CRASH (A Logan Brothers Novel) (8 page)

“
EW!”

“
I know, right! I was so
worried the same would happen to me. So glad its you hun.”

She smiled genuinely. “Well,
I'm happy to have you. Just quit it with the snoring and we'll be
fine.” She giggled again at my hurt and shocked expression. “Just
teasing, you don't snore. You do talk in your sleep though.”

“
I do not!”

“
You do! You were mumbling
something about a savior the other day. You kept saying 'my savior,
my savior' in this lusty voice. It kinda freaked me out actually, it
was only the second night you were here! I literally thought you were
mad!”

“
Really? My savior? Weird.”

But it wasn't weird. I knew who,
and what, I would have been talking about.

“
Have I said anything else?”
I said casually.

“
Nah, not that I've noticed.
Thank God.” She laughed again.

Good. I don't wanna be
spilling my darkest secrets in my sleep now do I. Not that I really
have any dark secrets. Not yet anyway.

“
Well, tell me if I say
anything else. It was probably the nerves of just arriving or
something, you know.”

“
Yeah sure. I've got a nutter
as a new room-mate! Although can't be as bad as the last.” She
hushed herself, as if she'd said too much.

“
Ooooo, gossip. What was she
like?” I said, sitting up, my eyes opening wide.

“
No, I'm just messing. She was
pretty normal actually.” I got the impression that she was closing
the door on something. None of my business really though. More
confirmation that Alice really did keep her cards close to her chest.

“
So are you making friends in
class,” she asked, changing the subject. “You're doing
Literature, right? Have you met a girl called Lilly?”

“
Err, no, why?”

“
No reason. She's just the
only girl I know on that course.”

“
Ah. Yeah, I've met some
people, they're really nice. Everyone seems to be nice round here. I
went to that dance school,
West's School of Dance
, after
lectures today to look into classes, and this random girl just
started chatting to me. She was really nice and helpful. I think
there's something in the water round here!”

“
Oh yeah, what was her name?”

“
Um, Lexi I think.”

“
Lexi?” She seemed to
recognize the name. “At West's?”

“
Yeah. You know her?”

“
Yeah, she's just the sweetest
girl. So friendly, so bubbly. Gorgeous. Small, right? Like tiny, and
blonde? Kinda looks like you actually!”

“
That's the one. And thanks,
if I look anything like her that's a major compliment! So, do you
dance? Is that how you know her?”

“
Oh, sort of. I used to work
with her.” Her voice lost some of its vibrancy, suddenly going a
bit closeted again.

Seriously, this girl and her
secrets.

“
Ah, right. Like what, bar
work or something?”

“
Something like that.” She
had this half grin on her face, a look of remembrance, of forgotten
pleasure, her eyes glancing off to the side.

I knew not to probe. If she
wanted to let me in on the truth, that was her deal.

Right now, I was just happy to
be there. For the first time in a while I actually lay there looking
forwards to the next day.

I think they call that optimism.

Crash

I sat in a quiet office, maps
and lists and pictures of various people pinned all over the walls.
There was a desk in front of me, files and papers scattered all over
it, and a man sitting behind, cigarette in mouth, glass of whiskey in
hand.

He had a clean cut disposition,
despite his obvious vices, his face clean shaven, his hair neatly cut
and swept to the back of his head. He wore a suit, black, with a
white shirt and black tie. To any onlooker he looked like he might
have been going to a funeral.

But he wasn't. He dealt in death
sometimes, but in a very different way.

“
Some things have come to
light,” he said, his tone ominous. “You knew the sort of thing
your father was involved in?”

This man had worked for my
father many times before. He was well aware of the circles he moved
in. Jones, that was his name, the only name I knew him by.

I nodded. “Intimately.”

“
Good. Do you recall the
murder of Michael Cooper, not long before your fathers death?”

Michael Cooper was a heavyweight
in the financial industry, his personal wealth stretching into the
low billions. He'd had dealings with my father for many years, things
I wasn't privy to as a younger man.

Only a few weeks before the
death of my father he'd been found murdered in similar circumstances.
He was found in the Globe Hotel, room 640, a knife cut through his
heart. Details were sketchy at first about his death, people
speculating over what had happened. Yet with such a high profile
case, someone was always likely to let the truth slip for an envelope
full of money.

Eventually, someone had been
seduced by the press. From there, the sordid details of his murder
became public knowledge, shattering his image.

He'd been a regular at the Globe
Hotel whenever he came into town for business. Yet he wouldn't stay
there. No, he'd only use the hotel for specific purposes.

He'd arrive under a fake name -
Mr White it was revealed to be - and always used room 640. He'd
arrange for a single stripper to come to his room, performing for him
in privacy. He'd sit in a chair in the center of his suite, shrouded
in darkness, a spotlight ahead of him where the stripper would dance.

Anonymity was critical to him,
so he never showed his face to any stripper, or so I read.

Then further details came out
that he'd also pay those same strippers for sex. He'd let them dance
for him, size them up, and then take things a step further during
their next encounter. He was truly methodical in everything he did,
even determining which hookers were right for his needs.

On the night of his murder, two
girls were seen going towards his room. They looked of similar build,
similar age, but no direct matches were made with the hotels security
cameras. It was a mystery that the press speculated on for weeks,
suggesting that a disgruntled prostitute had taken matters into her
own hands and knifed him as he sat there.

