twenty-four

Inside The Lucky Lady, it was loud, dark, and smoky. Music blared from tinny speakers. The walls were mirrored and smudged. Colored lights hung from the black ceiling. Down the middle of the room ran a long wooden catwalk. At its end was a partially naked girl swinging on a pole. Low circular tables crowded with leering men filled the room’s remaining space.

A man walked past me on unsteady legs. Seeing me, he gave a low whistle. Seeing Skippy, he came to an abrupt halt. “What the hell is that?” he demanded.

“Part of a new act management wants to try out,” said Nigel.

“Jesus,” said the man, before wandering away. “This place is awesome.”

From across the room, a twitchy little man with a wiry mustache saw us and rushed over. He didn’t look happy. “Hey, you can’t have a dog in here,” he said. “He can’t be in here. The Board of Health will shut me down.”

“Oh, let’s be honest,” I said, “If you get shut down, it won’t be because of a Board of Health violation. Now who are you?”

“The manager.”

“I gathered that. I meant, what’s your name? I’ll need it for the report.”

He took a step back. “Report? What report?”

“The one that is going to cite you for hiring underaged girls,” I said, pointing to the glassy-eyed girl gyrating on the stage.

The man glanced behind him. “Hey, she’s eighteen. Saw her license and everything. I run a legit business here.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in the report. But I still need your name.”

He paused. “It’s Tim Oberlin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Oberlin. Now is there a Leo Blackwell here?”

Tim’s eyes widened. “Why? What did he tell you? ’Cause the guy’s a drunk. I wouldn’t trust anything he said.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Where is he?”

Tim jerked his thumb to an area behind him. “He’s at a table in the back corner with one of my girls. If you want to talk to him, you’d better do it soon. He’s getting pretty loaded.”

We walked over to the table Tim indicated. Leo was snuggled up against a busty blonde. Based on her outfit—a corset and fishnet stockings—I guessed that she was between sets. I took a good look at Leo. Thin, with dark hair slicked back, he had high cheekbones and a full mouth. He was the kind of guy whose youth made him good-looking. Once that faded, so, too, would the rest.

I noticed that while his suit was a custom-cut Armani, it was also somewhat the worse for wear. It had the appearance of doing double duty as pajamas.

As we approached, Leo drained his glass and waved to the waitress to bring him another. The blonde said, “Honey, slow down. What’s the rush? We’ve got all night.”

“No rush,” Leo answered, his voice thick. “I’m celebratin’.”

Nigel, Skippy, and I stopped at his table. “Well, hello, Leo!” said Nigel brightly, as if he’d just happened upon an old friend. “Fancy meeting you here!”

At the sound of his name, Leo looked up, his gaze unfocused, his expression doubtful. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“Do you know me?” Nigel repeated, as if amused. “Leo, you kill me. How could you forget your wife’s favorite cousin?” Pulling up two chairs, he indicated for me to sit in one while he sat in the other. Skippy sat between us and stared at Leo.

“Is that a dog?” asked the blonde.

Nigel pulled his brows together. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What dog?”

“That dog right there!” she said, pointing at Skippy.

Nigel looked blankly at Skippy and then back at the blonde. “My mother taught me never to contradict a lady.” He paused. “You’re seeing things.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, unsure of Nigel’s meaning. “Listen, baby,” she finally said to Leo. “I’ve got to get ready for my act. Make sure you cheer loud for me, okay?” She stroked her long red nails against his cheek, placed a wet kiss on his mouth, and slid out of her seat. No one said a word to her.

“So, Leo,” said Nigel. “How’s tricks? Wait, let me rephrase that. How are you? Where’ve you been?”

“Around. Ya know. Busy.” He pronounced this last word as if it was spelled with several “z’s.” “Did Audrey send you here?” He asked.

“Audrey? No. The little lady and I are here celebrating our anniversary,” Nigel said, indicating me. “Leo, this is Nic. I met Nic here three years ago tonight. She was their opening act back then.”

I smiled at Leo. “I juggled knives.”

