Almost every eye but mine, including the servers, watched Jennifer on the pole. Another man in an orange-and-white muscle shirt and orange slacks stood against the wall. He wasn’t there earlier. He must have been Guns, the bouncer Brandy mentioned. He didn’t watch Jennifer; he watched me. Hmm.
As Jennifer left the stage, Amber returned to my table. “She’s really something, ain’t she?”
“I’ve seen the Port City Ballet, and I recognize her classical dance education.”
The server eyed my empty mug. “Would you like to tap Amber again, Chuck?” She winked. No shimmy this time. She didn’t want to wear out the move.
“Yes, please.”
She returned with the beer. The tab was still ten dollars. “Ten bucks for one beer?” I asked.
“Last time I gave you credit for your two well drinks.” She put a hand on my arm again. “I thought you knew.”
“No problem.” Tank could afford it, so I dropped fifteen dollars on her tray. “Brandy told me my friend Al Rice was here last night.”
“Who?”
“Al Rice. Here, I have his picture on my phone.” I showed her.
“Oh, him. I never knew his name. Yeah, he got sloppy drunk over Jennifer as usual.”
“Did you see where he went or know what happened to him?”
“Nah. He was his usual loser self. Lousy tipper, except with Jennifer. Her, he tips a lot. Can I bring you anything else?”
“I’m good.”
Another dancer took the stage as Jennifer emerged from the curtain at floor level. She cut her eyes to Guns and he nodded. She stopped at two or three tables as she worked her way toward me. The music overpowered the conversation from the nearest table, but I read the body language. An enthusiastic fan stuffed another five in her bikini. She thanked him and paraded in my direction.
“Hi, I’m Jennifer. Did you enjoy my show?”
Up close the tiny crow’s feet around her eyes were visible, the slight deepening of the creases that ran from the edges of her nostrils to the corners of her mouth. She looked about the same age as Victoria Ramirez, my lawyer and occasional friend with benefits. Vicky was in her late thirties. How long was a stripper’s career good for? I knew prostitutes who did business well into late middle-age; I’d busted a few when I’d been a cop. One had been over sixty.
I held a fifty-dollar bill where Jennifer would see it. “You were wonderful. I’ve seen the Port City Ballet and you’re as good as the dancers there.”
“Thank you. I danced in the Atlanta ballet chorus line for five years.”
“I’ve been to Atlanta on business a lot the last few years, and I often take in the ballet since we don’t have much of one in Port City. What might I have seen you in?”
“Swan Lake. I danced part of it in my show, and I danced in Carmina Burana twice.”
“I loved the Carmina Burana. That’s why you looked familiar. Let’s see, that was… what? Three or four years ago?”
“Five.”
“Well, you were wonderful.” I stuck the fifty in her bikini and produced another one. “May I ask you a question?”
She shrugged. Many of the women shrugged a lot when they interacted with the customers. Their breasts were bouncing punctuation marks. One more part of their customer service education: Shrug whenever possible—breaks the monotony of the perpetual shimmy.
She hadn’t taken the ask-a-question hint to offer to meet me after hours like the other dancers did. Was it because she was the star of the show? Or was she the exclusive property of someone else?
“Where did you study ballet?”
“The École Du Ballet Augustine in New York City.”
I held up another fifty. “One more question?”
“Sure.”
I slipped the fifty into her bikini. “Do you know where I can find Al Rice?”
Jennifer took a small step back. “I don’t know any Al Rice.”
I selected another fifty and held it in front of her. “Sure you do. You placed him on the no-fly list at the Crazy Lady a couple weeks ago when your name was Jasmine.”
She eyed the fifty.
“Here, take it. There’s plenty more where that came from. I only want information.”
She grabbed the fifty and stuck it down her bikini. She cut her eyes to Guns. “You a cop?”
“Everybody asks me that. No, I’m a private investigator.” I handed her a business card. “And I’m a friend of Al Rice. I’m not here to cause any trouble for you or Al or anybody else. I only need to ask a few questions. Is there someplace where we can talk? I’ll pay you two hundred dollars for ten minutes of your time, and maybe a bonus if you have useful information.”
“See that door back there on the left? Says no admittance on it?”
“Yeah.”
“I gotta finish my rounds with the customers. When I finish and go backstage, give me fifteen minutes to change, then walk in that door. Don’t bother to knock.”
Chapter 20
The no admittance door led to the club’s office. “Jennifer asked me to meet her here,” I told the man behind the desk. “I’m a private investigator.” He was in his forties, receding hairline, in a golf shirt and blue jeans. He looked pretty ordinary. I pictured this guy as the bookkeeper maybe, or the office manager.
“I’m Pete, the bookkeeper,” he said. “If she’s expecting you, I’m sure she’ll be here in a moment. Have a seat. May I see your identification?”
I showed Pete my credentials and gave him a business card. “People call me Chuck.”
“A private detective. What brings you here, Chuck, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m looking for a man who comes here a lot.”
“Who is he?”
“Al Rice.” I showed the bookkeeper Al’s picture on my phone.
