The Immorality Clause Read online

  Amir Khalil and I had been friends since junior high school when he was a skinny immigrant, directly from Egypt, who spoke better English than anyone else I knew. We became friends when three thugs were beating him up in the hallway and I jumped in to stop it. That was my first fight—and my first ass whooping.

  The kids shifted their focus from Amir, who’d chosen not to fight back against the three of them, to me. Apparently picking on a kid who just stood there taking it wasn’t as fun as punching someone like me who was too stupid to back down. They blackened both my eyes, broke my nose, knocked out my two front teeth and even cracked a couple of ribs.

  The police arrested the thugs, charging them with hate crimes against an immigrant student and battery of a minor. Even though I got the worst of the damage, Amir’s status as an immigrant was the charge with the heftier potential sentence. Overwhelming video evidence and their own smug demeanor in court ensured that the three of them went to juvie until they turned eighteen. I’ve checked up on them over the years, one of them is in federal prison for murder; the other two are dead—New Orleans eats her own.

  My misgivings about the appropriateness of the restaurant aside, they did have the best lunch food in town that didn’t involve crawfish or shrimp. I jogged around to the BMW’s other side to open the door for Paxton, but she’d already climbed out by the time I got there. She hooked her small hand through my arm and we walked past the palace “guards” holding the door open for us.

  “Hi, Zach. Uh… Do you want your usual table?” Karina, the hostess asked when I walked in.

  “Sure.”

  She hesitated for a moment and then said, “You know, I bet you and your friend would like to sit in Mike’s section today. He’s a really great server with an awesome attitude and knows the menu forward and back to help guide you through the selections.”

  I leaned in to look around the hostess station and saw that my usual table was empty, like Amir tried to keep it at lunchtime if they weren’t packed. “No, I think I’d just like to go to my usual table, please.”

  “Okay, Zach. You know the way.” She indicated the direction of the table and handed me two menus. As we walked past, I heard Karina whisper something about Teagan into her headset.

  Paxton laughed, “You really do come here a lot.”

  I shrugged, “What can I say? Human beings tend to be creatures of habit.”

  When we got to the booth, I indicated which side Paxton should sit on and waited until she’d done so before I sat down, facing the door. I didn’t like having my back to doors.

  While my guest looked around at the Pharaoh’s décor, I found Teagan. Her back was to me as she helped another customer, but after a little over three years of seeing her four or five times a week, I’d recognize her anywhere. She wore the black wig today. She didn’t wear it half the time, so I knew her true hair color to be a dirty blonde that she usually wore straightened. Her skin was the color of coffee with two creamers, a little darker than Paxton’s and the Egyptian slave uniform hung off her muscular shoulders, cascading down over her narrow body, with only a slight bump out at the chest to indicate her small breasts.

  “This place hasn’t changed at all since I was here last.”

  I snorted. “This place hasn’t changed in fifteen years. When Amir inherited it from his father, he took the life insurance money and bought all of this stuff. It used to have a subdued Egyptian style, but Amir knew that to make the place a true tourist attraction, he had to add the statues and change the plants, fix up the menu and get the servers wearing themed costumes.” I pointed toward Teagan. “It worked. This place is now on the ‘must see’ lists for visitors to New Orleans, for both the food and for the kitsch factor.”

  “It’s neat—not my style, but still cool to see.”

  “To be honest, I hardly recognize the stuff anymore.”

  “How often do you come here?” Paxton asked, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear. I’d seen her make that same, unconscious gesture on several occasions.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  She placed her hand over her heart. “Promise.”

  “At least four times a week. It’s comfortable, I know the people and it’s away from Easytown, so I can separate myself physically from the problems of work.”

  Paxton reached across the table and gripped my hand. “Do you have a problem letting go mentally?”

  Teagan chose that moment to turn around and take our order. “Hi, welcome to the Phar… Oh! Zach, I didn’t realize it was you.” Her eyes shifted down to the table where Paxton held my hand.

  For some reason, I pulled my hand from hers self-consciously and placed them on my lap. “Hi, Teagan. This is my friend, Paxton.”

  “What can I get you two to drink?” she asked woodenly, not in her usual happy tone.

  “I’ll have water with lemon, please,” Paxton said.

  “And I’ll do a water and coffee.”

  Teagan scribbled furiously in her notebook. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

  When she was out of earshot, Paxton asked, “Is she new?”

  “No. She’s worked here for several years. She’s normally the happiest girl in here—which is why Amir had me start sitting in her section, to cheer me up.”

  “She looks young. Maybe she was out late last night and the Sunday morning shift hit her hard. I know I had some rough nights when I was that age.”

  I glanced back toward the kitchen where she’d gone and noticed the bartender staring at me. Karina up at the hostess station was too. Freddy the busboy, Mike, the server in the section Karina had suggested, all of them cast furtive glances my way. “You’ve caused quite a stir in here this morning,” I whispered so only she could hear.

  Paxton looked around; the employees had all gone back to work. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing, never mind. I thought for a moment that everyone was staring at us.”

