“What is that, Maxine?”
I air-kissed her cheek. “What’s what?”
She looked me up and down. “Where are we going?”
“That’s a surprise. Come on, we’ve got to fix you up.”
__________
I TOLD CASS TO take off her shirt and sit at my dressing table, and I swiveled the chair away from the mirror so I could work on her. My gaze fell on the ugly pink pucker left by a crazy cross-dresser’s bullet and near it, the thin, pearlized scar spiraling from her collar bone down her chest until it disappeared into her bra. From there, I knew it swooped beneath her breast’s curve, looping and swirling up its underside, stopping just short of her areola. I’d only seen her scar once, and only this much of it. But I knew where it traveled because although my scar was newer, it followed the same route. We’d been raped by the same man, a freak who drugged us and wore a Richard Nixon mask. Although we were attacked roughly five years apart, we were almost certain he’d raped other women. Cass had been searching for him for six years, and I had joined Lost and Found for the sole purpose of helping her. I pulled my gaze from her scar and slicked her hair back in a tight ponytail, and then studied her face.
“How was your first day?” she asked.
“Good,” I answered, deciding to use foundation. Her skin is flawless, but tonight we needed cover. “I learned a lot.”
“Do you still think this is a good idea?”
“Close your eyes.” I brushed foundation over her forehead and eyelids. “I do. You wouldn’t believe the databases a private eye can dig into.”
“That makeup feels really thick, Max.”
“It’s fine.” I finished with her cheeks, nose, and chin. “I don’t know how the databases will help, but between the information and contacts you have in the law enforcement community, and those I’ll make as a private investigator, we’re bound to find other women he’s attacked.”
“It can only help. So, what did you do today?” Cass asked.
I chose avoidance. “Let me finish your face, then we’ll talk.”
__________
TWENTY MINUTES LATER I spun the chair back around to the mirror. She gasped at her heavily made up face and tightly slicked back hair. “Maxine. Take it off.” She reached for a cloth but I snatched it away.
“You look fab. Come on, get dressed. We’ll be late.”
She reluctantly got into the leather pants, white t-shirt, and leather vest I had chosen from my closet. She studied herself in my full-length mirror. “I look like that biker guy from the Village People. It’s not even Halloween, Max. Where are we going?”
I turned and stuck my fishnetted leg through the slit in my black leather skirt and struck a pose. “Whiskey Bend.”
“The strip clubs? That explains why the bustier is boosting your yays up under your chin.” Cass tried to unclip the chain hanging over her shoulder. “I can’t go to a strip bar, Maxine, somebody’ll recognize me and it’ll be in the papers. ‘Wounded Woman Cop Lets Hair Down at Topless Bar.’ No thank you. Let’s take this makeup off and go to the gun range. I’ll buy the ammo.”
“Tempting,” I replied, placing a tight black cap on her head and handing her a pair of mirrored shades. “But we’ve got work to do.”
“I am not taking my clothes off in public, Maxine Wright Leverman.”
I laughed. “Your Puritanical values are safe tonight, Cass. We’re on a case.”
“They gave you a case already?”
“Er, not exactly.”
Her pretty violet eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
I fiddled with fitting a micro camera through my bodice. “The phone rang while everybody was out. It was Blue Ivey from Cedar Bend Winery. She thinks her husband’s having an affair and wants proof. I rented a Camry so we’ll be less conspicuous.” I turned to Cass. “See it?”
“With those boobs? Maxine, nobody would notice a full-sized video camera hanging around your neck, much less one stuck through a buttonhole.” She leaned close and squinted at the button hiding the tiny camera. “Where’d you get it?”
“It’s a little something I had hanging around.”
“Hanging around for what, exactly?”
“Help with my divorce.”
“It’s excellent for undercover work.”
“That’s the point.”
She straightened. “The point is that you’re not licensed. Are you working under either Babby or Kay’s direction?”
“Define work,” I said.
