The Hinky Bearskin Rug (20 page)

Bing Neebly
turned. And, by golly, he was the fat guy from the bar last night! Steven’s
co-conspirator!

“Hey, you
didn’t just take my picture, did you?”

Jewel threw
her head back and uttered a squealing giggle. “Isn’t it a scream? Da mayor
would shit if he saw!” She slapped Bing on the arm. “How are ya, buddy? I
haven’t seen you since that night at the Doral, what, two years ago?”

Her cleavage
shone like snow in the late morning sunlight.
God, I’m subtle.

“You’re gonna
delete those pictures, aren’t you?” Bing seemed really bent about them.

She put her
phone back in her pocket. “Nah-ah-ah. First you have to have a beer with me.
You look great!” She beamed. “I hear you got promoted.”

Bing blinked,
but he started to smile. “Assistant Commissioner this year.”

“How cool is
that? Wow, you’re becoming Mr. Big Shot!” she gushed, channelling Britney. She
tee-heed and let her breast touch his arm. “Let’s go get a beer.”

“Uh, sure.”

She could make
a beer last twenty minutes, easy. God help poor Clay. On this pious thought she
towed Bing to Dick’s Last Resort, which was dead empty at this hour.

“Just one
pitcher,” she told the waitress. “I’m cutting back. Gosh, was I snockered that
night at the Doral!” She laughed hilariously. “How come I haven’t
seen
you?” She slapped Bing playfully on
the arm.

The pitcher
came. Jewel tossed a ten to the waitress and Bing brightened. He sucked down
the first glass in one swallow and refilled it. Apparently free beer cheered
him up, but he wasn’t chatty. He seemed to have something on his mind.

Those
pictures, I bet.

Jewel
pretended not to notice. She chattered happily about their last meeting,
pretended she remembered what he’d been wearing, and claimed he’d lost weight
since then. Bing drank four beers in six minutes. Jewel asked if he still liked
oysters.

“They’re okay.”
He eyed her cleavage cautiously.

This was
tougher going than she’d expected. Why the hell was Bing hanging with her if he
didn’t want to be here?

Duh.
Steven sent him!

Double-duh. Steven
had spotted her on that first day in Maida’s office. That night he’d looked up
those nasty Internet pix. And the next day he called Bing and sicced him on the
department.
What do you bet?

And now she
also knew where Steven got a list of all the properties on the Circle Line.
Where else but from an AC at OED?

She signalled
for another pitcher. He swallowed and emptied the first pitcher into his glass,
looking mellow.

“See much of
Steven Tannyhill these days?” she remarked.

Bing foofed
beer all over his hand.

Jewel leaped
forward to mop it up with her napkin, making sure not to obscure his view of
her chest. “That bum,” she complained. “One night, and he dumps me for two
years. Now he’s all, ‘why are you stalking me?’”

That got
Bing’s attention. The whites of his eyes showed.

“I’m like,
dude, I don’t stalk last year’s one night stands. I got ’em coming out my ying
yang. But does he believe me?”

Bing heaved a
visible sigh of relief. The dope. “Say, you ought to delete those pictures off
your phone,” he said, apparently convinced by now that she was harmless.

“Sure, okay.”
She got out the phone and squinted at it, as if she was too drunk to read the
numbers. “It’s one of these buttons here.” She put the phone down to look
across the pitcher at Bing. “You know, Steven’s kind of a putz,” she said
confidentially. “I know he’s your friend and everything, but.” She winked. “Where
did you meet him anyway?” She went back to playing with the phone.

“Uh,
fundraiser for the governor, three years ago.”

“At Navy Pier
ballroom,” she said, nodding five times.

“Right.”

“Steven’s a
poop to women. Of course he is a hunk,” she said, pressing buttons on the
phone. “Darn, that’s not it.”

“Here, let me,”
Bing said, reaching for it, and she snatched it out of his reach.

“Nobody touches
my phone. I bet you don’t realize it, but I’m almost a
cop-op!”
She hiccupped. “That one got away. Where was I?” With
another squint at the phone, she said, “Oh, yeah, Steven’s mojo. I dunno how
impressive it is, really. Do you see much of him? Is he always after blondes?”

