by Skye Knizley
She hit play on the next song and looked back at her laptop. The TTY was beeping a reply: “I will come alone. I have red hair and will wear black. See you tonight.”
Ashley ended the TTY call and set up the next dancer’s track, only half paying attention. When she was done, she beckoned to one of the waitresses.
“What’s up, Ash?” the girl asked.
“Could you tell Smoak to come up? I have a message for her,” Ashley replied.
“Sure thing. Anything I can get you?”
Ashley smiled. “How ‘bout an orange juice and we pretend it’s a screwdriver? Somebody has to stay sober around here.”
The waitress laughed and stepped down from the booth to do as she was asked. She returned a few moments later with the orange juice and an annoyed-looking Smoak. Ashley placed wads of folded cash on the girl’s tray and waited for her to leave before turning her attention back to Smoak.
“She was really cute, Ash,” Smoak said with a pout.
“Who? The new waitress? Not bad if you like the skinny Midwestern look,” Ashley replied.
“No…the brunette with all the cash,” Smoak said. “That chick is loaded and smells like chocolate. She could have been the one.”
“Uh huh. She’s about as interested in a meaningful relationship as a horny rabbit. Forget her, I need you sober tonight.”
Smoak frowned. “Chandler?”
Ashley shook her head and glanced at her music timer. “Nope. We got a TTY call on the 800 line. A girl named Blaze says her sister has gone missing, and the cops are being less than helpful in pursuing the case.”
“Anything like those other missing girls we started a file on?” Smoak asked.
Ashley nodded. “It sounds like it. I’m going to do some searches, there can’t be that many dancers named Rayne working the clubs.”
“Is that her stage name?” Smoak asked.
“I asked the same thing,” Ashley said with a smile. “Her stage name is Trinity. She’s a topless over at Diamonds.”
“When is the meeting?”
“Tonight at two, the Colony lobby café,” Ashley said. “I’m going to hand the booth over to Rikki and head to the office to do some research. I suggest you get your butt home and sleep off that tequila, just in case.”
Smoak grinned. “Guess I’m sleeping solo, unless you want to…”
“Go home, slut!” Ashley said, flushing. “I’ll catch up with you at the Colony. Don’t be late. I don’t want my ass hanging out in the cold.”
“I’ll be there,” Smoak said, settling her sunglasses in place.
Ashley watched her friend leave, amazed at how she changed gears without apparent effort. Gone was the dancer flirting with everyone in sight, replaced by a cold, nearly invisible woman who passed through the club and into the dressing room without a backwards glance.
“So much for Ms. Tonight,” Ashley muttered.
She waved to Rikki, a tall, painfully thin waitress with stark white hair and red eyes who also served as DJ on the late shift. It would take about ten minutes to get Rikki set up for the rest of primetime and another twenty minutes to change and get to the office. She would be cutting it close.
The Colony Hotel, designed and built in 1935, sat on Ocean Drive like a beacon of ancient beauty, with its art-deco façade, pristine neon lettering and antique awnings over comfortable deck chairs that looked out on a park and the not too distant ocean. Even at 2:00 a.m., the chairs were full of partiers; women in Valentino dresses cut too short and men in unbuttoned Armani shirts sipped drinks and watched the palm trees sway in the early morning breeze.
Ashley had dressed in a white pantsuit and pumps, sans blouse. Her only concession to a top was a long gold chain that swayed gently between her breasts as she walked. The outfit might have caused comment anywhere else. On Ocean Drive, she looked right at home.
She passed under the awning and into the hotel lobby, where a blast of cold air kept out the heat of the night. To her right was a small café area with turquoise tables and white wicker chairs. To her left was a sitting area with leather chairs of the same color and a handful of brown lacquer tables. At the far end was a staircase, an elevator that dated back to the ‘30s and a quarter-circle reception desk. An older gentleman with a crown of white hair smiled when she entered, and she smiled back before taking a seat at a table that gave her a good view of the front door.
