better angle, and I realize she might just think we're shoplifters.

“
We're a big fan of Free People clothes,” I say. “We were hoping to find some at a good price.”

“
I think we might have some over there,” the clerk says, pointing to the end of the rack of tops. “Keep in mind, we do use camera surveillance.”

“
What's that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“
Nothing, it's just something we like to pass on to our customers,” she says.

“
Did you pass it on to that woman over there?” I point at a middle-aged woman in a fur coat.

“
They're just dropping stuff off,” the clerk says. The name tag says her name is Becky, and she's the assistant manager.

“
You feel it's not important that she know she might be on camera because she's dropping stuff off?” I ask. “Or do you just think that young, poor people are more likely to steal than older, richer-looking people? Are you judging us because we're not walking around in dead animal pelts?”

“
Shade, maybe you better let this go,” Tiffany says, trying to pull me away from the clerk. She doesn't get far because I work out every day and she goes to sweaty yoga once a week, if she's having a good week.