Cass sighed. “In Max speak, that’s a no. Therefore, you’re engaging in a criminal act by pretending to be a licensed PI, Maxine. We can’t do this. I can’t do this. I should arrest you for doing this.”
“Please, Cass,” I pleaded. “Nobody thinks I can do this job. Aunt Kay’s being kind and giving me a shot, but I want her to know I’m serious. The best way for me to prove that is to get the evidence that Ivey is cheating on his wife. You know how important this is to me. To us.”
Cass studied me with that intense look that told me she was thinking.
I kept talking. “Okay, so tonight? We’re two lesbians out for a good time and I just happen to have a camera in my cleavage. No PI stuff, okay?”
“Lesbians? Guess that makes me the butch and you the femme.” She looked in the mirror and adjusted her hat. Finally, she nodded. “No investigating. Do you have a picture of this guy, whoever we’re looking for?”
I showed her the photo in Texas Eats. “Bret Ivey.”
“That’s it?”
I nodded.
“Did you Google him?”
I nodded.
“Nothing?”
I shook my head. “He’s hiding something.”
“Fine. If you happen to see Bret Ivey and get a shot of him fondling a topless waitress, it goes straight to Babby and Kay. First thing tomorrow.” She slipped the shades on. “I wish you’d picked dominant and submissive, I’d look good with a whip. What are we eating?”
“Eating?”
“I’m hungry, Max, and you need to put on some weight.”
“I do not.”
“You’re too thin for those fake boobs. Besides, hunting a man takes energy.”
THE SEEDIER SIDE OF LIFE
BEING WOMEN OF SOUND mind, we did what any solid sleuths would do before diving into the skank that is Whiskey Bend: we cruised the strip checking for Bret Ivey’s Corvette. I’ve driven this stretch of road just over the state line and into Louisiana numerous times. It’s the kind of crammed together place that always makes me slow down and check for drivers who can’t stay between the lines. During the day, it’s dirty and downright sad. At night, however, it sparkles with twinkling neon signs that distract from the grime and despair.
We drove the half mile stretch of Whiskey Bend at a sedate pace, glancing in the crowded parking lots as we went, searching for a bright yellow Corvette with the license plate WINE-O. We didn’t see it, so we agreed to take a closer look at the seedier side of life.
Have you ever been in a bar for bikers? This was my first time, and despite my show of bravado with Cass, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Dim lights, sticky floors, inebriated rednecks, scantily clad women with vacant stares. You, too? Well, The Golden O was a surprise. I’d talked it over with Cass, and we decided to work methodically down one side of Whiskey Bend to the last bar, then turn around and work our way along the other side.
Back to The Golden O. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d take your mother, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. The parking lot was packed with motorcycles and muscle cars. A flashing neon sign featured the outline of a busty blonde, lips pursed in a sexy ‘O’. A bouncer greeted us with a glance up and down, then motioned us inside. I discreetly flipped on my hidden camera. The lights were low, but the floor wasn’t sticky. The foyer had a diner-like counter along one wall, fronting a grill where a big man flipped burgers and steaks for five guys perched on chrome stools. The food smelled surprisingly good. Music
flowed from deeper inside the establishment and we stepped through a velvet curtain into a wide room with a stage at its center. A busty blonde with mounds of frothy curls who could’ve been the model for the neon sign stalked along a runway. She was wearing a beautiful black mask and a full-length gown exposing a strip of magnificent cleavage. She peeled off long gloves, one finger at a time, bumping and grinding all the while. The bikers alongside the stage were utterly entranced.
Cass watched the men as they watched the woman. “What gives? I thought the whole reason men came to these places was for the skin.”
“It’s burlesque,” I answered quietly. “It’s as much about the tease as the nudity.” The stripper unrolled a glove and draped it across one patron’s shoulder before whipping it away and slapping him in the face with it. A charged growl went up from the crowd.