Smoak walked in a few moments later. She was dressed all in black; leather pants, sleeveless silk blouse and knee-high boots. Ashley winked at her and opened her laptop. She knew Smoak would be lounging on one of the nearby sofas, eavesdropping on the meeting and sending her messages while acting as sentry. Cops had shown at meetings on several occasions, doing their level best to catch the women doing something illegal. They didn’t take too kindly to Smoak’s method of dealing with the bad guys.
Distant bells chimed two in the morning, and Ashley turned her attention back to the door. Right on time, a woman, who could only be Blaze, entered. She was tall, only a little less than Ashley’s own six feet, with a mane of fiery red hair that fell over her shoulders. Her face was innocent, and she looked no more than twenty. However, the black tank dress that caressed her body like a lover showed she was older, or at least had seen more than the average young woman. There was no self-conscious tugging at the dress, no trucker-like steps in her stiletto heels and no flushing as she entered and felt everyone’s gaze on her. She moved like a woman.
Blaze paused in the doorway, and Ashley watched her look around the room before heading toward her with a little hesitation.
“Hello…my name is Blaze. I believe you’re waiting for me,” the woman said.
Ashley nodded and motioned for Blaze to take a seat.
“I’m from Shadowlands,” she said once Blaze was seated across from her. “I understand your sister, an entertainer at Diamonds, has been missing for two days and you want help finding her. Is that correct?”
Blaze nodded. “Yes. She didn’t come home from work two nights ago. That by itself is weird, it was a school night, and she had class in the morning. Not coming home the next morning is unheard of. She’s always been there, since we were kids.”
“Isn’t she a dancer?” Ashley asked. “Maybe she went home with a customer.”
Blaze shook her head. “No friggin’ way. Look, my sister is a dancer, but she isn’t a hooker, and she isn’t easy. We both work the clubs to keep food on the table and pay tuition. That’s all. I don’t think Ray has ever even been laid. No way would she go home with anyone from the club.”
Ashley nodded and typed notes into her computer. “So she went missing. When was the last time you saw her?”
“Before work, at dinner the day before yesterday.”
“When did you last speak with her?”
Blaze tapped her teeth with one turquoise-painted nail. “Mm… I think around nine that night. I called to let her know I was done hitting the books and was going to bed. And before you ask, she sounded fine. She was having a good night at the club and was going to stay until midnight.”
Ashley nodded. “When was it you noticed she hadn’t come home?”
“The next morning. I got up and was getting ready for class. She didn’t get up with me, so I thought she must have overslept. When I went to wake her, she wasn’t there. The bed was still made, her backpack was by her desk and her alarm clock was playing music.”
“What did you do?”
Blaze ran a hand through her hair and tossed it over her shoulder. “I freaked out. I tried her cell. When she didn’t answer, I called Jon-Tom, the club bouncer, to see if there had been any trouble. He said she’d left the club a little around midnight and everything seemed fine. He didn’t actually see her drive off, but he’d held the door when she’d left.”
Ashley frowned and made more notes on the netbook. “Why did you call the bouncer?”
“He’s sweet on Rayne. I knew he would remember if she had left or not, and if there had b
een anyone giving her grief that night.”
“You consider him reliable?”
Blaze nodded. “Absolutely. He’s a good guy, and he does a good job watching out for the girls.”
Ashley smiled. “It’s always nice to have someone watching your back. Has your sister had any trouble at work? Overzealous fans? Stalkers? Anything like that?”
“Not that I know of,” Blaze said. “Just the usual dancer stuff. Guys who think a lap dance means they’ve made a connection, bringing in roses and candy, that kind of crap. Definitely nothing Rayne couldn’t handle.”
“And no one you know of that she would go home with? You’re sure?”
“Like I said, no,” Blaze said with a shake of her head. “Rayne’s all about school right now. No junk food, no sex, no television, no nothing. All she does is go to work and school.”
“I’m sorry, that sounds a little boring,” Ashley said. “All work and no play kind of thing. Do you think she might just be letting her hair down for a change?”
