Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (16 page)

Marlon’s toothless grin suddenly wasn’t so charming. “You ain’t as nice as Darrell said you were.”

“And yet, I don’t take that as an insult.” I jerked my wrist from his hold. “Tell me. If you were so chummy with Ben, why don’t you want me looking for justice for him?”

“Because what’s done is done.” His fi ngers fi ddled with a strand of tiny beads, like an Indian rosary, which rested below the silver star bolo, tied at the hollow of his throat.

Which reminded me . . . “One other thing I need to know. Did Ben wear an unusual necklace when he stayed with you?”

Marlon nodded.

“Th

e last time you saw him, he had it on?”

“Ben never took it off .” Marlon’s eyes turned shrewd.

“He wasn’t buried with it?”

173

I shook my head. “Nor was it given away during the mourning ceremony.”

“All the more reason for you to tread lightly, Julie.

Bad forces are at work here, and you can’t aff ord to lose anymore of yourself to this crusade. Let it go.”

I craved a smoke so bad my lungs were twitching.

“Umm. Let me think about that.
No
.” I pushed away from the table. “Th

anks”—
for nothing
—“but I have to get to work now. It was interesting meeting you Marlon.”

Yeah, I left him with the check. If he was connected to a higher plane, he should’ve seen it coming.

174

I kept my disturbing conversation with Marlon to myself. I buried myself in paperwork and phone calls.

After a long day of offi

ce drudgery, I reluctantly

headed for my moonlighting gig.

Although I’d driven by Bare Assets damn near every day, I’d never been inside. Th

e building was off the main

drag in an old three-story brick warehouse wedged between the railroad tracks and a newly constructed strip mall.

Th

e irony wasn’t lost on me.

Th

e front entrance was tastefully done. Besides the requisite blacked out windows, there wasn’t a neon sign fl ashing:

!LIVE NAKED WOMEN!

or any of the tawdry signage associated with the lewd 175

acts that commenced inside. A black awning stretched to the curb, with a red carpet beneath it.

Classy.

A bouncer was parked in the middle of the doorway leading into the club. He wasn’t as big as the muscle at Fat Bob’s, nor did he wear an Hombres jacket, but his wiry carriage was that of a man well versed in knocking heads together. One of those mysterious pledges?

“ID,” he said without a smile.

“I’m here to see Crystal.”

“About?”

“A job. I start work at six tonight.”

His contemptuous eyes raked over me.

I’d purposely dressed down in loose black pants, a long sleeved black tuxedo shirt buttoned to the neck, and fl ats. My hair was in a high ponytail. I’d donned a pair of trendy “smart girl” glasses with clear lenses. Even my makeup was understated. I’d blend. Or attract the type of men who liked nerdy girls, and I’d bet my last buck they didn’t hang out in strip clubs.

He crossed his arms over his chest. I caught sight of the bloody tip of a dagger beneath the cuff of his shirt.

Th

is guy was Hombres muscle all right. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Julie. Who are you?”

“Dave. You have experience tending bar? It’ll be 176

hoppin’ from ’bout 9:00 on tonight.”

“Guess we’ll see if I can keep up.”

Dave unclipped a walkie-talkie and mumbled into it. “Crystal will be right up.”

Th

e plastic curtain separating the bouncer’s station from the main part of the bar parted, and techno dance music blasted out behind a tiny woman.

Crystal wasn’t what I expected. Around forty-fi ve, petite, and curvy, she had straight, shiny blue-black hair hanging past her ass like a sheet of marble. She was a cross between Angelica Huston and Elvira, Mistress of the Dark—in miniature form. Except for her breasts: those were super-sized. Even in high-heeled boots she barely reached my shoulder, which made me feel like an Amazon.

A fl at-chested, clunky Amazon wearing ugly ortho-pedic shoes, geek glasses, and Johnny Cash’s castoff s.

Martinez owed me big time.

“Hi, Julie,” she said in a voice thick with years worth of cigarette abuse. “Follow me.”