“How do you know that?” Cass asked.
“My ex-husband Neil took me to see burlesque shows.”
“That didn’t bother you?”
“Not until I realized they were men in drag.”
Cass cocked an eyebrow.
I focused on the faces around the stage. “It was the beginning of the end for us. If they’d been women, maybe I could’ve coped.”
I felt her gaze and wondered if she would ask more. My best friend and I lost contact while I was married, and other than having been maid of honor in my wedding, she knew very little about my married life. In true Cass style, she knew when to hold her questions. She turned back to the men. “I don’t see Bret, do you?”
The dancer tossed her second glove our way and a scrum erupted over the strip of cloth. Amid the chaos, I caught the stripper’s glare. I recognized the smoky green eyes behind the mask and blood rushed from my face.
“Oh no,” I whispered to Cass. “We’re so busted.”
“Why?”
“The woman on stage? The dancer?”
Cass glanced up. “What about her?”
“That’s Aunt Babby.”
HOPELESS
ONCE CASS HAD TAKEN her sweet time confirming I was right, we took our leave from The Golden O, slinking along the walls until we reached the exit. Outside, I bent over and put my hands on my knees, breathing deeply. The bouncer looked curious, and then turned away, probably assuming I’d drunk too much.
Cass was in full detective mode. “What is Barbara doing in a club like this?”
“I don’t know,” I gasped. “But she saw us. She’ll know I’m private eyeing without a license.”
Her lips puckered. “All she knows is that we were in The Golden O. She has no idea what we were doing.” She pulled me upright and headed towards the Camry. “Maybe she’s working a case. Who knows?”
“But the cat’s out of the bag, Cass,” I wailed. “I can’t lie to Babby. Aunt Kay and Cindy, no problem. But Babs? She’s got some voodoo priestess thing going. It’s over. Let’s go home.”
“It’s too late to worry now. We can talk damage control while we cruise the strip again.” Cass motioned for the keys. “Buck up, girl. We’ve got work to do.”
__________
EVENTUALLY I CALMED AND we carried on like this for a few hours. Every time we left one bar, we’d cruise the strip, looking for Bret’s yellow Corvette. No dice. In we’d go, me working my charm on bouncers to grease our way into the places, Cass’s eagle eyes scanning the crowds. We’d sip at sparkling water and by midnight, we were exhausted and feeling decidedly unclean, but it seemed the night was just getting started. We stopped at a club called The Boom Boom Room. The atmosphere crackled with booze-fueled excitement and I noticed a pattern.
I nudged Cass. “See that guy in the black baseball cap? The one who just sat down at the stage?”
She nodded.
“He was at the burlesque place.”
She nodded again.
“You knew that?”
“They’re going into shuffle mode, moving from one place to the next, trying to pick somebody up.”
I stared at her. “How do you know this?”
“It’s the best time of night to arrest drunk drivers. Watch him.”
I did. He was a total pervert. Winking at one waitress, patting the well-rounded derriere of another. She gave him the hairy eyeball but instead of backing off, he seemed to take her rebuttal as evidence of desire. It wasn’t long until one of the bouncers tossed him out.
I leaned into Cass. “Think he ever scores?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Look at the chicks at the bar.”
Low lights are usually brilliant for erasing years and adding sex appeal, but these gals had been rode so hard and put up so wet that only utter darkness could hide their sleaze. “Nasty.”
“The guys are usually drunk enough at this point that anything vaguely resembling a female will do.” Cass stiffened and peered into the gloom, then stifled a laugh. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
She lifted her chin at two men with full beards hunkering in a corner. “The Grove twins. Ernie Munk’s nephews. I’ll be back.”
I reached for her. “You’ll break our cover, Cass. Let them have their fun. There’s no harm in it.”
“There’s harm in it if they’re drunk and try to drive home. I’ll be discreet.”
I watched her sashay to the bar and speak to the bartender, then return to our table empty-handed.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I ordered chocolate martinis. He’ll have to bring them to us.”
