The Case of the Lipstick Killer

People like Maya's parents should be put in a shipping container and sent to the bottom of the fucking ocean. Jesus.

1:45 p.m.

I was sitting at my desk, fuming over what our new client is enduring. I was categorizing all of the information I had received from Sofia so Jessie could hop right on it.

I need to start looking for another investigator for this office. We're starting to take off, and our caseload is expanding more than our team can currently handle.

"Nora, would you ask Max to come in and see me, please?"

"Sure thing, Nikki."

Max walked into my office and took a seat.

"What's up, boss?" asked Max.

"Hey, babe. I think I'm going to need some cuddling with you after work today. This shit is starting to wear me out. Wait till you see the new case I just took on. Unfucking-believable."

"What is it, sweetie?" asked Max.

"I'll tell you about it later. I don't have the mental energy to rehash it again today. I think my brain would melt."

"So what else did you want to talk about?" asked Max.

"I don't know how we got by before you came to work here, Max. I think we need to start looking for yet another investigator. We must be getting some great word of mouth out there because we're picking up clients left and right.

"Do you know anyone that we might want to talk to about coming to work here?"

"Not right off the top of my head, but I can check around and see what's out there."

"Okay, Max. That would be great."

NIKKI FONTAINE'S RESIDENCE ST. CHARLES STREET, ALAMEDA

March 28, 6:45 p.m.

"That leftover lasagna was fantastic, Nikki," said Max. "Are you sure you made that? Just kidding. Is that an old family recipe handed down from your great grandmother?"

"Something like that. It was my mom's favorite recipe. All I know is that she learned how to make lasagna from her mom, and she passed it on to me. I'm sure my family has passed this recipe down for several generations."

"Well, it was delicious," said Max. "So is this wine. I feel so relaxed compared to earlier in the office. It was buzzing like a beehive all day. I'm glad it's not like that every day. I'd be a raging alcoholic by now if it were."

"Speaking of good wine, here, let me give you a refresher," as I poured more vino into Max's half-empty glass. "Drink up because I want you relaxed when we go upstairs."

"Uh-oh. What do you have planned, sista?" asked Max.

"Just what I said today. I need some cuddle love tonight. My mind got beat up and bombarded with horrible visions of what people do to each other everywhere, every day. This wine has helped gather up the tension and throw it the fuck out of my head, but now I need your warm body next to mine to coat me with your brown sugar lovin'."

"I've never heard that one before, but I think I like it. Come on, baby, let's go upstairs so I can coat you with some love."

And so the rest of the evening went--loving touches, tender kissing, soft cuddling.

March 29, 7:30 a.m.

"I can't tell you how much I needed that last night, Max. I've become addicted to you.

"Hon, I have to tell you, I feel the same way. In case you haven't already figured it out, I love you. I'm still not sure if that makes me a lesbian, bisexual, or other. I just know what I feel and could care less about labels."

"I started falling in love with you five minutes after you first walked into my office, and it's just grown more powerful each day since then," I replied.

"Well, on that, I guess we should head off to work," said Max.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

March 29, 8:15 a.m.

"Well, good morning, love birds," said Nora as Max and I walked into the office with telltale smiles on our faces.

"Happy Wednesday to you, too," I replied.

"We hung out last night without having sex," said Max. "You should try it sometime, Nora."

I sought sanction from the usual morning banter in the office and closed the door.

9:40 a.m.

"Nikki, call for you. It's our old friend Frank Romano," said Nora through the intercom.

What the hell does he want. I'm sorry. No, we haven't found Vinnie De Luca. What do you expect? You don't even know if he's in California. He died in Mauritius, but that's a secret you'll never know.

"Okay, Nora, put him through."

"Here he is."

"Mr. Romano, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Nikki. Now, shut your mouth and listen carefully. Unless I help, your man Barton is eventually going down for the murder of Amanda Winsor. If you cooperate, I can help. If you don't, I have more evidence that I can anonymously provide to the Oakland Police Department, and that evidence will nail Barton's coffin so tight, rats won't even be able to get in."

"What the hell are you talking about, Frank?" I demanded.

"I knew the first time I met you that you were hiding something about Vinnie De Luca. You either know where he is or know something about him that would help me find him. If you don't tell me what you know, your boy Barton is going away for good."

