The Quickie - James Patterson [51]
Twenty long minutes of that riveting documentary coverage later, there was another cut. At first, I thought maybe the DVD had blanked out, but then I noticed that the time in the corner had jumped forward seven hours to 1:28 AM, July 23.
The DVD hadn’t gone blank, I realized. It had just gone from day to night.
There still wasn’t much to see. For two minutes, other than the faint sheen from the streetlight on the metal railing of the balcony being observed, it was pitch-black.
Then, suddenly, there was a bright flash, and the entire balcony was flooded with a strange, greenish light.
The surveillance team had started filming in infrared, I realized. Those guys sure had access to some really neat toys.
Did Scott’s task force think the pudgy Hispanic man was going to do a big drug deal out on his hotel balcony? Maybe they were hoping he would crack the sliding glass door, and they’d be able to overhear something?
I actually never got the chance to find out.
Because after fifteen more minutes of empty balcony in infrared, there was a very intrusive banging sound, and the camera panned upward about ten feet until it showed the hotel’s roof.
A portly man in a tuxedo and a young woman hanging more out than in a gold-sequined party dress emerged from a service door next to the elevator housing. The camera closed in on them as they started kissing and groping passionately against an air-conditioning unit.
You could see the woman’s mouth moving, and then there was a shriek as the shotgun mike was adjusted and she could be heard up close and personal.
“Wait a second,” she said.
Then she pulled her shimmering party dress over her head. She must have been really smashed, because it would have been easier to let it fall. Underneath, she was wearing just a G-string.
What the —? I thought, watching in shock.
Chapter 74
“AH, THAT’S MUCH BETTER,” the girl on the screen said, twirling around to show off her attributes, which were impressive, I had to admit.
She finally stopped and kissed the man hard on the mouth. She grabbed his outstretched hand and ran it down her body. “Abracadabra! I’ve made my dress disappear.”
The man laughed.
“You’re crazy,” he said. “And shameless. I like that in a woman.”
“Now it’s your turn,” the woman said. “Let’s see what you have to offer.”
“I don’t know,” the man said skeptically. I couldn’t see his face because his back was to the camera. “All these windows. Somebody might see.”
“How? You can’t even see your hand in front of your face,” the young female exhibitionist said. “C’mon, John. Have some balls for once in your life. Have some fun!”
“I’ll think about it,” the man said. “I just have a little business to attend to first.”
Turning around, the man lowered his large head, and then there was a loud, snorting sound.
“Hey, save some for me, will ya?” the woman said, coming over. “You sound like a Piggy Wiggy.”
There was another snort.
“This shit is sweet,” the man named John said. “Not like that other crap you brought last time. My nose was bleeding for a week. I had to tell my wife it was dry sinuses.”
“Another word about your wife,” the girl said, “and I’ll go downstairs to your room right now and wake her sorry ass up. Now, I snort and you strip.”
“What the beautiful lady wants,” the man said as he pulled off his jacket, “the beautiful lady gets.”
I cringed, hovering the cursor over the “fast forward” button as the man unbuckled his belt. He fell over as he was trying to pull his pants and underwear over his shoes. His pale flanks would have probably shone without the infrared as he unsuccessfully tried to right himself.
Then he turned, and the camera did a quick close-up on his face.
And I clicked on the media player’s “pause” button so hard I nearly cracked the mouse.
It was Bronx district attorney John Meade.
I sat there, trying not to hyperventilate, as the significance of everything dawned on me. I already knew Scott was a bad cop. Had he been