Mystery

“Kind of busy now, Milo. Turns out compliance with the new stat system by detectives is only forty percent.”

“That’s your problem?”

“I’m supposed to make it more user-friendly for all you John and Jane Waynes.”

“Try using large block letters and monosyllables, Darnell. Meantime, I’m that rare bird who appreciates what you do, so get me an address. Stucco and soil, not cyber.”

“Fine, you’ll need to give me a little time,” said Wolf. “Minutes and hours, not astral projection.”

Milo reread the home page. “Ah, the finance of fantasy. From what you described, Princess would fit perfectly.”

I said, “So would a Sugar Daddy rich enough to hire a goon like Black Suit.”

“Guess their prescreening for moral net worth didn’t work too well.” He folded the page, slipped it into his attache case. “If they did anything at all, it was probably one of those basic felony checks.”

His phone jumped on the table.

Darnell Wolf said, “That was easy, man, you could’ve done it yourself. Company’s listed in a basic California business directory, so they’re not trying to hide their existence. The parent corporation’s called SRS Limited and it’s registered in Panama but they have offices on West Fifty-eighth Street in New York and right here on Wilshire.”

He read off the address.

“Much obliged, Darnell.”

“I checked out the site.” Wolf gave a low whistle. “Made me want to be rich.”

he Western Elite branch of SukRose.Net was housed on the third floor of a steel- and-blue-glass office building on Wilshire, five blocks east of the Beverly Hills–L.A. border. I knew the place; it had once been reserved for health care professionals. Now the tenants were divided among physicians, dentists, psychologists, chiropractors, and a host of ambiguously named businesses, many with Tech in their names.

The interior hallways were clean but tired, with brown carpeting vacuumed to burlap at the seams, walls and doors painted a glossy pinkish beige guaranteed to depress. Just in case your mood survived all that, ashy fluorescent lighting finished you off.

The door to Suite 313 was marked SRS Ltd and locked. No one responded to Milo’s knuckle-rap. He fished out a card, was about to slip it through the mail slot when a female voice called out, “Hey, guys!”

Two women bounced toward us from the elevator. Each carried a Styrofoam take-out carton. From the aroma of lemongrass as they got closer, Thai.

Both were young, with olive complexions, strong noses, and pretty, full-lipped faces under lush black hair. The taller, thinner one wore a fitted black silk blouse over low-rise black slacks and red sandals with four-inch heels. Her companion, round-faced, curvier, and firmly built, sported the same combo in chocolate brown.

Tall swung her food. Short said, “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Sturgis, LAPD.”

“Lieutenant. Wow,” said Short. “Finally.”

“Finally?”

“We figured it would happen eventually,” said Tall. “Given the nature of our business. But don’t worry, we’re legal, nothing sleazy. In fact, we’re allergic to sleaze—it makes us sneeze.”

Shared laughter. Both girls flipped their hair.

“C’mon in, guys, we’ll tell you all about us.”

The setup was a small reception room, unstaffed and empty, and two larger offices, each furnished with antique carved desks, tufted pink-suede couches, and a bank of flat-screen computers.

“How ’bout we use mine?” said Tall. “There’s still hot coffee in my Krups.”

Short said, “Sounds good,” and ushered us into the left-hand office. Drapes were drawn and she opened them to a view of taller buildings on Wilshire. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys. Black, or cream and shug?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

Tall settled behind her desk, checked her computers before turning to us. “I’m Suki Agajanian and this is my sister, Rosalynn.”

“Hence, SukRose,” said Short. “Everyone calls me Rose.”

I said, “When I heard it, I assumed it was a play on sucrose—sugar.”

Rosalynn Agajanian ticked chocolate-nailed fingers. “Carbon twelve Hydrogen twenty-two Oxygen eleven. Or, if you really want to impress someone, blah blah blah glucopyranosyl blah blah blah fructofuranose.”

Milo said, “I’m beyond impressed. Suk and Rose, huh?”

Suki Agajanian said, “Our parents named us for a joke. Daddy’s a biochemist and Mom’s a molecular physicist. The line was we were their sugar babies.” Her nose wrinkled. “Growing up, we thought it was lame, despised when they grouped us together as a dyad.”

“You’re twins?”

“No,” said Suki. “I’m twelve months older. She”—pointing—“is the whoopsie baby.”

Rosalynn pouted, then giggled. “You play, you pay.”

“Anyway,” said Suki, “we made limoncello out of lemons when we started the business. Perfect name, don’t you think?”

“Perfect,” said Milo. “So business is good.”

“Business is great,” said Rosalynn. “We incorporated just over a year ago and already have over ten thousand names in our data bank.”

Suki said, “Actually, closer to twelve thousand at last count.” She clicked a keyboard. “Three thousand six hundred eighty-seven Daddies and seven thousand nine hundred fifty-two Sweeties. Not including any that signed up today.”

I said, “Who runs the New York office? Sister Honey?”

Both girls laughed.

“No, that’s just a mail-drop,” said Rosalynn. “Our uncle Lou has a luggage store in the building and he picks up correspondence for us. We did it to look bicoastal. It means paying some New York taxes, but we thought it would be worth it and it has been.”

“You incorporated in Panama.”

“Sure did,” said Suki. “Our brother’s a tax lawyer and he said we need to be careful not to appear as if we’re evading taxes but there’d still be some advantages to an offshore registration.”

“We’re going to pay a ton of taxes this year,” said Rosalynn. “A heckuva lot more than we ever considered a good income.”

“God bless the Internet,” said Suki. “Our expenses are minimal, it’s just the two of us, the computers and the rent and whatever freelance consultations we use for technical stuff. The bad part is we don’t have much in the way of deductions, but the other side of the coin is our profit margin’s huge.”

“We’ll pay the taxes, we’re not greedy,” said Rosalynn. “We’re well aware that our business model could be finite if other people catch on and competition grows fierce. The obvious end goal would be to sell to a bigger company but for the time being we’re happy with what we’ve got. And we’re totally glad we took it upscale.”

“Fendi, not Loehmann’s,” said her sister. “For a school project, it’s sure worked out fantastic.”

“School project,” said Milo. “Did you get a good grade?”

“A.”

“Where?”

Rosalynn said, “We both went to Columbia for undergrad and when Suk got an M.B.A. from Wharton, she had to come up with a novel business model for her honors thesis. I’m no tech freak but I have done two years of grad school in neuroscience at the U., so I can handle the basic stuff.”

“And your brother handles your legal affairs.”