"Look, Frank. I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm sure. Why would you think I know anything about Vinnie De Luca?"

"It's something in your eyes. You can lie, but they can't. I recognized something." "That's all well and downright outrageous, but what do you know about Amanda? Did you have something to do with her disappearance?"

"I'm not stupid enough to say anything about that over an unsecured line that you might be recording. I want to meet with you somewhere tonight after work, and I'll show you mine, and you'd better show me yours. Where do you want to meet?" asked Frank.

I paused, trying to think of a place that was private but not too remote.

"I know of a place that's not too far from my office. I don't know where you are, but this works for me. There's a Casper's hot dog restaurant on Telegraph Avenue right at 55th Street. It's about one block from the Highway 580 onramp. They have a large parking lot. I'll meet you at the rear of the parking lot next to the fence back there. I'll be there at 7 p.m."

"I'll be there. I guess I don't have to tell you not to call the police," said Frank.

"Yeah, yeah. But I plan on bringing a friend of mine as a witness."

"Just don't try anything funny. I'll be armed, and I won't hesitate to do whatever I need to do to finish our business and leave still breathing."

"I'm still not sure what you think I know about Vinnie, but I'll be there at 7 p.m."

"See ya then," replied Frank as he hung up.

"Nora, please ask Max to come to my office, please."

"Hey, babe, what's up?" asked Max as she walked into my office and took her usual seat.

"I just heard from our client Frank Romano."

"Yeah, I remember him. He's the guy that undressed me with his eyes when I walked into the office as he was leaving. What a creep. What did he want?" asked Max.

"He seems to think I'm hiding something about Vinnie De Luca. He thinks I know where he's at or how to find him. What the fuck would give him that idea?" I said with a chuckle.

"I know. So what's the plan?" asked Max.

"We're meeting tonight. Frank says he has evidence that can clear Barton of anything to do with Amanda's disappearance. He also said that if I don't cooperate with him, he has evidence that will get Barton convicted of Amanda's murder. Frank is acting like it's his turn to raise the bet in a game of five-card draw, and he's sitting there with a royal flush. But I know this guy. I knew him back in Chicago, and I know him now. He's full of shit, and he's bluffing. But he must have recognized something about me, and that's what's making him think I know something. Jesus.

"Anyway, I'd like you to go with me tonight. Do you have your Ruger.380 in your purse?" I asked.

"I never leave home without it. You need to get one for your purse. The price for a Ruger.380 is between $400 and $550. Knowing it's in your purse, ready to use when the shit hits the fan--priceless."

"You should make TV commercials for Ruger, girl," I replied.

"Yeah, I know. I'll be ready to go when you are."

6:30 p.m.

"You ready to go, Max?" I asked.

"My Ruger and I are ready to go," she replied.

CASPER'S HOT DOG RESTAURANT PARKING LOT

5440 TELEGRAPH AVENUE, OAKLAND

March 29, 6:55 p.m.

"You know what would be funny?" said Max.

"What would be funny, Max?"

"If this goombah didn't even show up."

"I'd love it if I never heard from Mr. Romano again," I said. "But I'm sure he'll show. He sounded too serious not to bother showing up."

Frank was late; he showed up at 7:10 p.m. I had backed my car up to the fence in the back of the parking lot. Three or four cars in the lot belonged to Casper's customers, but I knew Frank's car as soon as it pulled into the lot off of Telegraph. It was a newer model Cadillac, and Frank's profile filled the driver's side of the car. He had a woman passenger with him. I flashed my headlights so that Frank knew it was me.

He pulled his Cadillac next to my car so that his driver's side was opposite my driver's side, turned his engine off, and he and his passenger got out at the same time.

I was caught totally by surprise, as was Max. The passenger walking around the back of the Cadillac was none other than Amanda.

"Holy shit," I said to Max. "What the hell?"

Max and I got out of my car and walked to the front of it, standing about six feet from Frank and Amanda. I was clueless as to what Frank had in mind, but the two of them looked very cozy with each other, so I decided to improvise and see how much shit I could stir up.

I'm pretty good at grabbing the bull by the balls and guiding it where I want.

"Hey, baby," I said as I walked up to Frank and planted a long kiss right on his lips.

