“I’m workin’,” Jack offered.
“Yeah, so are we,” Vicky said. “And guess whose work comes first.”
Jack turned his head away to demonstrate his disgust. “Show me your picture,” he said. “I’ll light a match if I need to.”
Harry handed him the photo of Darlene Beckett.
Jack looked at it and snorted. “This is who you wanted me to ID? Shit, that’s Darlene.”
“How do you know her?” Harry asked.
“I know her ’cause she’s here a couple times a week,” Jack said.
“She’s a regular?” Vicky asked.
“As regular as they get here. Hell, she was here last night.” Jack jerked his head toward the front entrance. “Her car’s still in the parking lot. I saw it there when I came to work.” He gave them an evil smile. “She musta got lucky and found somebody to take her home last night. Not that it would take much. I mean she’s a good-lookin’ broad.” He grinned again. “And, what the hell, she’s a fuckin’ celebrity, am I right?” The grin widened and returned to its distinctly evil quality. “I mean a real fuckin’ celebrity.”
Harry and Vicky ignored the comment.
“You ever take her home?” Harry asked.
Jack shook his head. “Never got that lucky.”
“You sure?” It was Vicky this time.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
How come you know what her car looks like?” Now it was Harry. They had Jack’s head swiveling between them as though he were watching a tennis match, and small beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip.
“Hey, I helped her get it started once, that’s all.”
“Just a good Samaritan, huh?” Vicky said. “Just the kind of a guy who offers to help when a lady finds herself in a tough spot, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Bullshit,” Harry snapped.
“Hey, what the fuck is goin’ on here? What’s this all about?”
“Who was Darlene with last night?” It was Vicky again. “Who was she talking to?”
“How the hell do I know? I mean she was a friendly broad. She sat here at the bar and talked to lots of people.”
Harry leaned in closer. “ You better talk to us, Jack. You better stop the shit, and talk to us.”
“Hey, look, I don’t want no trouble, alright? I don’t remember who she was talkin’ to, not what guys, anyway. I know she was talkin’ to Jasmine. She’s one of our dancers. Darlene likes to talk to the dancers. I always thought maybe she goes that way too.” He tried a knowing sneer; then gave it up when he saw it wasn’t working.
“Is Jasmine here?” Harry asked.
“Yeah. She’s in back.” He inclined his head toward a black velvet curtain between the stage and the bar. “She’s doin’ a private lap dance.”
“Get her,” Vicky ordered.
“Hey, that’s a fifty-buck gig for her. Maybe more, you know what I mean? She ain’t gonna be too happy I break it up.”
“Guess what, Jack? We’re not here to bring sunshine into your lives,” Vicky said.
“Get her,” Harry said. “Get her… now.” As Jack moved away Harry leaned in close to Vicky. “While we’re waiting, check the parking lot and make sure Darlene’s car is there.” He jotted down the plate number the DMV had given him and handed it to her. “If it’s the right car, call the CSI unit and tell them we have another job for them. Then give Tampa P.D. a call and tell them we need backup. At least four uniforms. When we get through with Jasmine we’re gonna shake this place down.”
Jasmine was dressed in her thong, a white see-through rayon beach robe, and a sour expression when she came to the bar a few minutes later.
“You just cost me money,” she snapped.
“Life is hard,” Harry said. He matched Jasmine’s stare. “Sit down,” he ordered.
Vicky returned from the parking lot just as Jasmine eased herself on to a stool. Harry moved to one side of her, Vicky to the other, effectively pinning her between them.
Harry glanced at Vicky. “You find it?”
Vicky nodded. “The team is on the way. So’s the backup.”
They both turned their attention to Jasmine.
“Now, you’re going to answer some questions,” Harry began. “And if I think you answered them straight you get to go back to work. If I don’t think you answered them straight that cute little butt of yours is going to be sitting in the back of a patrol car headed for the Pinellas County sheriff’s office. You got that?”
“I got it,” Jasmine said.
“Be sure you got it,” Vicky said. “Because if you screw with him, you’re gonna find out this policeman is not your friend.”
Jasmine raised her hands and let them fall back to her lap in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. You ask, I’ll answer. I just wanna get back to work. It hasn’t been a very good week, okay?”
Jasmine was a beautiful woman, hard around the eyes and with far too much makeup, but someone who would be eye-catching if she cleaned herself up. She had a lean sensuous body, with full breasts and long shapely legs. Her hair was short and black, and her eyes were a vivid blue and seemed to jump out of a sharply defined face. She was also chewing gum with her mouth open, snapping and popping it with each movement of her jaw, which for Harry destroyed whatever sensual effect she hoped to achieve.
Harry showed her the picture of Darlene Beckett. “You know her?”
“Yeah, that’s Darlene. She was here last night.”
“What time did she get here, and what time did she leave?” Harry asked.
Jasmine shrugged, then seemed to think better of it. “When she comes, she usually gets here around nine and stays for about an hour. She has a curfew, you know… because of her… because of the trouble she had.”
“You know who she left with?” Vicky asked.
“No. I mean I can’t be sure. I was in the changing room when she left. But she was askin’ me about this one particular guy. Askin’ if I knew him, if I thought he was safe.”
“Did you know him?” Harry asked.
Jasmine shook her head. “I mean I saw him. He was young, kind of cute, not like most of the creeps we get in here. But I never met him or nothin’. But I got the impression from her that he’d been watching her.” She shrugged to confirm her uncertainty. “Darlene liked it when guys watched her.”
“Has he been in tonight?”
“No, I haven’t seen him tonight. In fact, I never saw him before, either.”
“Tell us about him,” Vicky said.
“Like what? I told you I never met him.”
“Start with what he looked like, how he was dressed,” Harry said.
“Well, like I said, he was cute. He had short hair, what I could see of it, ’cause he was wearin’ a cowboy hat, you know? But no beard or mustache. He just looked kinda clean, kinda neat.”
“What was he wearing with the hat?” Vicky asked.
“He was neat that way too. Nothin’ special. Just jeans with a big ol’ silver belt buckle and a T-shirt. But the clothes were good, expensive, you know, and real clean, like everything had just been washed and ironed.”
“What kind of shoes?”
“I dunno. I didn’t see his shoes.”
“Glasses, anything like that?”
Jasmine shook her head.
“What color was his hair, his eyes?”
“His hair, I guess it was brown, what I could see of it. I never saw his eyes.”
“How tall was he? How heavy?”
“I remember that he wasn’t a big guy, but he wasn’t short either, kind of just above average I guess. Maybe five-ten, five-eleven.” She shrugged.
