by Ellen Hart
“Entitled?”
“Yeah.”
“Have fun. Looks like she’ll be around for a few days.”
“Do they always fight like that?”
“Prepare yourself for lots of slamming doors.”
“Think I’ll take Hattie to the zoo tomorrow.”
“Good man.”
* * *
Avi yawned so deeply that she shuddered when she finished. Spending the early morning hours listening to Dorsey puke his guts out wasn’t her idea of a restful night’s sleep. Thankfully, when she needed to, she could tend bar on autopilot.
She was uncapping a Leinenkugel Honey Weiss when Dorsey moved up next to her and said, “Thanks for letting me stay last night.”
She set the beer and two glasses of wine on a tray. “Can’t exactly say it was a pleasure.”
“And thanks for getting the key from the super.”
She was too tired to be diplomatic. “I don’t get why you’re so secretive about your apartment.”
“I’m not secretive. I just don’t want him going in there, okay?”
“Him and anyone else.”
“It’s my business,” he said, turning and walking back to the other end of the bar.
“Whatever,” she muttered. When she spied Jane come in the front door, her mood brightened, and then, just as quickly, sank. Jane had probably read some of her book. She should never have given it to her.
“You’re busy tonight,” said Jane, easing onto a stool.
God, but she was beautiful. Hair in a French braid. Wearing a black turtleneck that hugged all the right places. Avi felt her pulse heat up. “Friday night, yeah.”
“Did you get my text?”
“What text?”
“About dinner and a movie.”
Avi couldn’t stand it another minute. “Did you read any of the book?”
“I read all of it.”
“You did? And you still want to talk to me?”
Jane folded her hands on the counter. “I loved it. I’m not lying. I thought it was brilliant.”
“Really?”
“Have people really been that brutal about your writing? If so, I can’t understand why. This book should be published. The fact that it isn’t makes no sense to me.”
Now Avi wanted to kiss her.
“So what about it? Dinner? A movie?”
“A real date?”
“And a chance to talk in more detail about the story.”
This was almost too good to be true. “You’re on.”
“When do you have a night off?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule. It goes up on the board tomorrow around noon.”
Georgia sidled up and took a seat next to Jane.
“Something to drink?” asked Avi.
Georgia was dressed in a see-through black lace minirobe with black panties and no bra, her lush blond hair piled on top of her head, with tendrils falling loosely around her face. Avi couldn’t help but laugh at Jane’s reaction. She’d actually blushed, swallowed hard a couple of times, and tried like hell to tear her eyes away from Georgia’s breasts. Innocence was a hard-to-find commodity in Avi’s world. “Give her a break,” she said.
“Come on, play with me,” said Georgia, half-whispering the words into Jane’s ear.
“It’s tempting,” said Jane, “but I think I’ll pass.”
“Boo hoo. I’ll be around all evening.” She winked at Avi and strolled off.
“Boy, she doesn’t give up,” said Jane.
“It’s why she makes such good money.”
“That and her looks. Is she a member of the tribe?”
“She lives with a boyfriend, but she told me she swings both ways.”
Jane examined the drink specials. “These are new.”
“Anything appeal?”
“Make me a Waldorf. You know what that is?”
“Are we playing Stump the Bartender? Of course I do.” She rattled off the ingredients.
“Hey, I have a burning question. How old are the dancers?”
“Depends,” said Avi. “I’ve known strippers as old as forty, though that’s an exception. You’ve got to be in great shape to do the pole moves and be on your feet all night. Most of the women here are in their twenties. A few are in their early thirties. I haven’t seen actual birth certificates, but I’d say early thirties is the upper limit. You looking for the dead guy’s sister? Is that why you came in tonight?”
“That’s one of the reasons,” said Jane, taking a sip of the Waldorf and giving Avi an approving smile.
“Did you find out any information on the sister—like how old she is?”
“Thirty-seven or thirty-eight.”
“Hmm. All the black strippers are in their early twenties.”
“What about that manager? The one I saw arguing with that other bartender—Dorsey.”
“Diamond Brown? Yeah, she’d be around that age. So is Shanice Williams, the executive chef.”
“She’d never talk to me.”
“No love lost, huh?”
Jane picked up her drink. “Stay tuned. I’ll be back.”
For the next hour, Avi made drinks and spoke to customers and staff, all the while keeping an eye on Jane as she talked to all the African American employees of a certain age. She was smart enough to hand each person a twenty first, which at the very least bought their attention for a few minutes.
As the ten o’clock show was finishing, Georgia sauntered up and sat down on one of the stools. “You and Jane seem pretty tight.”
“She’s great.”
“She’d be quite a catch. I hear she owns a couple of restaurants. She’s a dyke, right?”
Avi nodded.
“Then what’s wrong with her? Dykes who come in here want the same thing a guy wants. I’ve tried coming on to her more than once, and she just blows me off.”
“Ever think you’re not her type?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m everybody’s type.”
“Your ego is showing. Or maybe it’s your id.”
