by MJ O'Neill
Detective Lambert left me with a warning to stay out of their way then let me go. I was relieved that another trip to the police station hadn’t resulted in newspaper headlines. As I climbed into my wagon, the phone rang.
I never could have afforded a phone. Claude had been worried about getting me a message if something happened to Grand, so he had graciously supplied me with one.
“It’s Tony,” a gruff voice said into my phone.
“I’m sorry?” I didn’t know a Tony.
“You know, Sheila.”
“Oh, hi. I’m sorry, but I’m at the point that I think it would be harmful to my psychological health if I parted with any more of my shoes right now.”
“I’d imagine. That is some collection. But that’s not why I’m calling. I think I’ve got something for you.”
“Really?”
“Can you meet me at Roxy’s, Third and Main?”
“That’s not the best neighborhood for this time of night.” I wanted the information. I just didn’t want to get mugged in the process of retrieving it.
“It’s a strip club. What other kind of neighborhood do you think it’d be in?”
“All right. I’ll grab DC and be there soon.”
I called DC as I drove to the club from the police station. I was glad to have something to take my mind off things. Plus, I’d never been to a strip club before. Those women always seemed so exotic.
“I can’t go to a strip club with you,” DC said.
“Of course you can.”
“Momma wouldn’t like it. Neither would Kimi.”
“I thought you broke up?”
“I’m hoping for reconciliation, and anyway, I try not to get them both angry at the same time. Why don’t you get Burns to go with you? It would be good practice for you two playing boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“I can’t believe you even suggested that. I’ll be there to get you in thirty, and wear something appropriate.”
I had decided not to go home to change. I knew I looked like a prissy prude in my double-breasted gray Donna Karan pantsuit that I had chosen to wear to the station. Detective Lambert hadn’t said what the visit would be about, and I had wanted to look presentable if reporters were on the scene. Going home to change, though, would mean answering questions I didn’t want to answer.
First, there would be questions about what the detectives wanted. Both Mom and Grand had been nervous about Detective Lambert’s call. Then there would be questions about where I was going. Whatever I would wear to a strip club would be sure to solicit inquiries.
Plus, Grand would want to come. She had said she hadn’t been able to investigate much lately and was worried her skills were getting rusty. While I applauded her ambition, I wasn’t prepared to take Grand to a strip club. The Donna Karan would have to do.
DC emerged from his apartment in his black leather shooting-range outfit. He stood on the sidewalk.
I reached over and rolled the window down. “Why are you wearing that?”
“You didn’t say if we were going as customers or dancers. And you should park. We are not taking a vehicle that screams ‘steal me for parts’ to that section of town,” he said.
“All right. I’ll park. We can take the boat.”
We drove DC’s car, and he pulled into a crowded parking lot. Glittery, curvy letters blinked one at a time to spell out Roxy’s. We went around to the back as Sheila had suggested.
In front of the door stood a large bouncer in a black uniform with hot-pink curvy lettering that matched the club’s sign. He watched as DC and I approached. DC tried to pretend he didn’t notice him.
“You can’t go in there.” The bouncer pushed the door closed.
“Why the hell not?”
“I’m pretty sure neither of you are dancers,” the bouncer said, looking us over.
While DC argued with the taciturn bouncer, I texted Sheila. The bouncer’s insults continued as I typed.
“I’m going to have my lawyer file an NAACP lawsuit on your ass,” DC said.
“Sheila’s waiting for us at the other door.” As I pulled DC along with me, he continued to bark at the bouncer around the corner.
“Don’t you look stunning,” Sheila said as we approached the back door. I couldn’t tell if the compliment had been meant for me or DC.
“You must be talking to Kat, because I look badass.” DC smoothed his leather.
As we got closer, I realized I didn’t recognize Sheila—or Tony, I supposed—out of drag. He’d traded in his spiked wig and short skirt for a black silk button-down and nicely cut slacks.
