It couldn’t hurt, and given her dislike for technology, I was glad she’d mastered those features on her phone. Parenting had forced her to change a few things.
“Okay, but we should go soon.”
I sat near Bruno and motioned for Kenna to do the same.
“Let him get used to us. I think you’re supposed to let them smell you.”
Bruno lowered his head, wagged his tail, and came closer, melting my heart.
“Thank goodness for foster families, huh?” I said to him.
And yet I sensed that Kat had felt trapped, only willing to depend on the one person who’d always been there for her: herself.
Four
We stopped at home and learned that the license plate XOTC-RYD belonged to fifty-four-year-old Robert Lutz, who lived about five miles away. He had a clean local criminal record and one speeding ticket in the past five years. His age made me uncomfortable, to say the least. What legitimate reason could he have to pick up Kat or any other teen?
Meanwhile, several databases confirmed that a couple in their forties lived at Joey’s address, and it made sense they’d have a teen.
We hopped back in the van and made it to Lutz’s in under ten minutes.
Instead of a limo in his driveway, we found a Honda Accord on blocks, and to his credit, Lutz was under it.
“Help you?” he asked, sliding out on a rolling cart. He was pudgy, unshaven, and wearing an unflattering sleeveless shirt. (I couldn’t call it a “wife beater,” since the term gave me the willies.) He looked every bit of his fifty-four years.
“Hi, Mr. Lutz,” I greeted him. “I’m Nicki, and this is my partner, Kenna.” I explained that we were PIs and that his limo had been at a location we were investigating.
“Dammit,” he said, getting to his feet. “What has Bobby gotten himself into this time?”
“Bobby?” Kenna said.
“My son. I loaned him the limo so he could make some money. Now it’s probably gonna cost me. Tell me what happened.”
“The limo picked up a young woman we’re looking for, and we want to ask him about it.”
“Oh.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Well, he drives for a limo service or something. Sorry I don’t know the name.”
“No problem. You said Bobby’s had some problems. I’m sorry about that. Raising kids is the hardest job in the world. What kind of trouble has he gotten into?”
“Accidents, drinking, gambling. God, he didn’t hurt anyone, did he?”
“Would that be like him?”
“Not so far. You want his address?”
“That would be great,” Kenna said. “And his phone number. And email, if you have it.”
I pulled a pen and pad from my purse and jotted down the details, which Mr. Lutz said might not be current. They were estranged, he said, and when Bobby called, it was generally about needing money, shelter, or something else. He was almost thirty but apparently in denial about it.
“What’s the significance of the license plate?” I asked him before we left.
“What license plate?”
“On the limo. XOTC-RYD.”
He shook his head. “What? I have no idea. Bobby must have ordered that.”
“The license plate is in your name though. Did he do that without your knowledge?”
“Must have. Bobby’s short for Robert Jr. Giving him my name was the worst mistake I ever made. He’s used my credit cards, address, whatever he can get his hands on. Next time, I’m calling the police. Seems like no one questions him but me.”
That was about to change.
“What if Robert Sr. was driving the limo and he’s blaming it on his son?” I commented as we drove away.
“I thought the same thing, but he seemed genuinely confused about the license plate.”
“He did. And as much as I’d like to see Bobby, we’ve got to get home.”
She looked at her phone. “You’re right. Do you guys have soccer practice tonight?”
“Unfortunately.”
I sighed. My evening would be spent walking between two fields, checking on both kids. I never knew when one might have a bathroom need, injury, or early end to practice. The coaches were volunteers, and sometimes their work responsibilities took precedence. Ever since one coach left before all the kids were picked up, and another coach never arrived, I’d stayed for every practice. I’d resisted the urge to get my kids cell phones, but it was tempting. First and third grade seemed so young, and the expense was daunting.
“When will you be home?” Kenna asked.
“Six-ish.”
“Anything I can do while you’re gone?”
I had a few things in mind, and one was a priority: Find a babysitter.
Grandparents are godsends, and since my mom had been on call for years, I appreciated that Kenna’s parents would monitor the kids while they had a “sleepover” at Kenna’s house. Sky was only two, and mine had never been to a real sleepover (other than at Kenna’s), so they had the misimpression that sleepovers involve lots of sleeping. I hoped no one would correct that anytime soon.
When everyone was tucked in and drifting off, we thanked Nana and Papa profusely, checked in with our significant others, turned up our cell phones, and headed out.
“This is great,” Kenna said as we pulled out of my driveway, our favorite rap station spitting explicit lyrics. “We never go out at night, especially alone.”
“I know.” I opened the sunroof. “Let’s ride like this for five minutes, and then we’ll get serious.”
Kenna pumped up the volume, and we sang along, not caring how ridiculous we sounded and looked.
“Okay,” I said after two songs. “Let’s talk.”
We reviewed how to question Bobby, whose father had been right about his address and background. He had a history of unpaid bills and DUIs. Definitely not someone who should be a chauffeur. I wondered if there was any chance he’d submitted his dad’s much-cleaner driving record to get work.
