The Missing Ink

“Lose him? What are we, on Miami Vice?”

“This is the Bullitt car, isn’t it?” Joel asked with a tinge of sarcasm. “Wasn’t that the best car chase ever in movies? Steve McQueen on the streets of San Francisco?”

“Now you want a car chase?” I gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing in the rearview mirror at the Dakota and then through the front windshield at the line of traffic in front of me. “No way. No freakin’ way.”

“You’re no fun,” Joel muttered, and I could’ve sworn he was serious.

Joel told me when to turn right and left, and the Dakota was following the directions beautifully. Like he knew where we were heading.

Either that or I was going so slowly it was much too easy for him.

For a few seconds I did consider trying to “lose him,” but since I’m a law-abiding citizen who drives the speed limit, I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it.

It was now around seven o’clock, and the sky had started to change slightly from its daytime look. I hoped it was too early for karaoke, but when we pulled into the parking lot at Viva Las Vegas alongside about a hundred shiny silver motorcycles, I knew there was a party going on inside. We could hear it, too, as we stepped out of the car, no longer in our air-conditioned cocoon. I could even feel it against the bottoms of my feet, the bass thumping like an earthquake. Not that I knew what an earthquake felt like, but it seemed right.

I glanced around, but the Dakota had disappeared. Maybe the big neon sign advertising KARAOKE TONIGHT had frightened him off. I was sorry I couldn’t hitch a ride and leave this little adventure to Joel.

And to Bitsy?

I recognized the silver MINI Cooper as it pulled in behind the Mustang. She got out and scurried toward us.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Bitsy grinned. “I love this place. I’ve always wanted another excuse to come here.”

“But you could come here anytime.”

“No one ever wants to come with me, and I can’t call Rick again. Our breakup was pretty hard on him.”

Bitsy was picky about men and had left two ex-husbands in her wake, as well as more boyfriends than I could keep track of.

She was already halfway inside the door, and Joel shrugged at me. I sighed. If Simon and Elise didn’t show up here, I didn’t know what I’d do. Because it looked like Bitsy was here for the long run.

“So Ace is at the shop?” I asked, uncertain I wanted him running the place. He’d never been there alone, or closed up alone, as long as I’d owned the shop.

Bitsy waved her hand at me as she walked to the bar. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about it. He used to close up all the time when Flip was here and I was going through my second divorce.”

If Bitsy wasn’t worried, then I knew I shouldn’t be. But it would be a good reason to leave.

“Don’t even think about it,” Joel whispered, reading my mind. “We’re on a mission. Your mission.”

I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

We walked down a long hallway, and when my eyes adjusted to the dark interior, I began to notice the decor. The walls were black, speckled with huge movie posters for-what else-Viva Las Vegas, Elvis and Ann-Margret cartoony and frozen in a dance step. Black lights illuminated Joel’s white shirt, turning him into a beacon moving toward the bar. I was still wearing the purple top and white trousers, and I felt like a magician’s trick.

When we stepped through a black curtain, the cavernous room spread out in front of us, the lights dim, fading everyone to a soft sepia. Maybe they thought we’d look better that way. The red and blue skinny lights hanging over the long, sleek, black marble bar offered a splash of color, but it was more like I was in a cave, expecting to feel the drops from stalactites descending from the ceiling, but instead only the whoosh of air-conditioning came from an unseen vent.

A stage with a red curtain was across the room, and small, round cocktail tables with chairs sat between the bar and the stage.

Those things didn’t worry me. It was the clientele. We were the only ones there who were not dressed like Elvis. Even the few women in the room were wearing black wigs, big Elvis sunglasses-despite the low light-and white se quined pantsuits. There must have been fifty Elvises, but a glance around the room told me Simon Chase and Elise Lyon were not among them, unless they, too, were in costume. Somehow I couldn’t see Simon playing dress-up. Elise… well, I didn’t know her, so who knew how she got her rocks off. She did set this meeting up.

But on the whole, it felt like a big bust.

I tugged on Joel’s arm; he’d already ordered and handed me a Corona. Bitsy was seated in front of a pink Cosmo the size of a Cadillac. She wore a huge smile as she flirted with the bartender, who seemed captivated. That was the other thing about Bitsy: She didn’t just date little people. She’d had her share of taller men; the last one looked like Aidan Quinn but his voice was higher.

“Excuse me.”

I glanced around into the face of one of the ubiquitous Elvises, leering at me as he leaned one elbow on the bar, his body invading my personal space.

I shook my head. “Not interested,” I said.

He straightened up. “Not interested in what?”

“In you.” I couldn’t be more blunt.

“Excuse me, miss, but I was going to ask if you would like to sign up for karaoke.”

So sue me for misunderstanding.

“It’s still a no.” I turned away from him and took a drink from my bottle.

“I’ll sign up!” Bitsy heaved herself off her bar stool and went over to him, telling him her name and saying she’d be up for singing everything.

I rolled my eyes at Joel, who grinned.

“She likes it here,” he said.

“We’re not here to sing karaoke.”

“You may not be, but I think she is.”

The bartender had handed Bitsy her drink over the bar and she carried it, sloshing only slightly, as she followed the karaoke Elvis and his clipboard up toward the stage. This was my worst nightmare.

“I don’t think I want to stay,” I said.

“We can’t leave her here alone.”

“I should go to the shop and check on Ace,” I tried.

“But then you’d miss Simon Chase.”

“He’s not coming here. I have no clue where he’s meeting Elise.” I finished off my beer, putting the bottle on the bar. I was about to get up when Joel put his hand on my arm.

“Don’t be too sure about that,” he said.

Instinctively, I started to turn to look toward the door, but he said, “Don’t look.”

It wasn’t as if Simon Chase wouldn’t notice us here, since we stuck out like the proverbial sore thumbs.

“Where is he?” I whispered.

“He’s going toward the back, toward the restrooms.”

I slid off the stool.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To the restroom,” I said, seeing Simon’s head bobbing up and down among the Elvises.

I wasn’t quite sure just what I’d do when I confronted him, but this was a public place, it wasn’t his office, and he couldn’t kick me out. I would wait until Elise showed up.

When I turned the corner to go down the hall to the restrooms, he was gone. One Elvis brushed past me, but other than him, I didn’t see anyone. I paused when I reached the door to the men’s room, but I didn’t have the guts to push it open. An Elvis walked out, startling me, so I instinctively walked to the ladies’ room door and went in, my thoughts scrambling as to how I’d find Simon and Elise.

But the question was answered for me as one of the stall doors opened and Elise Lyon came out.