Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers (16 page)

Merle stood from his desk. “I’m going on break. You can handle things, right?”

“Yes, sir!” I gave him a salute and he gave me a smile.

After Merle left the cash office, I turned my back to the security camera and bent over as if to retie my laces but actually eased a thumb drive out of my shoe before sitting up again. I’d strategically placed my tall glass of soda next to the USB port on the desktop computer. I took a sip from the glass, then slid the thumb drive into the port as I returned the glass to its spot. I figured another soda spill might look suspicious, so I tried a different tack this time, pretending to be cleaning fingerprints off my computer screen while actually repositioning the monitor away from the watchful electronic eye of the security camera.

Moving as quickly as I could, I logged in to the expense files using the newly decoded password and copied them to the thumb drive.

“Come on, come on!” I whispered under my breath, urging the computer to go faster as I kept one eye on the screen and another on the window that looked out over the club. Unfortunately, from my vantage point, I could see only three quarters of the space. The main floor and stage were visible, as were the far walls, but I couldn’t see along the perimeter of the walls nearby.

What seemed like hours later, but was in actuality only thirty-seven seconds, the computer finished downloading the files. I exhaled in relief and logged out of the account.

Bam! Bam!

Shit! Reflexively, I came up out of my seat. I looked up to see Theo peering in at me through the square glass panel in the door.

My pulse pounded. How long had he been standing there? Could he have seen me slip the thumb drive into the computer? And could I slip it out now without him noticing?

I felt flushed and warm, though I did my best to act casual. I raised a finger to let him know I’d be right with him and reached for my glass of soda. I tossed back a gulp and returned the glass to its spot, discreetly snatching the thumb drive out of the port and slipping it into the pocket of my blazer.

I stepped over to the door and pulled it open. Was it just me, or did the barbed wire tattoo on his neck seem extra pointy tonight?

“Hey, Theo,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice the tightness in my voice. “It’s crazy out there, huh?”

“Saturdays are always crazy.” He handed me his tip jar and the bank bag that contained his register receipts.

I emptied them both and returned them. “Here you go.”

He walked off without another word.
Phew.

I added up Theo’s tips first and entered them into the bookkeeping system. I grabbed the bar receipts next. I ran the coins through the machine counter and printed out the ticket. Working through the stack of bills, I separated them into piles of singles, fives, tens, and twenties, turning them to make sure the bills all faced the same direction. I paid careful attention to the twenties, my eyes scanning the backside of each bill. There were no birds dropping poop on the White House, no stray slashes through the zero in the upper left corner. Nope, none were the marked bills I’d given to Christina. Looked like she hadn’t scored yet. But I knew she was doing her best.

Tarzan was working the door to the VIP room tonight. Over the course of the evening he brought me nine hundred dollars in cover charges for the room. The girls working the back room garnered no less than three grand in tips. There sure was a lot of money changing hands back there. I could only imagine what else was being exchanged. Saliva. Body fluids. Herpes. Crabs. I shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

At the end of the night, as I was retrieving my purse from the dressing room, Tarzan came into the room and began poking around in the locker two down from mine, a locker that belonged to a dancer named Angelique. Angelique was one of the girls who’d been working the VIP room tonight. She’d looked a little dazed when she’d brought me her tips, and I’d suspected she’d taken a hit of something. Why had she given Tarzan the combination to her lock?

The three dancers in the dressing room exchanged glances. One of them, a black woman named Shawna who went by the stage name Sweet Molasses, stood. “What are you doing in Angelique’s locker?”

“None of your business,” Tarzan said.

“Angelique is my friend,” the woman said, holding her ground. No easy feat in four-inch black satin stilettos. “I want to know what the hell you’re doing or I’m going to tell Mr. Geils.”

Tarzan tossed her a dismissive look. “He’s the one who sent me back here.” He grabbed a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, and left the room.

Shawna looked at the other two dancers for help, but they both turned away and resumed dressing. Shawna frowned and hurried out of the dressing room wearing an odd amalgamation of high heels, a zebra-print G-string, and an argyle cardigan. I followed her out of the room and into the club.

