and made a startling contrast to his skin, which was a light caramel color. “Hep you fellows?” he said in the flat nasal accent of the Lumbee Indian.
Leonard pulled his gun. He was carrying a long-barreled .44, Dewayne a snub-nosed .38. “Let’s do this easy, old man, and no one has to get hurt,” DeWayne said.
“Just put the bag down on the ground, and step away real slow,” Leonard said.
The old man didn’t move. He looked first at DeWayne, then at Leonard.
“Shit,” was all he said.
“What are you talkin’ about, man?” DeWayne’s voice was high, almost cracking with the strain of adrenaline. He felt the familiar dizzy sensation of things slipping out of his control.
Both of them saw the old man’s hand go into the bag. “Don’t do it, man…” Leonard shouted as the hand came out holding a small automatic. Both Leonard’s and DeWayne’s guns barked at once, the sharp cracks muffled by the soggy air. One shot went wide and struck the side of the truck. The other hammered the old man back against the door. The only change in his expression was a grimace of pain, then blankness. The automatic slid from his fingers as he slumped to the ground.
“God DAMN it!’ Leonard shouted at the old man. “The FUCK’d you do that for?” The man didn’t answer.
DeWayne rushed forward and grabbed the bag, kicking the automatic further away with his foot as he did so. He needn’t have bothered. The man looked straight ahead, not noticing the bag, the gun, or the rising sun in his eyes. He was dead.
The young paratrooper was full of piss and vinegar, pumped up on the Airborne mystique, and stumbling drunk, as well. He looked like he was ready to make an issue out of Keller talking so long to the redhead. Keller didn’t see what claim the kid had on the girl, other than the fact she had been recently been grinding her crotch on the kid’s lap, but he didn’t have time to argue. He showed the kid a peek of the 9mm hanging in a shoulder rig beneath his coat. It was enough to make even a drunk kid realize that attitude and training don’t make anyone bulletproof. The young soldier did a quick fade into the crowd and Keller turned back to the dancer who called herself Misty.
A lot of people would find it difficult to concentrate on an interview when the interviewee is a redhead wearing only a transparent silk teddy. Keller kept reminding himself he had a job to do and not a lot of time to do it in. Misty helped take his mind off prurient interests by the way she cracked her bubble gum and looked bored. She was no more aware of her clothes, or lack of them, than if she had been in uniform behind the counter at Mickey D’s.
“Crystal worked here for a while,” she said. It was Saturday night, and the strip club was crowded and noisy. Misty had to shout into Keller’s ear to be heard. “She was cute, had a nice figure,” she went on “but her heart wasn’t really in it, you know? It was like she was half-asleep most of the time. Customers want you to be, like, into it. So she left. I don’t know where she went.”
Keller could see a big guy in a black tuxedo vest and bowtie working his way through the crowd. He wondered for a second how anyone with no visible neck could wear a bowtie. He figured someone had tipped the bouncer off that he was carrying.
Keller had all the right permits, but he didn’t expect that to cut any ice with the neckless wonder. He flipped Misty a business card. “If you hear anything,” he said, “Call me on my cell-phone number.” He had to shout the last phrase, since the music was increasing from the merely deafening to the truly painful. It was time for the next show.
She looked at the card blankly and blew a bubble. “You a bail bondsman?” she said.
“I work for one,” he said. He sidled through the crowd towards the door.
Keller stepped out into the humid night and lit a cigarette. A summer thunderstorm had recently blown through, leaving the parking lot scattered with puddles of oily water that reflected back the red and blue neon lights of the club. The sudden cooling brought by the storm had caused the waterlogged air to turn to light fog. Keller blew out a long stream of smoke and watched the Friday night traffic sigh past on Bragg Boulevard. A Ford minivan pulled up and a group of young men in sport shirts and khakis piled out. Keller noticed that one of them appeared much drunker than the others, who gathered around him to prop him up. They were whooping and laughing. Bachelor party, Keller thought. There was an edge to their laughter, almosthysteria. “We’re having fun,” the laughter said. “Really. We promise.”
There was the sound of footsteps behind Keller. He turned and saw Bowtie advancing on him. He squared off to face the big man. Bowtie stopped, his red face within a few inches of Keller’s. The bouncer squinted, trying to make his small eyes look hard. Keller looked back without expression. Finally, Bowtie spoke.
“You been asking a lot of questions about one of the ladies,” he said.
“Yeah,” Keller said. Bowtie began to look uncertain. He was obviously used to being placated at this stage of the game. He looked Keller up and down, obviously measuring his broad six feet against Keller’s lankier six-two. His jaw worked for a minute, then he said, “You a cop?”
Keller shook his head. “Bail Enforcement.”
The term obviously threw Bowtie, and the uncertainty was making him angry. His face got even redder and his neck and shoulders seemed to inflate slightly. He was building up his rage for the next stage of the game. Keller interrupted the process. “I’m going to reach into my pocket and get my business card,” he said. He did so without waiting for permission. He handed the card to Bowtie, who squinted at it.
“H & H Bail Bonds,” he said finally. “What, Crystal in some kind of trouble?”
Keller shook his head. “Her cousin,” he said. “Name of DeWayne. They grew up together. He didn’t show on a B & E down in Brunswick County. I figured his family might know where he is.”
Bowtie stepped back a few inches and deflated his neck and shoulders. “She don’t work here no more.”
“So I hear. She quit?”
“Naw. I fired her ass. She was, ah, doing private shows after hours. Know what I mean?”
Keller tossed his cigarette on the ground and crushed it out with his boot. “She was hooking.”
Bowtie nodded. “I don’t need that kind of shit.”
Meaning, Keller thought, that she wasn’t cutting you in on the profits. Or letting you sample the merchandise.
“Plus,” Bowtie went on, “She was wasted half the time.” He tapped the side of his nose and tried to look knowing. It didn’t work. “Know what I mean?” he said again.
“Yeah. Any idea where she went?”
Bowtie shrugged. “Escort service’d be my guess.”
Keller sighed. There were at least fifty of those in the Yellow Pages alone. “Don’t guess her cousin ever came around.” Bowtie shook his head. “No,” he said, “she never said nothin’ about having a family.”
“Okay,” Keller said. “Thanks.”
“Hey, don’t mention it,” Bowtie said. “And, ah, sorry about gettin’ in your face like that. I gotta look out for the ladies.”
