Deal Breaker (Myron Bolitar 1)
“Six magazines,” he said.
Myron read the titles. Climaxx, Licks, Jiz, Quim, Orgasm Today, and of course, Nips. “Nickler’s publications?”
“God, you are good,” Win said.
“Years of training. So what about them?”
“Take a look at the pages I have marked off.”
Myron started with Climaxx. The cover featured another freakishly endowed woman, this time licking her own nipple. Handy. Win had used leather bookmarks to mark the page. Leather bookmarks in porno magazines. Like cigarettes in an aerobics class.
The page marked off was already too familiar. Myron felt his stomach churn all over again.
Live Fantasy Phone—Pick Your Girl
There were still three rows, still four in each row. His eyes immediately moved down to the bottom row, second from the right. It still read, “I’ll Do Anything!” The phone number was still 1-900-344-LUST. Still $3.99 per minute. Still discreetly billed to your telephone or charge card, Visa and MasterCard accepted.
But the woman in the picture was not Kathy Culver.
He quickly scanned the rest of the page. Nothing else was different. The same Oriental girl was still waiting. The same buttock still craved a spanking. “Tiny Titties” had not pubesced.
“This same advertising page is in all six magazines,” Win explained. “But only Nips has Kathy Culver’s picture.”
“Interesting.” Myron thought a moment. “Nickler probably sells package deals to advertisers—buy space in six for the price of three, that kind of thing.”
“Precisely. I would venture to say that all six magazines have the exact same ads.”
“But someone stuck Kathy’s picture in Nips.” Myron was getting used to saying the name of the magazine. It no longer felt grimy on his lips, which in itself made him feel grimier.
Win said, “Do you remember Nickler telling us that Nips was doing poorly?”
Myron nodded.
“Well, I had a devil of a time locating it. Most of the other rags were fairly easy to find on corner newsstands. But I had to go to a hardcore porno palace on Forty-second Street to come up with Nips.”
“Yet,” Myron added, “Otto Burke was able to get a copy.”
“Precisely. I am sure you’ve considered the possibility that Mr. Burke is behind it.”
“The idea has crossed my mind.”
There was a knock on the door. Esperanza entered.
“Your handwriting expert is on the phone,” she said. “I put it on Win’s line.”
Win picked up the receiver and handed it to Myron.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Myron, it’s Swindler. I just went over the two samples you gave me.”
Myron had given Swindler the envelope Nips had come in as well as a letter in Kathy’s handwriting.
“Well?”
“They match. It’s her or a very professional forgery.
Myron felt his stomach dive. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Myron handed the receiver back to Win.
“A match?” Win asked.
“Yep.”
Win tilted back in his chair and smiled. “Yowzer.”
Chapter 11
Myron ran into Ricky Lane in the corridor. He hadn’t seen him in three months. Ricky looked a lot bigger. The Jets would be pleased.
“What are you doing here?” Myron asked.
“I made an appointment with Win,” Ricky said with a big grin. “Just like my agent advised.”
“Good to see you listen to your agent.”
“Always. The man is brilliant.”
“And he never argues with a client.”
Ricky laughed. “Say, I heard Christian got locked out of camp.”
News traveled fast. “Where did you hear that?”
“The FAN.”
WFAN was New York’s all-sports radio station. “Have you spoken to him lately?”
Ricky made a face. “Christian?”
“Yeah.”
“Not since my last college football game, what, year and a half ago.”
“I thought you were friends.” Myron had, in fact, assumed that Ricky had recommended his services to Christian.
“We were teammates,” Ricky replied steadily. “We were never friends.”
“You don’t like him?”
Ricky shrugged. “Not really. None of us did.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“Guys on the team.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Long story, man. Not worth telling.”
“I’d be interested.”
“Put it like this,” Ricky said. “Christian was a little too perfect for most of us, okay?”
“An egomaniac?”
Ricky paused, considering. “Not really. I mean, to be straight, I guess a lot of it was jealousy. Christian wasn’t just good. Shit, he wasn’t even just great. He was incredible. Best I ever seen.”
“So?”
“So he expected the same from everyone else.”
“He got on people’s case when they made mistakes?”
Ricky paused again, shook his head. “No, that ain’t it either.”
“You’re being a tad obtuse, Ricky.”
Ricky Lane looked up, looked down, looked left, looked right, looked very uneasy. “I can’t explain it,” he said. “It’s going to sound like a lot of griping, but guys weren’t crazy about all the attention he was getting. I mean, we won two national championships, and the only guy they ever talked to was Christian.”
“I heard those interviews. He always gave his teammates all the credit.”
“Yeah, a real gentleman,” Ricky replied with more than a hint of sarcasm. “All that ‘it’s a team effort’ bullshit just made the press love him even more. Guys on the team thought he was a promo-hog, you know? His own best PR firm. They blamed him for being too popular.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Truth was, I just didn’t really like him. We had nothing in common except football. He’s a pure Midwest white-boy. I’m a city-slicking black man. It ain’t a winning combination.”
“That’s all it was?”
He gave a half-shrug. “I guess so. But man, this is all ancient history. I don’t know why I brought it up. It don’t matter no more. Christian just didn’t fit in, okay. He was a nice guy, I guess. He was always polite. But that don’t play so well in a locker room, you know?”