He told stories of a former pupil who got a sales job at a Mercedes dealership, and another who met her mega-millionaire at his wife’s funeral.
Val took notes, and after homework had been assigned and the other women were leaving, Val said she had some questions, if Lester had a moment to spare.
“You bet,” Olsen said. “In fact, Valerie, I was just thinking that you might be interested in a private service I offer to very few students. Hey. Want to talk about this over dinner?”
Chapter 88
ALIZÉ WAS ON the fifty-sixth floor of the Palms Casino Resort, and their table was right up by the wall of steeply slanted windows. It was like being in the control tower of an airport—or, no, like being in the cockpit of an airliner, looking out onto untold miles of neon lights stretching out to the horizon.
Val had to admit to herself it was the most romantic restaurant she’d ever seen or imagined. Was it possible to get drunk on a glorious view? Delicious food? Amusing company?
Yes. Although she’d also had a good deal of wine.
Lester Olsen was looking at her with a sweet expression, and if she hadn’t suspected him of professional predation and exceptional scam artistry, she might have felt attracted to him. How could she not? He had said, “Do you know how beautiful you are? How smart? What poise you have, Valerie? And yet, your vulnerability and your willingness to trust is very appealing. You are a prize. A treasure. I see a tremendous future for you.”
She was getting high on his attention alone.
She thanked him, finished all but the last bite of the phyllo-wrapped pear and Roquefort appetizer, and allowed her wineglass to be refilled. Lester put down his wineglass and got to the heart of his pitch.
“Valerie, you were right when you said today that searching for wealthy men by yourself is hit or miss. What would you say if I told you I could make the kind of introduction that would lead you to the altar with a man who will give you the life you deserve? And this promise is guaranteed.”
The guaranteed life you deserve. Exactly what Mo-bot had highlighted in the ad she’d uncovered.
“How do you guarantee love for life?” Val asked.
“Money back for the life of the customer,” Olsen said, smiling. “That’s the only kind of guarantee that’s worth anything.”
“So true,” said Val. This was it. The pitch she’d been hoping for. She wondered if her pounding heart would overwhelm her microphone, smother the transmission to the recorder. She touched the mic through her clothes, tapped it with her middle finger.
“So, this isn’t a free service, right, Lester?”
Lester laughed from his gut, a real warm, hearty laugh. “You’re good, Val. Yes, there’s money involved, but to begin with, let’s go window-shopping for a man worthy of you. And that won’t cost you a dime.”
Val sat back as the waiter deftly placed her pan-seared breast of duck and cauliflower puree in front of her. Another waiter filled her wineglass yet again.
She smiled across the candlelit table at Lester Olsen.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to shop,” she said.
Chapter 89
I WAS IN my office on a conference call with Jorge Suarez and Andrew Boone, operations heads of Private’s Lisbon and London offices, respectively, when the GPS tracking device I’d stuck under Tommy’s car alerted my phone. I checked his car’s route on my screen and saw that Tommy’s car had stopped in Inglewood, a very rough part of town and far from my brother’s usual haunts.
When I signed off from the meeting, Tom’s car was still in Inglewood and I had no plans for the evening.
Emilio Cruz was in the underground lot unlocking his car when I got there.
I said to him, “Tom’s up to something, ’Milio. He’s been parked on West Boulevard near Fifty-Eighth for an hour and that’s not his beat, you know? You busy? Want to take a ride?”
“Are you buying dinner too?”
I grinned at him. “Of course.”
Cruz had no love for Tommy and had come to hate him even more since Tom had begun dogging Rick’s trial for no good reason.
Cruz said, “I’m never too busy to watch your psycho brother, Jack. Give me the keys.”
We took a fleet car, a five-year-old Chevy Impala I’d picked up at a repo sale because it can blend in anywhere. Twenty minutes later, we were parked on West Boulevard, in front of a shabby row of one-story houses and across the street from a low-budget strip mall. A spaghetti war of tangled wires hung overhead.