“I can’t believe you let your woman work in a place like this. That bouncer was either sexist or racist or maybe both,” DC said.
“She likes it here. The pay’s good, and she gets dental now.”
“I get that you can’t underestimate the power of a good dental plan, but sheesh. This isn’t the fifties.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you. Do you prefer Sheila or Tony?” I asked.
“It’s Tony when I’m with my lady. Come on in.”
The back area of the strip club was part pageant, part Moulin Rouge. Beautiful scantily clad women ran around putting on makeup, changing costumes, and practicing dance moves.
“Wait here a minute. I need to see if she’s ready,” Tony said.
“What’s this all about?” DC asked.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t have had you come if it weren’t big. You need to hear this.” He looked back and forth as if to make sure no one had overheard him and then disappeared.
He left us by the stage opening. A woman in a Cleopatra outfit was down to her tassels. The bright lights beamed off her gold-chain headdress. Two more women worked poles that stood on opposite ends of the bar top. A bachelor party took up most of the front row. It looked like a pretty good crowd for a Wednesday.
“Hey, I think Meg has that outfit,” DC said, pointing at someone on stage. “You don’t think Meg’s really a stripper, do you?”
“No, that’s just a great outfit. Maybe Henry is, and that’s why he’s being blackmailed.” I smiled.
“Or cranky-ass Jaffe. Can you see him in sequins and pasties?” DC asked.
I could, actually, which made me giggle.
“Okay, come this way, but I’m warning you, she’s scared, so go easy,” Tony said.
I was surprised when Tony took us down the stage entrance and out into the crowd. DC almost fell down the stairs in his shoes.
“I didn’t think places like this were usually busy on a weeknight,” I yelled to Tony.
“Oh, yeah, usually it’s quieter, but it’s the Jell-O-wrestling Olympic tryouts tonight.” Tony pointed ahead at a large, quivering vat. It glowed under the black light.
He took us to a side room. Its door had an outline of a champagne glass next to the sparkly VIP lettering.
Inside, a blonde wearing four-inch hot-pink stilettos paced back and forth while knocking together her two pink-boxing-glove-covered hands. She looked like Rocky Balboa in heels. Raised black letters that spelled Rocky protruded from her butt.
“There you are, baby,” Tony said.
Another woman appeared out of the far dark corner. She had long, curly black hair and wore a leopard-print bikini. Tony embraced the woman, so I guessed she was his girlfriend.
The blonde pushed aside her flyaway hair that had been cut sharp at the ends, revealing dark eye makeup that would have given Meg a run for her money. “Jesus, Tony, Sasha and I were starting to think something had gone wrong.” She shook her arms as if trying to shake off her nerves.
“We had an issue with Alex.”
“Is that the name of the sexist, racist bouncer?” DC asked.
“That’s him. How you doing, DC? Love the leather.”
Sasha and DC exchanged a quick embrace.
“Adrian, this is Kat, the woman I was talking about. We’ll leave you two alone,” Sasha said, pulling DC toward the door.
“Oh no, we won�
��t. I am not going back out there. I think someone grabbed my butt.” DC rubbed his leather.
“It’s okay. He don’t look like no threat,” Adrian said.
Sasha and I both laughed.
“If I didn’t think it’d get me kicked back out into the man mob, I’d protest your snickers,” DC said.
“Adrian, why don’t you tell us what you saw?” Sasha said.
“All right, but you didn’t hear it from me. I don’t want to end up dead like that other girl.”
“You saw her get whacked?” DC’s eyes went wide.
“No. But I saw her get dumped.”
“Really? You’re sure it was her?” I asked.
“Look, lady, we might be hard up, but we don’t have dead bodies being dropped outside our dumpsters every day.”
“Of course not. Did you see who dumped her?” I asked.
“No, but I heard her. I was sitting on the side of the dumpster.”
“What are you, Supergirl with X-ray hearing?” DC asked.
