Twenty-eight

Vincent Gambuzzo wasn’t happy. That was nothing new for Vincent, nor was the object of his displeasure—me—a surprise. I managed to piss off Vincent almost every time he saw me. It didn’t bother me, but it bugged the hell out of him.

“Listen,” he said, “Dead Lakes Motor Speedway is a big account. I’m looking to maintain a relationship and you ain’t helping.”

We were standing outside his office, just around the corner from the front door. People were walking past like it was Grand Central Station, and I could’ve cared less, but Vincent was doubly ticked on account of not liking his business known among the staff and public.

I stamped my black stilettoed heel, setting all the beads and bangles on my tigress outfit to jumping. “I don’t give a good rat’s ass what you think,” I said. “There ain’t money enough to make me go back out to that racetrack!”

Vincent’s jaw was twitching, and behind the wrap-around sunglasses his entire face glowed a coronary red.

“Mickey Rhodes requested you,” he said. “He wants to do a tribute to Ruby, sort of as a way to let the fans know that it’s all right to come to the Speedway, that people are safe there. He thinks if you’re there, it’ll spread that message.”

“Ain’t my problem, Gambuzzo.”

“You want it on the line, Lavotini?” he sputtered. “All right, here’s the line: If your ass isn’t up to that racetrack next Wednesday night, I’ll…” He paused for a moment, long enough for me to open my big mouth.

“You’ll what, Gambuzzo, fire me?”

“You’re damn right!” he thundered.

“Oh, well, ain’t that a fine business decision,” I said with a sneer. “Fire your headliner on account of she won’t go back to the place where another one of your dancers was murdered. How’s that gonna look? Eh? Who you gonna find to work for you then, Vincent? A club owner who thinks no more of his dancers than to send them into harm’s way!”

We were drawing a crowd. Tonya the Barbarian stood just behind me, her cavegirl club clutched in her hand like she might have call to use it. Marla had wandered up and clearly taken Vincent’s side, but when Tonya snarled at her, she jumped back a good three feet.

“They know who killed Ruby,” Vincent said. “And Roy Dell’s a wanted man. He would no more show his face at the Speedway than in church. Dead Lakes is safe, Sierra. You’re just showboating and I won’t have it! Your ass’ll be up there Wednesday night with a smile on your pretty little face, or you won’t have a job to come back to. You work for me, Sierra, and this ain’t Disneyland.”

I could feel it welling up. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d wanted to. I had my pride. Sierra Lavotini didn’t eat shit for nobody.

“You don’t own me, Gambuzzo,” I shouted. “And you can kiss my smooth ass, ’cause I quit!”

I couldn’t believe it! I couldn’t believe the words had come out of my mouth, but it didn’t matter, ’cause I’d said ’em, and now I had to live by them. I spun around and stalked off to the dressing room amid cheers from my supporters and Vincent’s voice calling over the top of them.

“Come back here, Lavotini! You can’t quit! You’re fired!”

I didn’t look back. I just held my head high, walked into the dressing room, and started packing. Two years I’d given that man, and now I was done. I didn’t need him. I could find a job tomorrow. Show-N-Tails had been after me for over a year to come work for them, and every other club in the country would be the same. I didn’t need him!

I threw my costumes into my bag and started cleaning out my small portion of the makeup bar. I was cussing and talking to myself to beat the band. I wasn’t even aware that anyone else had come into the room until I looked up and saw Ralph the stagehand standing behind me, his eyes the size of saucers, terrified.

“Well, what are you looking at?” I snapped, instantly sorry.

“Sierra,” he said, his voice squeaky with trepidation, “please don’t go.”

I looked at him standing there, his red hair and freckles making him look like Opie Taylor from Mayberry, and my heart melted.

“I can’t stay, Ralphie. I have to go. It’s a matter of principle.”

He gulped, looked me right in the eye, and said, “It’s pride’s what it is. You and Mr. Gambuzzo are always like this. Why’re you going now?”

