The Deception (17 page)

With quiet desperation, she tilted Angel’s chin up with her finger until the girl finally met her eyes. “I want to help you, honey, but I can’t do it on my own. I need to get the police involved. The police will help us, okay?” She tried to inject as much confidence into her voice as she could.

Angel nodded, the fear back in her eyes, but she held Savannah’s gaze and even offered her a small smile. Her voice was a ragged whisper when she spoke again.

“Thank you.”

A loud banging on the door next to their room startled both of them. A moment later, the knock sounded on their door.

“Girls, get your asses out here now! Vince wants a show. I want two of you out here
now
!”

Savannah gasped. That voice… It was familiar… It sounded like…
her brother
. She shook her head at the absurdity of even thinking Dylan could be at the Black Opal. It was totally ludicrous.

Angel clawed at her arm and Savannah’s chaotic thoughts scattered like confetti on the wind. The girl looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“My turn!” she choked, her eyes wide with terror. “My turn to dance.”

Savannah’s heart clenched with dread. She couldn’t sit there and let the poor girl perform in front of a roomful of excited men. Angel was little more than a child! It didn’t matter that she’d been doing it for six months. She wasn’t going to go out there again. Not on Savannah’s watch.

“They only need two girls. That’s what the man said. Maybe one of the other girls—”

Angel shook her head violently back and forth. “No! No! No! My turn! Must dance!”

Cold fear settled like molasses in her stomach. As much as she shrank from the idea, another look at the crying, pitifully young girl on the bed decided it for her. She knew what she had to do.

With a sigh, she stood and walked over to the full-length mirror that was fixed to the wall opposite the bed. Tugging down her skirt as far as it would go, she adjusted her wig and pulled down the hem of her midriff top. She was now decidedly uneasy at the scantness of it. Recalling the crowd of girls on stage the previous Saturday night, she silently hoped she could take refuge behind some of the others.

She turned to Angel. “What kind of dance are you supposed to do?”

“Pole dance, two girl together.”

Savannah gasped. A
pole
dance? The girl was freaking
kidding
, wasn’t she? Savannah didn’t know squat about pole dancing and there was no way she could pull it off in a tight leather skirt! Hell, she could barely
move
in the outfit, let alone shimmy up and down a pole in it!

But she had no choice. It was as simple as that. She made her way back to where Angel continued to sniffle quietly on the bed.

“It’s okay, honey. I’m going to dance in your place tonight and when I leave, I’ll bring back the police as soon as I can. It’s going to be all right. You need to stay very brave and not say anything to any of the other girls. It’s very important, okay?”

Angel nodded. Her eyes swam with gratitude. “You dance for me?”

Nerves warred with dread in Savannah’s belly, but she forced them away. “Yes.”

Angel smiled. The simple action lit up her young face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You very kind. Me stay very quiet. Promise.”

* * *

Just like the last time Will had been at the brothel, the air was smoky and pungent with the scent of incense and cigars. It was a little after ten-thirty and he was on his second glass of scotch. He swirled the drink in his hand. The golden liquid slid over the ice cubes. He’d been there for almost an hour and so far hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Impatience ate into him.

The place was quiet, with only twenty or so patrons scattered around the room, mostly drinking and murmuring amongst themselves. He spotted Baines and Michaels, his undercover backup, seated at a table in the far corner and was relieved that they’d passed inspection from the guards.

Conrad Birmingham, the owner of a rival advertising firm, sat a couple of tables over. Will gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement. He wasn’t concerned the man would identify him as a cop. Robert Rutledge had gone to great pains to conceal the fact that his only surviving son and heir had turned his back on the family company. Conrad raised his glass in tacit response before his attention was captured by a new arrival.

Curious, Will swung around on his bar stool. He immediately recognized Vince Maranoa and tensed. Surrounded by security, the drug lord strode through the entryway exuding authority and power. His designer suit was custom made and his longish, dyed-black hair was combed to a neatness that was almost disconcerting.

A moment later, the brothel owner pulled out a bar stool and seated himself beside Will, shooting him a look filled with frank curiosity. Will steadied his pulse rate by taking another sip of his drink and tugged out his cell phone. Faking interest in composing a text message, he surreptitiously watched Maranoa from the corner of his eye.