  She looked around the room once again and then returned to the menu. “Maybe you need to get some rest. You have dark circles under your eyes.” She looked up and amended her statement, “Then again, you had them yesterday too, so maybe you’re chronically short on sleep.”

  I grunted. “Andi tells me the same thing every damn day.”

  “Hmm? Who’s Andi?”

  “She’s the artificial intelligence system that I’ve had since I was a kid. And she’s extremely annoying when it comes to being concerned about me.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth and she looked down. For a split second, I was reminded of her Japanese heritage. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” I replied, using her words from earlier. I tried to put on my least-menacing smile and hers reflected back at me.

  “I—”

  I was cut off by Teagan’s return. Somehow, she’d managed to balance all three drinks in her hands and unceremoniously plopped them down on the table. Some of my coffee splashed up over the rim. She’d brought me black coffee; she knew I liked cream and sugar.

  “What would you two lovebirds like?”

  Teagan was in a rare mood this morning. She stared straight at the middle of the table, not making eye contact with me. Odd.

  “Are you ready?” I asked Paxton.

  “Um, yes. I’ll have the shakshouka—is that how you pronounce it?”

  “I guess,” I chuckled. “I’ll have the same, Teaga—”

  She twirled on her heel and stomped back to the kitchen. I tried to remember our conversation yesterday. She’d been upset about a boy or something. Maybe she was still upset over it.

  “She is not a happy girl,” Paxton observed.

  “Yeah, I’m trying to remember if I did something yesterday to piss her off. She called me oblivious, but that’s hardly anything new. I can focus on a thousand different aspects when it comes to a case, but when it comes to interacting with people, sometimes I fall flat.”

  “Hmm. I don’t get that sense from you at
all.”

  “I’m not socially awkward or anything like that, but I do have a hard time opening up to people.” Why did I tell her that?

  “So you need someone to take charge?” she asked.

  “Huh? Oh, you mean a woman? I don’t know. I don’t need to be led around by a collar or some of the other freaky shit that goes on in this city, if that’s what you mean.”

  She laughed loudly. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

  I grinned. “Okay, maybe I am socially awkward.”

  “No, I get it. You work way too much and don’t often have time to be out socially with friends. I’m the same way. My schedule is five nights a week, from 6 p.m. to 4 a.m., including Friday and Saturday. Not a lot of guys want to get involved with someone who’s gone during those hours.”

  I never would have thought I’d be discussing relationship problems with this woman two days ago. I was supposed to be following up with some questions that I’d written down when I reviewed the video.

  “If you’re interested in a relationship,” she continued, “you need to find someone who works the same type of hours as you—or someone who doesn’t mind you not being around in the evenings.”

  Paxton reached across the table and set her hand in front of me, clearly wanting me to take it. I hesitantly lifted one of my hands from my lap, where they still rested and placed it on top of hers. “We work the same type of hours, Zach.”

  “Uh…” Here it comes. My awkwardness with women is going to shit all over the table. “Paxton, you’re a witness in an active murder investigation.”

  She sniffed. “Am I a witness? I sat at a desk and buzzed a man through a secure doorway. Beyond that, I have zero clues as to what happened.”

  “You are the last person to speak to Mr. Wolfe before he died.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Teagan said. She slammed our plates down on the next table and turned around.

  Regina, the morning manager tried to step in, but Teagan pushed roughly past her saying, “I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

  “What is going on?” Paxton asked, pulling her hand back away from mine.

  “I have no idea. I’ve never seen her act this way before.”

  “So she’s not always so emotionally unstable?”

  “No. Besides other cops, Teagan is the most levelheaded person I know. She’s in college, but doesn’t go out to party or get wild drunk and stoned. The girl already has a plan about what she wants to do and has worked from day one to meet her goals… The only thing that she’s hesitated on, as far as I know, is where she wanted to live after school—which will really depend on where she gets a job.”

  “You certainly seem to know a lot about the waitresses in this place,” Paxton remarked dryly.

  “Only Teagan. We’re good friends. Something happened yesterday, I just don’t know what.”

  Regina emerged from the kitchen and scooped up the plates. “I’m sorry, Zach,” she said as she sat them down on our table. “Teagan wasn’t feeling well, so she’s been sent home for the day. Would you two like anything else?”

  “No, thank you—wait, cream and sugar please,” I replied and adjusted the plate as the manager nodded and walked back toward the kitchen area where she’d came from.

  We ate in silence, making small talk in between bites. I learned that Paxton’s family was of mixed heritage. Her parents were put together by an arranged marriage between her father’s Japanese parents and her mother’s Japanese-American parents. I’d heard of a resurgence in that sort of thing as parents and children tried to build a stable community in the troubling times we were faced with. Some cultures, especially those of the Pacific Rim, were early adopters and had been doing so for a few generations. I couldn’t help but wonder if something like that were going on with Teagan. Had her parents arranged a marriage to help settle the girl down and promise them grandchildren?

