We didn’t drive to the office, as I expected. We pulled right up to the double doors in front of the big building. A small sign above the door said CURL CLUB. It, too, was freshly painted. The rest of the guys began to pile out, momentarily forgetting that they were supposed to be threatening me. I felt the barrel of Bobby’s gun tap the back of my head, so I climbed out of the van like a good boy.
“Watch him,” Bobby snapped. Two of the gunmen turned their weapons on me again. Floyd smirked like a kid who was going to see his big brother get a spanking. The Kurt Cobain fan opened the doors. Bobby stayed behind me.
The sport van pulled away. I turned to watch it go, thinking about that remote control. I felt a hand shove into my back. “Move.” I did.
We walked into the building. The first thing I noticed was that the main floor was even bigger than I’d thought. Not only was the ceiling twenty feet above me, but the floor was sunken.
“Come on,” Floyd said. He was still smirking.
We descended the stairs. The room was done up like a bumpkin’s idea of a casino, but done on a budget. The wallpaper and carpets were whore house red, which was appropriate, I suppose. I saw a pair of roulette wheels, a handful of craps tables, and a lot of blackjack tables. In the corners were a couple of lonely, neglected-looking slot machines. Judging by the number of customers, business was slow. Maybe these were just the all-day die-hard gamblers.
Against the far wall was a mezzanine with green felt tables. Poker, I guessed. At the end of the mezzanine I saw a fire door marked EXIT.
We turned left and walked across the floor toward a flight of stairs. The boys accompanying me were relaxed, and I didn’t do anything to spoil their mood.
We climbed the stairs. One of the men was gasping for breath by the time we reached the hallway at the top. The corridor seemed to run the length of the building, with several doors on the left side but only one on the right. At the far end, a second flight continued up. The Cobain fan rapped on the first door on the left, and someone inside threw the latch. The door opened.
We all walked into a little restaurant. At first I thought it was a bar, but this place had no booths and no dark corners anywhere. At the back I could see a little stage with a brass pole.
Only a single table was occupied. Bobby and I walked toward it, but the others hung back by the door. Seated at the table was a young woman of about twenty, slightly plump, with dull yellow hair, black eyebrows, and pale skin. She smiled at me with painted lips, and her gaze was intense and slightly intimidating. She was plain-looking at best, but she had an aura of furious vitality.
Beside her, a woman of about seventy, with dyed-red hair piled on top of her head and a shapeless dress over her shapeless body, sat slightly hunched. She stared up at me with narrow, suspicious eyes, picked up a long, white cigarette, and took a deep puff.
I assumed I was looking at Phyllis Henstrick.
“This is him,” Bobby said.
“Thank you, Bobby,” the old woman said. Her voice was raw from years of smoking. “Have a seat.” I wasn’t sure which of us she was talking to. Bobby pulled out a chair for himself and pointed at the one he wanted me to take. We both sat at the table. She didn’t object.
She watched me for a couple of seconds. The silence dragged out. “Thank you for coming,” she said finally.
“Thank you for inviting me so politely.”
“You’re welcome.” She was so deadpan I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or if she really was unaware that I’d been brought here at gunpoint. She stuck the cigarette between her lips and sucked on it. Bleh. I’d only spent a couple of seconds with her and I wanted to get away. “We have a lot to talk about,” she said, “but it’s a little early for lunch. Maybe you’d like to go upstairs. Tiffany can show you the way, and keep you company for a while, if you’re feeling a little tense.”
I looked at Tiffany. She still had that dangerous glint in her eyes. It had been a long time for me, so of course I was tempted, but the ugly old woman took an ugly puff on her ugly cigarette, and I found the common sense to resist. “I’ll pass. Sorry, Tiffany. I’m sure you’re very good at your work.”
“Not your type, eh?” the old woman said. “I don’t have any boys on the premises.”
“I’d turn down anything you offered me, except a ride into town. Or breakfast.”
She turned to Bobby. “Would you ask Arlo to fix us some turkey sandwiches? And cole slaw.” She turned to me. “Do you like cole slaw?”
“Not really.”
“Bag of chips for him.” She turned to me again. “Do you have any food allergies? You aren’t going to fall over dead if you bite a tomato, are you?”
“Well, I do prefer my arsenic on the side, thanks.”
She chuckled and waved Bobby off. He stuck his hand in his pocket, presumably where he had stuck his gun, and gave me a nasty look. He was leaving me alone with this woman, and he didn’t want me to try anything stupid.
The old woman stared at me again. “Poison is a little too hifalutin for us, I’m afraid. We don’t go into that fancy stuff. Too easy to screw up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You did a real number on Floyd and some of my other boys.”
“Floyd can’t take a hint.”
“Well, that’s the God’s honest truth. But Floyd is a workingman, too. He has a nut to make, just like everyone else. How is he supposed to pay his bills while he can’t work?”