“Her stage name was Six-Fingered Sally,” Nigel added.

Leo put his glass to his lips and took a long sip. “What d’ya want, Nigel?”

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but I never got a thank-you card for the wedding gift I sent you. Tell me, did you not like the waffle maker?”

Leo glared at Nigel. “You think you’re so damn funny. Well, I’m not laughin’. ”

“Neither am I, you son of a bitch,” countered Nigel, his voice now harsh. “Now, call your wife. For some reason she’s worried about you.”

Leo shook his head and gave us an odd smile. “She’s worried that I won’t show up for her party? Well, you can tell her not to be. I’ll be home first thing in the morning, and I’ll be at her blasted party tomorrow night. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But tonight, I’m celebratin’.”

“What are you celebrating?” I asked.

Leo gave a broad grin. “My luck.”

The music suddenly switched to The Divinyls “I Touch Myself.” The curtains pulled back, and Leo’s friend sauntered onto the stage. She waved at Leo and blew him a kiss. I shifted my chair so it faced away from the stage.

“Would this newfound luck of yours have anything to do with what happened to Fat Saul?” I asked Leo.

Leo didn’t look at me. His eyes remained fixed on the spectacle behind me. “Yeah. I heard about that. Too bad.”

“You owed him money, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah. So what? I’ve got it.”

“Is that so? Where’d you get it?” I asked. “From Audrey?”

Leo’s mouth curved into a sly smile. “No, not from Audrey. Not directly, anyway. But it seems she is my lucky lady.” He started to laugh. “Who’d have ever thought she’d be lucky?”

I reached over and laid a restraining hand on Nigel’s fist. “Does Frank know you have his money?” I asked.

Leo watched the stage, still laughing. “Yeah. He knows.”

“Really? When I talked to Frank, he said he hadn’t heard from you.”

“Yeah, well, shows how much you know. As of this morning, we’ve talked. Ask him yourself, if you don’t believe me. I got his money. He knows that. I didn’t have a beef with Fat Saul, and I don’t have a beef with Frank.”

Behind me the crowd gave a hoot of approval. Leo craned his neck to get a better look.

“Seems like Fat Saul might have disagreed with you on that,” I said. “I got the impression that he was looking for you the night he died. He might have thought you’d skipped out on him. Tell me, did he find you?”

Leo dragged his eyes away from the stage and glared at me. “What the hell is it to you?”

“Nothing,” I admitted. “But some friends of mine in the department are kind of curious. I told them I’d ask you if I saw you.”

Leo took another sip of his drink. “You a cop?”

I shook my head. “Not anymore. But people around you seem to have a nasty habit of dying.”

“You mean like Lizzy?” Leo asked, his eyes suddenly alert.

“Oh, so you know about Lizzy. How did you find out?” I asked.

Leo’s eyes shifted away from mine. “Read about it in the papers.”

“Papers haven’t reported it yet. Besides, I’m not convinced you can actually read. Try again.”

“Fine. Frank told me about it when I talked to him,” Leo said.

“Really?”

“Really. Look, I didn’t have anything to do with her death.”

“Still,” I said, “you have to admit, it might look suspicious to those who aren’t cognizant of your stellar reputation.”

Leo looked at me, confused. “What did you … ?” he began, but the crowd began to cheer wildly, and he focused again on the stage. Seconds later, a lacy black bra flew through the air and landed on our table. Leo went to grab it, but Skippy got to it first. He sat back, the bra dangling partially out of his mouth, and resumed staring at Leo.

I sighed. Leo was drunk and belligerent. I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him tonight. Nothing coherent, anyway. “Okay,” I said, pushing my chair back and standing up. “I don’t have anything more to say. Nigel, did you want to say anything?”

Without a sound, Nigel stood up and slugged Leo across the jaw. Leo toppled off his chair and landed in a messy heap on the floor.

“No, I’m good,” he said. Shaking out his hand a few times, he offered me his arm.

“May I see you home, Mrs. Martini?” he asked.

“I’d be delighted, Mr. Martini,” I answered.