Aaron glanced up from the bar across the room where he was stacking clean glasses on the shelves. Nick watched, too, as he stacked the last of the chairs on top of the tables.

Shawna stormed back to the VIP room, where Donald Geils and another bouncer stood at the door. “What the hell is going on?”

As the bouncer disappeared into the VIP room with Angelique’s clothes, Geils yanked the toothpick from his mouth and appeared ready to tell Shawna off. He stopped himself, though, apparently thinking better of it. “Angelique isn’t feeling well. The boys are going to help her get dressed.”

Shawna stepped toward the door. “I want to see her.”

The bouncer stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

“You’ll see her in a minute,” Geils said. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Hard to get your knickers in a twist when you aren’t wearing any.

Nick stepped up behind me.

Geils cut his eyes to us. “What are you two doing?”

I lifted a shoulder, trying hard to appear nonchalant. “Just thought I’d see if I could help.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “Me, too.”

Geils scowled at us. “If I need your help, I’ll let you know.” He thumped me on the forehead and jerked his head toward the front doors. “Your shift is over. Beat it, pipsqueak.”

One more thump or “pipsqueak” and I’d stab this guy in the eye with his toothpick.

I was worried about Angelique, but knew I’d jeopardize the case if I didn’t obey. Geils might fire me and then we’d be back to square one.

I left the club and walked out to my car, but I remained in the parking lot, waiting. Ten minutes later, Shawna and Angelique walked out of the club. Shawna had an arm wrapped around her friend, holding her up. Nick stood in the doorway, watching the women leave. When he realized I was still in the lot, he raised a discreet hand in acknowledgment.

I started my engine, pulled out of my spot, and swung around, rolling down my window as I drove up next to the dancers. “Are you okay, Angelique?”

Angelique looked at me, her expression sad and shocked and helpless and traumatized. Her hair was a tangled mess, her red rose barrette hanging at an odd angle as if she’d engaged in a rough tussle. Her right cheek bore a darkening bruise in the shape of a handprint.

Obviously, one of the Ps in the VIP room thought his money entitled him to smack the girls around. That P was a real A-hole.

My heart contracted into a tight, painful rock. Sure, the dancers did things I’d never consider, but maybe I’d been lucky that I’d never had to consider doing them. And while I’d confronted violent men on my job, too, I’d been armed and trained to defend myself. Angelique had been neither. Geils and his goons clearly hadn’t come to her rescue. It took everything in me not to go back into that club with my gun blazing and teach those bastards a lesson.

“Can I do something to help?” I asked. “Maybe call the police?”

“No police.” Angelique wiped a tear from her eye. “But could you mail me my last paycheck?”

In other words, she wouldn’t be coming back to this hellhole.

“Sure.”

As Shawna led Angelique off to her car, I realized I couldn’t hold back anymore. All of the illicit sex and drugs and violence was too much for me. I drove my car out of the lot, hot tears burning my eyes.

chapter eighteen

Lunch Date

Guys & Dolls was closed on Sundays, so Nick and I finally had a day off together.

He was sitting on the front stoop with Nutty, his ancient golden retriever mix, when I pulled up to his mother’s house. Nick stood as I exited my car, while Nutty, who suffered from cataracts, sniffed the air in an attempt to identify me. When he caught the scent of my Chanel No. 5, he realized the girl who fed him fried bologna sandwiches and scratched his belly had arrived. His tail began a welcoming thump-thump-thump against the porch.

Nick said nothing as I approached him. He just offered a smile and held up his hand, a key ring dangling from his finger.

A thrill ran through me. “You got the place?”

“Nutty and I move in the weekend after Thanksgiving.” He bent down and gave me a soft, warm kiss before leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You and I have got some bed shopping to do.”

If my girlie parts could talk they would have shouted,
Wahoo!

Nick opened the front door for me.

“Angelique quit last night,” I told him as we stepped inside.

Nick exhaled an angry huff. “I wish I knew which one of the johns in the VIP room manhandled her like that. I’d kick his ass.”

“I hate this case,” I said. “It’s depressing. I’m tired of the long hours, and I never feel clean when I come home from that place.”

“Me, neither,” Nick said. “The guys on the security team are idiots. Tarzan told me he’d had a ‘ménage à twat’ with two of the Daisy Dukes.”