“Uh,
sometimes. Are you sure you know how to do that?” Bing persisted. “You seem,
uh, kind of tight.”

“Where else do
you go besides Bennigan’s on Michigan? Have you guys been to Friar’s Pub since
they remodeled?” She turned a completely sober, sharp eye on Bing.

He said, “No.”
His eyelids were sweating. When she kept up her “cop” stare, he blurted, “Mostly
we go to Corbett’s on North Wacker or Little Corporal on East Wacker.”

“Huh.” She
turned back to her phone. “Make sure you try the Little Corporal’s fresh
doughnuts.”

With a little
hip action, she could make her breasts wiggle while sitting in a chair. And
while she was wiggling and jiggling, she managed to email the pigeon pictures
to herself.

“Oh, okay,
here! Watch this!” She turned the phone to show him his rotund self, flicking
the butt. Her camera was so fast, it actually caught the butt in mid-air, then
falling among pigeons milling hopefully at Bing’s feet, then the scrum as they
fought for possession. “This button here—” She pointed to it. “Now I press it—”
She pressed the button. “And the evidence goes away forever. Bye-bye, picture!”

Bing seemed to
relax. “You’re not snooty like Steven’s other girls.”

“That’s ’cause
I’m a not Steven’s girl.” She faked another hiccup. “Shit, what time is it? I
gotta be in the office.”

On the street,
she did a little dance.
I did it! I
conned somebody! Plus now we have provable evidence of his opportunity to meet
Steven and pass along the Circle Line lists. Clay would be so proud!

Bing, now probably
convinced she was drunk
and
crackers,
said, “I can’t believe you got tight on two beers.”

“I am not
tight, I’m high on Hoby’s pastry. That stuff makes a girl loose as a goose, did
you know that?” She shimmied.

“Really?”

“Hell, yes.”
She started to sing, doing a wave with both arms. “I LO-OO-OO-OO-OVE Hoby’s
PAAAAAstry!”

She led him
back to the Kraft and dragged his lard butt on a totally uneventful tour around
the building. Per Ed’s instructions, the halls and rooms thronged with
investigators, all apparently trying to find room for boxes of whatever.
Everywhere was crowded except for the DCS staff room. There they found
Merntice, sourly washing a wall with a sponge, and some guy nailing plywood
over a broken window. No other sign remained of the orgy.

Lena
had kind of hoped Onika would never find out about last night. Fat chance.
Friday morning, bright and early, Onika was unwinding in her office and Lena
was tidying up and Onika said, “So you brought company to the building.”

Harry, the
night security guy, must have blabbed.

Lena sent her
a guilty look. “Just showing some people around.” She put the ice bucket on
Onika’s desk, dropped an ice cube in a clean glass, and measured rum and coke
into the glass.

“That DCS guy
who was here the other day? He wants a job.”

Onika blinked.
“Doing what?”

“He wants to
be in Hot Pink movies.”

Onika leaned
forward, put her elbows on the desk, and put the end of her cigarette holder
between her lips. “Does he, now. Well, that’s interesting. Maybe he’s a plant.”

“A what?”

“Maybe,” Onika
said, dragging on her cigarette, “that DCS woman sent him here to spy.”

“I doubt it,”
Lena said guiltily. “I think he’s just gotten sucked into the place, same as I
did.”

“I suppose
he’s waiting for an interview right now.”

“Harry tells
you everything.”

“Everybody
tells me everything. That’s how I stay a step ahead.”

So Lena phoned
down to the lobby and told Randy to come up.

He walked in
looking like he owned the place, his too-long black hair like a mane around his
face and his jeans fitting nicely.

“Onika, this
is Randy. He’d like to work at Hot Pink.”

Lena shot a
glance at him.

He stood very
straight and stiff, like a butler or something. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
He sounded so English.

“Is that so?”
Onika fitted another cigarette into her silver holder with the diamonds on it
and squinted at Randy. They exchanged names and handshakes, and Lena went to
the door.