“I remember him. He came here this morning when I opened up. He wanted his car keys.”
Pete was the first person I’d met at either strip joint that didn’t expect a bribe. Why was he so cooperative?
“What time was that?”
“I got here at 10:45, so it was about 10:50.”
I consulted my watch. “You’re here at 10:45 in the morning, and you’re here twelve hours later?”
Pete smiled. “I work a split shift, four hours around the lunch crowd, and four hours from ten p.m. to two a.m. It lets me take my kids to St. Rita’s school in the morning and pick them up in the afternoon. I’m a single dad and I like to put them to bed before I come to work. We live with my mother. I know what you’re thinking: What’s a good Catholic who sends his kids to church school doing working in a strip joint?”
“It’s not my place to judge.”
“The pay is good. Church school isn’t cheap. There aren’t many jobs in my field where I can work a split shift.”
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. It’s none of my business. Did Al seem okay when you saw him?”
Pete paused. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Chuck, but he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days. Also, he was rather, uh, adamant about getting his keys—like he was in a big hurry. He wouldn’t wait until we opened. He threatened to break the door down if I didn’t give him his keys immediately.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He asked to use the bathroom before he left.”
“Anything else? Like maybe where he was going?”
Pete shrugged. “Sorry. I made fresh coffee. You want some?”
Again with the unprovoked friendliness. He needed the well-paying job, yet he hadn’t asked for money. Hmm.
“Great, a little cream if you have it. Black if you don’t.”
Pete left through a door behind him.
I took a chair and studied the office. Glamour shots of dozens of dancers hung on the walls. A vintage Star Wars poster was incongruous in a place that sold sex.
Pete returned with my coffee. “Did I put the right amount of milk?”
“It’s fine, thanks.”
“Make yourself comfortable; I need to get back to work.”
Twenty minutes later, I’d finished my coffee. “Could you please check on Jennifer and make sure I understood her correctly?”
“Sure.” The bookkeeper left.
I stood and paced back and forth. What was taking the guy so long?
Finally, Pete walked in. “I’m sorry, Chuck. Jennifer has left the building.”
###
When I left the lighted office and moved into the darkened showroom, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adapt.
An almost invisible black man in a black tee-shirt and black pants stepped from my right and grabbed at my arm. Guns lunged from the left and grabbed at my other arm. He missed because I’d already thrown a left cross at the invisible man and caught him in the gut. That loosened his grip. My second punch to his gut did the trick. I swung my left elbow back and smashed Guns flush in the face. I felt a familiar crunch when I broke his nose.
When the invisible man released my arm to clutch his stomach, I kicked Guns’s knee and clubbed him with a karate chop to his thick neck as he fell. I turned to the man in black, grabbed the back of his neck, and shoved his head down as I kneed him in the face. His nose didn’t break, but he dropped like a felled tree. Good enough. I turned and kicked Guns in the stomach. Another kick to the man in black’s gut for a reminder. Nothing succeeds like excess.
The showroom was dark and the stage lights so bright that no one else in the club noticed the fracas. The loud music covered the sounds.
When I walked from the showroom to the entrance foyer, Sammy looked like he’d swallowed a frog. He started to make a move, then thought better of it. Smart guy. “Have a nice night, sir,” he said.
“So far, so good,” I answered.
Chapter 21
When Tank’s phone rang, he set down his cup on Doraleen’s coffee table. “Hey, Chuck. Where are you?”
“The parking lot at the Orange Peel Gentlemen’s Club. I gotta be making progress; two hoods in the club tried to put the arm on me.”
“Put the arm on you? What does that mean?”
“I waited in the club’s office for Jennifer to come talk to me. She’s the dancer Al is in love with. She never showed. When I left the office, two guys tried to grab me.”
Tank’s heart skipped a beat. “What happened?”
“I left them both lying on the floor, contemplating the hazards of overconfidence. Are you at Doraleen’s?”
“Yeah. I told Snoop I’d watch Momma Dora and I sent him home. It feels kinda good to be a bodyguard after sitting at a desk and talking about finance for the last few years. I feel like I’m helping the cause.”
“You are helping the cause.”
“Did you learn anything at Al’s old apartment?” asked Tank.
“The same scarfaced thug who threatened Doraleen visited the super after I left. He was also looking for Al.”
“So Moffett’s crew is on the prowl for Al.”
“We’re in a race against time, Tank. I keep finding where Al was, not where he is.”
“Did you look at those security cameras facing I-95?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t find much. One company’s camera caught a distant image of someone exiting the car and hiking off toward the north at 11:20 this morning. He was alone in the car. Probably Al, but I can’t be sure. I suppose you haven’t heard from him.”
“Nope. I’m sitting here with my feet up, drinking decaf.” Tank picked up his cup.
“The good news is Al was at the Orange Peel last night. He got drunk, had his car keys confiscated, and they threw him out. Al came back this morning to get his keys. I assume he was the one driving his car.”
“But where was he headed?”
“Good question. Maybe he was on his way to Doraleen’s house.”
“Why did he stop on I-95?”
“The same reason anyone stops on I-95: He had car trouble. You plan to spend the night at Doraleen’s again?”