I gaped. Cass never drank. Ever. “Martinis?”
“A virgin for me. Nobody would believe it about you.”
I slapped at her arm. She was right, of course.
A strapping chap in jeans and a tight t-shirt brought two chilled glasses to our table. Cass leaned forward and he bent to listen. “Those two boys in the corner?”
He followed her gaze. “They bothering you?”
“They’re underage.”
He glanced back to the corner. “They’ve got to be in their late twenties.”
“They’re seventeen, tops. That’s Matt and Mark Grove. They’re nephews of a Forney County police officer.” The strapping chap took a step back but Cass stopped him. “I don’t want to cause trouble, but it’s time for them to go home if they’re safe to drive. Agreed?”
He nodded. “And if they can’t drive?”
“Take their keys. I’ll call their uncle. He’ll be discreet.”
The bartender turned away and again Cass stopped him. “How much for the martinis?”
“Honey, if those two really are underage, your drinks are on the house.”
We watched as the bartender made his way across the room and spoke to the twins. One boy’s head drooped and the other punched his brother in the arm.
They followed the bartender from the room and he returned a few minutes later. “One was a little drunk, the other had had one beer. He’s driving them home. They won’t be back anytime soon. Thanks again for the warning. I’ll fire the doorman after closing tonight.” He looked us both up and down for the first time. “You two are welcome any time.”
I watched him walk to the bar, admiring his posterior assets, and then took a last look around the room. “This is a waste of time. I give up. I have no idea how to find Bret Ivey.” A man who might’ve been handsome before drunkenness overtook him stumbled our way. I tugged on Cass’s arm. “The effectiveness of our disguises is waning. Let’s go.”
In best-friend-pretending-to-be-a-lesbian style, Cass draped her good arm around my shoulders and we headed for the door. “One more pass,” she said. “One more cruise up and down Whiskey Bend. I’ve got a feeling Bret Ivey is nearby.”
I glanced over at her. “Really?”
“No, but I’m not letting you quit. Not yet.”
A MAN AND HIS CAR
CASS’S PERSISTENCE PAID OFF. We left The Boom Boom Room and turned east to Shreveport, driving at a sedate pace while scanning both sides of the road. Cass pulled into a gas s
tation to turn around, then smacked her forehead. “The back of the bars, Maxine.”
“What?”
“We haven’t checked behind the clubs.” She slipped into the parking lot of the first strip club we came to, and then eased around the side of the building and along the row of parked cars.
I pointed. “The sign says employees only. Why would he park back here?”
“You said he’s got a thing for his car, right? It’s new and he loves it?”
“That’s what Blue said. Why?”
“He’ll be careful with it. If he’s a regular at one of these places, a big spender, they might send him back here to park.”
It was a good theory, and her ability to generate good theories was one of the reasons I wanted Cass along tonight. So we drove up and down Whiskey Bend, dipping into and out of the employee parking lots as we went. Sure enough, we found his Corvette at The Bicycle Club, the place with fat-bottomed girls we’d hit early tonight. He must’ve arrived after we departed. Cass studied the area for a moment, then pulled alongside the Corvette and hopped out. She touched the hood and returned to the car.
“What was that about?”
“Still warm. He hasn’t been here long.”
See? The girl is smart. She cruised the remainder of the employee parking lot and then drove around to the front of the building and backed our rented Camry under the overhanging boughs of a thirsty looking oak. She turned the engine off and cracked the windows.
And then she didn’t move.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“Until he leaves. We’ll follow him.”
“Like in the movies? A tail?”
“Calm down, Max. Chances are he’ll head straight home and you’ll be out cruising the bars again tomorrow night.”
I chewed on that. “Why don’t we go in and see what he’s up to?”
A Case of Sour Grapes: A Cass Elliot Companion Novel (Cass Elliot Crime Series Book 3) Page 3