she says desperately as I turn toward her bedroom door.
“Maybe,” I say, just to let her down easy. She’s a cute girl. She’ll find a real Sugar Daddy soon.
The minute I’m back in my car but before I turn the ignition, I flip through the contacts on my phone until I find what I’m looking for, and tap the screen to dial.
He answers on the second ring. “What’s up, man?”
Robert Colling is a fraternity brother of mine, and while he doesn’t sport a red phoenix tattoo, we were and still are pretty close. He went on to law school and now handles sleazy and messy divorces here in the Bay Area.
“Need a favor,” I tell him as I start the car.
The Bluetooth engages and his reply comes over the speakers in my car. “Anything. Lay it on me.”
“I need a recommendation for a good private investigator, and I’d like it to be one with a low moral compass. Not afraid to get his hands a bit dirty.”
Robert whistles into the phone. “Damn, man . . . what do you have cookin’?”
“Can’t say.”
“Let’s pretend I’m your attorney and privilege is invoked. You can tell me.”
“Can’t,” I say resolutely, “but I’ll buy you a beer sometime soon in payment.”
“You suck,” he says with a chuckle. “I’ll text the information to you as soon as we hang up. I have the perfect guy for you. Highly trustworthy and will do anything you need for the right price.”
“You’re the best, man,” I say.
“Just don’t call me to bail you out of jail when whatever game plan you have goes south,” he warns jokingly.
“I won’t,” I say, although he’d probably be the first person I’d call if I got arrested and needed bailing out.
I disconnect the call and toss the phone onto my passenger seat to wait for his text. Putting my Audi in gear, I check my right passenger mirror, and seeing the street is clear, pull away from the curb. Holding on to the wheel with my right hand, my left comes across my chest and over my shoulder, much the same way it did this morning, and I press my fingers down into the muscles below the top of my tattoo.
It’s nothing more than a stupid membership inside the inner circle of my fraternity. During rush week, I was approached and offered admission by some of the upperclassmen, which ironically included JT. He was in his senior year while I was a freshman. All I had to do was a stupid prank they chose to prove my worthiness, and I was admitted. Certain benefits came with the admission, including a coveted room inside the fraternity house.
My prank was easy. All I had to do was spray paint some graffiti on the side of the dean’s house. I chose a rival fraternity’s letters, which my brothers all thought was hilarious. I got away scot-free, and after I was inducted into the frat, I got my tattoo the very next weekend.
But what if something more sinister had been required of the other members? Was Sela’s rape part of an initiation? She said one other guy had the tattoo already on his wrist, but on the other guy she didn’t see one. Doesn’t mean he didn’t have one, but what if he was a lowerclassman and his induction into our secret society was to participate in Sela’s rape?
It’s a distinct possibility, one that I didn’t think had existed just a day ago. But now I don’t put anything past JT. I could easily see him duping or enticing like-minded sociopaths to jump in on that plan of action, especially if everyone was high on booze and drugs.
Sela can’t remember much about the other two men involved. One had dark hair, the other pale blond. That’s it, and with only that as a description, I doubt I’m going to be able to identify them through fraternity records.
Still going to try to pull some possibilities though and see if they unclog her memory some more. That’s one of the reasons I want a private investigator.
Speaking of which, my phone chimes with the familiar whoop sound of an incoming text. I pick it up from the passenger seat, and while flicking my eyes between the road and the screen, I navigate my way to the texts.
Robert sent just the PI’s name and number.
I tap my thumb on the blue link of the phone number and the Bluetooth connects the call. After a few rings, I get a recorded