Urk.

We made our way to the kitchen.

“Hello there, Tara.” Nick’s mother gave me a warm hug and a cold glass of tea. Like Nick, she was tall and dark-haired, though strands of silver had found their way into her locks. She wore boots, jeans, and a knobby blue sweater. She tilted her head first one way, then the other, as she took in my new black curls. “That’s a cute look on you.” She picked up a serving knife and waved it at her son. “Nick’s mustache, though? That silly thing has got to go.”

I raised my glass in concurrence. “I’m with you on that.”

“Hey!” Nick ran his fingers over his upper lip. “Don’t trash my ’stache.” He pulled out a chair for me at the kitchen table, sliding into the seat next to me.

Bonnie plunked a steaming plate in front of me and another in front of Nick. “Homemade pot pie. Grew the vegetables myself. Dig in.”

I swallowed my first warm bite. “Mmm. It’s delicious.” With meals like this I could see why Nick had stuck around so long.

Bonnie slid into a seat across the table and eyed me. “I’m glad you finally got your head on straight and decided to ditch that other boy for Nick.”

My second bite lodged in my throat. I glanced at Nick.

He shrugged. “She beat it out of me.”

Bonnie put her napkin on her lap. “You should’ve seen the way Nick moped around here before you came to your senses. It was downright pitiful.”

Part of me was flattered to know how much Nick cared, but another part felt a pang of guilt. I’d never set out to hurt anyone, but love is a dangerous game. Those who dare to play know the risks.

Nick tossed me a wink before responding to his mother. “Don’t worry. Tara will find a way to make up for it.”

Bonnie turned her evil eye on her son now and pointed her fork at him. “You best behave, Nick. Hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ducked his head but shot me another wink as soon as her focus shifted to her plate.

Definitely time for a change of subject. “Do you two have plans for Thanksgiving yet?”

Bonnie held a steaming bite aloft. “To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought. The holidays haven’t been the same since Nick’s dad passed away.”

I looked from her to Nick. “Why don’t you two come out to Nacogdoches? We could drive out together Wednesday evening. My parents have plenty of room.”

Bonnie’s face brightened. “That sounds like fun. Count us in.”

Nick raised a hand. “Hold on a minute.” He turned to me. “Will your mother let my mom bring her stuffing?”

“Sure.” After all, Mom hadn’t found the perfect recipe yet.

“How many are you expecting?” Bonnie asked.

I performed a quick computation on my fingers. “There will be us three, Mom and Dad, my two brothers and their wives and kids.” I’d run out of fingers at this point and was trying to keep count in my head. “That’ll make fourteen.”

“I better double the recipe, then,” Bonnie said.

Nick dug his fork into his pot pie. “Triple it. I want leftovers.”

When we finished lunch, I offered to help with the dishes but Bonnie shooed me away. “You two have been working overtime. Go have some fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Nick put a hand on my back to guide me to the front door. “We’re going to head over to Tara’s to watch the game.”

We were? What game? I didn’t bother asking because I didn’t care. I only knew one thing. Alicia was gone for the day and Nick and I would have my place to ourselves. And when a man and a woman are all alone, all kinds of wonderful things can happen.

Nick followed me back to my place in the Hummer. To my chagrin, he actually did turn on the television, scrolling through the channels until he found a football game.

“Seriously?” I said. “We finally find some time to be alone and you want to watch football?” At least the Cowboys were playing, a game I might actually have some interest in.

“I told my mother we’d be watching the game,” he said. “She didn’t raise any liars.”

When I crossed my arms over my chest, he stepped toward me and nuzzled my ear. “’Course I didn’t tell her we’d be watching it with no clothes on.”

Woo-hoo!
“Now you’re talking.” I tilted my head to give him better access.

He left a trail of soft kisses down my neck. “Got any beer?”

“Yep.” I rarely drank the stuff these days, but I kept a six-pack on hand for him. I supposed I could’ve been insulted he was thinking of beer at a time like this, but to be totally honest I could go for a glass of peach sangria. I felt nervous. Silly, I know, but we’d had to wait so long to be alone together that I wanted everything to go right.