The man appraised him. “Was this Jay Grant into anything? Gambling? Drugs? Women?”
“He gambled some. Smoked weed. Usual rich-boy crap.”
“Grant got a cell phone? Bills have to be sent somewhere.”
Trick's belly unknotted and his throat unclenched. Declan was going to help. “I'll get it from Rachel. Last known address. It might have been in D.C.” He couldn't stop pacing, his limbs restless as hell. “Damnit, I need more information, and Rachel is so damned stubborn. Jay wasn't with her, which surprised me. They were inseparable for years. I know it was him.”
The man sucked in a breath and straightened. “Have Nathan take her on a tour of the place. As the new guy, he can ask her all kinds of questions without raising suspicions. Unlike you.”
Smart. “Great idea. Nathan getting along alright?”
“It's going to take a while to get re-acclimated to life on the outside, but yes.”
Trick nodded because he did know.
“I've got a meeting with a distributor to go to.”
“Thanks, man. For everything.” Words couldn't cover how he felt about what Declan did for others. Behind bars, men talked about him, like how he gave jobs to ex-cons, guys trying to wrench themselves free of gang ties and anyone else with nowhere else to go. Trick stood to leave.
Declan tapped his cane on the floor. “One last thing. If I find out this Jay Grant is part of anything illegal and she's involved? She's out on her ass. Non-negotiable.”
He could do one better. “I'll fire her as soon as I have what I need.”
7
“This explains a lot.” Rachel curled her hands around the brass railing of the balcony where she and Nathan, her babysitter du jour, stood “observing” three redheads on stage.
Crystals scattered across their emerald green corsets threw light like a disco ball, the tiny prisms refracting the spotlight into brilliant flashes. They lifted their arms, and those voluptuous breasts shook back and forth in a loud clatter of crystals and beads. They were high-class gaudy, like Dolly Parton and Nicole Kidman had a baby–or three of them.
“From left to right.” Nathan pointed at the stage and lowered his voice to a whisper, “Phoenix Rising, Luna Bella, and Midnight Starr.”
Trick had to be sleeping with one of these women. Hell, she'd sleep with them. Not because they were obscenely beautiful like rare birds captured from an exotic jungle, but because of their energy. The triplets’ broad smiles and matching Caribbean blue eyes cast toward the crowd with such confidence they frickin' owned the stage. Was there nothing more seductive than someone who owned their own space? It had been so long since she had owned anything: her home, a car, a life.
He lifted his chin toward the stage. “You'll need to know their names. You'll get asked a hundred times a night. They're popular.”
“Oh?” Shocker.
His neck reddened, and the guy shrugged like a teenager with puppy love and instead of the muscle for the club. He had to have been a bouncer given the size of his biceps. Who knew what anyone did here except for the dancers? Her second night and she still couldn't figure out what the hell Trick did—except disappear. He'd forgotten all about her already, and really she shouldn't care. She was here to work and investigate.
The music kicked up a notch. Pounding drums and blaring horns roused the crowd even more, or perhaps their sudden burst of applause and hollers was from the way the dancers drew closer to the edge of the stage. Maybe the women here could teach her that “come close but not too close” smile they wore. Those women probably didn't let their thieving exes nail them against their office door in some vain and wholly inappropriate attempt to get him to drop his guard.
She swept her attention over the crowd. It was a scene straight out of The Great Gatsby. Men in ties and women in cocktail dresses, their hair perfectly slicked back in chignons, and the glint of diamonds on ear lobes and wrists, huddled together around small cocktail rounds lit only by small lamps topped with red and gold shades. Waitresses darted between tables, their silhouettes moving like inky shadows against the strength of the stage lights. Hands reached down to tables and stuffed bills into their prim black apron pockets. Last night, one waitress had scored a one-hundred-dollar bill as a tip.
This could work. She'd make money while fulfilling her mission.
“Rachel.”
She startled when Nathan touched her arm.
He cocked his head. “Come on. I gotta get back to work. Let me show you the back before you start shadowing Gabrielle.”
So, it was to be another night of following another waitress around. Yay, her. At least it looked like she was finally getting a tour of the back rooms.
Nathan disappeared behind a black velvet curtain lit only by a red exit sign. After stepping through, she teetered down the metal spiral staircase to the first floor. She caught up with the man's long strides.
“So, what do you do here? I mean, if you don't mind me asking.”
“Don't mind. A little bit of anything Declan needs.”
Oh, like that cleared anything up? “So, you know a lot about Shakedown.”
He lifted a shoulder in a non-answer.
She had to jog a little to keep up with him. “How did you end up here?”
“When I was in school, I worked for Declan when he dealt in antiques.”
“Antiques? When I was signing my employment contract, I thought I recognized a lot of Edwardian era things in his office. He's super generous, by the way.” She had not been expecting health care benefits and a parking space, which she did not need seeing as she had no car.
“The man was a legend in the antiques business. We're lucky to work here during his second act.”
“This is the second time you have worked for him?”
Nathan had to be at least thirty, given the lines across his forehead. A short, scruffy beard made him oddly friendly like he was just a regular guy despite the tattoos on his neck and arms.
“Yep. Took a break in between.”
She put on her best server smile. She could use a friend on the inside. Hell, any friend. “Trying out different things?”
“Trying out life behind bars.”
Oh. She swallowed.
Nathan scratched at his chin. “I'm surprised you're here. You look like a smart one. Not in school?”
“Used to be.”
“You trying new things, too?”
“Trying out poverty.”
He let out a half-laugh. “Welcome to Shakedown. Now, where you can go and where you can't.” He pointed to the end of the hallway. “See that pink door across from the stage entrance? Dancer's area. Don't ever go in there. They don't like anyone to see what it takes to make the magic.”
“Magic, huh?” She bumped him with her shoulder.
He shrugged, but a curious red sheen colored his neck again. “You've seen the show.” He took a few more steps, and she followed. At least she'd earned a smile from him.
“How does Declan feel about dating here?” Do you? Does Trick?
He slanted his eyes toward her, the warm brown turning suspicious. He huffed out a slight breath. “See someone you like?”