Read Online Killerfest by Lawrence de Maria - Free Book Online Page A

hire a hooker to entertain Quimper. Don’t look so shocked, Bill. I
already thought of that.”
    “For a couple
of thousand bucks,” Scarne said, “you could get a high-end call girl to play
the part of a devoted fan. Have her read one of his books. That might cost you
extra, though.”
    “I’m not sure
I could do that,” Porcelli said, smiling, “even to a hooker.”
    “You two are
serious, for Christ’s sake!”
    “Don’t worry,
I already ditched the idea,” Porcelli said. “If the word got out, and it
probably would, that Quimper was sneaking call girls into his room, there would
be hell to pay. He’d be on Oprah. Nobody would believe that he didn’t know
about it.”
    Very sharp
lady, Scarne thought.
    “What about
room security,” he asked. 
     “He’s staying
in a suite on the penthouse level. There are only two suites on that floor, and
we’ll have the other one. Whenever he’s in his room, he should be secure
enough. You need a special electronic key to access his floor and we will
always have someone at the elevator. The real danger is when he’s socializing
or giving a speech. I spoke to the Killerfest’s organizers and they pointed out
that it’s traditional for attendees, writers and agents to hobnob at one of the
hotel bars after all the meetings, book signings and seminars are over for the
afternoon. This is the first year the conference is at the Bascombe, which has
several bars and lounges. We’re going to see which one is the easiest to secure
and, hopefully, arrange to have that one become the prime watering hole.”
    “How are you
going to do that,” Albracht asked.
    “I haven’t
figured that out yet,” Porcelli admitted. “We don’t want to make the security
arrangements too obtrusive and scare away attendees.”
    “I may be able
to help with that,” Scarne said. “I can probably get Schuster House to provide
each attendee a ticket for a free drink or two at whatever bar you choose for
every night of the conference.”
    “That’s not
bad, Mr. Scarne,” Porcelli said.
    “OK, great,”
Albracht said, obviously relieved that Scarne and Porcelli seemed to hit it
off. “We’re off to a good start. Karen, why don’t you take Jake back to your
office and iron out some more details? I have that Saudi contract I’m working
on.”
    Porcelli led
Scarne back to her small, windowless office on the opposite end of the floor.
She waved him to a seat.
    “OK,” he said.
“Let’s have the speech.”
    “What speech?”
    “The one where
you tell me who’s in charge and you don’t need some hot-dog private eye mucking
up your assignment.”
    She smiled.
    “Would it do
any good? I read your file. The hot dog part is dead on. Corpses seem to follow
you around, and you have an over-sized opinion of yourself.”
    “Aw, shucks.
You saw my TV ad. The one with the cheerleaders.”
    Karen Porcelli
sighed.
    “You remind me
of my ex-husband. He was juvenile, too.”
    “He also must
have lousy eyesight.”
    She smiled at
the compliment.
    “I also made a
couple of calls, to some Fed and N.Y.P.D. friends in New York. The general
consensus was that you can back up your play, and I could do a lot worse.”
    “Well, enough
foreplay,” Scarne said. “Did you find out anything about the Arhaut killing?”
    “Only what we
read in the paper.” She looked embarrassed. “Safeguard’s mission is protection.
We’re not geared for much investigative work.”
    He could tell
that didn’t make her happy. It didn’t make him particularly happy, either. It
meant more legwork.
    “The Bascombe
must have a huge staff,” he said.
    “We’ll vet the
staff. The N.Y.P.D. is helping out with that. And we’re going to profile like
hell. And I don’t mean we’re looking for someone on a camel. Anyone looking
Middle Eastern or out of place will be braced. The waiters for any event
Quimper will attend will be hand-picked, as will bartenders and the like.”
    “How many
attendees will there