“Don’t make fun of me, or you can go back into the man pack. Her suit makes a sound.”
“Suit?” I asked.
“Yeah, you know, like DC’s pants,” Sasha said.
“Before I got this job, I briefly worked at one of the local dungeons,” Adrian continued.
“She doesn’t mean kings and queens, Kat. She means whips and chains.” DC smiled.
“I guessed that.” I hadn’t, but okay.
“The madam’s rubber kink suit made this loud, strange squeaking noise. The woman who dumped the body made the exact same noise. I’m sure it was her.”
“Do you know who she is?” I asked.
“Not her real name. But I can give you the address of the dungeon.”
We got the address and said our goodbyes. As we walked across the club floor, my mind raced, trying to figure out what in the world a madam had to do with the missing body and the Russian and why they had stolen her from the morgue.
“I’ll go pull the car around. That way, we won’t have to deal with the bouncer from hell again,” DC said.
I waited for him, watching all the strippers get ready for the Jell-O contest.
“What are you staring at? You got a problem with me?”
I gulped. I had been staring at a beautiful woman with long, straight platinum-blond hair and a perfect nose and lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. Do you always go without foundation when you put on your makeup?”
“She always this nosy?” she asked Sasha.
“Ah, she’s okay, Jen.” Sasha nodded at me.
The woman waited for me to continue.
“If you must know, I haven’t been able to find a foundation that won’t run in the lights and that doesn’t clog my pores.”
“Oh! Have I got a product for you,” I said and pulled out a tube of my friend Carrie’s foundation. “It’s organic and fantastic for stage lights, and best of all, it’s super cheap because the 4-H kids in Farmington make it. I’ll get you the info if you’re interested.”
Jen took off the cap and sniffed. “Smells nice.”
“What’s that, Jen?” Some other ladies had joined us.
In my best pageant-circuit teaching voice, I said, “Even women as beautiful as Jen must use a foundation before applying stage makeup. And you might have been told to match the color to your skin tone, but the truth is, for stage wear, you should really apply a foundation one or two shades darker than your natural skin tone. That way, you won’t wash out under the lights. This product is custom-made for just that purpose.”
“What are you, some Broadway queen?” Jen asked, looking at me.
“Ladies, you are in the presence of Miss Missouri’s two-time”—Tony held up two fingers—“award winner for best makeup.”
“No shit?” Jen said.
“You got any other tips you could give us?” Sasha asked.
“Sure. The two most important tools in any pageant girl’s toolbox are her can of hair spray and her petroleum jelly.”
“We got lots of jelly around here,” one of the girls said from the back.
Everyone giggled.
“Great. Put a dab on your teeth before you go on stage, and you’ll be able to smile for hours, effortlessly.”
“For real? I’m going to have to try that one.”
We swapped a few more tips, and I began to wonder whether DC might have found some trouble with that bouncer. Sasha sent Tony to find him.
“Do you like stripping?” I asked Sasha.
“It’s okay for now. I like to dance, and I like the costumes. I know how to get people to pay attention to me now, and I don’t just mean by taking off my clothes. There’s a real art to engaging a customer for something intimate like a lap dance and making them feel like they’re the only one in the room, like you’re excited to be with them even though it’s your fiftieth dance of the night.”
“Do you think you could teach that to someone?”
“Honey, I don’t think you need lessons in how to get people to pay attention.”
“Oh, it’s not for me. I have a friend. There’s a man, and he’s kind of dense.”
“Do I know that type! You bring her by here, and we’ll take care of everything.”
Tony came through the door.
“Tell me the police aren’t involved, baby,” Sasha said.
“No, but DC might need a new outfit.”
Chapter 16
Burns: We talked about this. I’m the muscle, you’re the info collector. You shouldn’t go there alone
Kat: I wasn’t going to
Burns: DC does not count as backup
Kat: Spoilsport. You’re stuck with a client all night. This could be our big break.
