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127
Ipaid the nine grand and got my phone records, as promised.
There were a dozen or so calls from ‘No Number’ over the last month – but there were also a lot of outgoing calls and texts to that 310 number, too. Including the night she and Benjy were in Vegas, and for several weeks before.
Interestingly enough, the number that had been disconnected? The one she’d called and talked to Robert Smith in front of Jack? Two days after she stopped calling the 213 number, the 310 calls started.
Just like I figured. Fuckin’ bitch had been playing us all along.
This time I really did get one of my dancers to call the 310 number, the one I’d taken the picture of.
“What do you want me to say?” Chantal asked, frightened and confused.
“Tell ‘em Venus gave you the number in case anything ever happened to her, and you think you know who offed her.”
“Do I?” Chantal asked, her eyes wide.
“No, dumbass,” I snapped. “I think this is the guy. Just try to set up a meeting.”
“Well shit, Lou, I don’t want to get mixed up with the fuckin’ guy who killed her – ”
I grabbed her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. “If you don’t fuckin’ call, Venus ain’t gonna be the only dead stripper they find this week.”
That motivated her to play ball – but when she dialed the number, she looked at me and shook her head. “Disconnected.”
I took the phone and redialed. Sure enough, there was the familiar recording: “The number you have reached has been disconnected. Please check the number or try again later.”
Shit.
Nine thousand dollars was a lot of money to pay for useless bullshit.
128
Speaking of useless bullshit, Jack insisted we get alibis from every single member of the Midnight Riders – so we did, for almost all of them. The few who couldn’t produce one swore they hadn’t done it, and had absolutely no reason to lie.
Unless, like Chuck, Wild Bill, and Cowboy, they’d been ordered to.
At the meeting where Jack told the club what was going on and how we were going to keep this in-house, Benjy was teary-eyed and sullen, but nobody (except Chuck, Wild Bill, and Cowboy) thought anything of it. After all, he had just lost his designated fuck.
Oh, excuse me. ‘The love of his life.’
129
With the Riders scratched off the list, Jack had no choice but to trust the Richards PD to solve the case. He thought that I’d just paid Peters off to make sure there wasn’t any blowback on the club.
Little did he know.
I paid Dan Peters the whole nineteen grand, and the case dragged on for months with no progress. Everyone eventually forgot about it, even Jack. After all, she was just a stripper with a coke problem. No great loss.
Benjy hung on to it longer. He didn’t talk, which was good. Unfortunately, any time anybody saw his mopey face hanging around the Veils or the Roadhouse, it was a direct reminder of what had happened. In fact, Jack wouldn’t mention her for weeks, then he’d see Benjy and ask me, “Have you talked to Dan Peters recently? What the fuck is going on with the murder investigation?”
That shit had to stop.
I suggested we go ahead and patch Benjy in to cheer him up. “After all, man, he’s been through a lot.”
Jack happily went along – but he gave Benjy a stern talking to first. Said the only way he was getting in the Riders was if he stopped the cocaine.
Without a cokehead whore egging him on, the kid stayed clean and sober, so we put him up for a vote.
