“What’s the rush, buddy?” he asked.
I glanced down at his hand on my chest and then narrowed my eyes on him. “My friend is in there. I need to get her out.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Better not be talkin’ ’bout a dancer. We don’t need a jealous husband goin’ in there and wreckin’ business.”
“She’s not a dancer,” I sneered, stepping back so his hand fell from my chest.
He studied me for another second and I clenched my fists. The longer I was out there talking to SmallHead McGee, the longer Josephine and Lily had to fend for themselves.
“There’s a cover,” he said, drawing out his words in a way that grated on my nerves.
I reached for my wallet. “Great. What is it?”
He cracked his fat knuckles. “For you?” He sized up my suit. “Thirty bucks.”
That’s it? He knew I needed to get in, he could have asked for any amount, and he’d come up with thirty dollars?
“All right, buddy,” I said, throwing his word back at him and handing him forty dollars. “Keep the change.”
He grinned as I walked through the door, staring down at the forty bucks like he’d just won the lottery.
The strip club was clouded with cigarette smoke and furniture straight out of the 80s. Red vinyl chairs rimmed three separate stages, a large one in the center and two smaller ones that flanked it on either side. Red and yellow lights flickered overhead, illuminating the girls dancing on each one. They were the afternoon crew, the stragglers, the dancers that had no dance left in them. They looked like they needed a week’s vacation and a few less days spent inside the tanning bed.
“Awww yeah. Yeah. Yeah. That’s right guys, it’s free steak night tonight at Teeeeeeeeeease.” The emcee boomed over the speakers. “Get yourself a plate and get that green ready for our next dancer. Up next on the main stage is Dusty Roooooose. Dusty Rose is a fan favorite, so you’ll want to move in close, but not too close! She’s been known to biiiiiiiiiiite.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Please put your hands together and give a warm welcome to Ms. Dusty Rose!”
Loud pop music started streaming through the speakers as Dusty Rose took the stage in a bright pink shirt and a short plaid skirt. She looked to be in her forties, tanned and tired, but she was wearing her bleached hair in short pigtails and dancing to old Britney Spears like she was twenty-one again.
I scanned the crowd for Lily, but she was impossible to find in the dim lighting. A waitress in a short glittery dress sidled up beside me, running her hand up my side. “Thirsty, big boy?” she cooed.
I shook my head. “Did you see two girls come in just a second ago? Two blondes?”
She smiled up at me, stringing a finger through her hair and twisting it around. “Sure I wasn’t one of them?”
Clearly, she wasn’t going to help.
I made to move past her and she reached out for my arm. “Fine. Jeez, you’re no fun. I’m pretty sure one of them is over on the other side of the bar.”
“And the other?” I asked.
She smirked and tilted her head toward Dusty Rose. “She’s backstage.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Lily
I had assumed New York City would offer me some pretty eye-opening experiences. I’d planned on visiting the great museums and rifling through independent bookstores in Brooklyn. I’d had hopes of sampling the best cuisine the city had to offer and then lying beneath the oak trees of Central Park, dreaming of the fancy cuisine I’d devour the next day.
Instead, I found myself backstage at a squalid strip club, weaving in and out of dancers. In my imagined life, my hair blew in the breeze on the Hudson Bay. In real life, it stank of cigarette smoke. In my imagined life, I mingled with the movers and shakers of the culinary capital of the world. In real life, I was colliding with coke-fueled women who’d run out of options.
When I’d walked into the club, Hunter had been hovering near the entrance, trying to find a spot to claim. He’d spun in a circle with Josephine by his side, inspecting the room for open tables. He’d been seconds away from landing on the spot where I stood frozen and I’d reacted just in time, slipping behind the black curtain with hopes that it lead to a bathroom or storage closet. Instead, I found myself backstage.
I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face, hoping to clear the air. It was no use. Smoke, hair spray, and perfume blended together into a watery eye inducing cloud. I blinked away the haze and glanced down at my phone. Jo was ignoring me, most likely deciding if she was going to suffocate me or throw me out the window later. I’d told her we had to follow Hunter into a bar, not a strip club. I was discovering along with her how big a difference there was.
Lily: JO. Are you okay? ANSWER ME.
I tried again.
Lily: Do you want to leave? This is stupid. Let’s go!
I was about to head back out through the door and break our cover when she finally texted me back.
Jo: He’s drunk and I know I almost have him! Just stay hidden.
“What are you doing back here, sugar?”
I turned to my left to find a half-naked dancer pulling her uniform on over her head. It looked like a cheap Halloween costume. She was meant to be a cop with a badge that read “Sergeant Sexy” in glittery letters. Her dark skin was coated with sparkly lotion and her hair was twisted into tight curls. She had the biggest pair of boobs I’d ever seen in real life and for a moment I couldn’t even answer her question because I was too mesmerized by the sight of them.
“Sugar?” she asked again.
I stared up into her honey brown eyes. “I’m spying.”
She laughed. “On your baby daddy? That never ends well.” She tsked and turned around. “Zip me up, will ya?”
She sucked in as much as possible and I stepped forward to zip her up. The dress was so tight she’d have to cut herself out of it at the end of the night.
“I’m not spying on a man. I’m here for a friend.”
She turned back around and gave me a onceover. Something told me she didn’t believe me about spying for a friend, but she shrugged anyway. “There’s a spot between the main stage and the left side stage where you can pull the curtain back and peek through. Don’t be stupid about it though. Big Ronnie’ll chew me out if he finds ya.”
Before I could say thanks, she spun away, dancing to music I couldn’t hear. Her hips swayed side to side and she arched her back, dragging her left hand down her right arm. It was a routine, her routine.
I walked closer to the curtain and started gently pulling back sections, looking for an opening. I kept waiting for one of the other dancers to stop me, but everyone was too busy getting ready to notice the weird girl in the beanie.
Before I could find a gap in the curtain, my phone buzzed with two text messages.
Dean: Are you backstage??
Jo: I GOT IT. He just sang like a canary and I recorded it all. He’s throwing up in the bathroom. Meet me at the front door.
I pumped my fist in the air. We did it! Hunter was going down and I hadn’t subjected Jo to a strip club for nothing. Win win. I was going to celebrate with Dean and bask in his compliments of what a good sleuth I was.
“Hey! Step off, bitch,” a dancer said, interrupting the party in my head.
I’d been too preoccupied to see her leave the stage and when I’d fist-pumped, I’d narrowly missed punching her in the face. She reared back and pushed me before I could explain the mistake.
I lost my footing and tumbled back, grasping onto the black curtain like it was going to catch my fall. In reality, the thin material gave way beneath my weight and my butt hit the stage with too much momentum to stop. I rolled back—clinging to the one gymnastics lesson I’d had at age five—and landed on my stomach, flat on the center stage with bright red light shining down on me.