I handed Kenna my phone and asked her to keep an eye on my navigation app.
“I know where I am. Just make sure I don’t miss a turn.”
As I pulled onto Bobby’s street, my headlights rested on a long, old limo pulling out of a driveway. I slowed to give it space and recognized the license plate.
“Holy crap,” Kenna said. “That’s him. Should we follow him?”
“Absolutely. I just hope it’s him driving, and I wish we weren’t so close or in one car.”
Tailing someone without getting spotted was infinitely easier with two vehicles. One person could always turn away while the other followed, and then you could switch places.
“I can’t see anything through his tinted windows. Do you see anything in his side mirror?” Kenna asked.
“Nope. Hopefully he can’t see us either.”
We traveled through the neighborhood and onto a busy road that led downtown. As the streets got seedier and emptier, I backed off slightly.
“Where is he going?” I said as he put on his right blinker. “What street is that? Does it have an easy way out?”
“Ummm.” Kenna’s technophobia was rearing its ugly head. “I think it’s Baker Street.”
I skipped using my blinker, turned behind the limo, and immediately regretted it when a DEAD END sign stared us right in the face.
“Oh, crap,” Kenna said. “I saw that too late.”
There was nothing to do except follow and frantically look for a turnaround spot. Nothing appeared, and the limo pulled into a lot at the end of the street, where the driver started to turn around. Maybe he’d gone the wrong way too. I pulled into a space as if I was parking, taking in our surroundings and realizing we were behind XXXTC, a “gentlemen’s” club.
After the limo pulled away, I hit reverse, ready to move. But the limo
stopped, blocking my path, and the driver’s door opened.
“Stay calm,” I said, as much to myself as to Kenna. “And keep your cell phone with you.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“I don’t know, but if we get desperate, we’ll run into that club.”
She pocketed her phone while muttering, “I’m so sorry.”
“We wanted to meet Bobby. Maybe now we will.”
A man who looked about thirty and a bit like Bobby Sr., including the paunch, got out and glared at us. Then he threw up his hands in a “WTF?” gesture. Great. We’d upset him.
Too far away to be heard well, I stepped out with my door as a shield, hoping to be reassuring, and Kenna followed suit.
“Are you ladies following me?”
Because I didn’t want to abandon Kenna (or the case) by bolting, I did the unexpected. I called out a friendly, non-confrontational “Hi!” and waved.
He blinked and smirked, not looking especially nice or intimidating. I wasn’t sure what to make of him, except that I wasn’t impressed.
“Hey, I asked if you’re following me,” he said.
“No, we’re not,” Kenna said quickly. “We’re going there.” She pointed to XXXTC.
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m the manager. You looking for work?”
“Yeah,” Kenna said. “Can we talk inside?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Generally, I felt safer in a crowd. But with XXXTC’s clientele, I wasn’t so sure.
The club was everything I’d imagined and less. The stage was smaller, the dancers were sadder, and the crowd was sleazier.
“You don’t look the part,” Bobby said over the music, eyes focused on me. I was both offended and in total agreement. “I’d never drop you in the lineup now, anyway. You wanna do some waitressing? I’m short on waitresses and hostesses. Everyone wants to be onstage. You gotta work your way up.”
More like werk. Or twerk, which is how one dancer was holding a nearby customer’s attention.
“I thought you were here to give me a hard time,” Bobby said. “The club’s been getting some negative press lately, and you look kinda uptight. I don’t like uptight. You two gotta loosen up.”
He eyed Kenna appraisingly, and I held my tongue, which was about to get looser than he’d like.
“What kind of negative press?” I asked.
“People say we’re bringing down real estate values. Please. I say we’re bringing jobs and money to the community. They should thank us.”
Bobby led us through the lounge with its mirror-tiled ceiling, blazing light show, octagon-shaped stage, and multiple poles. We could barely hear him over the music until we reached a back room, where dancers were putting on makeup, counting cash, and adjusting skimpy attire.
The bright overhead lighting made me squint…and realize the jig might be up if Bobby took a close look at my face, not to mention my post-childbirth/breast-feeding figure. Then again, the dancers looked like they’d seen plenty of life too. Come to think of it, Kenna’s fair skin, naturally blond hair, and taut physique might stand out more than my deterioration.
Under the guise of politeness, I kept my eyes down until we reached a VIP party room, where Bobby said he’d interview us. The presence of a pole made me wonder what his “interview” would entail, and I hoped to turn the tables on him.
“So,” he said, looking at me first. “What kind of experience do you have?”
Well, I serve three meals a day to two very picky customers, I thought, but they’re better behaved than yours.
“I worked at a diner in Maryland for a few years,” I lied. “So I know how to hustle. How busy are you here? And what’s with the limo, by the way?”
“We’re slammed on Fridays and Saturdays,” Bobby said. “Those are prime shifts, and like I said, you gotta work your way up. As for the limo, we get some high rollers in here, and they like to arrive in style. So I pick ’em up and drop ’em off, sometimes with a few dancers along. We also take the staff to salons together. Gotta make sure everyone looks good. Hair, nails, tans. The works.”
