First Class Killing
talk so loud. “It’s not hard to find them. It’s hard to find them doing anything actionable. Right now, all I have are a bunch of shots of women in killer evening gowns and Prada shoes coming and going from expensive hotels, climbing in and out of limos, and leaving parties and restaurants with passengers. It’s not enough.”
    “What more do you need?”
    “Proof that money is changing hands. I need statements from the men in the photos saying they paid for sex. But since the hookers’ customers are also the airline’s best customers—”
    “Don’t tell me, the airline doesn’t want you fucking with their revenue base.”
    “Exactly right. They think it would be a bad idea to accuse their full-fare first-class business travelers and heavy-duty frequent fliers of patronizing a prostitution ring. Go figure.”
    He pulled the stirrer out of his coffee, stared at the ceiling as he sucked on it, and put it back. “Okay. Here’s what you do. You sit down and draft up a proposal for the airline. Call it a new business opportunity. Outline a revenue-sharing arrangement. Get the hookers to cut the airline in on their action. In return, they can continue to operate with no hassles.”
    “That’s your idea?”
    “Think about it. They’ve got the same target market. They can do joint marketing. ‘Use your frequent flier miles to get laid.’ It’s a win-win.”
    His delivery was so perfectly deadpan it made me laugh. “I don’t believe this is the kind of advice the airline called on us to provide.”
    He leaned back and shrugged. “It’s a new day, Shanahan. You have to think outside the box.”
    “Well,” I said, hopping out of the box, “it is an intriguing idea. The airlines are always looking for ways to burn off that frequent flier liability. Ten thousand for a lap dance. Think of all the liability you could burn off on a single New York–LA transcon.”
    He stared at the ceiling. “Seventy-five for a threesome. In Bermuda.”
    “You’re such a guy, Dan.”
    “Threesomes and girls doing each other. Are you kidding me? They’d put the rest of us out of business in a week. I’ll let you have that idea. You should think about it.”
    “I think I’ll stick with the client’s fundamental premise that prostitution is a bad thing.”
    “Suit yourself. I’m just saying, don’t fuck with market forces. These guys love to play the frequent flier game. This is just another way to do it.”
    “I have a different idea. I want to get someone from the inside, a client, to give me information about what’s going on.”
    “What kind of an asshole in his right mind would do that?”
    I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the envelope I’d brought. I slipped out the photo I’d printed, the one that had caught my attention last night, and passed it over to Dan. “This kind. Look at the man behind the brunette. He has his hand on her butt.”
    “Holy shit. Is that—”
    “It is, isn’t it?” I was delighted to see the flash of recognition in his eyes. “It’s that guy from Florida who used to fly in and out of here about once a week. You used to meet and greet him.”
    “Still do. He’s one of my best customers. Filthy rich. Lives down in West Palm, but his mother is still out in Weymouth. Every time he comes through here, I take care of him. Every time he goes out, he offers me a job with his company. His old company. I don’t even know what he does. He had a bunch of businesses and sold them.”
    “That’s a prostitute he’s fondling, Dan, one of the ones I’m chasing.”
    “Good for him.”
    “So, here’s what I was thinking. I really need information on this group. Your buddy from Florida is obviously on the inside. I was wondering if you could talk to him for me.”
    “Talk to him about having his hand on a hooker’s ass? I don’t think so. I just told you he’s one of our Very Important Travelers.”
    “You could talk to him as someone interested in becoming one of their

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