I waved goodbye to my fellow waitress, hoping she wasn’t jealous or upset, and found the locker where Kenna had stored her extra gear. She was taller, thinner, and flatter (everywhere) than I was, which meant her shorts and tops would be tight.
“Bobby told me to dance,” I told Kat’s friend Melissa, who was busy poufing her hair and reapplying lipstick. “Some high roller named Benny requested me.”
“Benny? Damn. He’ll make it frickin’ pour. Good for you.”
Acting happy about it was tough. I’d done a lot of faking as a PI, but this was different in the most uncomfortable way.
I slid on super-short shorts under my skirt and shook my head. I was being modest in the dressing room. I shunned bathing suits in the summer, and it was barely spring. How was I going to get onstage?
Pretend you’re Kenna, I told myself. Ever since middle school P.E., she’d changed freely in front of me and everyone else. Nudity didn’t faze her, but it still embarrassed me, even in front of a mirror.
In honor of her, I tore off my shirt and only hesitated a second before tossing my bra into the locker. I was a solid B-cup, and I knew Kenna’s padded sports bras did wonders. I tugged the closest one over my head and boosted the twins as high as they’d go.
Then I checked my phone for messages, slammed the locker, and forced myself to tune into whatever song was ending. It was Kanye West’s “Stronger.” Maybe that could motivate me.
I marched over to a mirror in my waitressing heels and assessed myself.
“Want to borrow anything?” Melissa asked. “We’ve got extra.”
I inspected my face and some scattered cosmetics on the vanity. I needed to disguise my identity as much as possible.
“We have cotton pads and stuff so we don’t spread germs,” Melissa said, opening a drawer of supplies. “We had a pinkeye breakout last year that changed everything.”
Gee, if a pinkeye breakout was all this place suffered, I was relieved.
I caked myself in foundation, blush, and eyeshadow, and finally added my own lipstick.
“Got any props?” I asked, realizing Kenna’s last song was almost over. “Like glasses, hats, chairs or anything?” Occasionally Kenna used them in pole routines she’d taught me. I’d take anything that would distract men from my face and other parts.
Melissa opened a closet, and I yanked out a pink boa and pink sequin-framed glasses. They’d have to do.
Just as I wrapped the boa around my shoulders and propped the glasses on my head, Kenna walked into the dressing room, looking dejected. When our eyes met, however, her expression changed, not necessarily for the better.
“What the…?”
“Gotta dance or we’re gonna lose our jobs,” I said. “Someone requested me.”
Kenna was speechless.
I heard a remix of Fifth Harmony’s “Worth It” playing, and I assumed other dancers were still onstage. If I recalled correctly, the tune mentioned someone shy, a club, lights, and something worthwhile. This could be all of that.
Watch out, ladies and “gentlemen,” I thought. Here I come.
I strutted to the beat, just the way I did during private lessons with Kenna and various household chores. I imagined gray-haired Benny was Dean (in Hollywood-quality prosthetic makeup). It didn’t exactly work, but it helped. I burst through the other women’s routines as if I owned center stage. From what I could see through my sparkly glasses, all eyes turned my way. Then I acted my heart out. I was Kenna. I was everyone I’d ever seen in music videos. I was the proud owner (and creator) of a butt that required “curvy” jeans.
I was also annoyed by my boa, so I wrapped it around Benny’s neck and resisted a tiny urge to strangle him. When he tossed dolla billz at me, which I noticed were Benjamins, I did my best pole moves and focused on appeal, not form. And amidst all that craziness, I had an epiphany. There is something sexier than a gorgeous physique. It’s called confidence—or the illusion of it. And by the reaction of the crowd, I’d found it.
“O. M. G.,” Kenna said when I walked backstage. One song was all I had in me, but it was enough. Before we could talk, one of the other dancers chased me down and handed over three hundred dollars. I’d been so eager to get offstage that I’d left it there. Kenna, sensing my altered mental state, took it and stuffed two-thirds into her bra. The rest would go to Bobby.
“Let’s get into our waitressing stuff,” I said. “We’ve auditioned enough for the night.”
“Definitely.” I’d rarely seen her confidence dashed, but tonight was an exception. “But you kicked ass. Kicked ass.”
“Thanks. I don’t know what happened. I just pretended to be you.”
“I tanked, so you must have been someone else.”
I was quiet for a moment. I’d dared to be a part of me that I’d never let Jason, Dean, or even myself see. I wished it had happened elsewhere, but I still had Kenna to thank.
“You’re an inspiration,” I said. “I’ll never be as relaxed as you are, and unlike me, you were athletic, which is a good thing. You were perfect.”
“What are you going to do with that two hundred dollars?”
Great. Another moral dilemma.
“I don’t know. Hold onto it for me. I’ll come up with something.”
We spent the next few hours trying not to drop drinks, food, or hints that we weren’t legit. When it was finally quitting time, I hoped it was for good. We snuck out as quickly as possible, hoping Bobby wouldn’t notice that we hadn’t given him our sizes.
Dean was waiting up when I got home, and I was hesitant to tell him about the night. But I needed to debrief, and he was a great, intelligent listener.