Burns: Exactly. Big breaks come with big bad guys
Kat: It’s a madam. She can’t be that dangerous, and you taught me how to shoot, remember. We’ll only scope the place out. Get information. I promise
Burns: Why do I have a bad feeling about this?
“What did he say?” DC asked once I’d finished reading the texts and pulled out of the club’s parking lot. He tried to wipe the gunk from his pants. He had injured his driving foot in the fight with the bouncer, twisting it in a sewer grate and landing in a scary puddle of goo, so I was driving. I’d never driven a car that big.
“That we should wait for him. I don’t want to wait. There could be information in all of this that would free my dad. I’ve been wrong. And I don’t mean white-pants-after-Labor-Day wrong. I’ve been cheap-foundation-left-on-overnight-no-moisturizer wrong. I’ve been so wrapped up with my own worries, I haven’t been the most supportive daughter. This could be my chance to help him.”
“So you think we should go check this out?”
“Consider it an opportunity to prove to Kimi what a hero you are.”
“What do you mean?” DC asked, sounding wary.
“We’d be like superheroes, saving the city from the bad guys.”
“I do look good in tights.”
“Plus, if we rescue the body from this kinky house, people will stop shooting at you, and then Kimi won’t have a reason to break up with you anymore. So really, this is as much for you as it is for me.”
“You might have a point.” He was quiet for a few minutes. He wiggled his ankle round and round on the car dash. “Okay. If we’re going to be superheroes, I need to change.”
“Excellent! That will give you a chance to get us some weapons and things to make a diversion,” I said.
“What kind of things?”
“I don’t know. I’m not that far in the PI for Dummies book yet.”
“I’ll improvise,” DC said.
A few minutes later, I pulled into a space in front of DC’s loft. “Don’t take forever.”
Twenty-five minutes later, a masked man emerged from the door of the building, dressed in a black spandex shirt and black tights. A cape spread out behind him. He carried a man purse and struggled with the weight of it.<
br />
“What are you wearing?”
“A superhero has to be properly attired. Plus, my shooting outfit’s ruined.”
“The mask has to go. You look like a burglar.”
“It’s too hot, anyway,” he said, ripping it off. “I need one of those half face masks like Batman has.” He eyed my attire. “Maybe you should change? I could put something together for you too if you want.”
“I’ll be the well-dressed yet plain-clothed sidekick. I wouldn’t want to overshadow your ninja prowess.” I was thankful for the excuse.
“I understand. Remember, there are no small parts, only small actors.”
We drove to the address Adrian had given us.
“That’s a kink house?” DC and I both stared at the cute ranch bungalow in the middle of the quiet suburban neighborhood. It had maroon shutters and several lawn gnomes.
“I guess they can’t really have signs that advertise it. A hiding-in-plain-sight kind of thing. Like the contraband Grand steals from our old house.”
“I don’t see any cars,” he said.
“Adrian said it emptied out around dinnertime. The madam only takes private appointments on some nights. The front is that it’s a private therapist’s in-home office. That way, the traffic coming and going isn’t conspicuous. So, no nighttime appointments. Less risky. First task will be to break in. What did you bring?” I asked.
DC dumped out his backpack, and a menagerie of As Seen on TV products emptied onto the seat.
“Good gosh, I said bring weapons. What is all of this?”
“I’m not a mob princess like you. I don’t have any weapons, so I improvised.”
I lifted up the first thing that looked remotely weapon-like. “What does this do?”
“It’s a cucumber cannon. It’s supposed to be the ultimate in vegetable-slicing preparation. The first time we used it, we almost put a cucumber hole in the side of the kitchen. I thought it would be perfect for today. I even brought ammo,” he said, pulling two cucumbers and a small frozen chicken from a grocery bag.
“What’s with the chicken?”
“Electric turkey fryer. It’ll set off a small explosion.”
“That’s a myth, you know. They don’t really explode. But it will make a nice fireball.”