“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 to either puke or kill someone.
“Let’s do this,” he said, and we started up the hall.
TWO
“POLICE! WE’RE COMING IN!”
Sampson’s voice boomed over everything else. He gave one hard pound on the paneled mahogany door—his own version of knock and announce—and then threw it open.
Elijah Creem was standing just inside, looking every bit as pulled together as the pictures I’d seen of him—slicked-back blond hair, square cleft chin, perfect veneers.
He and Bergman were fully dressed. The other three—not so much. Bergman had an iPhone held up in front of him, taking a video of the freaky little ménage à trois they had staged there on the king-size sleigh bed.
One girl was laid out flat. Her bra was open at the front, and her bright pink thong was down around her ankles. She was also wearing a clear breathing mask of some kind, tethered to a tall gray metal tank at the side of the bed. The boy on top of her was buck naked except for the black blindfold around his eyes, while the other girl stood over him with a small digital camera, shooting more video from another angle.
“What the hell is this?” Creem said.
“My question exactly,” I said. “Nobody move.”
All of them were wide-eyed and staring at us now, except for the girl with the mask. She seemed pretty out of it.
“What’s in the tank?” I said as Sampson went over to her.
“It’s nitrous oxide,” Creem said. “Just calm down. She’s fine.”
“Screw you,” John told him and eased the mask off the girl.
The buzz from nitrous is pretty short lasting, but I didn’t assume for a second that it was the only thing these kids were on. There were several blue tabs of what I assumed was more XTC on the nightstand. Also a couple of small brown glass bottles, presumably amyl nitrate, and a half-empty fifth of Cuervo Reserva.
“Listen to me,” Creem said evenly, looking me in the eye. As far as I could tell, he was the ringleader here. “Do you see that briefcase in the corner?”
“Elijah? What are you doing?” Bergman asked, but Creem didn’t respond. He was still watching me like we were the only two in the room.
/> “There’s an envelope with thirty thousand dollars in that case,” he said. Then he looked pointedly from a brown leather satchel on the antique setback cabinet, over to one of the three windows at the back of the bedroom. The fringed shades were all drawn, but it was pretty clear to me what he was going for.
“How much time do you think thirty thousand dollars is worth?” he said. He was unbelievably cool about the whole thing. And arrogant. I think he fully expected me to go for it.
“You don’t seem like the climb-out-the-window type, Creem,” I said.
“Ordinarily, no,” he said. “But if you know who I am, then you know I’ve got quite a bit at stake here—a family, a medical practice—”
“Six and a half million in revenue last year alone,” I said. “According to our records.”
“And then there’s my reputation, of course, which in this town is priceless. So what do you say, detective? Do we have a deal?”