Th

e bar was enormous, the stage dead center. Th ree

poles were evenly spaced, and a kaleidoscope of spotlights swirled on the empty fl oor. Chairs and tables were positioned for viewing. A long counter-like table—an extension of the dance fl oor—wrapped from wall to wall.

It wasn’t as dark as I’d imagined. Clear rope lights twinkled around the ceiling. Away from the stage were 177

a couple of conversation areas with real furniture. For lap dances?

Th

e deejay booth was in the corner by the front door.

Drumbeats echoed. A strobe light fl ashed.

I lagged behind Crystal through a swinging door at the rear of the main bar. In the Manager’s offi ce, she skirted

the desk and motioned for me to sit. “Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em; when we get busy no one gets a smoke break.”

I took my Marlboro Lights and lighter out of my pocket. I’d purposely left my purse in my truck. Didn’t want anyone snooping through my things.

Crystal gave me a blatant once-over. “What’s your full name and who do you work for again?”

“Julie Collins. I’m a partner in Wells/Collins Investigations.”

Her penciled-in eyebrows disappeared into her hair-line. “You were there when that Indian casino blew up.”

God. I’d never live that down. “Yeah.”

“Do I need to worry about anyone recognizing you?”

“Probably not.”

“What about you setting off an explosion in this club?”

Ooh. Bitchy. “Not unless you’ve got a propane leak, a member of a Lakota Holy Group protesting the desecration of sacred ground, and a disgruntled employee from the New Jersey mob holding the match.”

“You’re a real smart ass. Tony warned me about you.

178

How well do you know Martinez?”

I bit my tongue against asking her to clarify if she meant in the biblical sense. “I’ve done some work for him in the past. Why?”

She tapped her front tooth with her red fi ngernail and continued to study me. “He must trust you, because he’s never brought in an outsider to handle our problems.”

“Maybe that’s why you have problems. Some situations become incestuous.” I smiled cagily. “Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Yes, but one source of information is always skewed.

I like to draw my own conclusions. From multiple view-points.”

A husky laugh tumbled out on a cloud of smoke.

“Martinez know you’re second guessing him?”

“Yep. Not the fi rst time; won’t be the last.”

“A few months ago our tills started coming up short 100 bucks or more damn near every night. It bugs the shit out of me because I trust everyone who’s worked the nights money is missing.”

“Who has access to the tills?”

“Cocktail waitresses, bartenders, bouncers. In case the bartender is busy, the cocktail waitresses have to make change in a hurry, as well as security.”

Th

ere was the fi rst mistake. Not every employee should 179

be allowed to have a hand in the cookie jar. Too tempting to take extra cookies. “You haven’t had any luck pinpoint-ing and cross-referencing who might be responsible?”

“You want a list of who
I
think could be doing it?”

Crystal had bristled up, so I backed off . “I’d rather draw my own conclusions than go in with preconceived ideas. Give me a rundown on the pecking order. Obviously Martinez is on top of the heap. Th

en you?”

She nodded.

“Who’s next?”

“Dave, the security guy you met out front.”

“Where do the strippers”—I caught myself and amended—“dancers come in?”

“Th

ey’re our draw, so we’ve got to keep them happy.

Bartenders come next, then the cocktail waitresses.”

“How do they feel about being at the bottom of the heap?”

“Most are okay with it. A couple of them have dreams of moving up the pole, so to speak.” Crystal pointed with her cigarette. “One thing. If you run into any problems, take it to a bouncer. Do not try and handle it yourself.”

“We talking customers or employees?”

“Customers. You’re on your own with the employees.”

Great.

“Last chance to ask questions before we head out.”

180

I shook my head.

“Well, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“You think you can catch whoever is doing this in a few nights?”

“I hope so.”

She stood. “I hope so too, because the thing the boss hates worse than mistakes is failure.” She grinned.

“But, hey, no pressure.”

181

Crystal handed me the par sheet, which listed what should be stocked at my station.

Hard liquor was kept locked up in a separate room.

If a bartender ran low on Wild Turkey, Crystal had to replenish that stock. It didn’t make sense to lock up the booze and allow unlimited access to the cash. Didn’t seem like something Martinez would overlook.

