Munro Family: The Deception Part 13

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 gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s 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 surrept.i.tiously 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 sc.r.a.ping 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 a.s.sault 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 sc.u.m 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 s.h.i.+tty 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.+t, 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 f.u.c.kin' Maranoa. I own this joint!"

Will's expression didn't change. "So? You want a drink, or not?"

"This is fan-f.u.c.kin'-tastic!" Vince grinned and moved his stool closer. "Do you know how many times someone has bought me a drink in this f.u.c.kin' 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s. "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 pa.s.s for a grin and s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 t.i.ts 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 s.h.i.+ny, 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 Sat.u.r.day 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.

Music burst from speakers near the stage. Two dark-haired women materialized and climbed onto the platforms. They were clad in black, gauzy camisole tops which left nothing to the imagination. Fishnet stockings, stilettos and black thongs added to the look.

Aware of Vince's scrutiny, Will did his best to look enthralled with the show, following the girls' moves as they gyrated around the poles.

"See anything you like?" Vince's low murmur was close to Will's ear. "You just give me a nod and she's yours."

Will chuckled and gave Vince a conspiratorial wink. "Thanks."

The music changed. He looked back toward the stage. The first two dancers were replaced by another couple of dark-haired women. He leaned over. "Where are all the blondes?"

Vince scowled. "Too much trouble, mate and way too expensive. The Asian stuff's much better, trust me."

Will mulled over the response, wondering again if there was any truth to Savannah's allegations regarding the illegal s.e.x slave trade. He made a mental note to follow it up with Pete in the morning.

Returning his attention to the dancers, he couldn't help but notice one of the girls looked decidedly amateurish. She was doing her best to slide up and down the pole, but the tight, black leather skirt she wore kept getting in the way. The leather kept gripping the pole, making her descent less than elegant. In fact, the moves looked more like a bunny hop than provocative dancing.

Trying to restrain a genuine grin of amus.e.m.e.nt, he glanced at Vince, but the man's attention had been drawn to a bouncer who was speaking to a security guard at the far end of the bar. It was the same one the barman had spoken to a few moments earlier.

Will turned back to the show and kept his comments to himself. The girl was clearly new to the scene or she would have known not to wear something so inappropriate. A leather skirt and pole-dancing was never going to work. Even he knew that.

The girl continued to battle with the stainless steel. Will felt almost sorry for her. Lifting his gla.s.s, he took another sip and his gaze swept over her face.

The ice cube in his mouth got caught in his airway. He choked and coughed and sputtered.

"Are you all right, Will?" his father asked, looking concerned.

Trying desperately to catch his breath, Will nodded a little frantically and watched in disbelief as Savannah hitched her leather skirt up to an indecent level and hoisted herself back onto the pole. Even though she wore a black wig, he had no doubt it was her.

What the h.e.l.l was she doing here again? Surely she wasn't stupid enough to try her luck a second time? She'd been d.a.m.ned lucky it had been him who'd tried it on with her the last time and not some over-eager jock who refused to take no for an answer. Even with her ability to land a well-aimed kick to his b.a.l.l.s, there was no guarantee her tactic would work a second time.

Anger erupted inside him at her foolishness. His father be d.a.m.ned, he had to do something to save her from herself. Leaning toward Vince, he tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

Vince spun around, his face visibly relaxing as he remembered Will beside him.

"That girl over there, the one in the leather?" Will pointed in Savannah's direction. "I'd like to get to know her a little better." He winked. Vince's face broke into a broad grin.

"No worries, mate. I'll have one of the boys bring her over. You wanna room?"

Will's gaze roamed over Savannah from head to toe with unmistakable intent. "Oh yeah, I'm going to need a room all right."

Savannah knew the exact moment Will recognized her. She watched with a kind of morbid fascination as shock and disbelief registered on his handsome face. An involuntary thrum of nervous excitement s.h.i.+vered down her spine.

His narrow-eyed gaze followed her scantily clad form. Even from a distance, his anger was palpable. Her traitorous heart kicked into overdrive.

She'd spied him lounging by the bar right before her dance had started. She'd actually been shocked to see him and it wasn't until that moment she realized she'd almost convinced herself that his earlier visit to the brothel had been nothing but a coincidence.

But there he was, larger than life, this time, sitting very companionably with none other than the despicable Vince Maranoa.

She was glad she'd taken the time to Google the drug baron. Her search had hit on a picture of him taken by a rival newspaper at a court appearance a couple of years earlier. It made recognizing him easy.

The two of them looked more than cozy. She s.n.a.t.c.hed quick glances in their direction while she continued to do her best to swing around the slippery steel pole without looking utterly ridiculous. Spinning around once again, she turned and caught Will and Maranoa laughing together.

Movement at the far end of the bar snagged her attention. She stared at the man who had caught her eye. It was a security guard from the Daily Mirror. She swallowed a gasp of surprise and fear.

Carlo something or other was usually found standing guard in the foyer of their building. She pa.s.sed him every morning on her way over to the bank of elevators. She'd never paid him much attention before, except to say good morning or remark on the weather or toss some other inane conversational t.i.tbit, but she was certain it was him talking to another staff member who had his back to her.

Perhaps he had a second job and doubled as security for the brothel? She didn't know what the pay was like for a security guard, but she couldn't imagine it was too generous. Most people living in Sydney needed a second income if they had a mortgage to pay and he certainly appeared well known to the man he was speaking to.

Her gaze s.h.i.+fted to Carlo's companion. Something about him was familiar. His height, the way he stood, the color of his hair...

Savannah gasped. It couldn't be...

The man turned and her belly dropped to her feet with nauseating speed. Blood pounded in her ears.

It was Dylan.

The thought no sooner formed when Dylan ended his conversation and disappeared through the doorway that led to the bedrooms. Shock held her momentarily immobilized. She didn't notice the bouncer who stood near the platform until he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her effortlessly down to the floor. Before she could utter a word, he leaned down and mumbled something about a patron requesting her presence. He nodded briefly in Will's direction. Her heart plummeted.

Will glared at Savannah with barely controlled anger. She stared back at him, her green eyes blazing with shock. From the moment he realized it was her, his heart had pounded a rapid staccato against his chest. Now, as his gaze traveled over her skimpy ensemble, he struggled to remain calm.

Braless beneath the lacy black top, the shape and size of her rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s was clearly visible. As she moved closer, he even made out her rosy nipples. Remembering the taste and feel of them, blood rushed to his groin. The bouncer stopped and pushed Savannah toward Will. She held his gaze. Her eyes burned with defiance.

A reluctant surge of admiration diluted his anger. Foolhardy or not, she was braver than most of the men he worked with. Turning to Maranoa, he tugged out his wallet and peeled off a couple of hundred-dollar bills, resolutely ignoring his father's gaze.

"Put your money away," Vince chuckled. "This one's on the house." When Will went to protest, Vince moved closer and put his arm around him. "What are mates for?"

Will returned the money to his wallet and turned to face Savannah. Fury reddened her cheeks. Her eyes spat fire. She stared at him with tightly compressed lips. He could tell it took all of her self-control not to snap at him, but he was grateful she still had enough sense to play along.

His admiration for her grew. It was possible she didn't yet know he knew the truth about her occupation and he'd just been offered her services by the brothel owner himself. Will was going to enjoy watching her try and get out of this one.

Turning back to Vince, he offered him a smile of thanks. "Which room's mine?"