“Yeah. I’ll text Snoop that I’ll take her to school tomorrow. Wait a sec… I hear something at the door.”
“Take your gun, Tank. You know what happened to me, and it’s after eleven. No friends would come visit Doraleen this late. Leave your phone on and put it in your pocket so I can hear what’s happening.”
Tank’s heart rate sped up. He set down his coffee and drew his pistol. He moved toward the door.
The door opened a few inches and clunked against the security bar. Whoever was there had used a key. The doorbell rang.
Doraleen came into the living room. “I heard the doorbell.”
“Go back to bed, Momma Dora. Let me handle this.”
“Tank, you’re carrying a gun.”
“Just a precaution, Momma Dora. Please go to your room and close the door.”
The door whacked against the security bar again. “Let me in. It’s Al.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Doraleen as she ran toward the door.
Tank barred her way. “Let me make sure he’s alone. You wait here.” He padded to the door in his sock feet and stooped to put his eye to the viewer. “Step back, Al, and I’ll open the door.”
“Tank, is that you?”
Doraleen ran to the door. “Thank God, you’re home.”
###
I stood three feet from the door so Tank could see my face through the peephole.
He opened the door. “Come on in. I made a fresh pot of real coffee.”
“Good, we may be up for a while tonight.”
Tank led the way to Doraleen’s living room. “Al’s in the shower. He smelled pretty rank when he showed up. Have a seat, Chuck. I’ll get coffee.”
Doraleen hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. “Tank told me all you’ve done to find our Al and about those two men who tried to kidnap you. This is a happy day.”
“It turns out that nothing I did was necessary. Al came here on his own. I feel as useless as an elevator operator in a one-story building.”
“Nonsense, Chuck. A Higher Power has guided this all along. I’m sure you were part of God’s plan. I will celebrate His success.”
Tank said, “Even if you were as worthless as tits on a boar hog.”
Doraleen smacked him on the knee. “You watch your mouth, Thomas Tyler, or I’ll turn you over my knee.”
She stood. “Al’s clothes should be ready for the dryer. I put them in the washer while he took a shower. He smelled like a landfill, I do declare. I have a pot of chili on the stove. Al hasn’t had a decent meal since I fed him breakfast a few days ago. I set the dining room table.”
“I could do with a bowl of chili, Doraleen,” I said. “I didn’t have time for dinner, and Tank says you make great chili.”
“Tank would eat road kill if I put it on a plate.” She patted him on the shoulder.
When Doraleen left, I lowered my voice. “This ain’t over ‘til it’s over. Moffett is after Al, and we don’t have a clue what to do now that we found him.”
Al walked in wearing a bathrobe with a Miami Dolphins logo. “I heard the doorbell. I found Dad’s old clothes. We wear the same size.” He stuck out his hand. “You must be that private detective Tank hired to find me. I’m Al Rice.”
I stood. “Chuck McCrary. Pleased to meet you, Al.”
Al shook my hand then turned to Tank. “I need a drink; I’ll be right back.”
Tank grabbed his arm. “Bro, the only thing you need to drink is coffee and lots of it.”
Al shook his arm, tried to dislodge Tank’s giant hand. He would’ve had better luck opening a bear trap. “Lemme alone, Tank. I need a drink. A real drink.”
Tank grabbed Al’s other arm like a vise. “Alcohol and drugs is how you got into this mess in the first place, Al. Sit down while I get you some coffee.”
Al’s eyes narrowed. He wrenched his arms back and forth. He had as much chance to break Tank’s grip as he did to escape a straightjacket. Al opened his mouth to speak when Doraleen walked into the room
.
“Al, honey, I put your clothes in the dryer. Oh good, I see you found your father’s bath robe.”
“The bath robe was all that fit over my cast.”
“I’ll see if the chili’s ready. You boys sit in the dining room. I’ll be right there.”
Tank dropped Al’s arms and gestured as if to say “after you.”
Al glared at Tank and preceded us to the dining room.
Doraleen had set four formal place settings with her best China. Linen napkins in China napkin rings matched the tablecloth. A small bowl with Ixora blossoms floating in it decorated the center of the table. Four crystal goblets held ice water.
“Al, maybe you prefer iced tea to coffee,” I said. “You might be dehydrated after last night. Coffee might upset your stomach.”
“What do you know about last night?”
“I’m a private investigator, Al. It’s my business to know things.” I turned to Tank. “Better make it iced tea, Tank.”
I took a chair across from Al. “Tank hired me to get you and Doraleen out of this mess with Moffett.”
He scoffed. “I don’t suppose you carry two hundred thousand dollars on you, do you?”
“That option is not on the table.”
“Then I’m a dead man.”
I shook my head. “Not yet you aren’t. May I ask you a few questions?”
He made a noncommittal gesture which I took to be agreement. “I saw a security video of you leaving your car on I-95 at 11:20 this morning. That was twelve hours ago. What have you been doing for the last twelve hours?”
Day of the Tiger (A Carlos McCrary Mystery Thriller Book 5) Page 9