The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [95]
The sun was in Jeff’s face when Ramona shook him awake.
“She’s here,” Ramona said.
“How long have I been dozing?”
“An hour,” Ramona replied. “You look cute when you’re asleep. That goes on the plus side of the ledger.”
“You’re keeping score on me?” Jeff said, rubbing his face.
“You bet. Let’s go.”
An unhappy Stacy Fowler let them in and stood in the living room with her arms crossed, her chin stuck out in a pose of sassy defiance. Her round eyes protruded slightly, giving her face a baby-doll appearance.
“I don’t know any Sally Greer,” she said.
“That’s funny,” Ramona said. “There’s a picture of you with Sally on the Internet.”
“You got a warrant?” Fowler asked.
“We don’t need one,” Ramona replied. “You let us in, remember?”
“So now get out,” Fowler said, casting her gaze at the door.
“We would all have to leave together,” Ramona said.
“Why?”
“Jail,” Vialpando said.
Fowler was silent for a minute, then she flipped her dark hair with a toss of her head. “Okay, let’s go.”
“This isn’t a prostitution bust, Stacy,” Ramona said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’re talking about murder,” Jeff said.
Fowler’s plucked eyebrows arched. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s not even a stretch,” Ramona said. “You were with Greer in Ruidoso. We know she told you about the john that beat her up and got iced for it.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“That makes you a material witness.”
Fowler gave Ramona a suspicious look. “What kind of bullshit is that?”
Ramona bluffed. “The kind that would make a judge agree to put you in jail without bail if you refuse to cooperate. You’d stay there until you talked.”
“We can avoid all of that,” Vialpando said.
“Talking to you wouldn’t be good for my health.”
“Not talking could make things worse for you,” Jeff said.
“How’s that?”
“We’ll spread the word that you’re our snitch.”
“Jesus,” Fowler said.
“You’re new in town,” Jeff said. “Did Tully bring you here, or was it Norvell?”
“Or Rojas?” Ramona added.
The names cracked Fowler’s composure a bit more. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands out as if to ward off an attack. “What are you after?”
“The people who run the organization,” Vialpando answered.
“They’d crucify me if I talked to you,” Fowler said, her eyes searching for an escape. “You don’t know how powerful they are.”
“We know how powerful they think they are,” Ramona said. “But unless you help us bring them down, you really don’t have much of an option.”
Vialpando stepped to Fowler and touched her arm. “Help us, and we’ll help you,” he said gently. “Sit down and talk to us.”
Fowler nodded, reconsidered her decision, put on a false smile behind a scared expression, and said, “I do couples. Maybe . . .”
“Don’t even go there,” Vialpando said quickly. He led Fowler to a chair and sat her down. “You worked out of Phoenix before coming here. Tell us about the organization.”
Fowler frowned and bit her lip. “No bust, and I get a free ride?”
“Exactly,” Jeff replied, sitting across from Fowler. “Plus protection for as long as you need it.”
Fowler’s lips twitched nervously. She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the end table and lit one. “Okay. Rojas runs Phoenix and all the Texas services. Tully does the same in Denver and here. Each city has a manager who oversees the day-to-day stuff—bookings, screening and billing clients, paying the girls, arranging housing.”
“Who’s the Albuquerque manager?” Ramona asked.
“Cassie Bedlow. She’s been providing girls for the other locations through her modeling agency for years.”
“What about Norvell?” Jeff asked.
“He supplies a venue for special occasions.”
“What’s that all about?” Ramona asked.
“He has a place where rich men can meet privately with a girl like for a vacation. You can’t book it for less than a week, and it’s expensive. Fifty grand for the cottage, and then whatever the girl costs. That can run between five and ten thousand a day, sometimes more. Some