I smiled, trying to look more confident than I felt. “Johnny, is it time yet? We're off to visit the Badda Bing Club, huh? Am I dressed appropriately?”
I'd gone upstairs, showered, dried my hair, and put on makeup. I didn't have much in the way of fancy maternity clothes, so I settled for an embroidered peasant blouse and a pair of dark maternity jeans.
“You look just fine,” said Johnny.
“No one will be looking at me, except to wonder if I've lost my mind. I'm more in tune with a PTA meeting than a visit to a strip club. Where's Brawny?”
She came around the corner wearing a pair of black pants, a black turtleneck, and a black jacket. I'd never seen her outfitted like that, and I guess my expression showed my surprise.
“In case I need to go outside,” she explained. “No one will see me in the dark dressed like this.”
“But are you packing?” According to the rules of his parole, Johnny couldn't carry a gun.
“I am well-prepared for any eventuality.” Her tone didn't invite more questions. I decided to adopt a “don't ask/don't tell” policy.
After a few more last minute instructions for Leighton and Lorraine, we walked out of the house and into the cold. It had started snowing again. But that was fine because we were taking Johnny's truck, a black Ford F-150. Brawny had suggested it because we didn't want to draw attention to ourselves. As I walked around the back to get in, I noticed the big Badda Bing bumper sticker. Brawny did, too, and she nodded in satisfaction. I got in first and scooted to the middle. I was grateful to be sandwiched between her and Johnny. It was bitterly cold outside, and the leather bench seat was frigid.
“Nice bumper sticker, buddy. You really weren't kidding when you said you were familiar with the place,” I said, as Johnny turned over the engine.
“Uh-huh.” He pulled forward in the circular drive. After Brawny signaled the all clear, he drove into the street. “I've been dating a girl who works there off and on. She goes by the name 'Sassy.' I think she'll be dancing tonight. Great gal. Got a cute little boy.”
“She's a mom?” I stared at him.
“Most of the girls you'll meet tonight either want to have kids or already are mothers,” said Johnny. “A couple are going to college. One's pre-med at Wash U.”
“You have to be kidding!”
“Nope. Everyone has a stereotype of what these girls are like. I've found that most of the generalizations are way off-base. There are those who've had hard luck, of course. A few of them got into this line of work because they like to dance. One thing led to another, and they realized they could pull down a six-figure income working at a club.”
“Six figures? You have to be kidding.”
“I'm not kidding. These women are well-paid. Sure they have to hustle for lap dances, but a couple of them make as much money as a doctor or a lawyer would.”
Brawny said nothing. It was her habit to listen carefully and soak everything in. Johnny pointed his truck north. When we crossed 40, she turned to me. “Kiki, we need a plan. It's not smart to walk in there without discussing what you hope to achieve.”
“She's right,” said Johnny. “Waving around that matchbook won't work neither.”
“I was thinking about this when I was in the shower. See, I managed to clip this guy in the shoulder with the pitchfork. It tore open his jacket. He was bleeding. I figure he's got a shoulder injury. At the very least. We can ask if anyone has seen a cigar-smoker with a bum shoulder.”
Johnny started laughing. “You really think they'll point out a customer to you? Not likely. Let's try again.”
“What do you mean?” I felt irritated. I was tired and scared, and I hate being laughed at.
“Look, no one in this club wants trouble. They value their jobs too highly. That means that nobody is going to finger a customer,” he said. “You need a better strategy if you want to locate your attacker. Sure, we can ask Sassy if she's seen him, but what if she hasn't?”
“How big is the club?” asked Brawny.
“Five thousand square feet.”
“Wow,” I said. “That's a lot of space to cover.”
“Yes, ma'am, it is. The bar runs along one wall on the right. There's a big horseshoe-shaped stage that juts out into the seating area where the tables are. Dressing rooms and bathrooms in the back, behind a door. Private booths are all along the left side of the show floor across from the bar. There are also private luxury boxes on the mezzanine floor. You have to go up a short flight of stairs. In the middle are all the tables.”
