A Clause for Murder

by Jill Shure

&ldquoThink she came back to get Delilah? To hurt her?&rdquo

  &ldquoDoubt it. She moved back to Toronto to be with her kids. Besides, Delilah was always battling with someone over being late or not showin&rsquo up. That&rsquos another reason she was always broke. She rarely worked. Guess she figured some rich guy would take her away from all this.&rdquo

  &ldquoBut no one did?&rdquo

  &ldquoNot that I saw. Though she had plenty of dates.&rdquo He gave me a meaningful look.

  I got his point. &ldquoThen what happened?&rdquo

  &ldquoSome little Mexican broad showed up and started givin&rsquo her a hard time.&rdquo

  &ldquoA customer?&rdquo

  He shrugged. &ldquoNever seen her before. But she came in here ready to spit. Delilah escaped to Wild Bill&rsquos office.&rdquo

  &ldquoWere she and Wild Bill fooling around?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoUsed to, but not anymore. He liked to sample the goods, if you get my drift.&rdquo

  I did and it stank. &ldquoWhy couldn&rsquot Wild Bill help her out with money?&rdquo

  &ldquoHe always has the shorts, too.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy? This place looks like it does okay.&rdquo

  He leaned forward. &ldquoBill likes long shots. The ponies, football, craps. And his luck ain&rsquot so hot.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow long was Delilah in Wild Bill&rsquos office?&rdquo

  &ldquoHalf hour, more or less. But the Mexican broad waited for her. Hung around the bar, ordered a couple of tequila shots. So then Delilah came out and they started fighting. I stepped in cause no one was watching Barbie up on stage. Then Delilah escaped inside the john.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy didn&rsquot the Mexican woman follow her?&rdquo

  &ldquoCause I tossed her out on her ear. Told her I&rsquod call the cops if she didn&rsquot take a hike.&rdquo

  &ldquoAny idea who this woman was?&rdquo I asked, sure it had to be Mrs. Tranquillo.

  &ldquoBeats me. Probably somebody&rsquos wife. Cause she was dressed too nice for this joint.&rdquo

  &ldquoAnd you never knew Delilah went out the window?&rdquo

  &ldquoNot until the police questioned everyone. After they found her body and wanted our fingerprints and stuff.&rdquo

  &ldquoHas Wild Bill been in since Delilah disappeared?&rdquo

  &ldquoOnce or twice to check the receipts and clean out the till.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid the police question him?&rdquo

  &ldquoSure. He told them all he knew. Bein&rsquo a strip club, we gotta be real careful. Cause the local citizens are always diggin&rsquo up reasons to cancel our liquor license and drive us away.&rdquo

  &ldquoDoesn&rsquot Wild Bill ever check in by phone to ask about the day&rsquos totals?&rdquo

  Andy shrugged. &ldquoNot for a couple of weeks now. Once he starts gambling ... he can disappear indefinitely.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow does the place run?&rdquo

  &ldquoWe manage.&rdquo Without warning, he covered the few feet between us, grabbed me by the elbows and pressed his mouth to mine. Until I could hardly breathe. I smelled sour beer breath and sweat. But my struggles were useless. Under his extensive flab, he was built like an ox.

  &ldquoLet me go,&rdquo I finally shrieked, pulling my head back and gasping for air.

  Andy dropped me. His bloated face filled with anger. &ldquoAll you bitches are alike. Teases, every one of you.&rdquo

  I raced to the door terrified he&rsquod try to stop me. When he didn&rsquot, I faced him on the other side of the open door. He&rsquod returned to unloading boxes.

  &ldquoWait a second,&rdquo I said. &ldquoYou must have McDade&rsquos mobile phone number or address.&rdquo

  Andy kept his head down. But I could see his eyes shift uneasily. &ldquoHe doesn&rsquot care for calls. He contacts me when he&rsquos ready to.&rdquo

  A lie. I read his body language easily. &ldquoWell, how about a photo of him?&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoCheck out the entry.&rdquo

  Andy could&rsquove easily killed Courtney. Maybe she&rsquod teased him, or mistakenly led him on. Whatever the case, Andy was no innocent victim in all this. He&rsquod definitely stonewalled me about McDade&rsquos personal info. But why? And where was Wild Bill McDade?

  To my amazement, I&rsquod missed the outside photos of McDade earlier. It was like a pictorial history of Wild Bill&rsquos life. In the late 1960s, he resembled a real lounge lizard. Seated between two tall showgirls in heavy makeup, Wild Bill wore a shiny suit and sported a huge diamond pinky ring. His black hair was slicked back and his sideburns almost reached his chin.

