attempted to match the man’s dialect. “I’m lookin’ for a, uh, dish named Kitty Kats.”
“Yeah, she’s here.”
“Really?” Amelia asked, thrilled and excited and a little frightened all at the same time. “There really is a Kitty Kats?”
“Are you playin’ some kinda game lady, cuz I don’t like games.”
“Oh, no sir. I assure you I am not playing a game at all. See, my son Teddy… ” Amelia stopped herself once she realized the man in front of her probably did not have any interest. “Well, it is quite a long story, as they say. I would love to speak a moment or two to Miss Kitty Kats, but first let me ask you this: do you know a man named Jimmy Jiggs?”
“Never heard of him,” the bouncer replied. He jerked his thumb toward the stage. “Kitty’s workin’ her set right now. She’ll be done soon enough.”
A nearly naked young woman with long legs and abundant bosom appeared to be mating with a metal pole in the middle of the stage. Amelia had trouble watching.
“Maybe I should just wait here until she is done then,” Amelia said.
“What exactly you want with her, lady?” the man asked.
“Just to, you know, talk. Have a little chat.”
“Then I suggest you get your keister down to the stage and let her know. Last I heard, she ain’t no mind reader.”
Taking his advice, Amelia made her way to the stage. She placed three more tissues from her purse neatly onto a chair at the nearest table. When she sat, she tried to touch as little of the chair as possible. Peeking at her watch, she made note that her time was limited. Angus and Thaddeus would be finished with croquet soon. She did not want to be gone too long. Amelia surveyed the smoky room. As far as audience went, she seemed to be it. A group of men smoked like chimneys at a table in the far back of the club, but they paid Miss Kitty Kats no heed. They appeared to be embroiled in some heated discussion. When the music ended, Amelia watched the woman—naked except for purple underpants (if you could call them that) and red heels—retrieve a silk robe from the back of a chair.
Amelia waved her hand in the air to catch the woman’s attention. “Hello? Miss Kitty? Or is it Miss Kats? Hello?”
Cinching her robe, the dancer squinted in Amelia’s direction. “Yeah?”
“Might I have a moment of your time?”
“Huh?”
“I would like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Lady, this is my break. I need some fresh air and a smoke.”
“I assure you, I am in a hurry as well. I shall make it quick. I can join you wherever you take your rest.”
The stripper gave Amelia a few moments of suspicious consideration, finally making a counteroffer. “Bring Mr. Jackson with you, and I’ll give you five minutes and no more.”
Amelia stood, pleased the stripper had agreed. “Where will I find Mr. Jackson?”
“In your wallet, lady. Twenty bucks.”
“Oh.” Amelia laughed. “Yes, I understand now. President Andrew Jackson on the twenty-dollar bill. I will have to remember that one. That is quite a high price, but yes, I can pay you twenty dollars.”
Kitty Kats rolled her eyes and pointed to a door to the left of the stage. Amelia followed her down a narrow, smelly hallway and out a door where the sunshine and clean air greeted her once again.
Kitty lit up then held her hand out for payment, which Amelia provided.
“Whaddya want, lady?”
Where to start? “Do you have a, um, I’m not sure how one refers to it. A fan perhaps? A man named Norbert Emerson?”
“I go out of my way not to ask last names, lady. But I know a Norbie. He comes around. And sure, you can call him a fan.” Kitty laughed and smoke streamed from her nose. “You his wife?”
“No,” Amelia protested. “No. It is just that he seems to be connected to a certain problem I am having. How about Jimmy Jiggs? Do you know a Mr. Jimmy Jiggs?”
“Never heard of him.”
“How about a private investigator named Mac Hardcase?” This seemed an even more ludicrous question given that Hardcase was fictional, but perhaps the character had been based on an actual person.
“Definitely never heard of him,” the dancer said.
Amelia thought the response interesting. Was Miss Kitty not “definitely” sure she’d never heard of Jimmy Jiggs?
The door pushed open and Killer stepped out, using his body to keep it from closing. “Kitty, Skunk wants ya. Says get yer keister in here now.”
Kitty stamped out her cigarette on the gravel. “You heard the man,” she said to Amelia. “Break’s over. You’d better scram.”
Not sure how her newfound knowledge would help her, Amelia decided to take the young woman’s suggestion and return home. She was short on time anyway.
“It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance,” Amelia said. “If I follow this gravel path around the building, will that lead to the lot where I parked my car?”
“Not so fast, lady,” Killer said. “Skunk wants ya both.”
“Damn,” Kitty said. “You shoulda scrammed faster.”
Amelia was bewildered to say the least. “I am wanted as well?”
“Yeah.” Killer grunted.
“Who is this Skunk, if I might ask?” The name had an ominous ring.
“He’s a guy.” Detail did not seem to be Killer’s strong suit.
Amelia was getting the distinct impression that her options were limited, but she attempted an easy escape in the off chance she was mistaken. “Please thank him for the invitation, but I must be getting home. My family is waiting for me. Once their croquet game is complete, Angus will garden and Teddy will want me to listen while he practices reciting the Gettysburg Address. Sunday rituals you know.”
“Nice try,” Killer said. “Now, if you don’t want those legs of yours broken, use ’em to follow Kitty into Skunk’s parlor. Kitty, show her the way.”
* * * *
Skunk’s parlor turned out to be a poorly lit room with purple walls and gaudy furniture upholstered in faux animal fur. The “guy” himself, however, appeared to be a missing feature. Though Amelia knew she should be afraid for his eventual arrival, somehow she was not. Perhaps, she thought, this Mr. Skunk would provide the answers she sought.
Kitty made her way immediately to a bar in the corner where she poured herself a drink, appearing far less calm than Amelia.
“I’ll