“So how many strip clubs have you been to?” I asked him. “Be honest. I’m not going to get upset.”
“I’d like to be honest, but I’m not sure. I’d say more than five and less than ten. I’ve taken a lot of spring break trips and done a lot of bar crawls with military buddies.”
“Okay. I can handle that. When was the last time you went?”
“So long ago I don’t remember. I’m done with that stuff. Don’t ever want to do it again.”
“Me too. But I kind of learned something unrelated to the case tonight.” My face grew hot, and I wished I hadn’t started the conversation.
“What’s that?”
“It’s going to sound really stupid.”
“No, it’s not.”
I took a deep breath before saying aloud what I’d been thinking since middle school, but had never told anyone, even Kenna.
“I used to be really jealous of Kenna’s looks. Obviously, she knows that. Look at her.”
“I have,” he started. Not what I wanted to hear, which might be why I interrupted.
“I outgrew it, but what she doesn’t know is that it affected how I think about myself.” I hesitated. “I always thought of her as the sexy one and me as, I don’t know. The mousy one.”
Oh, man. I’d said it. The thing I was afraid he was thinking. I was mousy. She was hot. Would he ever look at me the same way again?
I also realized the absurdity of my feelings. On the one hand, I was worried he thought she was hotter than I was. On the other, I was illogically afraid of alerting him to Kenna’s hotness, just in case he hadn’t noticed. And I hadn’t even told him the whole truth: Sometimes next to her, I didn’t just feel mousy. I felt unattractive.
Luckily, he didn’t say, “Yeah. I know. But you’re cute. People have always told you that, right?” or “I never noticed she was supermodel material. Dang, you’re right! What the hell am I doing here?”
Instead, he said, “Nicki, I’m going to be honest with you. Kenna is hot.”
Stay cool, I thought. Appreciate his honesty.
“If she’s the type you go for,” he continued. I pictured his previous girlfriend, who was equally blond a
nd intimidating. Crap. Maybe they were his type. “But she’s not. Please don’t tell Kenna this, but to me, she’s kind of gawky.”
Huh? No one had ever described Kenna as gawky, at least not to me. Then again, he had broken up with his last girlfriend, who was similarly long and lean.
“I like curvy,” he said, running a finger down my side. “I like you and everything about you. You’re the total package, and in my book, Kenna doesn’t compare.” He leaned in and kissed me hard. Then he pulled back, leaving me speechless. “So, finish your story about tonight. You said you learned something.”
I couldn’t remember my story. Was it something about holding my own? I gave my compliment/kiss-induced fog a chance to clear.
“I guess I finally realized it’s not about her. It’s about me. I need to loosen up, not to be more like her, but to be more like me. Does that make sense?”
“Totally, and if there’s one thing I want, it’s more of you.”
I wanted more of him too, and it was the most wonderful, frustrating feeling.
The street sign “Dangerous curves ahead” popped into my mind.
Life had never felt so risky—or so potentially rewarding.
Seventeen
Before calling the animal control office in the morning, I called Maureen Strickland, who ran the DC safe house for former prostitutes. Kenna had a few hours free, so we were on my living room sofa with Maureen on speaker.
“Tracy told me you might call,” Maureen said. “How can I help?”
I described the case, and Maureen confirmed that Big Tim had a reputation.
“He’s especially vicious. We hear about him when we do outreach work with women on the streets.”
“How much work do you do in Virginia?”
“Our volunteers get out there when they can. We go where there’s a lot of trafficking, and we look for anyone who needs help. We have a 24/7 hotline, so they can reach us anytime.”
I jotted down the number and described Kat, but Maureen said there were too many young women on the streets, many of them children, to know if Kat had been seen.
“Send me her photo and description. I’ll give it to our volunteers, and if we see her, we’ll report it to whichever police contact you recommend. That I promise.”
“Thank you. Is there any advice you can give us about finding someone in Kat’s situation?”
“I assume you’ve driven around Big Tim’s territory looking for her? At night, of course.”
“We’ve driven around, but we don’t know where he works specifically.”
“Do you know where the busiest tracks are—the places victims walk?”
“We’ve spent a lot of time in the Crescent Heights area, and I’ve heard rumors about Fifth Street and Miller Street,” I said.
“Okay. Just be really careful out there. We don’t send our volunteers out until they get a lot of training, and I don’t want you getting hurt. Keep checking the jail too. If Kat gets arrested, someone has to intervene quickly when she gets out, or she might go back to the life. Sometimes pimps bail women out just to put them back to work.”
“Do you happen to know what Big Tim looks like?”
“You know, I don’t. I just know he’s a monster.”
“What if we want to find him—not to talk to him, but to follow him—and see if he leads us to Kat?”
“Ooh, that’s tough. But think about anywhere he might run into young, vulnerable girls. The mall, shelters, the internet. These guys know how to spot vulnerable kids and groom them. They tempt them with clothes, jewelry, freedom, compliments—anything that can lure a young person in. They seem nice at first, but they’re sadistic. Don’t get me started, or I’ll give you my whole speech.”
