28

Two hulking bouncers stood at the entrance. They barely blinked as they waved regulars through and gave newcomers a once-over. Moumen held his badge up, and the man nodded. The captain had led an investigation there recently and knew the place well. Nico let him take the lead.

“You’re new here,” the bouncer told Nico as he eyed him greedily.

“He’s with me,” Moumen interjected.

“Normally I’d have to search him.”

Nico felt like he was being undressed.

“Come on, John!” Moumen said, taking the bouncer by the arm and whispering in his ear. “We’re here on official business. Just let us do our jobs.”

The bouncer stepped aside, and the two officers entered the club. The deafening music pierced Nico’s ears and thudded against his chest. The shadowy vestibule looked like a train platform where anonymous travelers merged. Once again, Nico felt eyes on him.

They paid the cover charge and got an ultraviolet stamp. Nico followed Moumen into a cramped hallway with a lit floor. Patrons hurried through the passageway to the dance floor. The strobe lights blinded Nico for a few moments. Adjusting his eyes, he made out the disco balls and the glittery specks of light they were throwing on the ceiling and walls. Speakers were belching out music: “Fancy Footwork,” an electrofunk hit by Chromeo. The energized crowd yelled out the duo’s suggestive lyrics. The men wriggled and ground against each other, a sweaty sheen on their bare torsos.

Moumen led them to the bar, where they sat down on chrome stools. Nico marveled at how this man could blend in. He certainly had the looks. Seductive deep-brown eyes, long eyelashes, an easy smile, honey-colored skin. He wasn’t above flirting, but everyone at headquarters knew he was devoted to his wife, the mother of his children.

“Can I get you something?” Moumen yelled above the music.

“A soda.”

“What did you say?”

Nico tried again. “A soda!”

“You think they have that here?” Moumen shouted back. “I was toying with the idea of getting you drunk and taking advantage of your athletic body. Just my luck. You know, there are some really nice rooms underground. You’d love them.”

“Maybe another time. But sorry, it wouldn’t be with you.”

“You just broke my heart.”

The bartender appeared, interrupting their banter.

“Can we have two cranberry vodkas, please,” Moumen said.

“Coming right away, my prince,” he responded.

“Vodka, cranberry juice, orange liqueur, and pineapple liqueur,” Moumen warned.

Nico didn’t know if it would agree with him. He had just gotten over a stomach ulcer.

“The bartender’s name is Enzo. He’s a handsome beast. So much the better for customers.”

Moumen set the picture of Clément Roux on the bar.

“Do you recognize this man?” he asked Enzo, who had just returned with their drinks.

“Clément? Sure, he’s a regular. A sweet guy.”

“Did you see him last night?”

“He was dancing with an older guy.” Enzo slipped over to another customer.

Adam Lambert, the glam-rock star, was bawling out “What Do You Want From Me.” On the dance floor, the bodies were melding together.

“Enzo!” Moumen yelled. “Come back here.”

Enzo returned, a phony smile on his face.

“Enzo, Nico. Nico, Enzo. Oh, that rhymes! You’ll get along great.”

“And what can I do for you, Nico?” the bartender asked. He held a finger to his lips as the crowd started singing along with pop vocalist Jenifer.

Nico waited for the song to end. Then he pressed on. “Clément was attacked. We’re looking for the man he left with.”

“What? Attacked? Shit! How is he?”

“It’s still touch and go. I want to show you some pictures. Can you tell me if you recognize the man who was with Clément?”

“Okay, I’ll look at the pictures, but only if you buy me a drink.”

The crowd started singing again.

Nico held the pictures of the three suspects out to Enzo.

“No, not him. Clément wouldn’t have been attracted to this guy.”

He was pointing to Timothy Krall.

“The others are entirely possible, but I’m not sure. Clément and his buddy went downstairs pretty fast. You should talk to the DJ down there. He’s Clément’s friend.”

“Thanks, Enzo.”

“No problem. Come back anytime. You’re always welcome here.”

“You’ve got a magic touch,” Moumen said lightly as they stepped off the stools. “Shall we go downstairs?”

