She found a place to park in an overpriced lot near the river. We hoofed it three blocks to the Blue Zone. It was clear where the nickname had come from: All the neon signs along the street were blue, casting an eerie blue glow over everything.
“Where do we start?” I asked.
She handed me a picture of Jean-Claude. It was his mug shot, the one that looked nearly identical to Hugh Grant’s, which had been cropped to just see his face. “Flash that around, see what you come up with.”
We split up, and I crossed the street carrying a somewhat heavy load of guilt. Because I knew that if I found Jean-Claude first, I’d probably warn him off.
If Ana found out . . .
I didn’t even want to think about that. After all, she had a little bit of our Nana Ceceri’s temper in her too.
The first storefront I came to was a nightclub called Bump. I waited my turn in the long line to get in, a sore 98
Heather Webber
thumb in my jeans and white T-shirt. Everyone else was dressed tramp-style, in microminis and barely there tube tops. Even the men had dressed skimpy, in chest clinging T-shirts and hip-hugging sleek pants. Some of them had incredible bodies.
Hey, I’m human.
When I got to the ticket booth, I held up Jean-Claude’s picture. The girl, dressed head-to-toe in black—even black lipstick—motioned for me to talk to the big African-American bouncer guarding the door.
I moseyed over. “Hi.”
One of his eyebrows dipped as he scanned me up and down. Then he shifted his weight—all four hundred pounds of it—and stared at me, a smirk on his face and a
“Oh no,” I said, “I don’t want to come in.”
“Good thing too. Dressed like that, you could maybe wash the dishes.”
My feathers ruffled. My shoulders stiffened. Okay, so I wasn’t exactly a fashion plate, but still. I held up the picture of Jean-Claude before I started a fight I’d never win. “Have you seen this man?”
The door opened behind him as someone came out of the club. Loud music with a heavy bass thumped against my ribs. The door closed, and the sound dimmed to a dull
He smiled. “What’s it worth to you?”
He had nice teeth, bright white and gleaming. I realized I’d been expecting gold caps, and yelled at myself for buying into stereotypes. Then it registered what he was saying.
Ana hadn’t mentioned anything about paying for information. In my head, I calculated what money I had. I fished in my leather backpack, pulled out my wallet.
99
Three fives and two ones. Not likely to buy me much. I held out a five.
He laughed.
“Ten?” I asked, pulling out another five, and giving him my best please-help-me look. I batted my eyelashes and everything.
He rolled his dark eyes, snatched the money. “That’s JC.”
JC. Jean-Claude. “Does he work here?”
The giant shook his head.
“Around here?”
He shrugged.
Great. I pulled out my last five.
“I’ve seen him at All Shook Up a few times.”
“Does he work there?”
Another shrug.
I was down to my last two bucks. I figured I’d try my luck at All Shook Up. “Down that way?” I asked, pointing down the street.
The giant blew me a kiss, then brushed me aside as he let in two stunning young things with four-inch heels, mile-high legs, and way too much makeup.
In my humble opinion.
I found All Shook Up midway down the Blue Zone. It wasn’t another dance club like I’d expected, but a martini bar. When I pulled open the door, I felt like I’d stepped into a zone of another sort—the Twilight Zone.
I was suddenly surrounded by Elvis. At least a hundred of them. Rhinestone jumpsuits, gold lame, big glasses and all.
A hostess, dressed like Ann-Margret in