The dark hair belied the crow’s feet around the man’s eyes and the deep lines engrained across his forehead. Will knew from the three-inch thick police file that Maranoa was scraping sixty.

Vincent Michael Maranoa.
The only son of George and Christina Maranoa, born and raised in the inner Sydney suburb of Marrickville. Graduated with a leaving certificate from Marrickville High School in 1970. There were no significant achievements mentioned in the high school yearbooks, but neither were there any other indicators of the life of crime the young Maranoa would eventually embrace.

Who really knew what made someone choose the path they did? Fate was a slippery thing. Will didn’t think anyone felt completely confident their choices in life were the right ones. Surely the most anyone could do was conduct the research and then hope for the best? Even then, things didn’t always turn out as planned. The twists and turns in his life were proof of that.

He wondered at what point Maranoa’s life had deviated off course. According to the file, his first arrest was for an assault occasioning actual bodily harm. It was a serious charge. He’d been all of eighteen.

Will hadn’t been able to access any juvenile file, but he’d bet his father’s company a file existed. The kind of scum like Maranoa, who’d turned crime into a career, didn’t start out when they turned eighteen.

He had no information on Maranoa’s early life, apart from the names of his parents, but regardless of how shitty his childhood might have been, no misfortune could ever excuse the way he now chose to live his life. Will was as determined as ever to see him put behind bars.

“Will? What the hell are
you
doing here?”

The familiar voice brought Will’s thoughts to an abrupt halt. Directly behind Vince’s entourage stood Robert Rutledge.

CHAPTER 12

Will’s jaw dropped open. His heart thudded. His throat was so tight he could barely breathe. How could his
father
be standing less than two feet away from him in a notorious city brothel? Shock followed quickly by panic rendered him speechless. He stared hard at his father and hoped like hell the man wouldn’t break his cover.

He glanced over at Maranoa. Despite Will’s training, his heart rate refused to slow. With a concerted effort, he feigned disinterest and casually returned his phone to his coat pocket before turning to acknowledge the question from the man who looked just as surprised as he was.

“Dad! Fancy seeing you here.”

Vince chuckled. “You’re Robert’s young whippersnapper? How about that? I should have guessed. You’re the spittin’ image of him, apart from the fact you’re hair’s still dark and you’re carryin’ a few less pounds, of course.” He grinned. “Your old man loves this place. It’s where he comes to relax, you know, a few drinks, a girl or two.” Vince turned to face Will’s father. “Isn’t that right, mate? You told me once you do some of your best thinkin’ in here.”

Robert offered the brothel owner a tight smile. “That’s right, Vince. I-I’m just a little surprised to see my boy here. I wasn’t expecting him.”

Will thought frantically. “Well, you know, Dad. You were talking so much about the place the other week, I thought I might come along and see for myself what all the fuss was about.”

Vince chuckled again, delighted, and turned back to Will. “Georgie told me you were lookin’ for a session in the
Room of Dreams.
At least I know you’re not like your old man in
every
way. I can’t get him interested in the shit, but don’t worry, I’m sure we have whatever you need.” Vince winked and let out a loud guffaw. One of his bodyguards grinned.

Will offered a tight smile and glanced back toward his father. Robert’s eyes were wide with shock.

“Will, how could you? After what happened to—”

Will silenced him with a glare. “Leave him out of it. I’ve come along to relax and enjoy myself, unwind after a hard day’s work, just like you were telling me.” He stared hard at his father, willing him to understand. All the while, Will grappled with images of his father being a patron of the city’s most exclusive brothel—and not only a patron, but a somewhat favored customer, if the fondness in Maranoa’s voice was any indication.

The discovery, coming so soon after the drug-induced suicide of his little brother—something else he hadn’t seen coming—shook him to the core. He didn’t know what his father had told Maranoa about him, but it was obvious he hadn’t shared his disgust at Will’s career choice. Maranoa couldn’t have appeared more at ease. Provided Will could trust his father’s discretion, it was the perfect opportunity to get him to talk. Will couldn’t afford to let the chance slide.