  In the 1970s, his dark hair was longer. Somebody had snapped a picture of him wearing a white suit and dancing like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. In more recent pictures, he&rsquod adopted a western look. String ties, cowboy hats, bad hair rugs, and a belly which probably had its own zip code. What&rsquos more, he smoked. Almost every shot had him gripping a smoldering cigarette between his fingers. Meaning McDade could very well be my Marlboro man.

  Back inside Dancin&rsquo Beauties, I found Samba clearing a table. She&rsquod already done her routine and changed back into her waitress ensemble, shorts and a white tube top.

  &ldquoLook, I&rsquom not here to hassle you. Five minutes, that&rsquos all I&rsquom asking for,&rdquo I said, as she filled her tray with cocktails and beers.

  &ldquoI already told you what I know.&rdquo

  &ldquoJust a few more questions.&rdquo

  She sighed. &ldquoFine. We can chat while I handle my tables.&rdquo

  &ldquoTell me. Did Delilah have any boyfriend troubles? Or someone who hassled her?&rdquo

  Samba picked up a dishrag and wiped down a table. &ldquoShe didn&rsquot exactly confide in me. Or anyone else, for that matter. She wasn&rsquot very popular around here. Always missing her sets. Forgetting to take care of her tables. We were all sick of it. Especially with her la-de-da attitude. And the way she constantly borrowed money from everyone, but rarely paid anyone back. Then she&rsquod have the nerve to flaunt her diamonds at us.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow come McDade put up with her?&rdquo

  &ldquoShe had a good customer following. But that night, she pushed McDade too far. And he finally cut her loose.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou heard the fight?&rdquo

  &ldquoEveryone did. Usually, he takes a girl aside to give her the heave-ho. But with Delilah bein&rsquo late again and havin&rsquo trouble with the other stripper and me, he told her off in front of everyone. Then there was this Mexican lady. A customer, who kept following her around and yelling at her in Spanish.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy was McDade suddenly so indiscreet?&rdquo

  &ldquoWho knows? Guess she pushed him too far.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo Andy&rsquos running things now?&rdquo

  &ldquoYeah, he&rsquos running things. But he&rsquos way behind in payin&rsquo

  everyone. Most of us depend on tips, so it&rsquos not a huge amount. But I got a feeling he&rsquos waitin&rsquo for something, you know. Like a big check ... or else.&rdquo

  &ldquoOr else what?&rdquo

  &ldquoOr else we&rsquore gonna have to close down. Cause we can&rsquot pay for the booze. And as much as I&rsquod like to think us girls are the main attraction, the booze pays our bills.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhen was the last time you saw McDade?&rdquo I asked, helping her clear a table.

  &ldquoCouple of weeks ago.&rdquo

  &ldquoAny idea where he is now?&rdquo

  &ldquoVegas, the islands. Wherever there&rsquos a high stakes crap game.&rdquo

  &ldquoIs he lucky?&rdquo

  &ldquoHe could do better flushing his dough down the toilet. The guy is a walking loser.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo he has money troubles?&rdquo

  &ldquoAll the time. In fact, about a week before Delilah left, these tough guys dropped by.&rdquo

  &ldquoTough guys?&rdquo

  &ldquoGuys with bad skin, flashy suits, and bodies by Buick,&rdquo she explained.

  &ldquoIs that why Delilah chose to leave through the bathroom window?&rdquo

 
; Samba shrugged. &ldquoCoulda been.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid you actually see her leave or&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoNot really. No one did.&rdquo

  &ldquoCan you tell me anything else about the tough guys?&rdquo

  She picked up her tips off a table. &ldquoThe boss was real blond. Cold blue eyes. Built like he injected steroids and spent his life doing bench presses. He showed up with two other gorillas. All three of them escorted Wild Bill and Delilah into the back office.&rdquo

  &ldquoDelilah went, too?&rdquo

  &ldquoGuess they were all doing business. Seemed like Delilah and Wild Bill were late on a payment. I guess Delilah tried to soften the guy up in her usual way. But the guy wasn&rsquot buying. When it came to a loan, he was like a finance company. All business. She couldn&rsquot screw her way out of this one.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow&rsquod you dig all this up?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoIt was a Friday night. We were burning through beer like crazy. Andy couldn&rsquot leave the bar. So when we ran short, I had to drag in several crates myself. If you hang out in the storage room, you can hear plenty. It&rsquos right behind Wild Bill&rsquos office. I heard the blond guy making threats. Saying he didn&rsquot care how they got his bread. They had a week to pay up or else. Delilah swore that if he&rsquod wait, she&rsquod make it worth his while. She kept telling him they had something big coming. But he had to be patient.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid he sound patient?&rdquo