I had to focus so that I didn't gag in front of everyone present. That would take some wind out of my plan.

"What's she doing here? I thought you said you were going to dump her before tonight."

Max stood there in stunned silence. What the hell is Nikki doing?

"What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch?" said Frank in response to the unexpected kiss. He was as much in the dark as everyone else, including Amanda, his current piece of arm candy. Amanda's eyes were filling with fire, and the expression on her face would scare the shit out of Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers.

"Frank! What the hell is going on?" demanded Amanda.

"I don't know, baby. She is trying to pull somethin', and I don't know what it is."

"Oh, come on, Frank. Don't go soft on me now. You said she was nothing but a good lay, and you were already growing tired of her and her whining. You were supposed to have cut her loose by now. I'm starting to doubt your abilities here, darlin'."

"Nikki, I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but it won't work. I'm with Amanda."

"Yeah, you red-haired bitch," shouted Amanda. "Frank would never waste his time on a skank like you."

"Is that right?" I replied. "What if I could prove to you that he's been with me? Would that make you believe what I'm saying? He was getting ready to dump you, sister. He was tired of you."

"How do you think you could prove anything to me?" said Amanda.

"I didn't want to have to do this, Frankie boy," I said, adding a wink like I used to do in the old days back in Shy Town, "but you leave me no choice.

"Okay, Miss Amanda. How would I know that Frankie boy here has a tattoo on his left butt cheek that says Frank The Knife? and that he has another tattoo on his lower stomach--I mean low enough to encroach on his rather substantial man bush--of a knife? Explain how I would know that unless he was butt naked with me?"

I know all of this because when I was back in Chicago, Frank used to brag about the number of women he slept with and his pet tattoos. It serves you right for bragging, Frank, you douchebag.

"Frank, you sonofabitch. You just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you? We were going to find Vinnie De Luca and take whatever money he has left and go somewhere tropical where no one could ever find us, including the Genna family. You were gonna dump me for this skank? I can't believe it!"

"Believe it, blondie. Frank was going to dump you like last week's leftovers, and he was going to take me with him after we killed Vinnie De Luca and got our hands on his money. His millions of dollars. Frank was gonna leave you with nothing. You must realize that deep inside. You're just not his type," I continued.

While this concocted scene is playing through to its conclusion, Frank couldn't help but wonder how I knew these personal things about him. No one outside of Chicago could understand these things. And the only person who ever called him Frankie Boy was--"you've got to be shitting me," yelled Frank when he figured out who I really was. Frank figured the secret out, but by then, it was too late.

"You're not Nikki Fontaine," yelled Frank. "Vinnie? Is that you? What the fuck."

They say a person never hears the shot that kills them. Perhaps that was a good thing for Frank. Before he could even start to wrap his mind around the truth that was staring him in the face, fate intervened and sent Frank packing to the afterlife with my secret still safe. Well, almost. But who would ever believe a story like that, especially from a skank like Amanda.

"You fucking bastard," screamed Amanda, her temper getting hotter and hotter. She yanked a handgun out of her purse and aimed it at Frank. Her goal was to scare him into telling her the truth, but she was so excited that her hands were shaking, and she accidentally fired her 9 mm into Frank. The hollow-point bullet pierced Frank's skull right between the eyes, spraying blood and brain matter from the large hole in the back of his head created by the exiting bullet, and his lifeless body toppled to the asphalt like a giant oak tree in a storm.

Amanda stood there in shock at what she had done. It was an accident, but the two police officers inside the squad car that was pulling into the parking lot right about the time Amanda accidentally pulled the trigger wouldn't believe her for a second. Especially after Max and I said that Amanda and Frank were fighting, and she pulled out her gun and shot him in a fit of rage.

It was a lucky night for Max and me that the cops showed up when they did. It was an unlucky night for Amanda that these two Oakland police officers drop by Casper's every night about this time to get their hot dog fix. Casper's hot dogs are some of the best hot dogs around. And Frank? Let's just say that he never expected to end his days lying in a pool of his own blood and brain matter in the parking lot of a fucking hot dog joint.

Max and I gave our statements to the police officers and were allowed to leave. Amanda had been found, and Barton would be cleared of any charges in her disappearance. She was going to jail--for a very long time.

