Money Shot

Turned out there were only three DVDs in the Dirty Teens series. Didi was pretty sure the DVD she’d seen the blonde in had a high number.

“Try Naughty Teens,” Didi said.

There were twenty-one DVDs in that series and the box covers were cheap and inept, all bad Photoshop and tacky yellow titles. I didn’t recognize any of the girls but they were all very similar. Wan, pale and sickly. Probably junkies. All natural and all very young looking. Each one had a bland, unimaginative GND name like Beth or Tracy or Heather. No last names.

“There she is,” Didi cried triumphantly when Malloy clicked on number seventeen.

She was right. The blonde who had called herself “Lia” and wriggled out my bathroom window was prominently featured on the cover of Naughty Teens 17. She was billed as “Kimberly” and she had a male friend posing with her in the photo. A very close friend, apparently. The friend’s head was blocked by the ‘g’ in Naughty but I didn’t need to see his head to recognize him instantly. I felt a sick flush of anger.

“Jesse Black,” Didi said. “Motherfucker.”

12.

“Okay, ladies,” Malloy said. “We need a plan of action.”

“We need to find Jesse fucking Black and cut his goddamn nuts off,” Didi said. “How’s that for a plan of action?”

“As satisfying as that might be,” Malloy said. “I advise we start by figuring out what the hell is really going on here. We’ll get to Jesse eventually, but I don’t want anybody going off half cocked.”

There was some kind of a dirty joke in there somewhere, but I was too exhausted to make the reach.

“What about the note?” I said instead. “We need to get someone who can translate Lia’s note.”

“Someone who can keep quiet about it,” Malloy added.

“Wanda Curtis?” Didi suggested.

“I think she’s Hungarian, not Romanian” I said. “What about Honey Westlake?”

Didi snorted.

“The only time Honey Westlake is quiet is when she has a dick in her mouth,” she said. “Might as well put it on the six o’clock news.”

“Tabitha Moore,” I said. “She’s Romanian, right?”

“Right,” Didi agreed. “Tabby’s a decent kid.”

“There’s really that many Romanian chicks in porn?” Malloy asked.

“Romanian, Czech, Hungarian,” Didi replied, “It’s like these Eastern European girls are taking over the industry. They look like supermodels and they’ll do double anal with no condom for five bucks. Makes it nearly impossible to get decent treatment for American girls.”

“No shit,” Malloy said.

“Come on,” I said. “Not all Eastern European girls are like that. I mean, look at Zandora...”

I bit my lower lip. Nobody said anything. The screen of Malloy’s computer kept flashing lurid, fleshy images.

“What do you know about the guys who put out Naughty Teens?” Malloy asked, gently changing the subject. He squinted and read off the screen “PDM Productions.”

“PDM’s one of those companies that buys amateur content from independent producers,” Didi said. “You know, guys in Idaho shooting their girlfriend and her gal pals making out after too many diet beers. PDM buys the raw footage, edits it down, and sells it as Heartland Hos 23.”

“So how can we find out who made Naughty Teens?” Malloy asked. “And who this Kimberly chick really is?”

Didi and I both looked at each other and spoke simultaneously.

“Two-two-five-seven.”

Malloy frowned.

“US Code Title 18 section 2257,” Didi said, wrinkling her nose. “The so-called ‘child protection’ act.”

“That’s something to do with record keeping, right?” Malloy asked.

“It’s basically just another way to make life hard for godless smut peddlers,” I said. “Now not only do you have to have all your drivers licenses for all your talent—scanned, not just photocopied—but you also have to put your physical address on the beginning of every DVD and on every Web site. Not a PO box, but the actual physical location where the records are kept. You also need to put a real legal name as the custodian of records and guarantee that person will be at the listed address to make the records available for a minimum of four hours every business day. There’s more, but that’s the part that’s gonna help us.”

“God,” Didi said. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be grateful for 2257.”

“Right,” Malloy said. “So if we go out and rent Naughty Teens 17, we’ll get the address of the guy who made the video?”

“No,” I said. “We’ll probably just get the address of the PDM office. But what we can do is show up during the allotted four hours and get a drivers license for Kimberly or Lia or whatever her name is.”

“Outstanding,” Malloy said.

“What else?” Didi asked.

Malloy reached into the desk drawer and took out another pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Didi and she took it, letting him light it for her and then fanning the smoke away from me with one ring-heavy hand.

“Well,” Malloy said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to know what happened to that briefcase.”

“Who cares,” I asked. “For all we know, they’ve found it already.”

“If they had,” Malloy said. “They wouldn’t have gone after Zandora. You want to know what I think?” He lit a cigarette for himself. “I think the blonde hid the briefcase somewhere in your office, probably in the bathroom, and then someone else found it, after the first round of goons had split but before they went back to toss your place while you were at the phony shoot.” He sucked smoke and squinted at Didi. “You don’t have it, do you, Didi?”

“Fuck off, Lalo,” Didi said. “If I had it, don’t you think I would have mentioned it by now?”

Malloy shrugged.

“Just asking,” he said.

“So who all was in the office that day?” I asked. “It was pretty busy wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Didi said. “I’m so frazzled right now, though, I can barely remember.”

“Got a surveillance system in your office?” Malloy asked.

I shook my head.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a security camera in the lobby,” Didi said. “I have no idea who keeps the tapes.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Malloy said.

No one said anything for several minutes. Malloy and Didi smoked. I looked at the image of Jesse Black on the screen. My head hurt.

“Okay, look,” Malloy said, crushing out his cigarette. “I think we oughta call it a night. Didi, remember what I said. Spread the word that you’re paying me to look for Angel.”

“Sure,” Didi said, taking my hand. “I just hate to leave you alone, honey, what with everything that’s happened.”

“I’m not alone,” I said. “I got Malloy.”

“Okay,” Didi said, “But the next time I come by, I’ll bring some ginger snaps or something.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come by again,” Malloy said, shaking his head. “It’s too risky.”

“Are you sure?” Didi asked. “I mean...”

“I’ll stay in contact by phone,” Malloy replied, gently taking Didi’s arm and maneuvering her toward the door.

“I’ll be fine, Didi,” I said, wondering if that were really true.

“Okay then, honey,” Didi said. She reached out and grabbed Malloy’s wrist. “You watch over her good, you big lug, or you’ll have me to answer to.”