  It was a far stretch, at best, but Teagan didn’t seem to have all the normal college troubles. If she’d had a boyfriend or girlfriend in the past, she’d never told me. She said she was doing well in school. Maybe she was having money trouble. I decided I’d ask her if there was anything I could do to help the next time I came in.

  As our brunch wound down, I pulled out my notebook. “I do have some questions that I’d like to ask before I take you to your hotel.”

  Paxton wiped her mouth and then placed the napkin in front of her. She began folding it like she had at the Diva on the night of the murder. “Nervous?” I asked, jutting my chin toward the napkin.

  “Ah, no? I always have to be doing something with my hands. I’m sorry, is it distracting?”

  “No, it’s okay,” I replied. “So when I watched the video you provided of Kelly’s point of view, I noticed a few things that I wanted to ask. They’re just minor bits of information that will help me in my report.”

  “Alright. Ask away.”

  I coughed. “Excuse me.” Damn airbags. “When Kelly and Mr. Wolfe first went to the room, the door was unlocked. Are the rooms always unlocked between clients?”

  “No, we keep them locked. The girls have a transponder built in that automatically unlocks the door to the room they’ve been assigned when they get within ten feet of the lock. The only other people who go into the rooms are the housekeeping staff and an environmental tech, who verifies the cleanliness of the room between clients.”

  “Are the maids robotic or human?”

  “Human,” Paxton answered. “It’s much cheaper to pay an hourly employee than to purchase a robot.”

  “Okay, I’ll need to talk to the employees who went into that room between the previous client and Mr. Wolfe.”

  “Of course. I included their bodycams in the video footage I provided you. Have you watched that?”

  Son of a bitch! “No, I’m sorry. I got to the end of Kelly’s video and thought that was everything.”

  “I’d prefer you watch the video feeds for both of them before you talk to them. The environmental tech is okay, but our maid is flaky. If you ask her questions about the state of the room, she’ll try to convince you that the levee breaches were an inside job by the city to increase the size of the police force and water inspection personnel instead of answering your questions.”

  “She wouldn’t be helpful?”

  “Oh, you’d eventually get her to tell you that yes, she changed the sheets and sanitized everything with a mixture of Sanitol and perfume to cut down on the chemical smell. I’m just trying to save you the trouble by providing you with the video.”

  “Alright,” I chuckled. “I’ll watch the videos before I decide whether to talk to them. Next item on my list: Was the room rented immediately before Kelly and Mr. Wolfe went in there?”

  “I’d have to check the logs, but without a doubt, the room was used no longer than an hour before. Due to the nature of the Sanitol, we have to let it air for thirty minutes. Other than that, the Diva stays busy for all eighteen hours a day that it’s open. The first two hours of the day—nine to eleven—and a couple of hours in the afternoon between clients’ lunch breaks and when they’re headed home are the only times that we don’t have a wait in the lobby.”

  “How much does an hour with the pleasure droid cost?” The question wasn’t on my list, but I was curious since the place was so busy.

  “It varies as to whether you want the full use of all the facilities—the sauna, the dominatrix room, the bubble room; all those are extra. The base price for a standard room with a per gallon water usage charge is $1,559 an hour.”

  “Holy—” It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating when she said that. “I was expecting four or five hundred.”

  “The CS98 is insanely expensive and Mr. Ladeaux wants a return on his investment.”

  “And you’re seriously busy all the time?” I asked.

  She nodded her head, still folding and unfolding the napkin. “Oh yeah. People come from all over to be with
our girls.”

  “How much is a droid?”

  “Two million each.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  She laughed. “I told you that they cost more than most police officers will make in their entire time on the force.”

  I scribbled a few numbers in my notebook and spoke slowly as I did so. “Two million dollars…at fifteen hundred an hour, that works out to one thousand three hundred thirty three… You said the club was open eighteen hours a day… That’s only about seventy-four days until each bot is showing a profit.”

  “Sure, on paper without any variables added in. You’re not including downtime for sanitizing the droid or cleaning the rooms, building and maintenance costs, water usage, cleaning fees, employee salary, taxes… Double your number and you’re about right.”

  “Even if we added a little more fudge room for those things and rounded up to six months, that’s a hell of an investment.”

  “Mr. Ladeaux does well for himself, and he rewards his employees who continue to turn a profit.”

  “Which is how you afford the apartment in Venetian Isles,” I surmised.

  “The Diva does very well,” she admitted.

  “I’m in the wrong business… Okay, I have a couple more questions about the droid herself. Where are the microphones located; the ones that recorded the audio for the video?”

  “The microphones? Oh, in their ears, like a human. The droids can’t hear if their ears are blocked. Cybertronic Solutions provides top of the line, realistic tech. It wouldn’t be realistic if the microphones were in their stomach or something like that.”

  She had a point. “Last thing. I saw Kelly go through a rapid vibration and the material on her fingers disappeared.”

  “The self-cleaning feature.”

  “Yeah. Andi looked it up. There was something on Cybertronic’s website about a subdermal reservoir where the material could be stored for cleaning. How much material can be stored?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Paxton replied. “That’s a little too technical for me to answer.”

  “Figured I’d give it a shot.”