"Do you think the cops believed your story about meeting our friends, Frank and Amanda, for dinner at a goddamn Casper's hot dog restaurant?" asked Max.

"Hey, you're not from around here. Casper's hot dogs are that good," I replied. "Kind of like getting a melt in your mouth beignet at Café du Monde in New Orleans-- with raspberry dipping sauce. You know what I mean?" I said with a huge, cocky smile on my face.

"How'd you know about the Café du Monde? I'd kill for one of their beignets right now."

"So, are you up for a hot dog?" I asked.

"Hell no. You up for some good food? Let's go to the Marica Restaurant over on College Avenue. I love their Cajun barbecued shrimp. How's that sound?"

"Hey, we got rid of Frank The Knife and his crazy-ass girlfriend, and we're still alive. I'm up for anything. Let's go celebrate."

The Coroner had picked up Frank's body, and as the police cruiser pulled away with

Amanda in the back seat, still in shock, she couldn't help but think. We found you, Vinnie, you sonofabitch. You can try hiding as a skanky woman, but you'd better keep an eye on your six, because they'll be coming. I'll make sure of that.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

March 30, 9:45 a.m.

Max and I talked in my office with the door closed, deciding how much of what had happened the previous night we would tell our crew. Barton was at home today, still reeling from this jail experience. He was sitting at his dining room table, contemplating the rest of his life. He hadn't a clue what path fate would call upon him to travel.

We were still talking in my office. Jessie was at her desk, using her computer to find out as much as she could about Maya Nazari's parents and where they could be hiding her. And Nora was sitting at her desk filing her nails and being--well, Nora.

Everyone stopped what they were doing on a dime and bolted their gazes towards the front of the office when they heard the door crash open with the intensity of massive waves pummeling a rocky shore during a storm. It was sudden. It was dramatic.

Three men wearing ski masks invaded the office, brandishing large caliber handguns.

Nora was the first person the intruders saw. She dropped both her file and her jaw, sitting there in stunned silence.

"We want Danny and Dooley," said the man that appeared to be the leader. "Where are they?"

I wasn't prone to panic. Neither was Max. It was probably fortunate for Max that she had left her Ruger.380 in her purse hung over the chair in her office; otherwise, she might do something foolish.

I quickly picked up my cell phone and dialed Dooley's number. Dooley answered after two rings.

"Dooley, this is Nikki. I think we're about to be taken hostage by three men wearing masks. They're demanding to see you and Danny. I'll leave my phone on in case they say something that lets you know who they are or what they want. I think--"

"Hey, you. Get off the fucking phone and get out here, both of you," yelled the leader of the pack.

I casually slid my cell phone into the belt around my waist. Hopefully, it would keep picking up conversations. These dumbshits aren't even smart enough to take our cell phones from us.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Danny and Dooley are not here. They rarely are. We only see them once, sometimes twice a week. They're off doing their own thing."

"We need to find them. It's time for some payback. I found out about Danny and Dooley from someone I know in the towing business. Dooley's the guy that shot us. Now we want to return the favor. You know what I mean?"

"I have an idea," I replied.

I was standing outside my office door, and Max was standing at my side.

"Well, ain't you a sweet piece of chocolate pie," said one of the leader's sidekicks as he moved his eyes up and down Max's body. "I might just take you home wiff me."

"That wouldn't be a very bright idea," replied Max.

"What why is that, bitch?" he asked.

"Because I don't play well with assholes like you."

"You watch your mouth, momma, else I'll come over there and adjust your face."

Max didn't feel the need to respond. She just leered back at him.

"Okay, ladies. Y'all are comin' with us. Let's go," said the leader.

Jessie had been trying to remain unnoticed and just sat quietly at her desk. She wasn't successful.

"Hey, you back there. Get yo ass out here and join the party."

Jessie stood up and walked with tentative steps to the center of the office and joined the rest of her workmates.

"Let's go," said the man as he waved his gun around to show he was in charge.

The masked men marched all of us out the front door and into a dark green minivan parked right in front of the office. The three men did their best to conceal their weapons once we were outside the office.

Kidnappers aren't always the sharpest nails in the box. Hiding their guns did little to stop the spotlight of attention from illuminating the fact that they were all wearing ski masks and rushing four hostages into a minivan.