Undercover In High Heels

Jasmine frowned. (Or tried to. See Botox reference above.) “It’s not just cyber sex. Yes, we do some private chats, but mostly we just let the cameras run and go about our daily lives.”

“And men pay three ninety-nine a minute for that?” Dana asked, peering into the house over Jasmine’s bony shoulder.

“Well, we’re naked most of the time.”

Aha.

“You’re awfully nosy, ” Jasmine said, planting her hands on her hips again. “What’s all this about?”

“We’re helping the police investigate Veronika’s death, ” I lied. Hey, the police were investigating; we were investigating-it was almost like we were working together.

“Veronika was killed on the set, not here. Besides, I saw on Extra that Mia was the real target anyway.”

“Maybe, ” I hedged. “But we’re looking into all possible leads.” Wow, that sounded official. Finally, all those hours of watching Law & Order were paying off.

“Well, I didn’t do it, ” Jasmine said, crossing her arms protectively over her boobs again. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Everything we do here is perfectly legal. See for yourself.” She stepped back to allow us entry.

I admit, curiosity got the better of me. I’d never been inside a real live den of iniquity before.

As we stepped into the marble-tiled foyer, I realized that the inside of the house was even more decadent than the outside. To the right lay a sunken living room lined in plush red velvet sofas. A black-lacquer coffee table sat in the center of the room, in the corner a matching bar, fully stocked with colorful bottles. The walls were painted in deep reds and burgundies, and the windows were all covered in heavy curtains, though bright, strategically placed spotlights on metal stands blazed throughout the room.

And in each corner, mounted into the ceiling, were white Web cams, little red lights blinking on each of them.

“Are those on?” I asked.

“Always, ” Jasmine responded.

I resisted the urge to cover my face.

Two girls walked past us, into the living room (both clad only in their itty-bitties), sat down on one of the sofas, and started to play a game of Go Fish.

“Seriously, guys pay for this?” Dana asked.

Jasmine smirked. “And girls. I cleared three mil last year.”

I was so in the wrong business. “Three million?” I gasped out. I looked over at the Go Fish players, wondering if they needed a third.

“What can I say? Sex sells.”

“So, Veronika worked here for you. Doing what? Playing”-I gestured to the two girls. One was taking her top off now. Apparently it was strip Go Fish-“cards?”

Jasmine nodded. “Among other things. I gave her room and board free, and her hours were flexible, so she could go on auditions. Most of my girls are aspiring actresses. Of course, when she landed the gig as Mia’s stand-in, it cut into her hours here some, but she worked nights. I gotta get my beauty sleep, you know.”

“Do you know if Veronika was seeing anyone special?” I asked. “Maybe a boyfriend?”

Jasmine puckered her collagen-enhanced lips. “Veronika kind of kept to herself. Not real friendly. Unless, of course, the cameras were on her. I remember she did bring this one guy home once. After that she started getting the same guy logging in to watch her every day. I figured maybe it was a boyfriend.”

“When was this?” I asked, mentally crossing my fingers.

“I dunno. About five months ago. Maybe four. But like I said, he’s logged in every day since then.”

“What about since Veronika’s been gone?” Dana asked.

Jasmine cocked her head to the side. “Once or twice, I think. Mostly just quick stints. Nothing longer than a couple of minutes.”

“Any way you could find out this guy’s name?”

Jasmine shook her head, her red hair whipping across her cheeks. “Nope. All our transactions are done through a secure online payment system, Pay-Mate. The clients enter their credit card information, the company tracks their online time, then sends me a check. It’s all anonymous. The clients can’t find us, and we don’t know who they are.”

“Well, surely someone at PayMate must have his personal info then?”

“Someone, ” Jasmine replied. “But it ain’t me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work. You can let yourselves out.”

With that, Jasmine walked into the living room to join the rousing Go Fish game. She stripped off her spandex shorts to reveal a pair of Brazilian-cut panties so skimpy they left little to the imagination as to what else might be Brazilian on Jasmine’s body.

Dana and I quickly ducked out the front door and down the pathway to her borrowed Porsche.

“So, ” she said once we’d settled in, “how do we get to PayMate’s records?”

Chances were, if they catered to the adult industry, they weren’t likely to give out their clients’ names and addresses to a couple of blondes just because we asked nicely. What we needed was someone who knew computers and how to get around them.

Unfortunately, I knew only one computer hacker.

Felix.

I debated the merits of calling him. It felt a little like poking at a slug-like some of that slime might rub off if I stood too close. On the other hand, the fact that Jasmine had bought our “we’re working with the police” spiel meant the actual police had yet to attack her with the same line of questioning. They were so busy focusing on Dusty’s altercation with Mia that they’d likely have Dusty handcuffed, fingerprinted, and on her way to San Quentin before anyone ever got around to checking PayMate’s records.

So figuring I was doing a favor for a friend of a friend of my college roommate, I dialed Felix’s cell.

He picked up on the first ring, no doubt hoping I was a hot lead on Jessica Simpson’s latest nude-sunbathing location.

“Felix Dunn, ” he answered.

“Hey. It’s Maddie.”

He paused on the other end. “Yes?” he asked cautiously. Apparently he knew how I felt about the slime factor.

“Listen, I need a favor.”

He laughed. “Don’t you always? And what do I get in return for this favor? You know, my editor wouldn’t even print that story about Deveroux being gay. I got bumped off the front page.”

“Oh, don’t pout. One story about Liberace’s ghost and you’ll be back on top.”

“You know, for a girl who needs a favor, you’re not being very nice to me.”

He was right, I wasn’t. What can I say? Old habits died hard. “Sorry. How about this: Pretty, pretty please will you do me a favor?”

“Am I going to get a real story out of it?”

I looked up at Jasmine’s Mediterranean. “Uh-huh.”

“Does it involve sex or starlets?”

“Both. In spades.”

“I’m in. What’s the favor?”

I quickly explained Veronika’s involvement in Jas-mine’s Web site, the credit card company, and the regular customer. As I talked I could hear him mentally putting together a sensationalized headline: Cyber-sex Starlet Slain by Sweetheart-Bigfoot Involved? (Okay, I added that last part, but ten to one he’d be in the story somewhere. I mean, this was the Informer we were talking about.) By the time I finished he was practically salivating into the phone. He said to meet him at his place in twenty minutes and he’d pull up the PayMate site.

The address Felix gave me was in the Hollywood Hills, up Laurel Canyon, down Mulholland, and winding around until we broke through the trees and were treated to a spectacular view of the city that made my breath catch in my throat faster than a lungful of freeway smog. Below us the entire valley spread out like a fine mosaic of twinkling lights, and through the trees I could make out the Hollywood sign, starkly white against the dark hills. It was the