“Management says I can’t sit down with the customers,” said Eve, “’less they buy me a cocktail.”
“Bet you like those fruity ones,” said Strange, “loaded up with all kinds of rums.”
“Mmmm,” said Eve, licking her lips clumsily.
“We’ll see you in a few,” said Quinn.
The bouncer gave him one long, meaningful look before he and Eve went off to the next table full of suckers.
“That drink’s gonna cost you, like, another seven,” said Strange.
“I know it.”
“Won’t even have no liquor in it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Make sure you get a receipt. We’ll charge it to your girl Sue.”
Eve returned after a while and pulled a chair over from another table, sliding it in between Strange and Quinn. She carried a collins glass filled with pinkish liquid and held it up by way of salute to her new friends before taking a sip. The bouncer had a seat on a stool positioned a table away and stared at Quinn. Kool and the Gang’s “Soul Vibration” played loud on the sound system. Strange watched the dancers bring it down a notch to catch the groove of the song.
“Thanks for the drink,” said Eve. She wiped her mouth and placed the drink on the table. Her lipstick had made a kiss mark on the glass. “You two wouldn’t be police officers, would you?”
“We’re not with the police,” said Quinn, pushing the yellow flyer he had taken from his pack across the table. He dropped the twenty on top of the flyer, careful not to cover the photograph of Jennifer Marshall. “You recognize this girl?”
Eve’s eyes held their neutral vacancy. “No.”
“You sure?”
“I said no. Was I talkin’ too soft for you?”
“I can hear you fine. I don’t believe you is what it is.”
Eve’s smile, like a death rictus, remained upon her face. “You’re cuttin’ me deep, white boy.”
Strange looked over at the bouncer, then around the room. He recognized one guy, an older cat with a cool-fish handshake he’d seen at church now and again. Anything went down, this cat would be no help at all.
Quinn leaned forward. “You never seen her, like at a bus station, nothin’ like that? How about over by P Street Beach?”
Eve’s smile faded, and with it any facade of love.
“Ever hear of a guy named Worldwide Wilson?” said Quinn.
Eve’s eyes were dead now, still on Quinn. She shook her head slowly.
“You steer girls over to Wilson, Eve. Isn’t that right?”
Eve reached for the twenty on the table. Quinn put a hand over her wrist and pushed his thumb in at her pressure point. He pressed just enough for her to feel it. But if she felt it, it didn’t show. In fact, the smile returned to her face.
“All right, Terry,” said Strange. “Let her go.”
The bouncer was still staring at Quinn but hadn’t moved an inch. Eve slowly pulled her hand free. Quinn let her do it.
“You know why you still conscious?” said Eve, her voice so soft it was barely audible above the sounds in the club. “’Cause you don’t mean a
“I’m lookin’ for this girl,” said Quinn just as softly, tapping his finger on the flyer.
“Then look to the one who gave you my name.”
“Say it again?”
“Do I look like I hang on P Street to you?” Eve took the twenty off the table and slipped it into the waistband of her shorts. “White boy, you got played.”
Eve stood out of her chair, letting her eyes drift over Strange, then walked away.
“You done?” said Strange. “Or you want another beer?”
“I’m done,” said Quinn, looking past Strange into the room.
“We could buy the house a round. Sing some drinking songs with all your new friends, like they do in those Irish bars—”
“Let’s go.”
As they moved toward the bar, Quinn’s and the bouncer’s eyes met.
“Check you later, slim,” said the bouncer, and Quinn slowed his step. It was something you said to a girl.
Strange tugged on Quinn’s T-shirt. At the stick, Strange settled the tab while Quinn kept his back at the bar, watching the patrons in the house, many of them now staring at him. Some were grinning. He felt the warmth of blood that had gone to his face. He wanted to fight someone. Maybe he wanted them all.