“If you’re his
reference, you can stay,” Onika said.

Obediently
Lena came back in.

“You got a
green card?”

Lena had
coached him on this part.

“I shall have
one within the week.”

Lena could
tell Onika was impressed with his accent. “Well, Randy, are you comfortable
taking your clothes off in front of people?”

Randy bent his
head and looked at Onika and Lena felt the room heat up. He started unbuttoning
his shirt. Onika watched him with her cigarette holder halfway to her lips.
Randy folded the shirt neatly and laid it on the corner of Onika’s desk. Then
he unbuttoned his fly — he wore those old 501s — and stepped out of his jeans.
No undershorts. Lena swallowed. She hadn’t even noticed him take off his
loafers. He folded the jeans and laid them on top of the shirt with a chink of
loose change.

A lot of guys
looked smaller naked, but not Randy. He was built like one of those old Greek
gods, with a big deep chest and bulky shoulders and serious thighs, like
Ahnold’s, and an meaty, muscular butt. And of course he was hung like nobody’s
business.

While they
watched, his cock slowly rose and saluted.

Onika wasn’t to
know that all of this, nice as it was, didn’t hold a candle to his real
qualifications. If Lena had her way, nobody would ever know except her.

“Well,” Onika
said in a squeaky voice. “That’s certainly useful.” She cleared her throat,
sipped her drink, and said, “Let me ask you this, Randy. How long do you think
it would take you to make a woman come?”

His eyebrows
went up. “That would depend on the woman.”

“How about
Lena here?”

He looked at
Lena, and darned if she didn’t feel a blush creeping up her neck.

“Do you object
to this question?” he said to Lena. Right then she knew that there really was
such a thing as a gentleman.

She smiled. “Nope.”

Randy said to
Onika, “In recent years I have never required more than ten minutes. Conditions
vary.” He exchanged a glance with Lena and said no more.

So we’re not telling Onika about the
magic part. Good.

“Lena, you
know him. How’s his manners?”

Meaning, his
manners in bed. “First rate.”

“Clean?”

“I’ll vouch
for him,” Lena said, mentally crossing her fingers and hoping it was true.
Could a sex demon get STDs? She had no idea.

Onika sent her
a shrewd look. To Randy she said, “We’ll try you for one scene. That’s two days
shooting. Show up at six a.m. for makeup call. We’ll draw blood then, and if
you test clean you’re eligible to work with somebody besides Lena. Shooting
lasts anywhere from eight to fourteen hours, depending if we have to wait on
wood. Will we?”

Lena had
prepared Randy for this question, too.

“I anticipate
no difficulties in that realm,” Randy said, his smile quietly confident, and
Onika turned toward Lena and raised her eyebrows.

Lena nodded.

“Dandy. Okay,
you’re in.”

“Uh, Onika,
can he possibly get a little advance for the first scene? He’s kind of broke.”

Onika watched
Randy get dressed with visible regret. “Hell, I’ll spot him fifty just for the
strip.” Lena noticed Randy’s lips tighten, but when Onika pulled out her purse
and handed him a bill, he took it. She smiled over her cigarette holder. “Congratulations,
Randy. You’re gonna be a porn star.”

o0o

Jewel met Clay
at her place for pizza. She felt whipped, but satisfied with her day. “Well?”
she said, throwing her purse on the pile of mail on the front hall table. “How’d
it go?”

“How’d what
go?” Clay was reading a Lou Malnati’s menu.

“The orgy at the
department, dummy. I guess your experiment proved you right. How did you break
it up?”

He looked odd,
sort of thoughtful and blank and twitchy. “Don’t ever, ever ask me to do that
again.”

Her eyes
danced. “You realize I’ll ask Britney tomorrow and she’ll dish.”

“Then she’ll
dish,” he said. “No guy should be asked to walk into a roomful of naked,
willing women and make them stop.”

“It was your
idea to fill them full of aphrodisiac pastry.”

He shuddered. “I’ve
learned my lesson.”