“’Cause I said I would” sounded like a lame reason, and we both knew it. The other dancers were slowly filing into the room, standing behind Ralph and staring at me the same way he was. I was leaving them. Their mom was leaving.

“I’m sorry, guys,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I can’t let him talk to me like that. I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere.” I walked through them, out into the hallway, and out the back exit door. I left to the sound of complete silence, a first for the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club.

“Keep walking,” I said to myself. “Don’t look back.” My bag of makeup and costumes felt heavier with each step I took. The trip across the parking lot was endless. I threw my bag into the backseat, jumped into the driver’s seat, and took off, spinning my tires the entire way out of the parking lot and onto Thomas Drive. Behind me, another car pulled out of the parking lot and in behind me. An unmarked sedan, black. Wheeling.

“Screw him!” I said into the wind. “Screw everybody! Screw the whole situation!”

I drove down the Miracle Strip, the stretch of Panama City Beach that hosts mega-hotels sandwiched in between mom-and-pop motels, go-cart tracks, and bars. Boys, standing alongside the road on the lookout for trouble, yelled out, but they barely even registered on my radar. I needed quiet and a place to think. I needed the beach.

I pushed on past the Strip, letting my foot rest heavy on the accelerator as I zoomed toward Laguna Beach. Wheeling was right behind me, following at a discreet distance.

“All right for you, then. See if you can do this…”

I swung down one of the side roads and picked up speed, zooming from corner to corner. I knew a few turns that Wheeling obviously hadn’t anticipated. You don’t grow up in Philly, with them tiny alleys and one-way streets, to be defeated by Panama City’s little grid. I pushed ahead of him and abruptly swung into the Lotus, one of the beach’s largest and most exclusive complexes.

My advantage was in having an owner’s gate card, courtesy of a grateful patron who didn’t mind letting a dancer have free parking right in front of the beach. Wheeling was just far enough behind me that he couldn’t catch the rocker arm of the gate. He was momentarily stumped, but only momentarily. Just long enough for me to wind my way into the parking garage, ditch the car and run out onto the beach.

It wasn’t forever. I knew he’d find me. But I wasn’t going to make it easy. I kicked off my shoes and started running, away from the lights that pointed out the strip and out toward darker Laguna Beach. In the dark, my Tigress outfit probably looked like a swim suit. But the tiny bells and beads clanked together to make me sound like a herd of housecats.

I ran and ran, not looking back to see if he followed me, not really caring, until I felt myself giving out, the rage seeping away for the moment. I sank down by the edge of the water, winded and panting. Then I glanced back. Nothing. If he was out there, I was as invisible to him as he was to me.

I looked out at the water. The crest of the waves glowed an eerie white in the light of the almost full moon. What was I gonna do now? I had a lap full of questions and not too many answers. Why did Roy Dell run off and where was he? Did he burn Wannamaker’s house down? Did he shoot John? Did Roy Dell shoot Wannamaker? Why was there cocaine in Wannamaker’s attic? Was that why John was nosing around Wannamaker’s house and the racetrack? Was there some connection? I leaned back on my arms and tried to think.

I heard Wannamaker’s voice in my head. “My Son of Satan wanted to take me first, but no, He had to take her.” What if he hadn’t been just babbling? What if Wannamaker was talking about his son, Ruby’s brother, the missing Michael? Who was he, anyway? Where was he?

It had been stupid to tell Vincent I wouldn’t go back to the racetrack. I had to go back out to that track. Everything stemmed from there.

I was so wrapped up in planning that I almost didn’t see Wheeling trudging down the beach, a flashlight in his hand, following my tracks. He swung the light up as he got closer, hitting me full in the face with the bright light.

“Turn that off!” I yelled. “You know it’s me!”

The light went out, and he sank down beside me, resting on his haunches. He did not look like a happy camper.

“You could’ve made this easier,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, like I didn’t already have enough of a pain in my ass by quitting my job, I should slow down and let you be that extra hemorrhoid. I think not!”

“So you quit, huh? Why?”

