Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [40]
“It’s a good business, Billy,” Augie told him over beers one night, “only you’ve gotta be smart and clever, figure out ways to beat the cops.”
“Maybe I’d like to take a crack at something like that,” Billy said.
“Not in this town,” Augie counseled. “This new mayor’s on his high horse, man. He’s some kind of evangelist or something. D.C. is better. I got a friend there who runs a service, rakes it in. A cash cow. The cops look the other way; like, you pay them off and they’re cool about it.”
“So, how come you don’t go there and hook up with your friend?” Billy asked.
“Him and me had a falling out, so I stay clear. Besides, I don’t need the aggravation. The biggest problem ain’t the cops, Billy. It’s the girls. They can drive you nuts.”
Billy smiled. “I never have any problems with women,” he said.
“Yeah? Maybe you should take a shot at it, then. Hell, you make a go of it in D.C. and I’ll come see you, maybe hook up with you someday.”
“Maybe so,” Billy said. “How do I get hold of this friend?”
A few weeks later, Billy presented himself at the office of Beltway Entertainment and Escort Service, located in a one-story yellow building with peeling paint, and weeds growing in a bed where flowers once flourished.
Augie’s former friend, Luke Gardner, sat behind a scarred desk, a phone pressed to his ear. Billy was surprised at how old he was; had to be damn near seventy, was Billy’s guess. He wore a large cowboy hat and a silver-tipped string tie over a plaid shirt. “Believe me,” he said into the mouthpiece, “we’re not like other services, no extra charges, no games.… Sure… How do you spell that?… She’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
He looked up at Billy. “What can I do for you?”
“My name’s Billy McMahon. An old friend of yours, Augie, told me to look you up.”
The man guffawed. “That lowlife? Why’d he tell you to look me up?”
“Augie’s a jerk,” Billy said with a wide grin, taking the room’s only other chair. “Forget him. I ran some escort services other places, Oklahoma City, Chicago, Baltimore, and figured you might be looking for some help. Believe me, I know how rough this business can be, keeping the broads in line, handling the phone, stuff like that.”
“Tell me about it. What’d you say your name was?”
“Billy. Billy McMahon.” He stood and extended his hand across the desk. “What do you say, Mr. Gardner? Give me a try. You won’t be sorry.”
Gardner sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Yeah, I could use an extra hand. You from around here?”
“Just arrived in D.C. The heat was on in Oklahoma City, so I figured I’d head east. From what I hear, D.C. is wide open, everything’s cool with the cops.”
“We get along.”
Their conversation was constantly interrupted by the ringing phone, and the man’s calls to his stable of women, assigning them to various hotels, offices, and homes. Billy was impressed. If this afternoon was any indication, Beltway Entertainment and Escorts was a thriving business.
During a momentary lull, Gardner said, “Maybe it was good you stopped in. I’ve been thinking about hiring someone to take the pressure off me, and you having experience in this business is good. Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for this. When can you start?”
“Right now,” Billy replied. “No time like this time.”
After a hurried briefing on the way things were run at Beltway—the johns pay $250 an hour, sixty percent to the company, forty percent to the girls—Gardner gave Billy a trial run at taking incoming calls and arranging for the callers’ “dates.” He passed muster. Gardner offered him a salary of $600 a week, and told him he would work the slower day shift. “Not too slow, though,” Gardner said, shaking his head. “These high rollers got needs any time of day.”
Things went well over the next year. Billy was in his element. Gardner taught him everything he needed to know about running an escort service, including which members of MPD’s vice squad were on the take in return