worms and dogshit on the evolutionary scale. “Why don’t you investigate this?” He reached back with one of his big fists, and I put up my own smaller ones to block him.
“Outside,” Trunks barked, and gestured with the gun.
“Hello?” Susan had taken out her cell phone and was speaking into it loudly, pointedly, staring Lenz’s old cellmate in the eyes as she did. We were all watching her – even Pete Cimino was watching from his booth in the back. “I want to report gunfire coming from a place called Dormicello – Yes, officer, west Third Street, that’s right. Please send someone immediately.”
The guy looked from Susan to me, to Trunks, and back again. She didn’t blink. “The cops will be here in a minute,” she said.
He stepped back, dropped his fists, angrily picked up his cue stick. “Next time,” he said.
We didn’t turn our backs on him, and Trunks kept the gun up till we were at the door.
Chapter 23
“You didn’t really call the police, did you?” I said.
“Of course I did. Those guys could have killed you.”
“You called the police on Zen’s,” I said. “I can never show my face in there again.”
She patted my cheek. “Well, then, honey, we’re even.”
We walked away from Zen’s as quickly as we could. Trunks could take care of himself – he’d have a good hiding place for the gun, and maybe one for himself, too. As for Zen, she might forgive me in time, depending on how badly the police shook her down. The police, though, were unlikely to be as forgiving, so it was important that they not find me at yet another scene where shooting had been reported.
We headed east, putting the sound of police sirens further behind us with every step. As we went, I told Susan about my morning, about getting out of jail and watching the video, and about what I figured Jocelyn had done.
“It’s hard to believe,” she said. “Nothing I’ve heard makes her sound like the sort of person who could turn into a murderer.”
“Anyone could,” I said. “If they thought their life depended on it.”
“I guess.”
“Have you learned anything that would help us track her down?”
“Only what Cimino told us. I’ve made a lot of calls, and I’ve found some people who remember Miranda and Jocelyn, but no one who worked with them more recently than Cimino.”
“Where does he work?”
“He runs a club called Shots down on Houston.”
“I don’t know it. What’s it like?”
“It’s not Scores. You don’t get your Charlie Sheens and your Howard Sterns going there. But it’s a lot higher on the food chain than Carson’s or the Sin Factory.”
“Have you ever worked there?”
She shook her head. “It’s a little out of my league.”
“Miranda danced there.”
“Sure, when she was doing her act with Jocelyn. That was a hot act. After they broke up, she wasn’t so hot any more. She had to work the same places as the rest of us.”
“See, that’s what I don’t understand,” I said. “You’re a beautiful woman, you’re a good dancer-”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” she said.
“No, no ‘but.’ It’s just that I don’t understand why – and please don’t take this the wrong way – but what I don’t understand is why someone like you or Miranda would need to work at a place like the Sin Factory. It’s such a dump – it’s small, it’s dark, it’s a rotten place. The managers are crooks. You should be able to find work at better clubs.”
“I do,” she said, only sounding a little defensive. “Sometimes. Some of the places I work at are better. Some are worse. But you’ve got to work. You know? After you’ve been doing this for a while, you learn not to be so choosy. Every place has spotlights, they’ve all got stages and poles and guys who grab your ass, the managers are always crooks – so one night you’re here, the next you’re there, does it really matter where ‘here’ and ‘there’ are?”
“Of course it matters,” I said. “It matters whether you’ve got ten guys watching you or a hundred-”
“No, see, because the places where you’ve got a hundred, you’ve also got ten times as many girls. You can make less money at the bigger clubs.”
“Okay, but the tips – the guys at the Sin Factory were laying down ones and fives. I think I saw one twenty once.”
“Yeah, Mandy’s guy. He came every night.” Susan stopped to catch her breath. I glanced around, but no one I saw looked like they were paying attention to us. “The truth is, John, fives add up. Even ones do. Yes, twenties are better. I won’t lie to you, I didn’t like working at the Sin Factory. But you take what you can get. There are only so many good clubs – most of what’s out there isn’t so good. But you’ve got to eat every night, not just a couple of times a week, and there are a lot of girls out there who’ll take the jobs if you don’t. Ones and fives are a lot better than nothing, and if you start turning down gigs, that’s what you end up with pretty soon – nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Yes you did. But that’s okay. It’s your job, prying.” We started walking again. “Speaking of which, you know, it’s not like your job is a whole lot better.”
Why did it hit me so hard? It was nothing but the truth. Who the hell was I to ask her why she worked for tenth-rate clubs when I was working for a twentieth-rate detective agency?
“No, it’s not,” I said. “You’re right.”
“So there you go. You work where you work and I work where I work. Maybe we both deserve better, but we take what we can get. That’s all I’m saying. We’re not in such different positions.”
“You know what the difference is?” I said. “The man I work for? I’d trust him with my life.”
“Yeah, well,” Susan said. “You’ve got me there.”
“Maybe you should try that agent again,” I said, but she was already dialing.
“Busy,” she said. She closed the phone.
“At least that’s a good sign. Means he’s there.”
“Or that someone else was leaving a message for him.”
“We’ll try again in a few minutes,” I said.
We turned uptown, headed toward Ninth Street. “If you were Jocelyn,” I said, “where would you go?”
“If I had half a million dollars in stolen money and a couple of killers coming after me?”
“She may not think they’re still coming after her.”
“I would, if I were her.”
“Okay,” I said. “A couple of killers coming after her.”
“And you.”
“And me.”
She thought for a second and then shook her head. “I don’t know. We don’t even know where she lives. She might go there. She might go back to Tracy, depending on how things ended between them. She might have some other girlfriend, or boyfriend. She could rent a hotel room.”
“Or she could get on a plane and fly to Peru,” I said. “All true. But what would you do if you were her?”
“Me?” She thought for a second. “I’d go home.”
“Even though you could be traced there?”
“I might not stay there, but I’d go there. That’s where all my stuff is, I can crash there, get my bearings. It’s where I’d feel safest.”
She’d go home. It made a certain amount of sense. But where was home for Jocelyn? Unfortunately, we had no idea. I didn’t even know where home was for Susan, for God’s sake.
It suddenly struck me that Susan’s address was the least of what I didn’t know about her – I still didn’t know
