Behind me was the buffet. I took a quick glance. The chips were Doritos. The ground beef was marinating in so much lard it looked as if it were encased in Jell-O. The whole place, even in the dark, felt more than looked dirty. I wasn’t a germaphobe, but even without the warning, I didn’t want to “touch” anything.
So now what?
I found an empty booth in a dark corner. Seconds after I sat down, two women approached me. The one with the plunging neckline and fire-engine-red dye job slid next to me. It was hard to tell her age. Could be a hard twenty-year-old or an okay thirty or a good forty. I bet on the youngest. The other woman was a waitress.
The fire-engine redhead who sat down smiled at me. She tried her best to make the smile real, but she couldn’t hide the fact that it was an act, that it was like someone had just painted it on her face. None of it reached her wary eyes. It was a bright, wide smile and yet one of the saddest I had ever seen.
“I’m Candy,” she said to me.
“I’m M-uh, Bob,” I said. “I’m Bob.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Bob.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Even when I’m nervous, even in a place like this, I still know how to deliver the smooth lines.
Candy leaned forward a little, making sure to offer a peek. “Buy me a drink?”
I didn’t quite get it, so I said, “Huh? I mean, I guess.”
“This your first time here?”
“Yes,” I said. “I just turned twenty-one.”
“That’s sweet. See, it’s customary to buy a drink for yourself and one for me. We could just split a bottle of champagne.”
“How much would that cost?”
The smile flickered when I asked that.
The waitress said, “Three hundred dollars plus tip.”
I was in a booth, which was good-if I was in a chair, I would have fallen off it.
“Um, how about if we both have Diet Cokes?” I asked. “How much is that?”
Now the smile was all the way gone. Clearly I was no longer adorable.
“Twenty dollars plus tip.”
That would pretty much clear me out, but I nodded. The waitress left me alone with Candy. She was studying me now. Then she asked, “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you had really just turned twenty-one, you’d be here with friends. You don’t look like you really want to be here. So what’s your deal?”
So much for working undercover, but maybe this was better anyway. “I’m looking for someone,” I said.
“Aren’t we all?” Candy replied.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Who you looking for, honey?”
“A man named Antoine LeMaire.”
The color drained from her face.
“You know him?”
A look of pure terror came to her. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. She pulled away fast and hard, and I remembered the Touch and Go sign. She hurried away. I sat there, not sure what to do. Unfortunately my mind was made up for me. The big bouncer from the entrance was hustling his way over to me. I took out my cell phone, prepared to call someone, anyone, so I’d have a witness, but I wasn’t getting service. Terrific.
The big bouncer leaned over me like a lunar eclipse. “Let me see your ID again.”
I dug into my pocket and handed it to him.
“You don’t look twenty-one,” he said.
“That’s because it’s dark in here. Outside, in the good light, you let me in, so I must have.”
His whole being seemed to frown at me. “What are you here for?”
“A good time?” I tried.
“Come with me,” he said.
There wasn’t much point in arguing. Two other bruisers were lined up a few feet behind him and even on my best day, I couldn’t take out all three. Or even one probably. So I stood on shaky legs and headed toward the exit. My visit had failed-or had it? Clearly Antoine LeMaire was around here. Clearly his name struck a chord. So now I could go home and regroup…
A giant hand fell on my shoulder as I reached the exit.
“Not so fast,” the bouncer said. “This way.”
Uh-oh.
Keeping his hand on my shoulder, he steered me down a long corridor. The two other bouncers followed us. I didn’t like that. There were posters of “showgirls” on the walls. We passed the bathrooms and two more doors and made a left. There was another door at the end of the corridor. We stopped in front of it.
I didn’t like this.
“I’d like to leave,” I said.
The bouncer didn’t reply. He used a key and unlocked the door. He pushed me in and closed the door behind us. We were in an office of some kind. There was a desk and more photographs of girls on the wall.
“I’d like to leave,” I said again.
“Maybe later,” the bouncer said.
Maybe?
A door behind the desk opened, and a short, wiry man entered. His short-sleeved dress shirt was shiny and unbuttoned down to the navel, revealing a host of gold chains and, uh, bling. His arms were knotted, ropy muscle. Have you ever seen someone who gave you the chills just by entering a room? This guy had that. Even the big bouncer, who had to be a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the short guy, took half a step back. A hush fell over us.
The short, wiry man had the narrow face of a ferret and what I can only describe as psycho eyes. I know that you are not supposed to judge people by their looks, but a blind man would be able to see that this guy was serious bad news.
“Hello there,” he said to me. “My name is Buddy Ray. What’s yours?” He had a faint lisp.
I swallowed. “Robert Johnson.”
Buddy Ray’s smile would make small children flee to their mamas. “Nice to meet you, Robert.”
Buddy Ray-I didn’t know if that was a double first name or a first and last name-looked me over as though I were a bite-size snack. Something was off with this guy-you could just see it. He kept licking his lips. I risked a glance back at the big bouncer. Even he looked jittery in Buddy Ray’s presence.
As Buddy Ray approached, a pungent stench of cheap cologne failing to mask foul body odor wafted off him, the foul smell taking the lead like a Doberman he was walking. Buddy Ray stopped directly in front of me, maybe six inches away. I held my breath and stood my ground. I, too, had a foot on him. The bouncer took another step backward.
Buddy Ray craned his neck up at me and renewed the smile. Then, without warning, he punched me hard and deep in the stomach. I doubled over, the air whooshing out of me. I fell to my knees, gasping for air, but none would come. It felt as though a giant hand were holding my face underwater. I couldn’t breathe. My entire body started craving oxygen, just one breath, but I couldn’t get it. I dropped all the way to the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
Buddy Ray stood over me. The psycho eyes had lit up like something in a video game. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. “Tell me what you know about Antoine LeMaire.”
I gulped but still no air would come. My lungs ached.
Buddy Ray kicked me in the ribs with the toe of his cowboy boot.
