SNAP: The World Unfolds

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

On the way to the office, Carlos and I had a chat.

“I know you and Paco talked to Spidery Voice.  What did he say?”

“Spidery Voice?  Why do you call him that?”

“When he told me to be quiet, his voice sounded like he had laryngitis or something. It’s was eerie.”

“His voice is odd.  When he finally opened up, he told us that he’d been choked in a prison attack. He was in the infirmary for a couple of weeks and it damaged his vocal chords permanently.  Surenos use him for times when they want to spook a target.”

“So he was really sent out for me.  Who hired him?”

“He said two guys approached the Surenos for some one to do a grab, but that the grabber had to be frightening.  They assigned Spidery Voice, whose street name is actually Voice, because he’s small and doesn’t look intimidating.  Until you get up close and see the tear, but then it’s too late.  He never saw the guys who hired him, he was just assigned.”

“Where does that leave us, then?”

“Oh, I’m sure it was the Huszars Voice was given a phone number and the name Matt to call when he had you safely tucked away, then he was going to hand you off.  We checked the phone number; it’s a voicemail box that forwards messages.  One of the forwarding numbers is in Hungary.”

“Did you let him go?  What’s next?”

“We let him go.  After meeting us, I don’t think the Surenos will take on a job for anyone from Hungary again.”

“My God, how badly did you hurt him?”

“Not bad.  It was what we said, what we showed him, not what we did to him.”

I was silent.  What did they show Voice?  The gangs in L.A. were sure of themselves; this was home turf for the Crips, Bloods, Nortenous, Surenos and other Mexican Mafia groups.   They beefed with each other and occasionally with the cops.  I doubted they’d ever run into demons before.

Jazz had coffee, messages and notes ready when I walked in to my office, leaving Carlos to peel off to his cubicle. 

“OK.”  I took a sip of coffee.  “What’s the book on the new SNAP girl, or girls.”  I was pretty sure that Jazz had the inside track on rumor and she didn’t disappoint.

“The blond, the one without implants, will be offered an exploratory contract tomorrow for a shoot at Disneyland and three club appearances.  What’s Anderson Cooper call them?  ‘Show ups and throw ups?’  The two dark girls will get makeovers and a modeling contract for six months.  They’ll be tracked for any other buzz generated, and then evaluated.”

I thought back to my talk with Jean-Louis last night about Jazz.  She was too valuable at SNAP to jeopardize any need I may have for a friend or confidant.  Regulars made up more than ninety percent of the worldwide staff at SNAP and I was one of the few employees who were expected to bridge the groups. Jazz’ ties to the L.A. gossip vine was a way to keep on top of things.

“Thanks.  I know I can count on you to keep me in the loop.”  I smiled at her.  Today she wore a short, straight skirt and layered a long tee and an over-sized shirt. She looked young, hip and urban professional.

“Have you ever had a makeover?” I appraised her and watched for a reaction.

She shook her head.  “No.  I kind of hinted to your predecessor, but he didn’t take the hint.”  She pursed her lips and shrugged.