Therapy

“The nails.”

“The nails, the G-string, she drove a blue car. It’s a competitive environment, and the girls figure they need something distinctive. In Angie’s case a nice rack would’ve helped, but she convinced herself blue was a big deal.” Savarin chuckled. “So what’s she been up to?”

“We’re looking for her as a person of interest,” said Milo. “When did she stop working here?”

“Four months ago.”

“Did she quit or was she fired?”

“She quit,” said Savarin. “One of the customers- one of her regulars- swept her off her feet.”

“Fraternizing with the customers?”

“It’s against the rules, and we do our best to enforce it. But the girls who work here aren’t exactly into rules.”

“Who was the regular?”

“Some middle-aged guy, used to show up two, three times a week, then we wouldn’t see him, then he’d be back.”

“To see Angie?”

“Always,” said Savarin. “Lucky for her.” He passed a hand over his chest. “Some guys like the natural look. With all the silicone and saline I see all day, frankly a girl with a sweet face and a natural rack is a turn-on for me. But most customers?” He shook his head. “Even guys who like natural want something, and Angie was pretty near flat. I didn’t want to hire her, but she had good hips and a good butt, moved good during her audition. Also, she caught me at a time when I was low on girls.”

“This regular really went for her.”

“He came only on days when she was dancing, sat right in front, kept his eyes on her nonstop. She started doing her thing for him. He tipped her heavy; I guess they developed a relationship.” Savarin scratched his head. “I never saw her do a lap dance for him; that should’ve tipped me off.”

“How so?”

“He had no need for lap because he was getting it after hours.”

“Describe this guy.”

“Middle-aged, pretty ordinary,” said Savarin. “I never learned his name because he always paid cash and sat by himself and one time when I went over to ask if there was anything he needed, he blew me off.”

“What’d he say?”

“He just waved his hand, like don’t bother me, I’m concentrating. Fine with me, it was his cash. He drank mostly soft stuff but a lot of it. Five, six Cokes a night. With lime. Occasionally he’d want some rum in it.”

“Middle-aged,” said Milo.

“I’d say fifty. Six feet tall, kind of skinny- kind of slumpy.”

“Slumpy.”

“Standing bent over, you know? Like something was sitting on his shoulders.”

Milo nodded. “What else?”

Savarin said, “Let’s see… gray hair.”

“Gray comb-over?”

Savarin flinched. “I wouldn’t call it a comb-over. Not a formal, sprayed-in-place comb-over. This was more like he was shoving what he had to one side and forgetting about it.”

“What about his clothes?”

“Casual- sweaters. I can tell you what he drove. Little Baby Benz, black, or maybe gray. Dark. Mr. Businessman. I figured him for money, some guy with an office, a lawyer or something.”

“He always come in by himself?”

“Always. Kept to himself, too.”

“Angie ever mention his name?”

“I’m thinking,” said Savarin. “Maybe Larry? She only mentioned it one time, and that was when she gave her notice. To be honest, I wasn’t sorry to see her go.”

“Small rack,” said Milo.

“That and not the best attitude. Up there- onstage, it’s all about putting yourself in a special place. A giving place. You’ve got to convince the clients you care about them. Angie had a sullen thing going on. Some guys dig that, the thrill of the chase, you know? But most of ’em want big smiles, this big welcome. That’s what we’re all about.”

“Welcoming the clientele.”

“Hospitality,” said Savarin. “When someone spunkier came along I’d probably have let Angie go. You can teach someone moves, but if they don’t want to learn hospitality, you can’t teach them.”

“So she came in here and gave notice and said she was going off with Larry.”

“I think it was ‘Larry,’ ” said Savarin. “Don’t ask me to swear on it.”

“What she say about him?”

“She said she’d gotten a better offer from one of her regulars. Making it sound like she was getting some kind of important job, but I figured he was putting her up on the side.”

“Why’s that?”

“Guy like that,” said Savarin. “Money to burn, she’s thirty years younger than him. You don’t come in here looking for office managers.”

“She said he had an office?”

“Maybe… this was months ago.”

“Could the regular’s name have been ‘Jerry’?” said Milo.

Savarin brightened. “You know I think it was. Larry, Jerry… who is he?”

“A guy.”

“He hurt her?”

Milo shook his head. “What about Christina Marsh?”

“Christi? Friend of Angie’s. Referred Angie to us. She quit, too, maybe a month after Angie. Her I was sorry to see go. Not huge in the chest department but big enough, and with a real nice shape to them- like pears, you know? Sweet little pink nipples, she didn’t have to rouge ’em. Her whole body had this milk-fed thing going on. Limber, too. She could really work the pole.”

“Why’d she quit?”

Savarin shook his head. “Her I don’t know, she just stopped showing up. I called her once, twice, she didn’t return, I moved on.” He held out his hands. “This business, pays to be philosophical.”

“You have a number for her?”

“Probably somewhere. The owners come in periodically and clear paper, but maybe something’s still there.”

“Who are the owners?”

“Consortium of Chinese-American businessmen. Lucky guys.”

“Business is good,” said Milo.

“Business is great, wish I had a piece. I get bonuses, though.”

“Where’s corporate headquarters?” said Milo.

“Monterey Park. The original club is there, it was designed for an Asian clientele. There are seven others besides this one. Ontario, San Bernardino, Riverside. All the way down to San Diego County. My cash flow’s among the best.”

“Any other owners besides the guys from Monterey Park?”

“Nope.”

“Who owns the building?”

Savarin smiled. “Nice little eighty-year-old lady from Palm Springs who inherited from her husband. Grace Baumgarten. She came in one time, watched the girls dance, said she remembered when she could move like that.”

“Anyone else involved in the business?”

“Besides employees?”

“Any other owners?”