“Nice,” Kenna said. “Who doesn’t like limos and makeovers?”
“Right,” Bobby said, clearly pleased. “XXXTC treats its dancers and customers with class.” He pronounced the club’s name “Triple Ecstasy.” Talk about class.
“We hear we can make good money,” I said. “And I think I’ve seen that limo in my neighborhood. Crescent Hills. Maybe you were picking up my neighbor Kat?”
“You know Kat?” He laughed. “She didn’t last long. Too young. The young ones think they can do better somewhere else. They can’t.”
“So where’d she end up?” I asked.
“Hell if I know. I even let her dance her first week, which pissed off the other girls. Not making that mistake again.”
Bobby made my skin crawl, but we couldn’t leave.
“Look, I need something steady,” Kenna said. “I got bills to pay and mouths to feed. How about you start us tonight, waiting tables for free, and see how we do? You get a freebie, and we prove ourselves.”
I tried to make eye contact with her, but she was staring at Bobby.
“Deal?” she pushed.
“How ’bout you show me what you got first?” Bobby said, nodding toward the pole. “I wanna make sure you have a future here.”
“Let’s just start with waitressing,” I said casually. “We’re not dressed for dancing.” I surveyed my jeans, sneakers, and black t-shirt, belatedly realizing that “dressed” wasn’t pertinent.
“Come on, how about you?” he said to Kenna. “I’d like to see you in action.”
Mentally, I vomited. Kenna was a great pole dancer, but her moves were athletic, not erotic, and I didn’t want Bobby’s opinion or anything else in her vicinity.
Before I could stop her, Kenna strode over to the pole, climbed it, hung off it horizontally, did a complicated spin to the bottom, and ended in the splits. Bobby’s eyeballs practically exploded.
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Kenna said. “But like you said, I’m not dancing tonight, and I should get to know the other girls first.”
“You can dance as soon as you’re ready,” Bobby said. “No one’ll argue with the customers and tips you’ll bring in. What’s your stripper name gonna be?”
“Champagne,” Kenna said, as if she’d thought of it before, which she probably had.
Bobby looked at me. “How about you?”
Kenna had long teased me that my married name was stripper-esque. “Nicki Valentine?” she’d said. “She sounds like fun.” But I wasn’t sticking with it.
“I’ll go with Raven, unless you have one already,” I said, not caring that my dark hair was a shade away from black.
“Raven’s good,” he said. “You guys are going to fit in fine.”
“Great. Do you have waitressing uniforms?” Kenna asked. “I’m ready to serve some drinks and get this party started. Are you?” She looked at me.
“Yeah. Totally.”
Bobby left to get clothes I was afraid to see, and I turned to Kenna.
“Uh, okay,” I whispered. “Taking the bull by the horns, huh? But now that we’re in, let’s question the staff while we’re here.”
“Right. We can work on him too, but I bet the waitresses and dancers will give us the best information.”
“You’re a natural at this,” I said. “And I’m not even talking about the pole.”
She laughed. “Thanks. You know what I saw on some tables out there?”
“Not dancers, I hope.”
“No. Wings. You’re gonna have to serve meat.”
“As long as we don’t have to act like pieces of meat, I’ll survive. I’ll do a lot for a client, but there’s a limit.”
I just wasn’t sure what it was.
Throughout the night, I reminded myself that undercover cops pose as prostitutes in stings. They wear inappropriate outfits and walk the streets for a good cause. So I could make it through an evening in a black miniskirt, low-cut white shirt, and black suspenders, couldn’t I? Especially if I considered the suspenders armor? And the heels weapons?
I wasn’t willing to swish my butt or lean way over for big “tips” the way I saw other servers doing, and I felt gross talking to customers, but I was going to persevere for Kat’s sake. Thank goodness she’d left this scene, hopefully for something better.
But the more I talked with waitresses while we took breaks, waited for orders, and picked up drinks at the bar, the more concerned I became. I even ventured into the “break room,” where dancers touched up their faces, slid into thongs, and counted tips. Feigning interest in how to earn a spot onstage, I worked Kat into the conversation.
“I heard this girl Kat left really quickly. Do you know why?”
“She wanted bigger and better things. And some of the girls were jealous she moved up so fast.”
“That made her some enemies?”
“Only one girl was really pissed. Shawna.”
“My opinion?” a thin, tattooed blond interrupted. “Kat didn’t play the game right. There’s nothin’ better than dancing and going home alone with cash. That’s the trick. Make them think you’ll take them home so they keep payin’ you, but never do it. Kat didn’t get that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Girl, she got sweet talked. Don’t make the same mistake. Guys’ll treat you like gold, tell you they got private jobs for you. But they’ll melt you down and sell you to the highest bidder.”
I translated that to mean, Someone told Kat he’d treat her right and make her more money, but it was a trick. Literally.
“So who should I look out for?” I asked. “Who got to her?”
“I don’t know, but you’ll recognize guys like that. Give it time. Don’t worry. Oh, and try not to piss off Shawna.”
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