“Don’t worry, we appreciate everything you’re telling us. Young women like Kat are more valuable to pimps, right?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say. And speaking of that, some traffickers move women and girls around the country, wherever the money is. Just because Kat started in Virginia doesn’t mean that’s where she is now. She could be far away.”
That was depressing. No matter where she was, I sure wished she felt closer.
Calling the animal control office gave us something hopeful to focus on. A businesslike but receptive female officer, Hannah, offered to meet us in person when it became clear our conversation wouldn’t be short. We accepted and brought Sky, since Andy needed to work.
Sky was in awe of the shelter’s pet photos everywhere, and Hannah found it sweet. I was thankful Jack and Sophie were at my mom’s. For countless reasons, they would have been difficult to manage, and their begging for a dog, cat, bird, or gerbil would have been intolerable, since I was already fighting the urge to take a pet home.
Hannah knew the background from our phone conversation, and she wanted to hear about the night I’d run into Daddy B and Buck.
“It made me sick when I saw him yank Buck’s leash. It worried me about Buck and anyone else in Daddy B’s life,” I said.
“That makes sense. Unfortunately, we see a lot of cases where suspects treat animals and humans badly. It’s like it’s their general approach to living things.”
“I hope they get prosecuted for all of it,” Kenna said.
“We do our best. Thankfully, King County is extremely dedicated to animal welfare.”
“Was Daddy B, I mean Danny Braxton, charged with anything related to Buck?” I asked.
“Not yet, but we’ve already talked to his lawyer about arranging voluntary surrender. So far, he plans to give Buck to us.”
“What will happen to Buck in the meantime?” Kenna asked. “We heard that you tried to locate next of kin, but Daddy B’s parents weren’t likely to help.”
“That’s true. As of now, there’s no other next of kin who will take him. But it’s still early.”
“Is he okay?” I asked, a knot forming in my stomach.
“I can’t discuss the specifics of the investigation,” she said. “But he’s getting great care, so don’t worry. He’s in the best place for him right now. He’s going to be fine.”
Sky wiggled in Kenna’s arms. “I wanna see a puppy,” she said.
“Okay. We’ll see a puppy,” Kenna said. “Just a minute.”
We finished up and requested to see another dog on our minds: Bruno.
“I hate to say it, but I’m worried that Buck was injured,” I said on the way home. Sky had adored Bruno as much as Kenna and I had. Thinking about any dog being mistreated put me on the verge of tears.
“I thought about that too,” Kenna said. “It’s terrible.”
We sat in silence with Sky’s babbling filling the void.
“I liked the doggy pictures, Mommy.”
“Me too, sweetie.”
We’d looked at every pet photo and told Sky all the animals’ names. Kenna had taken a cute photo of Sky with Bruno, who would move to a foster family soon.
“You know what?” I said, looking her way.
“What?”
“I have pictures of Buck from when Dean and I watched Daddy B.”
“And?”
“If they show any evidence of abuse, they might help the case.”
“What about the drug charges against Daddy B? Could the photos help with that?”
“From what I remember about them, I don’t think so, but we’ll take a closer look at home.”
Kenna needed to take Sky home for a snack and a nap, so I started alone, pulling up every photo I had, even the ones I’d considered low quality at first.
This time, instead of studying Daddy B, I inspected Buck, sometimes enlarging the photos to see individual pixels. I didn’t see evidence of abuse, but I wasn’t an expert. I saved each photo to a special file and uploaded everything to a secure cloud.
Then I rechecked other aspects of the clearest
photos, wondering if I’d initially missed anything else. I did the same thing with the videos Dean had taken. After all, Kat’s tattoo had been more identifiable than I’d expected. Even if something wasn’t familiar to me, it might be obvious to someone else.
After spending a good fifteen minutes scrutinizing Daddy B, Buck, and their surroundings, only one new thing stood out: Buck’s leash. It had a pattern I didn’t recognize. Maybe it would reveal something about where Daddy B shopped or spent time.
It was a long shot, and I was supposed to be focusing on Big Tim, but while waiting for Kenna, it seemed logical to call Joey. He worked at the animal shelter, and surely he’d seen countless pet supplies. Plus, maybe he’d have something new to share.
I dialed his cell and was relieved when he picked up.
“Joey? It’s Nicki Valentine, the private investigator.”
“Oh, hey. What’s up? Did you find Kat?”
“Not yet. Have you heard from her?”
“No. I wish. So why are you calling?”
“I have an oddball question for you. I know you work with animals a lot, and I need someone to help me figure out where a certain leash was purchased.”
“Okay. That’s strange. But go for it.”
“Thanks. It’s black, and it has a zig-zag pattern on it with some words. I’m looking at a photo, but I can’t make them out. They’re all the same, and they have four letters. They’re kind of written in scrawl, like a scribble.”
“Could they be D-A-W-G?”
I strained to make them out. “They could be. Why?”
“DAWG is a high-end brand. Kind of a ‘tough guy’ style. The pattern sounds like it. You can look it up online and see it.”
“That makes sense. Does anything else come to mind as a possibility?”
“Not really. DAWG is popular right now.”
I did a quick internet search and saw he was right. DAWG had to be it.
“Do you know where they sell it locally?”
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