“What I really need to do is get up on that stage,” I said. “From there I should be able to spot the guy who attacked us.”
“Good luck with that,” said Johnny.
CHAPTER 61
Johnny popped in a CD, and we headed north, while listening to Taylor Swift.
“I liked her best before she quit being country,” he groused.
The farther north you go on Highway 40, the rougher the neighborhoods get. I could almost feel a change in the atmosphere. Brawny must have felt it, too, because her coiled energy set my nerves on edge.
More and more neon signs punctuated the winter darkness. They advertised all sorts of vices: liquor, adult entertainment, and sexy lingerie. With every mile, my nervousness grew. I felt totally out of sync with this brassy, sensual world.
I'm a soccer mom! A crafter who makes scrapbooks! I whined inwardly. And hello? Could I just add that I'm pregnant?
Johnny noticed. He reached over and took my hand. “Don't look so scared. I have friends at the Badda Bing. Ladies who'll take care of you.”
Ladies? I mulled that word over in my head.
I'm doing this for Detweiler, I told myself. But then, what other choice did I have but to see where the matchbook led us? It wasn't like the authorities were all over this investigation. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I did a slow burn realizing that Brawny had found something that the crime scene investigators had missed. Shouldn't they have found the matchbook?
We weren't far from Lambert International. A jet roared overhead, flying so low that I could see the lights of the passenger windows. The smell of diesel seeped into the cab of the truck. As I watched, the blinking red lights of the plane faded into the velvet night sky. Idly, I wondered where its passengers were going. Were they running away from St. Louis? Traveling to some place warm? Too bad I couldn't go with them. I made a mental note to schedule a vacation down in Florida with my friend, Cara Mia Delgatto. Of all the women I knew, Cara Mia could best understand my plight. Things were definitely not going the way I'd planned.
I had hoped to spend last weeks of my pregnancy sitting at home with my feet up and learning to knit baby booties. Instead here I was, staying up past my bedtime and visiting a strip joint.
Cara's grandmother used to tell her, “Man plans and God laughs.” I bet He was ROFL (Rolling On the Floor Laughing) at my life. Looking up into the darkness, I considered shaking my fists.
But then, Brawny shifted her weight, her shoulder braced up against mine, while Johnny turned to give me an encouraging smile. Just that fast, I was reminded how blessed I was. Instead of making this trip alone, I had two friends along with me. Brawny and Johnny were warriors who had already demonstrated they'd put their lives on the line for me and mine.
Maybe God wasn't laughing. Maybe He was watching over me tenderly.
I was thinking all these deep thoughts as Johnny took an exit off Lindbergh. A poorly lit side road led us into a parking lot, jam-packed with vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Johnny prowled the lanes slowly.
We passed cars displaying the unfurled wings of a Bentley, the leaping figure of a Jaguar, the Mercedes Benz peace symbol, and the shield associated with Porsche. I'd expected the patrons to be working class men, so these symbols of affluence shocked me. Yet, there they were, parked side-by-side with Hondas, Toyotas, and other much more affordable rides. All I could conclude was that men are men, no matter how expensive their wheels.
Brawny's head swiveled this way and that, keeping a close eye on our surroundings. Her hypervigilance was palpable.
“We still need a plan.” She frowned at me.
I wondered if the plan should be: Turn around and go home.
But instead, I said, “Maybe we can come up with something after we get inside.”
Johnny pulled into a space under an orange-yellow sodium lamp. He turned off the motor in front of a sign that read: Parking for Expectant Mothers ONLY.
“Expectant mothers only?” I repeated. “Do they get a lot of pregnant women here? Is this someone's idea of a joke?”
Johnny laughed. “You'd be surprised about who frequents this place. Couples looking to spice up their lives. Single women who want a change of pace. More ministers and preachers than you can shake a hymnal at.”
“You have to be kidding!”
“Nope. These religious characters will tell you that they are here to rescue these poor straying lambs. They make it sound like they're shepherds bringing lost sheep back into the fold.”
Brawny gave a loud harrumph of derision as Johnny continued, “Truth is, they come to leer. Just like the rest of us. Only, they can't bring themselves to be honest about their intentions.”