“If I want her, she’s mine.”
“Look, Georgia, she’s a good person. Maybe you should play cat and mouse with someone else.”
“I like a challenge. Besides, you know what they say. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.”
“Meaning what?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Georgia said, “I mean, what’s with her? Talking to every black woman in the club. Don’t white women qualify?”
“She’s looking for someone.”
“Yeah, I know. Jane Lawless, licensed private investigator.”
“Funny.”
Georgia propped her chin on her hand. “No, she really is.”
“She’s a restaurateur.”
“And a PI.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“She gave me her card. Nolan & Lawless Investigations.”
It didn’t make any sense. If Jane was a professional, why hadn’t she said something about it? In that instant, the truth of the situation struck Avi like a thunderbolt.
“Something wrong?” asked Georgia.
She glanced down at an order a waitress had just handed her. “I’ve got nine drink orders to fill.”
“And I’ve got a rotation coming up.” Rearranging the front of her robe, Georgia sauntered back to the tables.
25
Emmett staggered off the plane at MSP Just after midnight, feeling as if he’d fought a war. Thanks to several additional Scotch and waters, a talkative passenger in the next seat, and a steely resolve not to look out the window, it was a war he’d won, though at a cost. He was drunk and too strung out to negotiate a cab ride home. He called his son on his way down the Gold Concourse and was grateful when Roddy answered on the first ring.
“I need you to pick me up.”
“You sound strange.”
“Everything’s fine. Are you delivering pizzas?”
“Not tonight.”
&
nbsp; “You know where to come.”
“Be there in fifteen.”
Emmett spent the next few minutes sitting at a counter staring into a cup of black coffee. He considered ordering a burger but wasn’t hungry. He needed to talk to Vince right away, get his take on what they should do about this maniac who was after them. It wasn’t a stretch to think that he was no longer safe anywhere—even in his own house. He’d felt that way all week, though for different reasons.
His son pulled his rattletrap station wagon up to the curb under the AirNorth sign shortly before twelve thirty. Emmett slipped in, buckled his seat belt, and let his head drop back. The decision not to take a cab had been the right one.
“Another bad flight?” asked Roddy.
“You could say that.”
“You’ve been drinking again. Come on, Dad. You promised you’d stop.”
Emmett sighed. “I know I did … and I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
They wound their way though a maze of roads on their way out of the airport, finally driving under the freeway sign that read, ST. PAUL.
Emmett shut his eyes.
“Dad?” said Roddy a few minutes later.
“Hmm?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna be angry.”
After what he’d been through, he doubted it would even register.
“You know that girl who hanged herself? The one from my school?”
“Right.”
In the darkness, Roddy stared straight ahead. “I did know her. I’d dated her for a few months my junior year. Ended kind of badly. I got called into the principal’s office today. Me and Lukas, and Brady Thompson and Darius Jones.”
Brady was the star wide receiver on the football team. Darius was the nose tackle. Along with Lukas, they were Roddy’s best friends. Emmett liked all of them, thought they were great kids with tons of talent and drive. They were all headed to major universities on football scholarships. “Why? Was it about the girl—or the football team?”
Roddy took an off-ramp. When he reached the top of the hill, he turned right and eased the station wagon over to the curb. Still staring straight ahead, he said, “We all got suspended.”
“For what?”
“Look, Dad, you gotta understand something first. We were just having fun. We didn’t mean anything by it. It started last fall. Brady—you know he’s got this weird sense of humor—he began calling some of the fat girls out, telling them they needed to stop eating so many doughnuts. We all started doing it. It was a joke, you know? It was hilarious. I mean, they needed to lose weight.”
“Oh, Roddy.”
“I know, I know. It was mean—but they were gross. Hard to look at. Eye pollution was what we called them. Then the whole thing kind of morphed into something else. Like, one night we got to talking about all the skeezes we knew.”
“Skeezes?”
“You know. Totally dubious girls. Like Lukas says—a chick with the morals of a guy.”
Emmett turned to look at him. “Go on.”
“Brady said he’d been asking girls out since he was thirteen just to see how far he could get them to go. Darius said the same thing. Me and Lukas, we’d never been like that, but we liked hearing their stories. That’s when Brady got this idea to put together a list—all the girls we’d dated and what they liked to do—you know, like, in bed. Okay, so it was raunchy. I admit to that. But it was all in good fun. And, I guess, it was a kind of payback on the girls who dumped us for no good reason. After a while, I think Brady and Darius started making stuff up about some of the girls who wouldn’t go out with them. Maybe Lukas did, too.”
“What about you?”
“Well, maybe one or two skanks. You ask me, those bitches deserved it. You didn’t see how they treated me. They had it coming.”
“Is that how you think about women? Skanks? Bitches? Is that what I’ve taught you?”
“Hell, Dad, it was no big deal.”
“Did anybody but the four of you know about the list?”
Roddy turned his head toward the side window. “That’s the problem. I never in a million years thought Brady would show the thing to anyone else.”