Why indeed. “It was a slow night.”

Wheeling relaxed a little. Behind his thick mustache, he actually seemed to crack a smile.

“You’re a pistol, Lavotini.”

“You come all the way out here to tell me that?” I threw a shell out at the water.

“No, I came all the way out here to find out what you did with Roy Dell Parks.”

“And I’m sorry for you, ’cause I haven’t done a thing with Roy Dell Parks.” I stood up and started brushing sand off my ass, taking it as an extra benefit that some of it was flying all over the detective.

“He was with you outside of Wannamaker Lewis’s house,” he said calmly. He stood up and folded his arms, an immovable force.

“All right, I’ll bite. How did you know that?”

The smile was back, peeking out from under the mustache. “A source.”

I almost went for it. I almost asked, “Nailor?” but that would’ve been walking into a trap or giving him information he didn’t have. Instead I bit the inside of my lip.

“Why don’t you guys let up off Roy Dell? He’s a gnat on your windshield. You know he didn’t kill Ruby. Why don’t you focus on finding her real killer?”

Wheeling hadn’t moved. He was less than a foot away from me, staring me down. “I don’t know that,” he said. “Frank Collins puts him away from his crew and near the scene at just the right time. The rest of the crew all verified that Parks was late for the call to drive the car up to the starting line.”

“That’s enough for a murder warrant?”

“It is if a witness also heard your friend Ruby tell Parks to back off. Apparently, that made him angry.”

“That’s not what I told you!”

“Your story didn’t altogether hang, now did it? You thought my partner was someplace he obviously wasn’t.”

What a smart ass he was! Still didn’t believe me.

“Frank’s lying,” I said. “You and I both know he was fooling around with Roy Dell’s wife. There’s motive for lying right there.”

“Then why’d Roy Dell run?”

I pushed past him and started walking back toward the car. He was right beside me, reaching out and grabbing my arm to stop me.

“Wait a minute!”

I spun to a stop, ready to take his head off, but he started first.

“Sierra, I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to apprehend the man who killed your friend.”

“You do that by calling me a liar?”

“Who do you think I’m going to believe? My partner or you?”

I shrugged. “You gotta do what you gotta do.” I started walking again, but slower, letting him keep up.

“I think you were mistaken,” he said. “That’s not the same as lying.”

“Whatever.” I looked over at him. “Wannamaker Lewis was Ruby Lee’s biological father. Did you know that?”

“Yes, but Wannamaker Lewis died in that fire,” he said. “You were there. Roy Dell Parks was there. Should I be making something out of that? You’re damn right I should. I don’t need to go looking for anything other than the obvious explanation.” He hadn’t waited for my confirmation.

“You think Roy Dell set the fire?”

“Don’t you?” he asked.

I didn’t answer him. I wanted to respond, to explain everything, but I just couldn’t be sure, and with John’s life on the line, I wasn’t going to take a chance. If John had wanted to take his partner into his confidence, then he would’ve done so already.

We’d reached the parking garage, our footsteps the only sound in the orange-lit deck. He didn’t say a word until I stopped by my car.

“If you see him,” he said, his voice pitched low, “tell him I could help him if he’d let me. Tell him I’d know what to do. Tell him he ought to know that about me by now.”

All of a sudden, I didn’t think we were talking about a murder suspect.

“Roy Dell?” I asked.

“Anybody you think could use that message,” he said, his face grim. “I don’t leave people hanging out to dry, even when it looks like that’s what they’re doing to me. Situations can always be rectified. You tell Mr. Parks, or whomever, that I said that.”

I reached out my hand and touched his arm. “I’ll tell whomever what you said. Maybe you should think on the fact that things aren’t always like they seem.”

His eyes were hard. “I know that. I got more time invested in the relationship than you do. Trust is all you got to give in this world. Trust and your word. I gave my word, Sierra, and that means everything. You tell the son of a bitch I said that.”

He walked away then, mad, hurt, and confused. He knew his partner was lying to him.

