They turned up Market Street and passed metal roll-down doors, all closed, for storefronts named Payday Loans, Beauty Supply, and Sunglasses & More, until they were standing in front of an entrance with a tall black front extending to the top of the building with the name “Silver’s” in giant silver letters. Flanked on either side were the silhouettes of a naked woman in high heels. Beneath the sign, a glass window was set back from the street like a movie theater entrance, lit by the glow of red neon in the shape of a woman’s naked body. On the wall leading into the club hung a poster of a woman dressed in a matching pair of lingerie below the words: “XXX Porn Star Tanya Green Live August 6-8.”. Several other posters, for events like “Game Night,” on Sundays, a burlesque show, and 2-for-1 Ladies’ Night left no wall space uncovered.
A few steps from the entrance, a dark-skinned boy of about ten or so stood behind a small square table crowded with items for sale: sunglasses, phone cases, jewelry. “Five dollars,” he said when he caught Cassidy looking. He selected a pair of tortoise-shell sunglasses and opened the arms for her. “Special price for the pretty lady.”
“No, thanks,” Cassidy said, wondering why this kid wasn’t out shooting hoops with friends or reading detective novels in a library somewhere instead of working this table of junk. Was he working for someone? Cassidy glanced at Dutch, his sunglasses creating an unreadable mask.
Cassidy pulled on the heavy black door. Inside, the narrow entryway glowed with a pinkish light.
“Welcome to Silver’s Gentleman’s Club,” a woman in a tight black dress said from the end of the tunnel-like entryway, pursing her brick-red lips. A black feather poked up from her dark, shiny bun.
“We’re not here to be . . . guests,” Cassidy said, fumbling with the words. Behind the woman, a thick black curtain acted as an inner door, but the steady din of music filtered through. “We just want to see Saxon.” The woman’s bright smile widened but it seemed forced. “If he’s here,” Cassidy added quickly.
As if noticing him for the first time, the cashier looked behind Cassidy to Dutch. She blinked at the two of them. “Everybody’s gotta pay,” she said. “No matter who you’re meeting.”
Cassidy heard Dutch shuffle his thick boots behind her.
“It’s fine,” Cassidy said, and dug out her wallet from her backpack.
The woman swiped Cassidy’s card then handed it back. And then, Cassidy stepped around the thick black curtain.
Twenty
A narrow ramp descended to a large open room with a square-shaped stage as the centerpiece, lit up from within so it appeared to float. A metal pole extended from the middle of the stage to the ceiling. Beyond, a bar extended the full length of the back wall, with high-back stools made with red fabric parked in front of it. More lights lit the back bar so that all the glassware and bottles gleamed. Surrounding the stage, clusters of dark leather chairs with low, rounded backs hugged tiny tables. About half of the tables were occupied, some patrons wearing sports jerseys. She remembered the “Game Night” special and the discount. Surprisingly, some of the guests were women. Guys bring their dates here? Cassidy thought, trying to suppress her awe. She didn’t want to stick out any more than she knew she did.
Women in circulated among the tables in flashy lingerie. Some perched on the backs of the rounded chairs talking with the guests. Two waitresses were delivering drinks, their outfits slightly more modest in low-cut dresses and high heels. The stage stood empty. Cassidy cut a path through the tables to the bar where a burly-looking man in a sleeveless black shirt and slicked-back hair stood mixing drinks.
“What can I get you?” he asked, appearing in front of Cassidy moments after she’d slid into a stool. Dutch remained standing behind her.
“Oh, I’m good,” Cassidy said, waving him off. “Is Saxon here?” she asked, the name sounding strange on her tongue.
The man’s eyes drifted to the tables, as if checking on the action, then back to them, but this time his eyes went to Dutch. Cassidy could almost feel the tension zipping between the two men.
A waitress stepped up for an order, her tray of empty glassware balanced perfectly.
“I’m looking for a friend that caught a ride with him last night,” Cassidy continued, pulling out her phone. She tapped through her screens until the image of Izzy popped up. She handed her the device. “Her name is Izzy,” she added.
“Haven’t seen her,” he said after barely looking at the image. “Saxon’s out right now. Usually doesn’t come in until after ten, if he comes in at all on a Sunday night.”
Cassidy’s felt like she’d swallowed a pickle. “Is there any way we can get a hold of him?” she asked, hearing the desperation in her voice.
“Give me a minute,” the bartender said, stepping away. After the bartender filled several orders of drinks, Cassidy saw him type a message on a phone. “I can’t promise anything,” he said, returning to them. Then, grinning, he added: “In the meantime, why don’t you sit back and enjoy the show.”
Just then, the music shifted to something slower, more rhythmic, and a woman in skimpy white lingerie climbed onto the stage in the most ridiculous shoes Cassidy had ever seen. They were clear plastic and glittery, with a thick base and a tall high heel, at least five inches. It reminded Cassidy of Barbie dolls, and that’s what stuck in her mind, that this woman, that all of these women, were trying to replicate that assumed ideal—the big boobs, spindly legs, bright smile, all tucked into an attractive package that was sure to blare the message SEX. As the woman on the stage began her