“Wow.”
“Let me text Sassy and tell her we're here.” With a few quick keystrokes, he did exactly that. After he put his phone away, Johnny ran around to open the passenger side for Brawny and me. Before she climbed out of her seat, she instructed me, “Stick close to Johnny. Let me bring up the rear.”
He slid a protective arm around my shoulders. A big jet flew over our heads, the roar of its engines splitting the cold night air. My friend bent low and mumbled in my ear, “To infinity and beyond!”
CHAPTER 62
As we waited our turn to get in, I was able to observe the bouncers seated on bar stools on each side of the front door. The two men could have been reverse images of each other. One was big and black, the other big and white. Both had shaved heads. They wore identical Badda Bing tee-shirts stretched tightly over well-developed muscles. On their feet were huge Doc Martens.
The admittance process was time-consuming because so many of the patrons handed over cash. As a consequence, change had to be counted out. I didn't mind the wait because the vestibule was warm, and I needed to stretch my legs. The slow pace gave me the chance to get acclimated. Standing on tiptoes, I tried to look into the club proper. My view was partially blocked by a fluttering curtain made of heavy plastic strips.
Bit by bit, I was able to see the club floor. It seemed cavernous, like a giant warehouse, and as far as I could tell it was populated only by tables and chairs.
Suddenly, a flashing light lit up the interior. It reminded me of the old “Blue Light Specials” made famous by Kmart. Johnny explained the strobe was a signal that Happy Hour was over. The main show would start soon. Someone cranked up the volume of the piped-in music. The line in front of us thinned out, allowing me to see more of the club's main room. The Badda Bing was a lot like any other restaurant, except for a narrow U-shaped stage that protruded into the center of the floor. The décor was black with touches of purple, green, and gold, with garish touches of silver and more gold. Not surprising at all, since St. Louis boasts a Mardi Gras second only to New Orleans.
The air was thick with perfume…and hormones. The atmosphere was charged with sexuality. I felt really uncomfortable and out of place.
Finally we made it to the front of the line. “This is my friend, Kiki,” Johnny said, as he gave me a slight push forward. “And her pal, Brawny.”
Both of the bouncers shook my hand gravely. “Hello, Sugar,” said the black guy. “I'm Peevey, and he's Lucerne. We've heard a lot about you.”
“You have?” I thought he was shining me on.
“Sure thing,” said Lucerne, who smelled strongly of spicy cologne. “Johnny told us how you saved his life. When's the bambino due?”
“January fifteenth.”
“My lady and I are having our third baby the end of March,” Lucerne said with some pride. His smile radiated happiness.
“Congratulations!” I said. “Good for you! This is our third child, too.”
“Kiki has a problem.” Johnny leaned in and lowered his voice. “Some creep decided to use her husband and his friend for target practice. With real guns.”
“Seriously not cool,” said Peevey. “How's your man doing?”
“Better,” I said, “but Detweiler had to have his spleen removed.”
“Detweiler? Chad Detweiler? I know Detective Detweiler,” said Lucerne. “He worked a case that brought him here. Righteous dude. Treated us with respect, didn't he, Peeve?”
“That he did. I'll never forget it. He's good people.”
“Thank you,” I said. My nervousness made me extra-chatty. “His friend Detective Stan Hadcho was shot, too. Can you believe they were shot at our wedding? We'd just been pronounced 'man and wife' when the first bullet whizzed past me.”
“Some folks have no sense of decorum,” said Peevey, shaking his head. “What brings you here, pretty lady? A night out so you can forget your troubles?”
Brawny pushed forward to show them the matchbook. “Actually, we found this on the floor of the shed where the scumbag tried to attack Kiki and the children.”
“Who tries to hurt a mama-to-be?” Peevey growled. “And her little ones? That is seriously evil. What's the matter with people these days?”
Lucerne took the matchbook, frowned at it, and returned it to Brawny. “Definitely one of ours.”
