Shelter (18 page)

When I arrived at the address, I was surprised to see that it wasn’t a residence near the Plan B Go-Go Lounge—it
was
the Plan B Go-Go Lounge. I looked for an apartment on the top, but there was only the lounge entrance. A huge black man stood in front of it. There was a frayed velvet rope and a big pink-once-red awning. On the awning was a silhouette of a voluptuous woman. The door was blacked-out glass with faded lettering. A sign read:
50 LIVE BEAUTIFUL GO-GO SHOWGIRLS—AND TWO UGLY DEAD ONES
.

Funny.

The huge man—a bouncer—frowned at me and pointed to another weathered sign:
NO ONE UNDER 21 PERMITTED
.

I was going to ask the bouncer whether he knew Antoine LeMaire, but that seemed like the wrong move. I took out my wallet and produced the fake Robert Johnson ID saying I was twenty-one. He looked at it, looked at me, knew it was probably a fake, didn’t much care. It was five P.M., but business was brisk. Men entered and left in drifts and waves. There were all kinds—jeans and flannel shirts, sneakers and work boots, suits and ties and shined shoes. Some fist-bumped the bouncer as they came and went.

“Thirty-dollar cover charge,” the bouncer said to me.

Wow. “Thirty dollars just to enter?”

The big man nodded. “Includes buffet dinner. Tonight is Tex-Mex.”

I made a face at the thought. He let me through. I pushed open the door and was greeted by darkness. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. A bikini-clad woman/girl who looked about my age stood by a cash register. I gave her thirty dollars. She handed me a plate, barely looking up at me. “For the buffet,” she said by way of explanation. “That way.” She pointed to the curtain on the right.

I looked at the plate. It was white with the same voluptuous silhouette as on the awning, plus the rather obvious slogan:
Plan B—Where You Go When Plan A Doesn’t Work Out.

My mouth felt dry. My step slowed. I will make a confession to you now. I was nervous, but I was also, well, I was curious. I had never been in a place like this. I realize I should be above that and be mature about it and all that, but a part of me felt pretty naughty and a part of me kind of liked that.

The music was loud with a driving beat. The first thing I passed was an ATM that let you get your cash in fives, tens, or twenties. This, I could see, was to tip the dancers. Men hung at a stage-bar, mostly drinking beer, while the women danced in stiletto heels so high they doubled as stilts. I tried not to stare. Some of the dancers were indeed beautiful. Some were not. I watched them work the men for tips. A sign read:
YOUR STAY HERE IS TOUCH AND GO—TOUCH AND YOU GO
. Despite that, the men jammed the paper money into G-strings with little hesitation.

Behind me was the buffet. I took a quick glance. The chips were Doritos. The ground beef was marinating in so much lard it looked as if it were encased in Jell-O. The whole place, even in the dark, felt more than looked dirty. I wasn’t a germaphobe, but even without the warning, I didn’t want to “touch” anything.

So now what?

I found an empty booth in a dark corner. Seconds after I sat down, two women approached me. The one with the plunging neckline and fire-engine-red dye job slid next to me. It was hard to tell her age. Could be a hard twenty-year-old or an okay thirty or a good forty. I bet on the youngest. The other woman was a waitress.

The fire-engine redhead who sat down smiled at me. She tried her best to make the smile real, but she couldn’t hide the fact that it was an act, that it was like someone had just painted it on her face. None of it reached her wary eyes. It was a bright, wide smile and yet one of the saddest I had ever seen.

“I’m Candy,” she said to me.

“I’m M—uh, Bob,” I said. “I’m Bob.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. Bob.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Even when I’m nervous, even in a place like this, I still know how to deliver the smooth lines.

Candy leaned forward a little, making sure to offer a peek. “Buy me a drink?”

I didn’t quite get it, so I said, “Huh? I mean, I guess.”

“This your first time here?”

“Yes,” I said. “I just turned twenty-one.”

“That’s sweet. See, it’s customary to buy a drink for yourself and one for me. We could just split a bottle of champagne.”

“How much would that cost?”

The smile flickered when I asked that.

The waitress said, “Three hundred dollars plus tip.”

I was in a booth, which was good—if I was in a chair, I would have fallen off it.

“Um, how about if we both have Diet Cokes?” I asked. “How much is that?”

Now the smile was all the way gone. Clearly I was no longer adorable.

“Twenty dollars plus tip.”

That would pretty much clear me out, but I nodded. The waitress left me alone with Candy. She was studying me now. Then she asked, “Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you had really just turned twenty-one, you’d be here with friends. You don’t look like you really want to be here. So what’s your deal?”

So much for working undercover, but maybe this was better anyway. “I’m looking for someone,” I said.

“Aren’t we all?” Candy replied.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Who you looking for, honey?”

“A man named Antoine LeMaire.”

The color drained from her face.

“You know him?”

A look of pure terror came to her. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. She pulled away fast and hard, and I remembered the Touch and Go sign. She hurried away. I sat there, not sure what to do. Unfortunately my mind was made up for me. The big bouncer from the entrance was hustling his way over to me. I took out my cell phone, prepared to call someone, anyone, so I’d have a witness, but I wasn’t getting service. Terrific.

The big bouncer leaned over me like a lunar eclipse. “Let me see your ID again.”

I dug into my pocket and handed it to him.

“You don’t look twenty-one,” he said.

“That’s because it’s dark in here. Outside, in the good light, you let me in, so I must have.”

His whole being seemed to frown at me. “What are you here for?”

“A good time?” I tried.

“Come with me,” he said.

