Back AT You

by John W. Mefford

  Ivy and I located a burger joint and grabbed a bite to eat. Over burgers and Diet Cokes—we both liked the same unhealthy beverage—we shared our life stories with each other. It was kind of cool, opening up to a female friend. I had so many men in my life, I usually didn’t have much of a chance to share my hopes and fears with other women.

  I used to do that with Ezzy, but she was more like an elderly parent now, which was similar to having a young child, except more ornery. With Brad, I shared everything. He was a good listener and supported me through all the peaks and valleys that was my life. For a life partner, what else could a woman want?

  But with a woman, it was different. Well, with Ivy it was different. She was surprisingly open about the trauma she’d experienced as a kid growing up through the Texas foster care system. She also was very curious about my life, and I didn’t hold back. Maybe it was because of almost losing Erin that I just didn’t have the energy or desire to put up fences.

  We both cleaned our plates. The waitress came by and picked up the dirty dishes. Ivy and I paused our conversation, both of us jiggling ice from our glasses into our mouths.

  “I really don’t know you that well,” Ivy said, tossing her napkin on the table, “but for some reason, I just dumped all this stuff out there. Do you go through Jedi mind-trick class when you train to become an FBI agent?”

  I snickered. “Hardly. I was interested, truly. Nick had told me a little about you. And I just knew, in the little we’d interacted over the phone, that we shared some things in common.”

  She nodded, crunched on another piece of ice. “You were pretty transparent yourself, Alex. You showed a lot of guts being able to move on after what happened to Mark. And then you found Brad…or he found you. But it works. For you, your family. It’s pretty cool to hear. I’ve only loved one man, Saul. And it’s because I was too afraid before that to cross the line and open up to someone.”

  I shrugged. “Or maybe it just took you a while to find the right person.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, Saul is special. He has to be to put up with some of my bull-headedness.”

  “You too, huh?” I said with a smile.

  We both nodded, staring at each other an extra second. Ivy had washed off her face, and she didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup. She was just shy of my height of five-six and in good shape but probably not quite as toned as I was—I had to be, in my job. Her hair had some curls, some of which had been shocked into a frizz. She was a little closer to strawberry blonde than straight blonde like me.

  I pushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and noticed she was staring at me again.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

  “That means it’s something. Do I have ketchup on my face?”

  “No. Just noticing your features.” She touched her nose and cheeks, and then her hair. “Something about you looks familiar. But I know we haven’t met.”

  I bent my head forward and pointed at my scalp. “See that?”

  “See what?” She giggled.

  I lifted up. “Exactly. You see it. Gray is starting to creep in. It blends in pretty well with the blonde. Brad hasn’t said a word, although I’m certain he’s noticed.”

  She waved a hand in front of her face. “I rarely wear makeup or put on nice clothes. I’m surprised Saul will go out with me in public.”

  “But you have that natural beauty. My natural looks are being taken over by Mother Time.”

  “Fuck Father Time, right?”

  I almost snorted out a laugh as I held up my cup. “Too bad we can’t get a little whiskey with this Diet Coke. What a week it’s been.”

  “If they had it, the whiskey would have to be—”

  She was leading me, and I knew exactly where she was going. “Knob Creek,” I said. “Sounds like you’ve had a drink with Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome.”

  She nodded. “Mr. Ozzie Novak, of course. But you can’t call him handsome. He’s just…I don’t know.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, and then I said, “Did you hear about Nicole and how he was framed for her murder?”

  She set her cup down and clasped her hands. “Stan filled me in on everything. It was gut-wrenching to hear. Everything he’s been through…and then to be framed by an old college friend.” She sighed. I followed her gaze out the window as the sun dropped behind the hills.

  She turned back to me. “But I also heard you guys took down the people who ran that terrorist organization.”

  “JustWin. Yep. Well, most of them. One got away. The one who killed Gretchen.”

  She let her arm drop to the table. “Gretchen? I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

  I gave her an abbreviated summary of how Gretchen had been brainwashed by this agent of JustWin, leading her to turn on us, set up my boss, Jerry, and then turn a gun on me. “I’d convinced her to put the gun down. And that’s when that JustWin agent killed her using some type of sniper rifle. Since then, it’s been weird. And now Delmer is, more or less, part of the team.”

  I received a text from Brad saying he’d picked up Erin at the airport and was on his way back to the house. I sent a quick reply, thanking him. Ivy paid the bill and scooted out of the booth. We each put an arm around the other for a quick, bonding hug. It seemed so normal, as if we’d done it a million times.

  She walked to the other side of the car and put a hand on the driver’s-side door handle. “What’s your take on Lady Di telling us about those Russians looking for that woman…uh, Olivia Bradshaw, if that’s her actual name?”

  “Meaning, do I think Lady Di was telling us the truth?”

  She nodded.

  “No reason for her to lie, I suppose.” A highway-patrol car sped by with its red and blue lights flashing. I had an instant thought of Officer Bruce Massey. I wondered if he still had a job. I said to Ivy, “It does seem a little… I don’t know, strange that these three Russians are looking for this woman at the same time we’re looking for Angel.”

