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A skinny girl in a black lace bra and cutoffs pointed toward the stairs. From the size of her chest in relation to the rest of her, my guess was she’d already gone under the knife with Dr. Creem at least once.
“Up there,” she said.
“Bitch,” someone muttered under his breath.
Sampson hooked a finger at me to follow him, and we headed up.
“Can I go now?” cutoffs girl called after us.
“Let’s see how good your word is first,” Sampson said.
When we got to the second floor hall, it was empty. The only light was a single electric hurricane lamp on a glossy antique table near the stairs. There were equestrian portraits on the walls and a long Oriental runner that ended in front of a closed double door at the back of the house. Even from here, I could make out more music thumping on the other side. Old-school this time. Talking Heads, “Burning Down the House.”
Watch out, you might get what you’re after.
Cool babies, strange but not a stranger.
I could hear laughing too, and two different men’s voices.
“That’s it, sweetheart. A little closer. Now pull down her panties.”
“Yeah, that’s what you call money in the bank right there.”
Sampson gave me a look like he wanted either to puke or to kill someone.
“Let’s do this,” he said, and we started up the hall.
