I walked in the club after paying the cover charge and looked around. It was about what I had expected, a bar at one end of the room with about fifteen stools and a large mirror behind it running the length of the wall. A stage on the other side of the room with two poles and a runway that stretched out into a small sea of tables crowded together. A sign above the door into the room said maximum capacity 150 people. I’d have to take the fire marshal’s word on that. It looked to me like half that number would suck all the oxygen out of the place. It wasn’t even eight yet, but the place was filling up fast. It was a normal strip club crowd. Mostly young men with eager faces scattered among businessmen trying to impress clients with the entertainment that they couldn’t find in the small towns they all seemed to come from.
I walked over to the bar where a bored looking bartender took my order and then I found my way to a table. The show had already started, but neither of the girls on stage could be Susan Maxwell, if what I had heard about her was true. Both of the young ladies were attractive, it was hard not to be in pasties and a g-string, but they didn’t have the assets I understood that Maximum Susie would be putting on display.
The crowd was enthusiastic, leaning against the runway and stuffing dollar bills in the girls’ garters, among other places. One guy in uniform, who appeared to be treating the three-drink minimum as a dare, got into the spirit too much and jumped on the stage to dance with the girls. Before he could do more than one bump and grind, two muscular bouncers came out of the wings and efficiently removed him and tossed him into the street.
The security reassured me in a way. If I could manage to talk to Susan, at least she would be in an environment where she didn’t feel threatened. Putting people at ease was half the battle in getting them to open up and give whatever information they might have.
I decided to take in the atmosphere and have another drink before I tried to talk with Susan. I still wasn’t quite sure how I wanted to play it when I motioned one of the waitresses to come over. She was a short blonde in hot pants and a tube top that she was falling out of, but compared to what was on the stage she was dressed for church.
“What’ll it be, sugar?” she chirped.
“Scotch,” I said “And when does Susie come on?”
“A fan, huh,” she said slyly.
“No, but I have heard a couple of nice things about her,” I returned. I could banter if I had to.
“I’ll bet you have,” she said with a laugh. “But you’ll have to idle your engine for a while. Susie won’t come on for hours yet.”
“That’s to bad,” I said. The disappointment in my voice wasn’t false. I didn’t feel like hanging around all night paying eight bucks a drink.
After a pregnant pause she said: “For real high-rollers we do have private VIP rooms for personal dances with the ladies.”
“How much?”
“You’ll have to discuss that with the manager. I’ll send him over, if you like.”
“Okay, in the meantime send over my drink and make it a double as long as I’m a VIP.”
“You got it, sweetie,” she said. “You know, I get off at midnight if you’d like to get together and do something then.”
“That’s good to know. Maybe we can work something out.”
She walked back to the bar and said something to the bartender. He glanced over at me with a face that gave away nothing, picked up a phone, and after a short conversation hung up. Within a minute, a door next to the bar marked office opened. A short, balding man in a tuxedo came out. He walked to the bar, leaned his head toward the bartender, looked up at me and walked to my table.
“I’m the manager, sir. I understand that you are interested in one of our special services.”
He had bourbon breath, perspiration on his upper lip, and a nametag that read Rudolph Martinez.
“That’s right, Rudy,” I said. Martinez winced. Since I was a high roller, I decided I could afford to be rude.
“I’d like a private dance with Susie Max.”
“Susan hasn’t arrived yet this evening,” he replied stiffly. “Perhaps, we could interest you in one of our other entertainers. One of the ladies on stage would be fine companionship if you desire-”
“Forget it,” I interrupted. “Susie is what I’m interested in. Can you deliver or not?”
The waitress came back with my drink.
“Here you are, sir,” she said, winked at me and left. This VIP stuff was great.
“As I explained, sir she isn’t in the club.”
“Then call her.”
“That would be expensive, sir. She is our headliner. On top of that to be called to the club early, well…” He spread his arms expansively.
“Give it a number, Rudy.”
I could see the cash register in his head tallying a sum.
“Perhaps, $200,” he ventured.
I thought it over for a moment. I was sure that he had at least doubled the price because I had needled him and that I was in such an obvious rush. Pomeroy had said he would pay any expense. “Okay, Rudy, you got yourself a deal. Give her a ring, I don’t want to wait here all night.”
“Yes sir,” he said. He had a new respect for me. I wondered what his cut of the $200 would come to. “Perhaps we can take care of the financial aspect now?”
Since it was clear that nothing would proceed without an up front payment, I pulled the envelope Pomeroy had given me out of my breast pocket and relieved it of two one hundred dollar bills. Martinez leered greedily at the envelope.
“Now make the call.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir. If you require anything else, consider the club at your disposal.”
“Just Susie, for now. We’ll see how that goes first. Then, who knows?”
He nodded and scurried away. The club was filling up fast and the smoke from dozens of cigars and cigarettes hung low in the air. The odor of smoke, booze, sweat, and lust made me vaguely nauseous. I hoped that I wasn’t in for a long wait. Thirty minutes and two drinks later, I was getting groggy and impatient when I discovered Martinez at my elbow.