  Ivy tapped my shoulder. “You know what Ozzie would call that?”

  I lifted my head. “A coincidence. Ozzie and I went to the same law school and were taught the same thing—that you can’t build a case on a coincidence.”

  She tilted her head. “I hear ya. But we’re not building a case. We’re just trying to find a girl who’s in danger. Let’s go see if we can find her.”

  32

  Ivy

  By the time we reached The Wild Thing, we could see stars glowing against the endless nighttime sky. The parking lot was full, and the thud of music could be heard the moment I shut the car door. The song was some mash-up combination of rap and honky-tonk.

  Alex put a hand to her ear. “Sounds like they’re playing the classics at The Wild Thing. Classic bullshit.”

  “So, how are we going to play this?” I asked as we walked toward the building.

  The front door to the bar slammed open, and a man stumbled out, dropped to his knees, and barfed near our feet. We jumped backward.

  “Eeww!” I said, instantly feeling nauseated.

  Alex scooted through the door. “I think we’re going to have to wing it.” I pulled up next to her and took in the scene. It looked like a room of modern-day pirates. Lots of do-rags, piercings on every visible body part, lots of skin showing on the few women in the place who weren’t waitresses, and enough ink on said skin to make me think they had an onsite tattoo business. Was it legal to have a tattoo business in a drinking establishment? This was Vegas, or close enough to it—there were no rules, apparently.

  None of the waitresses looked our way, so we found the only two chairs that weren’t taken. A minute later, a woman who was built like a bean-bag chair walked up and threw down two napkins. They didn’t slide on the tabletop. They couldn’t, because the table was coated with a sticky goo.

  “Welcome to The Wild Thing. Would you like to try one of our homemade appetizers or craft beers?” She yawned in the middle of her pitch,
which already had little enthusiasm.

  “You have appetizers here?” I asked.

  She shook her head out of a daze. “You actually want to try one?”

  I gave her a half-shrug.

  “If you’re serious, I’m going to have to go find out if the microwave is actually working.” She started to walk off,

  “That’s okay,” Alex said. “We’re not really hungry. How about your wine?”

  “Okay, we’ve got two kinds. House red and house white. Well, now that I think about it, the last time I saw the bottle of red, there was something floating in it. So, I guess we just have the house white.”

  Alex said, “I’ll take one of those.”

  “Just give me a beer. What do you have?” I asked, scanning the room.

  The woman, whose complexion looked like that of a frog’s, cringed. “I hope you weren’t really counting on craft beers. Travis just makes us open a bottle in the back and then put it in a fancier glass.”

  “So, what kind of beer do you have?”

  She held out a hand and tapped a finger. “Bud, Bud Light…” She paused, looked off for a second. “We’re out of everything else.”

  “Bud Light it is.”

  She nodded, smiled. She was missing a front tooth. “I’ll give you some pretzels since you’re being so cool about everything.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t. It’s Gertrude, but everyone calls me Gertie, ever since my days of working the shows on the strip.” She nearly broke into a smile again, but it never quite got there. We were all distracted by a nearby table where two guys were ranting about being screwed over at some casino.

  “You were a dancer?” I asked.

  “I helped put on all the shows behind the scenes. ‘Production assistant’ was my formal title.” She had sadness in her voice. “Back in a minute, ladies.” She tapped the table and was off.

  The two men at the table next to us were joined by two other men and a woman. The woman was moving from lap to lap in that slutty kind of way. Hired for the night, was my best guess.

  Gertie returned with our drinks and a bowlful of pretzels. I sipped the beer and then chewed on a pretzel—it was stale. And the beer tasted…off. But was it the beer or my stomach? Normally, I had an iron stomach.

  “Sorry if those pretzels aren’t very fresh. This place is such a dump,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I just wish I could make it back to the strip, like the good old days.”

  Alex drank a gulp of her wine. Her face looked like she’d just downed ten lemons. “So what’s stopping you?” she asked.

  Gertie turned and watched the people at the nearby table yelling at each other, the sole woman essentially doing lap dances for the men. Apparently, nothing was too shocking at The Wild Thing. She looked back at us. “I kind of screwed up a few years ago.” Her chest lifted with a heavy sigh. “I got caught dealing dope to some of the showgirls. They had a no-tolerance policy, and I got black-listed. Just like that, I was on the outside looking in. Travis gave me a job. So, I do my thing, keep my mouth shut, and wait.”

  “Wait for what?” I asked.

  “Time to pass, I guess. I just figured if enough time goes by, enough people will move on and I can go back to the glitz and glamour.”

  I gave her an encouraging nod. “Good for you, Gertie. I’m sure your patience will pay off.” I didn’t believe a word I was saying. “So, Travis is a pretty good boss?”

  Something crossed her face, and it wasn’t a positive expression. She tried to recover. “He pays me a fair wage, let’s me keep all my tips, and doesn’t let any of the men or women mess with me. So, I’ve got no real gripes.” Her tone wasn’t very convincing.

  Alex looked at me, then turned to Gertie. “Hey, is this the place where the owner used to play baseball…some great pitcher, I think?”

  “That’s Travis,” she said. “He’s a little…uh, eccentric. But most of the time he tries to do the right thing.”