They made their way down a hall packed with vampires ready to sink their teeth into innocent necks. They came to a back room, which seemed gigantic in comparison. A flashy bar spilled bluish light over the room, including the corners, where kissing and fondling couples lay on couches. Nico couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable as he watched the lovers explore their partners’ muscled chests with their hands and their half-open lips with their tongues.

Several eyes locked on Nico. He felt them looking him over. His six-foot-three-inch frame, blond hair, and clear blue eyes seemed to be up for grabs. But surely the men also sensed that he was the kind of guy who took charge.

Gaëtan Roussel came on. Men got off the couches and started dancing. They belted out his lyrics:

“Inside outside
Sinbad is coming back
Don’t leave me, my baby
Don’t, on his way back.”

One of the men winked. Nico smiled politely and turned away.

Moumen led him to the DJ at the end of the room. The go-go dancers were lathering themselves under the ceiling-mounted showers. By the DJ’s corner there were labyrinthine hallways, passageways that plunged into absolute darkness. Men ambled in. Their aim was straightforward: to trade erotic pleasures in anonymity. They aroused themselves and each other in private rooms with porn. Nico was overwhelmed by the smell of semen. But at this late hour, what else could he expect?

“Hey there, Ayoub!” the DJ said. “You’ve got someone with you.”

“He’s my boss.”

“Hi, boss!”

A smooth, feminine voice came on.

“That’s Lilly Wood and the Prick, a French pop group that sings in English,” the DJ told them. “There’s some Johnny Cash and Patti Smith in the lyrics. I think you’ll like it, Mr. Boss. They’re awesome.”

“We came about Clément,” Moumen said directly.

“Is something wrong?”

“Someone made a bloody mess of him last night.”

“Clément? That can’t be.”

“He’s in the hospital. He’s not out of the woods. We think he met his attacker here. Do you remember who he was with?”

“I’d never seen the man before. Average height, sorta skinny, and clean. He looked pretentious. But I’ll tell you this: Clément was hooked, and he was set on spending the night with him.”

Nico handed him the picture of Tim Krall.

“Not our kind of guy. Too sloppy.”

“And what about these guys?”

The DJ shrugged.

“Take another look for my boss,” Moumen said.

“Oh, your boss! He’s not a hard one to look at.” The DJ laughed as he leaned on Moumen’s shoulder. “You like alternative rock? The Train from San Francisco? I like their single from Christmas. Everybody listen up! We’re playing this for Clément, our buddy, so he’ll come back to us.”

He put “Shake Up Christmas” on the turntable and raised the volume. Nico recognized it right away. Coca-Cola had used it in a commercial.

“Clément and his guy were here until late, as usual,” the DJ yelled. “Gianni and Théo over there might know more.” He gestured toward the dance floor. Nico paused. Gianni and Théo were two of the men who had locked eyes on him a few minutes earlier. They were still watching.

“Should I offer them a drink?” Moumen asked, pretending to be naïve. He was enjoying the situation.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Nico said curtly.

He watched as the second-in-command from Maurin’s group swayed across the dance floor to get the two men. Nico found a couch. He was exhausted. He took out his cell phone and sent Caroline a text. “At a club, a place where you’d never get in. Just want to hug you now. Miss you.” Her reply was immediate. Caroline had a hard time sleeping when he was out. “Miss you too. Be careful! Hugs back. And more if you want.” He felt warmth spread through him.

“I’m Gianni,” one of his admirers said in a deep voice.

Nico doubted that this was his real name. It seemed more like an assumed name for his nighttime activities. Gianni was sitting next to him already. Nico felt the man’s thigh pressing against his.

“And I’m Théo,” the other man said. This one had turned his attention away from Nico and was now ogling Moumen.

They had both found their special someones.

“I saw you when you came in,” Gianni said.

His black fishnet T-shirt showed off his flawless muscles. Nico guessed that Gianni had a matching thong.

“I know,” Nico replied.

“Are you free tonight?”