  &ldquoNot really.&rdquo

  &ldquoBut why would McDade fire Delilah? Especially since they both owed these tough guys money?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoI guess the pressure was getting to him. Maybe he lost his temper. He coulda hired her back the next morning for all I know.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid McDade have a bad temper?&rdquo

  &ldquoYou bet. He was famous for it. He&rsquod get stressed about his losses or something, and he&rsquod blow like a volcano. I heard his wife bailed on their marriage cause he hit her.&rdquo

  I wondered if Mr. Tranquillo had pissed off McDade, too.

  &ldquoEver heard of a Mexican man named Miguel Tranquillo?&rdquo

  &ldquoNah, name doesn&rsquot ring any bells.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow about Andy? What&rsquos his temper like?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoHe&rsquos like a castrated bull. Wants what he can&rsquot have. So he gets grabby with us girls once in a while. Makes a big play. But he backs down pretty quick. A slap across his fat face and he runs for cover.&rdquo

  &ldquoThink he could&rsquove done something to Courtney?&rdquo

  She studied me hard then shrugged. &ldquoMaybe. I can&rsquot say. But he ain&rsquot half as moody as McDade. That man explodes over nothing.&rdquo

  So McDade had a volatile temper and he smoked. More good news. &ldquoAny idea how much Delilah owed?&rdquo

  &ldquoThose goons never mentioned that.&rdquo

  &ldquoOne more thing. Do you have Wild Bill&rsquos phone number or address?&rdquo

  &ldquoNah. Andy always handles the day-to-day stuff.&rdquo

  On the drive home, my head throbbed from all the information. To me it seemed as if most of Andy and Samba&rsquos stories jived. Except that Andy never mentioned Delilah getting fired. Unless I&rsquod missed some other detail. Too bad I&rsquod have to wait to run things by Arlene or Jasper. Arlene could always break things down logically. Then it dawned on me what I&rsquod done tonight for a little information about Courtney. I just prayed Sofia never found out about my little dance. But what were the chances of that?

  15

  &ldquoSo get out there and sell,&rdquo Lisa said, standing behind the Aloss office podium the following Monday. &ldquoAnd remember. You&rsquore helping your clients. No beneficiary ever collected too much life insurance.&rdquo

  This concluded Lisa&rsquos weekly motivational speech.

  When the meeting ended, she pulled me aside. &ldquoBetsy, your numbers stink. You better get your head back in the game.&rdquo

  I stared up at the big board where daily sales records appeared. Instead of my name being in first or second place, it was last. A position that sent me into a panic. I needed to make money fast. I had a mortgage to pay, property taxes, and tuition for Sofia&rsquos dance classes, to name but a few bills due. Grabbing my computer case, I headed for the elevator. At least I had a promising appointment with a couple in La Jolla.

  An hour later, I parked outside Dr. Tucker Bing&rsquos La Jolla home. The house overlooked the posh La Jolla village and glittering Pacific. Based on its size, location, and surrounding property, I guessed the house topped the five million dollar mark.

  &ldquoSo you&rsquore Betsy Ross. Got time for a few hems that need fixing?&rdquo Dr. Bing teased me, as he led me through his fabulous house. I laughed at Bing&rsquos joke, hoping my commission would compensate for his tired references to the historical Betsy Ross.

  Bing offered me a leather chair opposite a large white sofa, where he nestled in beside his young wife Sheri. Dr. Bing was one of those men who insisted on combing his thin gray hair forward to hide a nonexistent hairline. He also sucked in his gut whenever Sheri cast her wide blue eyes in his direction.

  &ldquoSo how did you two meet?&rdquo I asked, to break the ice while I placed brochures on their coffee table, got out my calculator, and eased into pertinent questions about life and death.

  &ldquoI was her gynecological plastic surgeon,&rdquo Dr. Bing said.

  I frowned. &ldquoI&rsquove never heard of that.&rdquo

  &ldquoI redo vaginas,&rdquo he boasted.

  &ldquoYou mean ones that have been in accidents or&mdash&rdquo

  He laughed and glanced at Sheri, who giggled.

  &ldquoNo, it&rsquos elective surgery,&rdquo Bing said.

  Meaning that besides her nose job and humongous implants, Sheri&rsquos woo-woo had been done, too.

  &ldquoI never knew there was a big market for that.&rdquo Nor did I ask to see pictures of his work.