I peeked in the employee break room; a chipped yellow Formica counter, covered with ashtrays brimming with lipstick stained butts. Th

e counter faced a blank

wall, with a coat rack on the left, a cube of stacked metal lockers on the right.

“Is this where all the employees keep their stuff during their shift?”

“Everyone except the dancers.” She indicated a sil-182

ver beaded curtain by the rear exit. “Th

e dancers have a

separate dressing room.”

“Is that the only exit?” Th

e door was identical to the

one at Fat Bob’s, minus the locks.

She nodded. “It’s used for deliveries.”

Another steel door, naturally, covered in locks, naturally, loomed at the end of the corridor. “Where does that go?”

“Upstairs to Tony’s private offi

ces.”

“How long have you worked for Martinez?”

“Almost ten years. I bartended after I retired from stripping. When he opened this club, he asked me to manage it.”

“Does he let you?”

Crystal looked confused. “Does he let me what?”

“Does Martinez actually let you manage? Or is he constantly underfoot telling you what to do?”

“I’m in charge of everything from the vendor orders to the weekly schedules to hiring the dancers.”

I didn’t have to feign surprise. “Isn’t hiring the dancers a task he’d rather do himself?”

Her answering laugh sounded like the low rumble of a jet. “No. He spends most of his time at Fat Bob’s.”

Crystal winked. “I think he’s got a girlfriend over there.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Martinez seems the type who’d always have a chick hanging on his arm.”

183

“I’ve hardly ever seen him with one.” She confi ded,

“Ain’t for lack of candidates. Every woman who works here would kill for a chance at him.”

I wanted to demand, “Including you?” but managed a bored, “Yeah? Any of them succeed?”

“Not as far as I know. Banging Tony Martinez would score serious bragging rights. Makes you wonder if all that mystery would live up to the hype?”

Oh, yeah, he lived up to the hype and then some. I couldn’t share that juicy morsel with her, so I merely smiled.

We returned to the main bar through the swinging doors. Crystal showed me my station, farthest from the stage.

“Th

ought it might be best if you started in the back.

Better to get your feet wet than drown the fi rst night.

Th

e most important thing is to keep the liquor fl owing.”

“Good luck,” Crystal said and ambled over to the DJ

booth and left me alone to supply my station.

I situated lowball glasses and beer mugs in the mini dishwasher and fi gured out how to make the machine work. Th

en I lugged eight cases of beer to my seedy corner. Good thing I had a strong back and arms from shooting my bow. I felt superior about the fact this physical labor would’ve killed a lesser woman. Felt even more superior I wasn’t a bit intimidated working in strip club.

While restocking bar napkins, an overpowering 184

stench of Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door perfume assaulted me. I looked up.

A malodorous bimbo with raccoon eyes and skunk hair snatched a maraschino cherry. She popped it between her frosted purple lips and sucked off the fruit, then spit the stem on the fl oor. “Here’s the deal. I’m the cocktail waitress for this section. If you get my orders right and up on time, we’ll get along just great.”

“And if I don’t?”

“We’ll have a serious problem.”

Barely twenty seconds passed and I already had a serious problem with her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Charity. Trust me, I don’t give nothing away for free.” Her malicious gaze sized me up. “Can’t see you’d have aspirations to be on that stage.”

I wanted to lie and confess my only goal in life was to dance naked for strange, drunken men. “Me? God no.” I paused. “How about you?”

“Of course. Look at me. I’m a natural.”

What precisely on her was natural? Miss Clairol blond #33. Sprayed on tan. A set of implants that’d sent some plastic surgeon on a nice vacation. Fake claws and false eyelashes that reminded me of poisonous spiders.

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“And I’m classically trained as a ballet dancer. I can dance circles around the amateurs who bump and grind here.”

185

So why don’t you?
Ooh. Meow. “Does Crystal know you’d like to be a dancer?”

Charity looked at me like I was a total idiot. “God.

Do you
think
?”

My violent thoughts went from whacking her clown face with the tray to bruising her lips permanently purple with my fi st. I wrung out a bar towel, pretending it was her neck.