Read the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) for Free Online Page A
Authors: Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
I'd have to come back in the morning that Mr. Dunbar was hosting his annual Christmas Do, and could not be pried away from his importan t g uests, who, from what I could see, were just a bunch of stoned Hollywood leeches and midnight club crawlers.
"Let me put it to you another way," I said, politely. "Your client owns a property at 3151 Skyline Drive. A triple homicide was committed there tonight. My partner and I are working that crime, which means that Mr. Dunbar can talk to me here, right now, as a friendly, cooperative material witness, or he can talk to me at Mens Central Jail as a guest of the city."
"This is not a good time. We Ye just starting holiday follies," Stender protested. "The Truth or Dare is about to begin. It's a tradition."
"I'll make it as quick and painless as possible."
Sumner hadn't come back from the men's room so I did a quick scan of the party and to my dismay saw he hadn't gone in there at all, but was over by the floor-to-ceiling windows, already talking to a pretty girl in a green sequined miniskirt. As I watched he handed her his business card.
"Okay, Detective, if you'll make it quick, let me see what I can do," Stender said, as if it was his choice, not mine.
He escorted me into the massive hotel-sized living room. The center had been cleared of furniture with the big, snow white sofas pushed up against the far walls to make room for the festivities. There were at least forty people in here, all of them very hip and trendy. Nobody over the age of thirty-five.
"Okay, okay," somebody shouted shrilly above the noise as I entered. "But if I do it, Sandra, then you gotta do me." I turned and saw a slightly pudgy guy wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt that had FUCK ME screen-printed across the front. He was shouting at a young, shapely girl with a rich tan set off by a strapless white mini.
"You ain't got the stones, mate," the girl yelled back with a New Zealand or Aussie accent. The crowd was hooting and shouting insults at the pudgy young guy.
The chub squealed. "That's the bet, right? If I do it, I get to put my schmandra in Sandra." He laughed. It was actually more of a high - pitched giggle.
"You gotta catch me first," the girl yelled. She was drunk or stoned, so that probably wasn't going to be much of an issue. She took a step forward and stumbled, almost going down.
Without warning, the pudgy brat grabbed a taser up off a nearby table and shouted, "Don't taze me, bro!" Then he slammed the gun up on his chest and fired.
The tazer zapped the T-shirt. Flesh and fabric burned. His body leaped backward, hit by fifty thousand volts of electricity. He bounced off a sofa by the wall, then rolled onto the white plush pile carpet and started vibrating violently under a table like a hype with the dries. "Ooow-Ooow-Ooow! That smarts!" he yelled while the room hooted and cheered.
"I'm hoping that's not him," I said to Stender.
"That's him," he replied.
"Who are these other people?"
"Agents, studio development people, celebutantes."
I didn't ask what a celebutante was but guessed it was a famous heiress who did nothing but party.
"Somebody cut me a line. I need medication!" Brooks shrieked, as everyone laughed.
A fresh line of cocaine was cut on a table as the Heir Abhorrent crawled over to it on his hands and knees. Somebody handed him a straw and, while his friends shouted encouragement, Brooks hoovered up the blow.
I'm not in Vice, and I didn't want to waste three valuable hours at the top of a murder investigation booking this jerk at Men's Central, but I have to admit I was tempted. I turned to Stender instead.
"We've got two ways of doing this. You can bring him to me in another room or I can badge this whole bunch of loadies and end this party right now with a trip to jail. Your call."
"There's a den back there," he said, pointing. Til show you, then bring him."
"Good choice."
I caught a glimpse of Sumner Hitchens, caucusing with four Hollywood film types whose hair was
"Let me put it to you another way," I said, politely. "Your client owns a property at 3151 Skyline Drive. A triple homicide was committed there tonight. My partner and I are working that crime, which means that Mr. Dunbar can talk to me here, right now, as a friendly, cooperative material witness, or he can talk to me at Mens Central Jail as a guest of the city."
"This is not a good time. We Ye just starting holiday follies," Stender protested. "The Truth or Dare is about to begin. It's a tradition."
"I'll make it as quick and painless as possible."
Sumner hadn't come back from the men's room so I did a quick scan of the party and to my dismay saw he hadn't gone in there at all, but was over by the floor-to-ceiling windows, already talking to a pretty girl in a green sequined miniskirt. As I watched he handed her his business card.
"Okay, Detective, if you'll make it quick, let me see what I can do," Stender said, as if it was his choice, not mine.
He escorted me into the massive hotel-sized living room. The center had been cleared of furniture with the big, snow white sofas pushed up against the far walls to make room for the festivities. There were at least forty people in here, all of them very hip and trendy. Nobody over the age of thirty-five.
"Okay, okay," somebody shouted shrilly above the noise as I entered. "But if I do it, Sandra, then you gotta do me." I turned and saw a slightly pudgy guy wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt that had FUCK ME screen-printed across the front. He was shouting at a young, shapely girl with a rich tan set off by a strapless white mini.
"You ain't got the stones, mate," the girl yelled back with a New Zealand or Aussie accent. The crowd was hooting and shouting insults at the pudgy young guy.
The chub squealed. "That's the bet, right? If I do it, I get to put my schmandra in Sandra." He laughed. It was actually more of a high - pitched giggle.
"You gotta catch me first," the girl yelled. She was drunk or stoned, so that probably wasn't going to be much of an issue. She took a step forward and stumbled, almost going down.
Without warning, the pudgy brat grabbed a taser up off a nearby table and shouted, "Don't taze me, bro!" Then he slammed the gun up on his chest and fired.
The tazer zapped the T-shirt. Flesh and fabric burned. His body leaped backward, hit by fifty thousand volts of electricity. He bounced off a sofa by the wall, then rolled onto the white plush pile carpet and started vibrating violently under a table like a hype with the dries. "Ooow-Ooow-Ooow! That smarts!" he yelled while the room hooted and cheered.
"I'm hoping that's not him," I said to Stender.
"That's him," he replied.
"Who are these other people?"
"Agents, studio development people, celebutantes."
I didn't ask what a celebutante was but guessed it was a famous heiress who did nothing but party.
"Somebody cut me a line. I need medication!" Brooks shrieked, as everyone laughed.
A fresh line of cocaine was cut on a table as the Heir Abhorrent crawled over to it on his hands and knees. Somebody handed him a straw and, while his friends shouted encouragement, Brooks hoovered up the blow.
I'm not in Vice, and I didn't want to waste three valuable hours at the top of a murder investigation booking this jerk at Men's Central, but I have to admit I was tempted. I turned to Stender instead.
"We've got two ways of doing this. You can bring him to me in another room or I can badge this whole bunch of loadies and end this party right now with a trip to jail. Your call."
"There's a den back there," he said, pointing. Til show you, then bring him."
"Good choice."
I caught a glimpse of Sumner Hitchens, caucusing with four Hollywood film types whose hair was
Similar Books
C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation
Dustin J. Palmer
The Fatal Touch
Conor Fitzgerald
The Falling Machine
Andrew P. Mayer
Frek and the Elixir
Rudy Rucker
Today & Tomorrow
Susan Fanetti
No Friend of Mine
Ann Turnbull
The Non-Statistical Man
Raymond F. Jones
