'Very,' I said.
'I'm not in a charitable business,' she said.
'I'm trying not to be either,' I said. 'We both have some interest in this kid.'
'She's missing?'
'Un huh. And the kid I talked to, Ginger Buckey, is dead and Robert Rambeaux, the pimp, is bruised and scared, and something's going on, and nobody is telling me what.'
'Did you go up to Maine?'
'Un huh.'
'Is Vern Buckey the toughest man in Lindell?'
'Nope.'
'You want me to hire you some more to find April?'
'Yes. You and I both have a… we know her. Most people don't. We invested some energy in her. Most people haven't.'
'Good money after bad,' Patricia Utley said.
'Yep.'
'Okay,' she said. 'Do you need an advance?'
'Yes.'
'I'll send it. Do you have any, ah, clues?'
'Not much,' I said. 'All I can think of is that Ginger and April are connected and maybe if I find out what happened with Ginger I'll be able to find what happened to April.'
'What progress have you on Ginger?' I told her.
'Perry Lehman?' she said.
'Yes.'
'Crown Prince?'
'Yep. Know him?'
'Not personally, but anybody in the sex business knows his operation. Very impressive.'
'He's a slime ball,' I said.
'Oh, no doubt,' she said. 'I have heard stories. He pays well but he tends to use up a lot of girls, and I understand he has ties to the mob.'
'So I hear.'
'Very impressive operation, though,' Patricia Utley said.
'That's what his marketing director told me. She says he's selling self-image.'
'He's selling what I'm selling. He's just packaging it for national consumption.'
'I prefer the cottage industry approach,' I said. 'Actually, if the truth be known, I prefer amateurism in this area.'
'Tastes vary,' she said. 'Are you off to the Caribbean?'
'Yeah,' I said. 'It's tough, dirty work, but someone's got to go down there and do it.'
'I knew you wouldn't flinch,' she said. 'How are you going to go about it? If there is something amiss they'll not welcome you at the Crown Prince Club.'
'I thought I'd acquire a membership under false pretenses,' I said.
'Well, I trust your resourcefulness,' she said. 'I'll send you your money.'
'Thank you.'
'You're welcome.'
I hung up and sat back at my desk and put my feet up and tried to think of someone I knew who was sleaze berry enough to join the Crown Prince Club. And kind enough to lend me his membership.
23
I couldn't find anyone I knew who had the right combination of sleaze and kindness to get me into the St. Thomas Crown Prince, so I decided to wing it.
Susan and I flew on Pan Am via New York and got into St. Thomas early in the afternoon. The corrugated-iron air terminal on the island looked like an exhibition hall at the Minnesota State Fair, full of odd little booths.
We picked up a rental car and a map and drove the narrow road through Charlotte Amalie to Frenchman's Reef. The island looked as it ought to, a lot of greenery, a lot of flowers, cruise ships in the harbor, stuccoed tropical- looking buildings with red tile roofs rising along the island's central ridge. Frenchman's Reef was a big Holiday Inn with a good beach and ocean views and a balcony on each room big enough to dance on if you were a hamster.