When Nailor recovered enough to answer questions, he was going to have to deal with me and Wheeling. What would make him lie to his own partner? Why would he be doing something undercover that his own department didn’t know about? Something at the racetrack. Something that maybe had to do with Ruby’s death.

I backed the car out of its parking space and started driving toward home. I didn’t have a job. I was no closer to finding Ruby’s murderer. And the man I’d figured was my best shot at a healthy relationship lay waiting for me in my own bed, too weak to move, and too stubborn to let me help him.

*   *   *

When I slipped into the trailer, it was just after midnight. Al was the only one up. He was sitting at the kitchen table, working a crossword and frowning.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“I don’t know. All right, I guess. He lost a lot of blood, Sierra. I’d sure feel better if he’d let us take him to the hospital.”

“I don’t think he feels a hospital’s safe,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to put him at risk. I trust him to know what’s safe.”

Al looked at me and shook his head. “Why you gotta always fall for the wrong guy, Sierra? Why you can’t have a straight-up relationship?”

I reached for the Chianti bottle and Al’s empty glass. “Beats me, Al. He’s a good guy. I think we know that. He’s just in trouble.”

Al laughed softly. “And what guy gets involved with you ain’t in trouble? It’s like that ‘chicken or the egg’ thing. Which came first, trouble or you?”

“Good night, Al,” I said wryly, taking my tumbler and heading for the back room. “I’ll take the night shift.”

“Don’t do nothing to raise the boy’s blood pressure,” he called after me. “We finally got the bleeding to stop!”

I ignored him and tiptoed past the room where Ma lay fully clothed on her bed, snoring. I softly pushed open my bedroom door and stepped into the room. Fluffy, who hadn’t come out to greet me, sat up by Nailor’s shoulder, on guard.

Her tail started wagging and she pranced to the edge of the bed.

“How’s he doin’, girl?” I whispered. “Did he give you any trouble?” I looked down at him. He slept with a frown on his face, as if he hurt. He was still very, very pale.

I took my wine and wandered into the bathroom. It was just too early to go to bed.

“A nice long bubble bath,” I whispered to myself, and started the water. As it ran, I lit candles, dripped a little lavender oil into the water, and dug out a nightgown. I had to dig deep on account of being used to sleeping naked under my satin sheets most nights. But eventually I found a white cotton number with little satin ribbon ties. Tasteful. Chaste. A “company” nightgown that said, “Glad you’re here, but don’t go getting ideas.” At least that’s what I hoped it said.

I soaked until the water turned lukewarm and the wine was gone. Sleep was actually seeming like a possibility. I wandered into the dimly lit bedroom. Nailor was sleeping on “my side” and didn’t move when I turned out the light and slipped gently under the comforter.

I lay there for a second, a foot away from a man who, under different circumstances, would have reduced me to a mass of trembling expectations. I moved a little closer and became aware that his breathing had changed, lightened. He moaned and rolled toward me, his arm falling gently around my waist. I was trapped.

“Thought you promised naked,” he whispered.

My heart started racing and I felt my nipples harden as his hand brushed lightly against them.

“Didn’t wanna take advantage of a wounded man,” I said softly.

He nuzzled the back of my neck, another soft moan escaping his lips. He was in pain and still trying to go for the gold. That’s a man for you.

“Go to sleep,” I hissed. “I like my men healthy.”

“I could take you with one arm tied behind my back.” He chuckled softly.

“I doubt that, Nailor. And besides, I want both your hands in action. I won’t settle for half your best.”

He moved a little closer, his body molding to mine. “It’s a deal,” he said. “But once this arm’s working, you’d better be ready, ’cause I’ll be coming after you.”

“I’m terrified,” I whispered.

His fingers brushed my nipples again. “Yeah, I can tell.”

I leaned back against him, a sigh escaping my lips. It was all I could do not to roll over and administer CPR, but I knew better. Instead I lay there, waiting for him to drift off to sleep. I listened to his regular, even breathing for hours before I joined him.