Yet now, sitting here with
Jones, my private investigator, I felt that another truth was about
to be revealed. It was one that I'd suspected from the start.

“
I have uncovered evidence
that your father ordered the hit on Michael Cooper,” Jones said to
me, his voice totally matter-of-fact.

“
He owned a strip club, did he
not?” he continued, pen in hand, still jotting notes for his files.
“And he hired his best girls out for prostitution as well?”

“
He had the club yeah, but I
wasn't aware that prostitution was part of the set up?”

“
Turns out it was. It's a
higher ticket item, Crash, a natural step up.”

It didn't surprise me to hear
that that was the case. My fathers club only attracted high end
clients, clients with plenty of money. Surrounded by the most
beautiful girls in the city, it was only natural that their appetites
would begin to grow deeper. My father was a man of rules and
discipline, but he had no problem exploiting any vice for money.

“
So he supplied the girls for
Cooper?”

“
Yes. He'd been doing so for
many years, as part of their arrangement.”

“
And he ordered one of them to
kill him? Why? Couldn't that be traced back to him?”

“
The reasons why escape me,
but suffice to say they'd grown apart over the years. I would imagine
it was some disagreement over a business transactions or some other
matter. I will continue to look into that.” He jotted another note
down on his pad.

“
To your second question I say
no
. It have looked over your fathers files and there appears
to be no link between the girls who visited Mr Cooper that night and
your fathers club.”

“
So how do you know he was
involved?”

“
Because I found the girl who
committed the murder.”

The words hung in the air for a
moment. He said it so matter-of-factly.

“
You found her? How?”

“
A hunch. She was a girl
struck off, a girl who betrayed your father. I was interested to hear
what she had to say, and she was only too happy to spill the beans
after a little coaxing.”

“
Coaxing?”

He smiled coldly. “Don't ask.”

“
So let me get this straight.
An ex stripper or prostitute of my fathers killed Michael Cooper
under his command? Am I right on that?”

Jones nodded in his own
completely detached way. He was so used to such things that that
sentence seemed like nothing to him, just another day at the office.

“
What was her name?”

“
Jenny. Beautiful girl,
although a little run down now. The last few months haven't been kind
to her.” There was no caring whatsoever in his voice.

“
OK, so how the fuck does all
of this relate to my fathers death.”

He took a sip of whiskey and a
puff of his cigarette, the smoke now clouding the room.

“
It is only conjecture at this
point, but it may be a revenge hit. The circumstances of your fathers
death would suggest that.”

I sat back in my seat, the pain
still fresh, the wound reopening.

My father had been found shot to
death in a hotel room. Hotel Carson, room 801. The details will be
forever etched in my memory.

The circumstances had been a
mystery, and the fucking cops were doing a piss-poor job of getting
to the bottom of it. He was found alone, two gunshot wounds in his
chest. They'd both punctured his heart, and it looked to be a
professional hit.

But no one knew why he was
there. Most interestingly, the cameras were faulty that night at the
hotel, so there were no images of anyone entering his room. Once
more, that only served to make the police believe that the hit was
professional and planned.

The one piece of evidence they
did have was a camera from outside, positioned on a building
opposite, that looked over the hotel entrance. The coroner was pretty
clear on the time of death, and roughly 10 minutes before then a car
was seen to pull up outside and a woman get out.

The image was grainy, but she
was well dressed in black, and looked to be young and attractive. The
number plate for the vehicle was traced back to a car hire company in
the city. When approached about it, they said a young woman, dark
hair, very beautiful, had booked the car in cash under the name of
Grey.

Most interesting of all was that
the same girl was seen to be leaving the hotel a mere 20 minutes
after arriving. This time, however, she wasn't alone. A young man,
dark hair, roughly 6' 1” was seen leaving with her, disappearing
out of view down the street.

It could only have been a hit.
The girl must have been bait and the guy the killer.

“
I believe,” Jones said,
continuing, “that your father partook in certain pleasures just as
Mr Cooper did. And, just like him, he wanted to keep it a secret. It
would appear that his murder was a set up, and I can only assume that
it was a reaction to the Cooper killing.

“
Assume,” I said, my tone
growing colder, my anger simmering. “I don't fucking pay you to
assume. I want evidence Jones, clear fucking evidence. Get me proof.”

His eyes never showed any sign
of intimidation. He simply nodded and took another sip of his
whiskey. “Yes Mr Logan, I'll do just that.”

Elle

The excitement in Tess' body was
palpable. I'd realized, in the short time I'd known her, that she
wore her heart on her sleeve. She was like a kid at Christmas, her
smile infectious.

I was sat on her bed as she
paraded around in a beautiful new dress.

“
What do you think, do you
think he'll like it?”

“
Tess you look stunning, you
always do. He'd have to be gay not to like it.”

The door opened and Alice walked
in, herself wearing a gorgeous dress that showed off the curve of her
body. She had a bottle of champagne in hand, much like the first
night I'd moved in. Like that night, I was about to see the brothers
Logan once again.

“
Gimme that,” said Tess,
bouncing over and snatching the bottle from her hands. “I don't
want you spilling that on my floor!”

Alice looked at her with a
feigned face of thunder, mumbling under her breath as Tess took the
bottle away from her.

“
She may look like a Princess
Elle, but she grew up a pauper!” Tess laughed. “She's a true life
Cinderella! Unfortunately, though, she hasn't quite learned how to
open a champagne bottle without spilling half the contents!”