  &ldquoThere&rsquos a huge demand. And when Sheri came in, I knew she was the one. &rdquo

  What made her the one? The before pictures or the after ones?

  Dr. Bing added, &ldquoI have testimonials at the office from dozens of satisfied women.&rdquo

  &ldquoWell, it sounds like a very ...&lsquo&mdashoy vey&mdash&rsquo... creative specialty.&rdquo God, people can be creepy and self-obsessed.

  Forty-five minutes later, I walked out with a hefty check and a signed application for an enormous life insurance policy on the doctor. Sheri and her refurbished equipment were the beneficiaries.

  At least it rated as good business. Meaning my name would soon be at the top of the office sales chart where it belonged.

  That evening after work, while Sofia battled with her math homework and frozen lasagna bubbled in the oven, I studied my copy of the lizard book and scribbled in a few extra names to be safe. I intended to contact anyone and everyone on my list.

  Just as the timer went off, my phone rang. It was Tommy. A name hot off my suspect list.

  &ldquoHow about supper tomorrow night?&rdquo he purred in a voice meant to melt my panties but which actually made me impatient.

  &ldquoOkay, sure, why not.&rdquo We agreed on the Cheesecake Factory where the food was good and there would be plenty of people around, in case Tommy felt homicidal. Plus, I could be home in five minutes if he got obnoxious.

  But in the middle of my storing leftovers in my refrigerator, my phone rang again.

  &ldquoFeel like dinner tomorrow night?&rdquo Ken asked.

  Didn&rsquot it figure that the one time I detoured from being Ken&rsquos sexual doormat his radar went on alert? &ldquoI&rsquod love to, but a friend just called. Poor kid needs a good shoulder to cry on.&rdquo

  &ldquoA friend?&rdquo His tone was that of a proprietary mate with a ring on his fourth finger and a thirty-year mortgage.

  &ldquoA friend, friend.&rdquo

  A deadly long pause followed. &ldquoIs Sofia free?&rdquo he asked.

  &ldquoOh ... sure.&rdquo I yelled for Sofia to pick up her
extension then hung up. Now I knew how divorced women felt when their ex called to speak to the kids, even though my real ex&mdashthat worthless bum&mdashhad never called Sofia once.

  &ldquoYour party&rsquos not here yet. Have a seat,&rdquo the hostess said the following evening, indicating a bench facing a glass case filled with a blinding array of cheesecakes.

  In tight jeans, a trendy shirt, jewelry, and full-battle makeup, I&rsquod intended to wipe the floor with Courtney Farrow&rsquos immortal image. Except my initial audience turned out to be the restaurant hostess. Twenty minutes later, I&rsquod balanced my checkbook and was halfway through the Free Apartment Rental Guide when Tommy strode in looking tall and fit in a soccer jersey and khakis.

  &ldquoHi gorgeous. Sorry I&rsquom late,&rdquo he said, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek and leaving a trail of aftershave wafting through my erogenous zones.

  At that instant, I recalled exactly why we&rsquod broken up. First, he was always late. Second, he had the allegiance of a river rat. Third, Tommy had a Ph.D. in manipulation. He could pull on my emotional strings with one sad look or one divine smile. Compared to him, Ken was honest, punctual, and devoted.

  The hostess instantly led us to our table. She tenderly handed Tommy his menu and flashed him a gleaming smile. As an afterthought, she tossed me my menu like it had Ebola, before she undulated back to her podium.

  Had sexy hostesses and tardy boyfriends bothered Courtney? Too bad I&rsquod missed my chance to ask her. She might&rsquove had some fresh insights or worthwhile maneuvers.

  Over salads, Tommy waxed on about Courtney Farrow, miracle woman. &ldquoI couldn&rsquot help being hooked. Me, a guy who never thought he&rsquod meet the right woman. But she was so sexy, so glamorous, so loaded with class.&rdquo

  It&rsquos astonishing the way some people equate money and expensive clothes with class. &ldquoSo, you didn&rsquot mind that she was a stripper?&rdquo

  Frowning, he changed the subject. &ldquoI can&rsquot sleep or eat. She was the most exciting woman I&rsquove ever known. So sexually adventurous, so daring, so full of surprises.&rdquo

  What the hell did she do to these guys? And what about my striptease at the Christmas party? What was that, fried matzos?

  &ldquoTommy?&rdquo I finally said, reminding myself that Courtney&rsquos days of seducing my boyfriends were over. &ldquoI know you&rsquore still grieving. But I&rsquod love to hear how you two met and fell in love.&rdquo