  Eccentric. Was that her way of justifying not saying anything about Travis’s interactions with young girls? Then again, maybe he hid that part of his life from his bar employees. It would be the sensible thing to do.

  “Well, you ladies just holler if you need anything,” Gertie said, tapping the table twice. “This place is a little on the rough side. And I can tell you’re much better tippers than the rest of these ass-clowns.” She went still. Her eyes looked over my shoulder. I wanted to turn around, but something told me I shouldn’t. A few seconds later, three men walked by. They all wore hats and leather jackets and had the same barrel-chested physiques and patch of hair on their chins. They slipped behind a curtain in the back.

  Gertie exhaled, but her breathing came out in short bursts.

  “What’s wrong, Gertie?” Alex asked.

  “Nothing,” she said all too quickly. Her eyes didn’t settle on anything for a few seconds. She looked like she’d been hit on the head with a frying pan.

  “If there’s something wrong, Gertie, you can talk to us,” I said. “We’re just a couple of gals who are driving through Nevada on our way to LA. My friend, Alex, has friends in the movie business.”

  She smiled, but it was as though her foundation had been altered.

  “Are you afraid, Gertie?” Alex asked.

  “I can’t talk about anything. Not now.” She looked at each of us pointedly—she had a story to tell—but she quickly turned away, walked over to another table, and picked up empty beer bottles.

  Alex and I gave each other a knowing glance. I leaned in closer to her. “You think they’re the three Russians that Lady Di talked about earlier?”

  “Maybe.”

  “But will it help us find Angel?”

  “Well, we either ask them—which might mean we end up confronting Travis at the same time—or corner Gertie. And right now, since I’m not carrying, I don’t like our odds against the three Russian tanks and this Wild guy.”

  We paid our bill, tipping Gertie quite nicely, and then left the building.

  33

  Alex

  Ivy drove us to the side of the building—where we could see both the front and back doors—and we waited for Gertie to leave. Over the next three hours, the bar slowly emptied of the riffraff and two other waitresses. With only a handful of cars left in the lot, we finally saw her exit the back door. I quickly got out of the car and met her at her old Toyota before she opened the door. Ivy pulled up next to us.

  “Dear God, you scared me to death,” she said, a hand to her chest. She looked at me, then at Ivy. “Why are you trolling me? I thought you were nice, normal…something we don’t usually see at the bar. Are you just trying to scam me or something? If you are, I don’t have any money on me.”

  “It’s nothing like that, Gertie,” Ivy said. “We want to help you.”

  “Help?” She chuckled. “How can you help me?” She snapped her fingers, then pointed at me. “Wait, you’re the one with the Hollywood connections. You think you can get me a job in LA? Now, that would be the greatest miracle. Putting Vegas in the rearview mirror.”

  Damn, I wished Ivy hadn’t gone there. “I don’t know, Gertie. I’ll have to talk to some people. We can see you’re a good person, though. Someone who tries to do the right thing.”

  She gave a slow nod, as if she wanted to believe it but wasn’t sure.

  I opened the picture of Angel on my phone and showed it to Gertie. While there was a single yellow light attached to the side of the building, the glow of my phone lit up Gertie’s face.

  “Never seen her,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Ivy pulled my hand closer to Gertie’s eyes.

  “I’m pretty good with faces, and…well, she’s not been here. I mean, I don’t recognize her.”

  I traded a quick glance with Ivy. “Gertie, we need to find her. She’s in danger. Her mother sold her to a drug dealer for drugs. And we think—”

  “Travis.” She sounded as
though someone had punched her in the gut.

  “So, you know about what he does with young girls?”

  She brought a hand to her face. “I didn’t want to believe it. I try to keep to myself. Everyone does at The Wild Thing. Mostly.”

  There was something else there. But we had to keep the focus on Angel. “Gertie, what have you seen?” Ivy asked.

  Her eyes became glassy. “Things.” She shook her head and swallowed. “Stop it, Gertie. Stop ignoring everything.” She was talking to herself. She licked her lips and looked at me. “A few times over the last few months, I’ve seen a few girls up here.”

  “And what happened to them?” Ivy asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t really know. Although there was one time when I saw one of them put into a fancy sedan, and the car drove off. Never saw her again after that.”

  “Gertie, we need to better understand what Travis does in his side businesses.”

  “Oh, you hit the nail on the head there. He’s got all sorts of shit on the side.”

  “Who with? What kind of details can you give us?” Ivy rattled off.

  She flinched a bit, took a step back, and gave us both the once-over. “Who are you two with? The cops?”

  I came clean. “Gertie, I work for the FBI.”

  “And I work for Angel’s father,” Ivy said. “He’s heartbroken over what his wife did—trading their daughter to pay off a drug debt.”

  “What kind of drugs?” she asked.

  “Fentanyl. It’s a type of—”

  “I know, I know. It’s an opioid. It’s all the rage in these parts.”

  “And is that one of Travis’s side businesses?”

  She nodded like a little girl. “I’ve seen open boxes with pills. I never tried the shit. But I know people who have, and they’ve never been the same. Two of my friends have died from it.”