Blaze shrugged. “I don’t think so. You would have to know her, she gets focused. She’s determined to graduate, as quick as she can, and she won’t let anything stop her. I know she’s not just taking a few days off. Something happened.”
“That makes sense. Tell me what you did after you called Jon-Tom.”
“I called the cops. Detective Murphy was assigned the case, and I met him at the Sixty-Second Street station. He took my statement, told me I had to wait another day and asked me to call him if she didn’t show up. He was a real jackass about it, too. It was all I could do not to slap that stupid grin off his face.
“I stormed out and went to all of her regular hangouts and school. No one had seen her. So… I waited. She never came home. I called Murphy back. By then, he had done a background check and knew Rayne was a dancer. He said the case was closed, that Rayne would show up at home or in a dumpster and he didn’t care which,” Blaze said, her voice bitter. “It’s like we don’t matter ‘cause we’re poor and work in the sex trade to make ends meet.”
“You matter to us,” Ashley said. “We’ll take the case, and if your sister is out there, we’ll find her. May I have your driver’s license?”
“Of course! Thank you so much!” Blaze said, fishing in her purse.
She handed over the license, and Ashley ran it through the slot on her computer. The card reader decoded the magnetic strip and Blaze’s information popped up on the screen, including her full name and address. Ashley saved the information to the file and handed the license back.
“Okay, Blaze, here is how this works,” she said. “We will start looking for Rayne immediately. You will stay out of the way and do what we say when we say it. These cases often involve a ransom, and you will have to be involved in the exchange. The only way we can keep you safe is if you follow our instructions to the letter. Your fee is one favor to be paid forward to someone down the road. Is that clear?”
“I guess,” Blaze replied. “I’m still not sure about the favor, thing. How do I know when to give the favor?”
Ashley smiled. “I know it sounds odd. It’s the way we work, and I promise, you will know what to do when it happens. Consider it being in the right place at the wrong time.”
“Then I understand,” Blaze said. “Thank you for doing this.”
“You’re welcome. The operator will contact you when we have something,” Ashley said. “If we need to meet, I will be your contact, and you can reach me through the operator.”
“How soon do you think you might have something?” Blaze asked.
Ashley shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. When we have something, we will let you know. I can’t give you a time limit.”
Blaze didn’t look happy but nodded.
Ashley reached across the table and took the girl’s hand. “I know you’re worried and scared. But if I tell you we will have something tomorrow and we don’t, then I’ll have given you false hope, and you will just be more worried when nothing turns up. Think positive, keep your fingers crossed and we will contact you. I promise.”
Blaze still looked unhappy, but there was a small light of hope in her eyes.
“I’ll look forward to your call,” she said. “I’d better get to work.”
Ashley nodded and watched the girl leave before turning her attention back to her laptop.
What do you think? she typed.
I think her sister is in trouble, Smoak replied. This Rayne girl makes the tenth woman to go missing in the last four weeks. Three have been found within seven days, dead and full of heroin. I’m betting we only have a few days to find her, if we’re going to find her at all.
Ashley made a face at the laptop. You think we can find her before she turns up dead?
If we don’t, she’s a corpse,” Smoak replied. “Or worse. I’m going to check out the apartment while Blaze is working. Finish running a background and see if Rayne has anything in common with the other missing women, aside from working in the trade.
Be careful, Ashley typed.
Smoak walked by a moment later, and Ashley watched her leave, a feeling of dread rising in her belly.
Smoak stepped into the night air, watching Blaze cross the street and slide behind the wheel of an early eighties Honda Prelude. The car was in surprisingly good condition for its age, and Blaze seemed to enjoy sitting behind the wheel. In spite of her concern over her missing sister, there was a faint smile on her face when she turned the key. The car coughed to life with that trademark Honda sound, and she sped off into the night.
When the girl was gone, Smoak slid into the saddle of her motorcycle and rode off in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t take long to get to Blaze’s apartment, and she would have plenty of time to search for any clues before the girl came home.