His thigh was pressing even harder against Nico’s. And now Gianni’s hand was on Nico’s thigh. Best to be forthright.

“Not tonight,” Nico said with a smile.

“Another time? You’re my type.”

“You’re too kind, but… I’m in a relationship.”

“Oh, you’re faithful?”

“Indeed.”

“That’s so refreshing!”

“With a woman,” Nico said.

Gianni frowned. “Are you messing with me?”

“Not at all.”

“There’s no swaying you?” he asked.

Moumen was trying to extricate himself from Théo, who had managed to plant a kiss on his cheek. Gianni, at least, had shown some restraint.

“No, I’m in love with her.”

“I hope she’s worth it.”

“She absolutely is.”

“Even in bed?”

Despite the dark passageways and rooms, there was no privacy in this place. Nico realized how easy it would be to pick someone up. The target of a predator, Clément hadn’t stood a chance.

“Yes, no one could be better,” Nico said with a sly smile.

“What are you doing here, then? Are you a cop like Ayoub?”

“Chief of the Criminal Investigative Division, in fact. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Nico held out his hand.

Gianni shook it. “I’m a lawyer. I travel between Paris and New York. Coming here is my way of relaxing. My straight colleagues cheat on their wives, and they have no problem with it. They do have a problem with any colleagues who might be gay. But we’re working on it. Attitudes are changing.”

The DJ started playing Dido’s “Here With Me.” Nico liked the blend of soul and Celtic influences.

“We’re here about Clément. He was attacked after visiting the club last night. Somebody was with him.”

Nico took out the picture of Timothy Krall.

“Don’t recognize him,” Gianni said. He passed the picture to Theo, who also shook his head.

“Tell me about the guy who left with him,” Nico said.

“Clément came alone, so they met here,” Gianni said.

“And what was your impression?”

“Not my type. He was too skinny. I like men about my size. Like you.”

They were shouting into each other’s ears; the music was deafening.

“Clément didn’t have the same taste in men?”

“He’s attracted to mysterious guys. This one nabbed Clément but wouldn’t kiss him. That’s pretty much how he nailed him. He’d tease and deny. Some guys like that.”

“Do any of these photos look familiar?”

Laurent Mercier and Daniel Vion were looking at the camera in the photos Nico showed Gianni.

“This guy had blue eyes. Not as pretty as yours, of course. He was wearing a white and gold crew neck. And he had chestnut hair and a beard. It could have been a disguise. He might have been one of the two men, but don’t take me at my word. Sorry I can’t be more helpful. I know it’s important to you and Clément.”

“And you didn’t notice anything else that was unusual about the way he was acting?”

“I’m trying to remember. Why don’t we dance? I have to think, and sometimes I can do that best when I’m on my feet. Don’t worry. It’ll be entirely innocent. I’m not an idiot.”

Nico was starting to like this man.

“Well?” Gianni said.

“If Ayoub agrees to a dance with Théo, then I’ll dance too.”

Gianni gave Théo a thumbs-up. Théo smiled and puffed his chest at a plainly stunned Moumen. Nico couldn’t help laughing.

“I like your attitude,” Gianni said. “There’s no harm in sharing a dance.”

“Could I ask a question?” Nico said. “You said the man Clément was with was skinny. Could you tell me a little bit more about his looks?”

“Oh sure. Like I said, he was a bit thin for my taste. And the way he moved was too prissy for me. Like a little girl.”

“A girl? Anything you can add to that?”

“Hmm, I remember now: he had this tic when he talked. He rubbed his finger over his lower lip the whole time. Not the tip of his finger, but the middle part of his finger, like this…”

He imitated Clément Roux’s attacker.

“Well, that’s actually a very useful detail,” Nico said. “Does anything else come to mind?”

“That’s all I have. Shall we dance? Don’t worry. I won’t rub up against the chief of police.”

“Yes, we’ll dance.”

Gianni’s eyes sparkled. But Nico’s thoughts were on the Butcher of Paris and that tic, which could reveal who he was, despite any disguise. Better yet: Gianni had said he was like a “little girl.” It was valuable information well worth a dance.