There wasn’t much point in arguing. Two other bruisers were lined up a few feet behind him and even on my best day, I couldn’t take out all three. Or even one probably. So I stood on shaky legs and headed toward the exit. My visit had failed—or had it? Clearly Antoine LeMaire was around here. Clearly his name struck a chord. So now I could go home and regroup . . .

A giant hand fell on my shoulder as I reached the exit.

“Not so fast,” the bouncer said. “This way.”

Uh-oh.

Keeping his hand on my shoulder, he steered me down a long corridor. The two other bouncers followed us. I didn’t like that. There were posters of “showgirls” on the walls. We passed the bathrooms and two more doors and made a left. There was another door at the end of the corridor. We stopped in front of it.

I didn’t like this.

“I’d like to leave,” I said.

The bouncer didn’t reply. He used a key and unlocked the door. He pushed me in and closed the door behind us. We were in an office of some kind. There was a desk and more photographs of girls on the wall.

“I’d like to leave,” I said again.

“Maybe later,” the bouncer said.

Maybe?

A door behind the desk opened, and a short, wiry man entered. His short-sleeved dress shirt was shiny and unbuttoned down to the navel, revealing a host of gold chains and, uh, bling. His arms were knotted, ropy muscle. Have you ever seen someone who gave you the chills just by entering a room? This guy had that. Even the big bouncer, who had to be a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the short guy, took half a step back. A hush fell over us.

The short, wiry man had the narrow face of a ferret and what I can only describe as psycho eyes. I know that you are not supposed to judge people by their looks, but a blind man would be able to see that this guy was serious bad news.

“Hello there,” he said to me. “My name is Buddy Ray. What’s yours?” He had a faint lisp.

I swallowed. “Robert Johnson.”

Buddy Ray’s smile would make small children flee to their mamas. “Nice to meet you, Robert.”

Buddy Ray—I didn’t know if that was a double first name or a first and last name—looked me over as though I were a bite-size snack. Something was off with this guy—you could just see it. He kept licking his lips. I risked a glance back at the big bouncer. Even he looked jittery in Buddy Ray’s presence.

As Buddy Ray approached, a pungent stench of cheap cologne failing to mask foul body odor wafted off him, the foul smell taking the lead like a Doberman he was walking. Buddy Ray stopped directly in front of me, maybe six inches away. I held my breath and stood my ground. I, too, had a foot on him. The bouncer took another step backward.

Buddy Ray craned his neck up at me and renewed the smile. Then, without warning, he punched me hard and deep in the stomach. I doubled over, the air whooshing out of me. I fell to my knees, gasping for air, but none would come. It felt as though a giant hand were holding my face underwater. I couldn’t breathe. My entire body started craving oxygen, just one breath, but I couldn’t get it. I dropped all the way to the floor, curled up in a fetal position.

Buddy Ray stood over me. The psycho eyes had lit up like something in a video game. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. “Tell me what you know about Antoine LeMaire.”

I gulped but still no air would come. My lungs ached.

Buddy Ray kicked me in the ribs with the toe of his cowboy boot.

I rolled away, the pain from the kick barely registering because I still couldn’t draw air. That was all I could think about. Breathing. Every cell in my body yearned for oxygen. I just needed time to gather one breath.

Buddy Ray turned to his big bouncer. “Pick him up, Derrick.”

“He’s just a kid, Buddy Ray.”

“Pick him up.”

Air. I finally managed to gulp down a few breaths. Derrick’s big hands bunched up my shirt near the shoulders. He lifted me as if I were a light load of laundry.

“Pin his arms back,” Buddy Ray said.

I could tell Derrick didn’t like it, but he did as he was told. He laced his massive arms through mine and pulled back so that my stomach and chest were totally exposed. He tightened his grip, locking me in place. I could feel the tendons ripping across my shoulder sockets. Buddy Ray was still licking his lips, enjoying this way too much.

“Please,” I said as soon as I could gather enough air to speak. “I don’t know Antoine LeMaire. I’m looking for him too.”

Buddy Ray studied my face. “Is your name really Robert Johnson?”

I didn’t know how to answer that one.

He reached into my pocket and took out my cell phone. “I bet this will give us your real name and home address.” Another smile. “So Derrick and I can visit you whenever we like.”

I struggled, but that just made Derrick mad. Buddy Ray flicked my cell phone on—and then his face froze. He looked back at me, his face twisted in rage, and then he turned the camera in my direction.

It was the picture of Ashley.

Buddy Ray’s body started quaking. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying to me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Where. Is. She?”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for her.”

“So you’re here for Antoine?”

“I’m here,” I said, “for me.”

Buddy Ray took a few deep breaths, and I didn’t like what I was seeing on his face. He looked at Derrick. “We should take him to the dungeon.”

The dungeon?

Even Derrick looked shell-shocked when he said that. “I don’t know, boss.”

Buddy Ray turned back to me. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Buddy Ray said to me, again his voice a quiet lisp. “With Derrick holding you in place, I’m going to sock you in the gut again. Harder this time. Then, much as you’re going to want to bend and fall back on the floor, Derrick is going to hold you up. And then, if you don’t talk, we will take you to the dungeon.”

The fear on my face made his grin widen. “Wait,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But really, I should be sure, right?”

I started to buck, but Derrick held me firm. Buddy Ray took his time, milking the moment. He licked his lips some more and then he took out a pair of brass knuckles.

I shuddered.

Derrick said, “Uh, Buddy Ray?”

“Just hold him.”

Buddy Ray slipped on the brass knuckles and slowly made a fist. He showed it to me, like it was something I might want to study before he unleashed it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to tighten my stomach muscles, but really, how would that help? Then, with the maniacal grin at its widest, Buddy Ray began to cock back his fist. He was just about to let it go when the door behind him, the one he had come through a minute ago, opened. A bikini-clad dancer entered.