The girl. She was beautiful, with a sort of tough innocence that made Smoak smile. Smoak could barely remember being that innocent, if she ever had been. Death and violence had been part of her life for so long, it was hard to think of a time when it wasn’t. Blaze with her sweet smile and flaming hair was refreshing.
She was also hot as hell. It wasn’t just the hair, the eyes or the killer body, though all of that would have turned her head, but the way she moved and the confidence she exuded. Blaze acted like a woman comfortable and confident in her own skin. Smoak found that to be sexier than any amount of makeup, jewels or dresses. If she wasn’t a client…
Smoak shook her head as she crossed the street, clearing away the image of the young woman. She had work to do, and it never paid to sleep with a client. Better to do the job, find Rayne and move on.
She arrived at the North Miami address at just after three in the morning. The neighborhood consisted of several apartment blocks, ranging from two to seven stories, all with a view of the not too distant ocean. Most were dark at that early hour, but a handful of lights twinkled in the night, indicating the presence of night owls or early risers.
Smoak parked her bike at the curb in front of a five-story building with an exterior made of bright yellow stucco. It was so bright, it shined with a moonlit glow that made it look like something out of the Twilight Zone. The community’s large pool sat behind an iron fence that had seen better days, and the security gate on the parking lot hung open, the lock long rusted solid. A sign on the gate read, “Est. 1955.”
Everything was quiet—the sort of quiet you only get at 3:14 in the morning. Even the birds were sleeping.
With silent grace, Smoak slid off her bike and chinned the fence by the pool. Gliding up and over, she landed with only the faintest of sounds, no louder than the lap of waves in the pool. She crossed the deck and checked the sliding door that led into a darkened hallway. The door slid open at her touch, and she stepped through, closing the door behind her.
The stairs were at the end of the hall, and she took them two at a time to the fourth floor. The fire door was also unlocked, and she entered the stale-smelling hallway without incident. Blaze’s apartmen
t was four doors down. The teal-painted door was old but serviceable, with a sturdy knob and new deadbolt holding it fast.
Smoak checked the corridor again and fished her lock picks from inside her jacket. When she was sure it was clear, she knelt and clamped her teeth around her mini flashlight, shining it on the deadbolt. Shiny new metal inside the lock glinted back at her, and Smoak paused to run a gentle thumb over the lock. The gouges were so deep, she could feel them on her skin. Someone who wasn’t very good had picked the lock within the last few days. A key wouldn’t have caused so much damage, no matter how drunk someone was.
With possibilities running through her head, Smoak set about picking the lock herself. A few deft moves with pick and wrench, and the door popped open with a click. Smoak pushed it with her fingertips and stepped through, putting her picks back in her pocket.
The foyer beyond the entrance was small; a tiled area barely big enough for the door, let alone the narrow coat closet that tried to share the space. To the left was an open-ended galley kitchen, complete with appliances constructed when Howdy Doody was still the rage. On the eat-in bar was a pile of mail and a wilting flower arrangement.
Smoak closed the door behind her and flashed her light around the narrow space. The coat closet was open and a few hoodies and windbreakers hung from wire hangers on the single metal bar. Two pairs of slippers and a pair of pink rain boots sat on the floor next to an old golf-sized umbrella and a crumpled sun hat—nothing of particular interest.
Turning, she shone her light into the main living area, saving the kitchen for later. A mismatched sofa and love seat sat in the middle of the room, around a table of dark wood. Pink and blue sheers hung over the large windows that looked out on North Beach, and a grey rug covered the floor. An old guitar was leaned up against the corner, looking as if it had just been set aside a few moments before.
Smoak moved through the apartment, her flashlight gliding over each piece of furniture. Though it was cheap and old, the furniture was well kept and clean. The table was devoid of dust, and the pile of Rolling Stone and Rock magazines was neatly arranged. Smoak paused to flick through the stack, only somewhat surprised to find they were all addressed to Blaze. She stacked them back up neatly and pointed her light at the guitar.