“Putting kiddos in danger is totally unacceptable.” Lucerne shook his head with disgust. His arms were covered with tattoos. When he noticed that I noticed his ink, he pointed each image in turn. “This one is for Fabiana, my lady. This is for Juliana, my oldest. This is for Steven, the middle one, and I'm planning on getting one up here on my bicep when the baby comes. I'd do anything for my babies and my lady. Anything.”
“So would Kiki. To protect her children, she stabbed one of the shooters with a pitchfork.” Brawny took back the matchbook and tucked it into a pocket of her pants.
“You did what? A tiny thing like you? And pregnant, too? Way to go, girlfriend.” Lucerne reached over and gave Peevey a friendly punch. “So we got your replacement here, Peev, next time you go on vacation.”
I shook my head. “No way! I'm sticking to my scrapbooking.”
“My wife loves scrapbooking,” said Peevey.
“Here.” I reached into my purse. “These are coupons for discounts and a free class.”
Both men thanked me profusely.
After waiting politely until they finished, Brawny explained, “Kiki got a close look at this creep's face. We're thinking he might be one of your customers.”
“We also know that he smokes cigars. There's a good chance he's from Alabama. Does that sound like anyone you've seen? He was about five-ten, medium build, and his right arm would be bandaged up. Because that's where I got him with the pitchfork.”
Lucerne scowled. “I'm thinking there was a guy like that here last night. I remember because his drawl was so thick, he was hard to understand. Do you recall him, Peeve?”
“No,” said Peevey, “but I was handling a situation. Some mook got frisky with one of the dancers.”
“Right, right, right,” said Lucerne, shaking his head and clapping his palms against his thighs. “That dude isn't here now, but who knows? He might show up later. How about if we get you a table in the back? You could see our guests as they come in.”
“Not optimal,” said Peevey, with a frown. “She could get a better look from the stage.”
“Right,” agreed Lucerne. “Getting her on the stage would work best, but tonight no can do. We've got a problem.”
“A problem?” Johnny echoed. “What sort of problem?”
Peevey spread his hands wide in a placating move. “Little Chuckie is scheduled to be in the house.”
CHAPTER 63<
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Johnny's groan of disgust was audible. “Tonight? He has to show up tonight?”
“Who or what is a Little Chuckie?” I wondered out loud.
“Sweetheart, you don't want to know,” said Lucerne, laying a ham-sized hand on my shoulder gently.
“But we have to explain this to her,” argued Peevey. “Otherwise, she won't understand.”
Lucerne sighed. “I guess. Johnny? You want to do the honors?”
“Little Chuckie is Charles Esterhaus. He's the assistant manager, and he got the job because he's related by marriage to the owner. The guy's a real twit. He makes your pal Prescott look like a boy genius.”
“Oh boy.” I felt my heart sinking. What was it with nepotism? Why was incompetence so highly rewarded? Okay, family is everything, but can you let it totally bring down a business? Or a police department? Don't you have to draw the line somewhere?
Peevy shrugged. “Little Chuckie is a short guy with a big, big ego. I think they call it a Napoleon complex.”
“Nobody likes him. He can't get along with anyone. Not for two seconds,” said Lucerne.
“He and I have had our moments,” said Johnny, rubbing the back of his neck. “He's been a real jerk to Sassy. Why did he have to be working tonight? Geez Louise. I was hoping that Kiki could go through the dressing room and have a peek through the curtains. If our creep is here, she'd see him. This would have been over and done with in no time!”
“How were you planning to take him down?” asked Lucerne. “You know we don't allow firearms in here.”
Johnny gave the bouncer a half-smile. “Meet our secret weapon, Brawny. She was in the military in the UK. Believe me, she doesn't need a firearm to be lethal.”
Color me surprised. I hadn't realized that Johnny had kept up with my life and the new additions to it. Then I realized that despite the fact that Mert had shut me out, Laurel and I had become much closer. She must have told her uncle about Brawny's background. Apparently, my support network was as close-knit as a pair of cotton socks. I quickly recovered from the surprise and tried to act unfazed.
Shotgun, Wedding, Bells Page 17