“It is arranged, sir. Follow me, if you will.”
I arose, and he led me through a side door and into a room off of a carpeted hallway. The room was small, maybe 15 by 15, with the usual mirrors on all the walls. A leather-upholstered couch took up one wall. To one side was a small wet bar, a television and a telephone. In the middle of the room stood a round heavy-duty glass table.
“Your private show will begin in a moment,” said Martinez with a discreet smile. “If you require any other, shall we say amenities, the phone has a direct connection to my office.”
“Thank you, Mr. Martinez,” I said, deciding to make nice. It had an immediate affect as Martinez beamed at me. “You’ve been most kind. I won’t forget the splendid service that your club has provided to me.”
He gave a short bow and left the room. I sat down on the couch and loosened my tie. I had drunk too much today and I felt a little light-headed. I was trying to add up how many drinks that I had tossed down since three o’clock, when a woman entered. She was wearing thigh high black boots, black leather mini-skirt, black leather bikini top, and a black cowboy hat. Judging by the fact that an entire cow must have given its life just for the material in the bikini top, it was obvious that this was Susan Maxwell.
I was surprised to find what a petite girl she was, not over five feet tall. Her skin was porcelain white that had never been exposed to the sun. Her eyes were a deep blue and she had long blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders. The effect against the black outfit was stunning, and for a moment she took my breath away.
She walked over and sat down on my lap without a word.
“So, you’re my big fan,” she said with a hint of a southern accent. Whether it was real or feigned I couldn’t decide, but regardless it was charming.
“I have been looking forward to meeting you.” That much was true.
“Well, we’ll have to make certa
in that you have a memorable experience, then won’t we?” she stated, and began to unhook the leather bra.
“Could we just talk for awhile?” I said quickly.
“Sure, honey,” she said, sounding disappointed. “If that’s what turns you on.”
She sat down again, this time on the couch and looked up expectantly at me. “What do you want to talk about?”
I should’ve lain off the booze earlier. My ears were ringing and I still hadn’t decided how to play this with her. But since I was still kind of foggy I decided to play it straight and hope for the best. If she wouldn’t play ball I could always fall back on bad cop, and threaten to blow the whistle on this little game that she was part of here.
“Susan, I need your help,” I stated flatly.
“Why, sure, honey,” she cooed. “We all need a little help, sometimes. That’s what I’m here for.”
I took a breath and took a chance. “I’m looking for an old friend of yours, Paula Wray.”
“Paula?” she repeated woodenly.
“Yes, do you know where I can find her?”
She thought about it for a moment.
“Is she in trouble?”
“No.”
“You a cop?”
“Private.” I handed her one of my cards.
She scanned it carefully. “Why do you want her?”
I had played it straight so far, so I decided to go whole hog. “Her ex-husband has come into an inheritance, and he feels like some of it belongs to Paula.”
“The professor?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah, she used to talk about him. Edgar something, right? She liked him, even if he was a mama’s boy. I guess the family didn’t take to her. She said the mother was no box of chocolates.”
“The mother’s dead. That’s where the inheritance comes in.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It is.”
“Then little Paula is coming into some of it?”
“It wasn’t in the will for her. It’s Edgar’s own idea to cut Paula in for a slice.”
“How big a slice?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Can you help me, Susan?”
“I might be able to mister PI. What’s in it for Susie?” she said with hooded eyes.
That sobered me up. I decided that she wasn’t as pretty as I had thought. The avarice, plainly visible on her face gave it a new hardness. I shivered involuntarily.
“I could arrange for something to come your way. It depends on how much help you can give.” Good old-fashioned greed was going to break this for me.
“For a thousand, I’ll take you right to her.”
“A hundred,” I said. I didn’t want to seem to eager. Susie was panning out to be the kind of girl who would jack up the price if I took the first offer.
“A lousy hundred?” No southern accent anymore. “You gave Martinez two, you bum.”
I let her sweat for a minute. “All right, I’ll match that, two hundred.”
“A thousand,” she pouted.
“Two hundred,” I said, and pulled the envelope out. Removing two more hundreds, I held them in my hand toward her. “This is a limited time offer, Susie.”
She looked at the money and licked her lips, but said nothing.
“This window is closing, please go to the next teller,” I said, and started to withdraw the wad.
“All right!” she almost screamed. “I’ll take it.”
She snatched the money from my hand. “All I ever get are bums, deadbeats, and cheapskates. And you’re all three, mister.”
I was going to have to try hard not to let all this sweet talk go to my head. “You know, lots of people talk that way and end up getting married.”
She sat glowering at me.
“Where’s Paula?”
Susie’s expression changed to an evil grin. “I left her in my dressing room before I came in here.”
I didn’t speak.
“You think you’re so smart. You thought that you were getting the best of poor stupid Susie.”
She let loose with a barrage of laughter and it was some time before she could bring herself under control.
“Paula works backstage, helping the dancers with wardrobe changes and make-up. You know, we don’t just peel our clothes off here; we put on a real show. She does alterations, costume design, and when they need her she even schleps drinks. Our little Paula is a worker.
