[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.“Who do you think that is?” Sarah asked, pointing to the firstoccurrence of the number.Michael shook his head.He typed it into Google and came upwith nothing.“Let’s call it,” Brian said, and before Michael could stop him, hehad typed the number into his cell phone.The three of them waited, theexcitement mounting with each ring.In the end, nothing happened.Thephone went straight to a generic voicemail box.Brian closed his phone,disappointed.“That’s not even a real mailbox,” he said.“It’s probably atrack phone.”Sarah was looking at the rest of the bill.“Who do you thinkordered the porno?”Brian furrowed his brow.“What?”“The porno.Porn Star Pool Party.12:52 a.m.”Michael shrugged.“I figured it was a mistake.Or maybe sheordered it when she was drunk.”Sarah shook her head.“What if it isn’t? If Caroline wasn’t in theroom when the movie was ordered, then someone was.Maybe she paidsomeone to be there and order a movie, give her an alibi.”“No,” Michael said.“I asked her what movies she watched andshe said only the one earlier.”190 | Sullivan Wheeler“The Transporter,” Sarah said, checking the bill.“Right.She didn’t seem to know that someone had ordered amovie after she left.”“So, someone was in the room.Somebody knows that she wasn’tthere that night.” Sarah pursed her lips.“We need to find out who.”Billionaire’s Row | 191ALTHOUGH they met every night for the rest of the week, by Saturdaythey were no closer to linking Sam Christiansen to Caroline Davies andthe murder.They had planned to meet again that evening, but Sarahcalled in the morning to say that she was having some domestic issues.“I’m, um, going to have to stay in today,” she said, and a woman’svoice in the background said, “You’re damn right you’re staying home.You tell that bitch—whoever she is—that me and her are going to havewords.”“Good luck,” Michael said.“Thanks.” She hung up.Michael called Brian to tell him about the change of plans.“Great!” Brian exclaimed before Michael could say that probably theyshould just get together next week.“Let’s go out.There’s this ultra-hipclub that opened a little while ago, and I’ve been dying to go.I’ll pickyou up at eight.”When he wasn’t there by nine, Michael decided that Brian musthave changed his mind.He put on sweatpants and opened a beer, thenturned on the television and began idly looking over Caroline Davies’sphone bill.Around nine thirty, a car pulled into his driveway.Briandidn’t bother to knock before walking into Michael’s house.He lookedsurprised and then annoyed to find Michael not dressed.“You can’twear that!” he said.He himself was wearing a tight white T-shirt(through which his nipples were nearly visible) and a pair of jeans thatcradled his rear end perfectly.“I didn’t think you were coming,” Michael said, and Brian lookedhurt.192 | Sullivan Wheeler“I wouldn’t abandon you,” he said, touching Michael’s armaffectionately.“Come on.We’ll have a good time.”Brian picked out an outfit for Michael, tsk-tsk ing the whole timeabout the sorry state of Michael’s wardrobe, and when Michael wassuitably attired, they climbed into Brian’s BMW and sped off.“Where exactly are we going?” Michael asked.“It’s called Proof.”“Proof of what?”Brian rolled his eyes.“Ha-ha, very funny.That’s the name of theclub.Proof.P.Diddy is a part-owner.It’s supposed to be super-exclusive.”“How do you know we’ll be able to get in?”Brian squeezed Michael’s thigh.“Did anyone ever tell you thatyou worry too much?”Michael thought of his sister, who said it all the time.“Please,” Brian continued.“With this face”—he pointed to hisown—“you can get in anywhere.” He did look great.His hair, asalways, was perfect.He had a healthy tan courtesy of the tanning bedsat his gym, and somehow he never looked orange.He’d had hiseyebrows done recently and probably a facial, which always left himlooking the picture of health.His T-shirt hinted at the impressivedefinition of the muscles underneath.He caught Michael studying him.“What?”“Nothing.”Proof was located in what had once been an ocean-side hotel atthe very northern edge of the city.At a quarter to eleven on a Saturday,the businesses around it were dark, and Proof—with its purple neonsign and klieg lights out front—was like a beacon.The line of peoplewaiting to get in snaked from the door along the building and into thedarkness.“We’re never going to get in,” Michael said, thinking of the beerin his fridge.Brian sighed.“Never forget that you’re with me.” He pulled thecar up in front of the building.They got out and he gave the keys to theBillionaire’s Row | 193valet, shoving the ticket in his pocket.Michael stood on the curb,watching the car drive away.He wondered as he started to head towardthe back of the line just how long they would have to wait before theycould give up and go back to Michael’s house.Brian, though, had other plans.He grabbed Michael’s arm andpulled him toward the front of the line.“Barry!” he called.One of the two massive bouncers standing at the door turned.Hisbald head shone under the lights.His face lit up when he saw Brian.“Yo, Brian, where you been, boy?” They gave each other a manly bro-hug.“I heard you were working here.Did you leave Delicatessen?”Brian asked.“Had to, man.They was running coke out of that place.Gotbusted a couple months ago.Good thing this place was hiring, youknow.”“No shit,” Brian said.“That sucks.I liked Delicatessen.”Barry laughed genially.“I know you did.” He gestured towardMichael [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]