“Who’d he show it to?”
“I don’t know. A couple friends. And they showed some other people, and someone sent it to the girls on the list. And a bunch of other students. I don’t know how many.”
“Lord, Roddy. When was this?”
“This past Monday. It was like the list went viral. Everybody had a copy the next day.”
“Was the girl who died on the list?”
Roddy’s head sank to his chest. “Yeah.”
“That’s why you were suspended. You deserved it. How did the principal know who’d created the list?”
“I don’t know, but he did. He was hopping mad. Red faced. He screamed at us for half an hour.” Turning to his dad with tears in his eyes, Roddy continued, “I think they’re going to expel us. They called the fat jokes and the skank list bullying.”
“It was.”
“No, you don’t get it. It was just … we never meant—”
“Roddy, this is serious.”
“I know. If I get expelled, I can kiss LSU—and every other college that’s contacted me—good-bye. LSU was my ticket. My ticket, Dad. Most guys don’t have one, but I do. All I ever wanted was to play football.”
Emmett couldn’t believe his ears. “A girl is dead.”
“She must have been, like, weak or unstable or something. The list, it was just silly.”
“I love you, son, but I think you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”
Through deep, heaving sobs, Roddy choked out, “The police want to talk to us. Brady’s dad got him a lawyer. I … I think I’m going to need one, too. I was the one who dated her. That makes me their prime target. Like I wanted her to die. Like I’m somehow responsible.”
Emmett slid over and put his arm around his son, holding him tight as the cries, the chest chokes, and the pent-up wails of desperation flowed out.
“This is the end,” said Roddy. “I lose everything I’ve worked my ass off for because of this. It’s not fair.”
Emmett felt sick inside, as if he’d somehow passed on his own fatal flaw to his son. Roddy had made a serious mistake, the same way Emmett had, one that would forever change his life. He could hardly tell him that his fears were unfounded. Instead he said, “You’re my boy. Nothing will ever change that. We’ll work this out together. Okay? You and me. I’ll be with you the entire way.”
Solidarity with his son was all Emmett had to give. In the end, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.
26
Jane’s first conversation that night was with Diamond. They sat at a table, Jane with her drink, Diamond with a Perrier. Jane couldn’t do much except ask questions and watch her body language as she answered. She began by explaining her connection to DeAndre Moore.
“You say his uncle was a retired cop?” Diamond tipped the Perrier bottle back and took a swallow. “That’s bad news. And you’re a PI.”
Jane was selective about how she used that information. She’d learned to trust her gut. Some people closed up as soon as they heard the words. For others, knowing that she was an investigator seemed to impress them, as if she had more power than the average citizen.
“I understand he was looking for his sister,” said Jane. “She works here.”
“That right.”
“Would you know anything about that?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
Diamond was coolness personified. If she was Sabrina, it was going to take more than simple conversational give-and-take to rattle her. “Are you his sister?”
Her smile was like a razor. “If I was, I don’t think I’d be telling you about it. Don’t much like cops—or PIs.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well, hon,” she said, a pleasan
t Southern lilt to her voice, “it’s all you’re gonna get.”
“Did you ever talk to Moore while he was at the club?”
“No more than a few words. I saw him at the bar night after night, so I did what I always do—tried to encourage the man to get closer to the stage.”
“Did you see him talking with anyone in particular?”
“Sure. The bartenders. I saw Georgia apply pressure a few times. I don’t think she got him to bite. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police. I don’t know nothin’ about the guy.”
“You like working in a strip club?” asked Jane, knowing she was getting nowhere.
“It’s a job.”
“Ever done any dancing?”
“No way.” Nodding to Jane’s drink, she said, “Are you enjoying that?”
“It’s good.”
“We pride ourselves on our bar. Be sure you have another before you leave.”
After two fruitless hours, two more Waldorfs, and nine additional conversations, Jane finally threw in the towel. Unless these women were lying, which was possible, she figured she’d spent two hundred bucks on nothing. Strangely, she’d enjoyed the conversations. All the women seemed to be wonderful people, with interesting lives. Even the runner with the horrific breath and bad teeth, the one who kept punctuating her statements with a deep, excruciating smoker’s cough, had seemed like a diamond in the rough.
Feeling uncharacteristically buoyant, Jane made her way through the back hall. As she was about to round the corner onto the nightclub floor, Georgia appeared directly in front of her.
“Are you stalking me?” asked Jane, trying not to focus on Georgia’s breasts but losing the battle.
“Go ahead. Look. Doesn’t cost you anything.”
“No? It’s been my experience that very little in life is free.”
“How philosophical. Me, I’m more concrete. I like to live in the moment. Don’t take this the wrong way, Jane, but it seems like you should try living in the moment a little more yourself.”
“Think so?”
Pushing Jane back into the deserted hall, she continued. “I’ve got a present for you.”
“Georgia, I’m not sure—”
She placed a finger against Jane’s lips, smiled like the Cheshire cat, then leaned in and kissed her.