“So you see, Randall, if you had just asked for her, you’d be ahead four hundred now. But you had to be a smart guy and play detective with everyone, instead of being an Honest John.”
I could feel my face getting red. She was right, if I had shown the picture of Paula I had to the bartender or the waitress or Rudy or anybody in this dump, I would probably all ready be with Paula. If I had stayed off the booze I might have thought things out a little bit more. And what was Pomeroy going to say when he heard how I blew four hundred dollars of his money on information when I didn’t need to? I could just see his face. And what about Bill? He had recommended me and I was turning out to be a bumbler.
Susie stood over me gloating.
“It’s starting to sink in, isn’t it? You’re finally getting it aren’t you? Don’t worry, Randall. I won’t tell anyone what a sap you’ve been.”
I still didn’t say anything.
“Come on, bonehead. I’ll introduce you to Miss Wray. I’ll walk slowly. You’ve had a long day.”
She was right, so I kept my mouth shut and followed her out the door.
Chapter 5
The Ex Wife
She led me backstage through a steady stream of young women in various stages of undress, none of whom paid me any attention. There were curtains, ropes, more mirrors, and a heavyset, dark featured man barking out assignments.
“Chaz,” said Susie. “Where’s Paula?”
“She’s in your dressing room getting your things ready. Which is where you should be if you are finished with your private session.” He gave me an appraising look. I felt like he could tell how much money I had on me, right down to the change and the twenty I kept in my right shoe for emergencies.
“Come on,” said Susie, grabbing my arm. “I’ll make sure that you don’t get lost on the way.”
She led me to a door with a star on it and a sign that read, knock before entering. She opened the door and called out: “Paula, you got a visitor.”
Susie stepped aside, waved for me to enter and said: “Break a leg, tough guy. I hope you’re on the level.” She walked away. I stood for a moment, and walked into the room.
I recognized Paula at once, from her photo. She was seated, leaning over a table, sewing a sequined outfit. She was a lovely girl, not as obvious as Susie, but in a subtle way she was even more beautiful. I tried to picture her with a dry stick like Pomeroy, but it would not come into focus.
She looked up as I came in. In a soft and smoky voice she said: “Can I help you?”
I found myself tongue-tied for a second so I said stupidly: “Are you Paula Wray?” I was off to another great start.
“Yes, I am,” she said and smiled.
I almost melted. What was getting into me tonight? I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and take as far away from this dump as possible. Instead, I found myself straightening my tie, checking my cuffs, and wishing that I had worn my new pair of black shoes with the gold buckles.
She was looking at me and waiting patiently. She was still flashing that million-dollar smile.
“I’ll get right to the point, Miss Wray,” I began, trying to sound officious and not like a love struck schoolboy. “My name is Frank Randall. I’m a private detective.”
“Oh, dear,” she said. I wanted to crush her in my arms. Steady boy.
“I was hired to locate you by your ex-husband, Edgar Pomeroy.” May as well get right to it, I thought.
“Edgar? Why?”
“You see, Miss Wray, Edgar’s mother has passed on and Edgar has come i
nto his inheritance and he wishes for you to share in a portion of it.”
She was sitting back, trying to absorb, it so I went on: “Edgar feels that your divorce settlement was unfair to you, and he wishes to make amends.”
She had her hands on her lap and she was staring at them. “Mrs. Pomeroy dead,” she said under her breath. “Edgar must be devastated. Is he all right?”
“Well,” I began, not wanting to spill the news about his health, “he would appear to be bearing up as well as could be expected.” It was the truth.
“But you’ve seen him, he’s well?”
“I really couldn’t say, Miss Wray.” I didn’t want to lie to her, but I couldn’t betray Pomeroy either. I decided to try and steer a middle course.
“He wants to meet with you immediately if possible,” I continued. “However, I should tell you that I took this job with the understanding that if you did not want to meet Mr. Pomeroy, that that would be the end of it. You are under no obligation and I will not reveal your location, if that is what you wish.”
“What?” she said absentmindedly. “Oh, of course, of course, thank you. But why would I not want to meet him?”
“It’s none of my business, but you wouldn’t be the first woman to be frightened of her ex. Some divorces are very bitter.”
She thought about that and replied: “Not this one, it was more sad than anything. Poor Edgar, I backed him into a corner and he just withdrew from me. I thought he might fight back, but instead it just made him more timid, more dependent on his family.” she paused. “I take it that you are aware of some of our history together.”
“Just the bare bones that Edgar thought necessary to impart. I take it that Mrs. Pomeroy didn’t approve of your marriage.”
“No, she certainly didn’t, but I could have taken that. Mrs. Pomeroy was a very old woman, very set her ways. She didn’t think I was good enough for the family, nobody would have been, it didn’t have anything to do with me in particular. She was cold, but she didn’t show the naked hatred I saw from Silas. He was the real heat; Mrs. Pomeroy was merely cold. She only became enraged at Edgar and me when I suggested that we get our own place. She didn’t want to be abandoned by Edgar.”
The Referral Game (A Frank Randall Mystery) Page 3