“I can see why Dad likes to hang out here.” He indicated the luxurious surroundings with a tilt of his chin and turned back to Maranoa. “You’ve got a nice place here. What are you drinking?”

“You wanna buy me a drink?” Vince shook his head, chuckling again. “Mate, don’t you know, I’m Vince fuckin’ Maranoa. I
own
this joint!”

Will’s expression didn’t change. “So? You want a drink, or not?”

“This is fan-fuckin’-tastic!” Vince grinned and moved his stool closer. “Do you know how many times someone has bought me a drink in this fuckin’ place?”

Not waiting for Will to respond, Vince continued. “I’ll tell you. None, zero. Not one, ever! Not even your old man has offered to buy me a drink.”

Will kept his gaze trained on Vince. “Well, I guess I’m not my old man,” he quipped and turned back to the bar. “Bring my mate a scotch,” he said to the barman who hovered nearby. Winking at Vince, he added, “And put it on my tab.”

Vince grinned back, looking like he’d suddenly won the lottery.

That’a boy, Vince.
Come to Papa.

Robert shouldered his way to the bar. “I’ll have one, too, son.” He glanced down at Will’s half-empty glass and raised his eyebrow in silent query.

“I guess that makes three,” Will said.

A few moments later, the barman placed three scotches before the men. They each took a sip in silence.

“So, Will, tell me, how long you been comin’ to my place?” Vince asked, his eyes full of curiosity.

Will shrugged. “After Dad kept raving about it, I decided to check it out. I’ve been here a few times. Your barman only thought to mention the
Room of Dreams
to me the other night. It sounds more like something I’d be interested in. Dad never mentioned anything about getting gear here. I’d have been by sooner, if I knew.”

Maranoa chuckled. “Well, you’re always welcome. We got some real nice ladies here too, if you’re interested in that kind of thing.”

Will forced a smile and swirled the scotch in his glass. “Thanks for the offer, Vince. I appreciate it. I must admit, I don’t mind getting a bit of attention from a nice-looking girl.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “But it’s the sizzle and pop that really gets me going.”

Vince nodded in understanding and gave him another friendly pat on the shoulder. “Mate, you’ve come to the right place. I can get you anythin’ you want. Top quality, the lot. It’ll cost you, of course.”

Will spread his arms wide. “Money’s no option, Vince. I’m sure you know that. I’ve got no complaints about my old man in that regard.” He smiled at his father and winked.

Vince nodded. “All you gotta do is name it, and I’ll get it. We don’t call it the
Room of Dreams
for nothin’.”

Will’s eyes widened in false surprise. “Really? How come the cops haven’t caught onto it?”

Robert choked on a mouthful of scotch, but Vince didn’t appear to notice.

“Don’t you worry about that, mate,” he chuckled. “I got a good set-up and I got good men on my team, if you get my drift? No one crosses Vince Maranoa. Well, not if they want to see their next birthday!” Vince laughed uproariously and slapped his hand on his thigh.

Will stretched his lips into what he hoped would pass for a grin and snatched a look at his father. Robert stared at him, unease shadowing his eyes.

Will glanced away. He had to keep Vince talking. The man seemed to be in the mood for sharing confidences. Before he could question him further, Vince thumped his hand on the bar and yelled at the barman.

“Georgie, where are the girls? I want some girls out here!” He turned back to Will and his father and gave both of them a wink. “I’ll get some tits out here for you. How’s that sound?”

Will nodded. “Sounds good to me. Bring it on.”

Georgie gestured to one of the bouncers. After speaking with him briefly, the man disappeared through the door restricted to staff.

Minutes later, spotlights shone on a couple of round, raised platforms, each three or four feet in diameter. Protruding from both of them were shiny, stainless-steel poles which were fixed to the ceiling. The platforms were raised about three feet off the floor and were situated on either side of the large stage where Will had watched Savannah perform the previous Saturday night.

He shook his head at the memory. He owed her an apology. With all that had been going on, he still hadn’t found the time—or the words.

The dimness of the room was in stark contrast to the bright spots of light that surrounded the platforms. A buzz of excitement ran through the small crowd. Will studiously ignored his father and took another sip of his scotch. Maranoa sat beside him, eyeing him expectantly.