She clambered down the shelves and bolted for the door, not daring to look behind her.
She imagined she could feel hot breath on the back of her neck as she burst into the alley and sped toward the club.
The cold air seared her lungs as Easter Island chased her around the Cat’s Meow for the second time. She realized she couldn’t risk trying to get to her car. If he caught up with her in the parking lot, she was dead meat.
She lost him around the corner, and once she had a decent lead on him, ducked into the front door of the club.
“Twenty bucks, please,” said the bouncer.
Damn.
“I don’t have any money,” she said. “I mean, I’m a dancer. I’m new, and I’m late for my shift.”
“You’re a dancer?” He looked her over. “You look a little ol—”
“I have a specialty. Ya know?” She winked at him but suspected it looked about as cute as the spastic cat’s eye winking on the roof.
“I guess.” But he looked like he didn’t guess at all.
“Can I go in?”
He shrugged and held the door open. “Break a leg.”
She shuddered.
Inside the club, she walked straight into a table while her eyes fought to adjust to the dark. A cold draft of air at her ankles told her someone else had just entered the small vestibule in the club, and by the way her hair stood up on the back of her neck, she strongly suspected it was Benny’s friend.
Keeping to the shadows on the outskirts of the room, she made her way toward the back door.
She had to get help. Poor Tom. God only knew what damage those thugs had done.
Benny’s friend emerged at the front door and squinted into the darkness. He set off in the opposite direction from her, toward Skobelov’s booth.
Grace spotted Louis at the bar. She tried to get his attention, but his eyes were glued to the women on the stage.
Wasn’t he supposed to be working?
Men.
She couldn’t just go to him, either. Easter Island was sure to see her if she got near the lights of the stage.
She walked past the row of booths and through an area of freestanding tables, where a rowdy bunch of young guys—college students, she guessed—had camped out. Empty beer pitchers and shot glasses littered the tables.
The guys made catcalls at Grace as she passed.
They had definitely met their two-drink minimums.
“You going on next, honey?” one of the kids yelled to her. A kid who looked a lot like her nephew.
A kid who was her nephew!
“Michael?”
The kid belched. “Aunt Grace?”
“Jesus!” Grace made a beeline for the table. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” He glanced sheepishly at the stage. “Uh, it’s for a report.”
Grace gave him the sternest face she could muster. “Michael, how did you get in here? You’re underage. Your mother would kill you. Not to mention Grandma.”
Another kid walked over. “Hey, Mike. Who’s the MILF?”
“Dude, chill. This is my aunt.” Michael shook his head. “Man, what a bonehead.”
“What’s a MILF?” Grace said.
The other kid grinned. “A Mother I’d Like to F—”
“Dude,” Grace said.
Michael plopped into a chair. “You gonna tell my mom, Aunt Grace?”
Grace sighed. “No. Just…No more beer for you. Drink some water. A lot of water. And get out of here right now.”
He pointed at his friends. “But I came with them, and they aren’t gonna want to leave until they see the one who dresses like Supergirl.”
“Gotta stay for Supergirl,” the other kid agreed. “She’s the best. She does this thing with her kryptonite that’ll blow your mind.”
Michael looked up at Grace with bleary eyes. “We’ll leave right after that, I promise.”
“Is there a designated driver?” Grace asked.
Michael shrugged.
Grace looked around for Easter Island, but he had disappeared. “Don’t go anywhere with anyone. I’ll handle this.”
“Cool.” Michael went back to his table with the rest of the boneheads, and Grace made a beeline for the back hallway.
She wound her way through the serpentine corridors, trying to remember how to get to the back door. The club music thumped, reaching decibels that could rival the noise from the Heidelberg next door.
And suddenly Benny was there, plugging up the hallway as effectively as a cork in a bottle of wine. He must have come in through the back door.
Fortunately his back was to her, and she slipped into the ladies’ room.
And let’s face it. At that point, it wasn’t the worst place she could hide.
Monday, 1:59 p.m.
The Justice League
When Grace peeked out into the hall again, Benny was gone.
She crept along the maze of hallways, wishing she had a compass. Or better yet, OnStar navigation system.
Hello, ma’am, can I help you? the perky-yet-soothing OnStar voice would say.
Yes, I’m trying to get to the alley, but I’m afraid I’m a little lost.
Well, we can certainly help you! Just make a left at the storage closet, a right at the alcove that smells like a dead rat, and go straight through the section of hallway painted that lovely shade of earwax-yellow.
After a few minutes of aimless wandering, Grace passed a door that looked familiar.
The changing room.
She slipped inside, thinking she might find a cell phone or maybe a Sherpa who could guide her out of the place.
A dark-haired dancer in a blue silk robe stood in front of the mirror, applying her lipstick.
“Excuse me…” Grace said.
The dancer turned. “Grace?”
“Tina! I didn’t even recognize you.”
“It’s the black wig. What’s going on? You look like hell.”
Grace burst into tears. “This Easter Island guy broke Tom’s leg, and Michael is here and he shouldn’t be here, and Benny’s after me and I’m scared. I can’t help it. I tried to be brave but I’m done. I’m just scared.”
“Wait. Hold on a minute. Who’s Tom? Who’s Michael?”
Grace’s breaths came in fits and starts. “Tom, my ex-husband. I don’t know. Somehow he’s involved with Viktor. And Michael is my nephew. He’s underage, shouldn’t be here, but he is. He’s right out there! I—”
“Shh. It’s okay. Tell me again about Tom.”
Grace sank into one of the folding chairs. “He’s across the street, in this big warehouse. Benny and some other guy took him there and beat the crap out of him. I’m pretty sure they broke his leg. I’m afraid they’re going to kill him. And me.”
Grace stopped. Why was she telling Skobelov’s girlfriend all of this? It was crazy.
But it wasn’t. Because right now, Tina was the only person she had any hope of trusting. The only one who could help her.
Tina handed her a tissue. “You say Tom’s across the alley?”
Grace nodded. “In the warehouse, in the back office.”
“And your nephew, where is he? What does he look like?”
“Curly brown hair, Temple University sweatshirt. He’s with a bunch of frat boys on the left side of the club.”
Tina pulled off her wig and tossed it on her dressing table. “Okay, just stay put. I’ll take care of everything.” She gave Grace a quick hug and hurried out the door.
Grace grabbed another tissue and blew her nose. She took a few cleansing breaths to try to stop her hands from shaking.
Tina would help her. She had to.
A door off to her right—one she hadn’t even noticed before—burst open. Grace nearly fell off her chair. Music blared as three dancers hurried into the changing room, and Grace realized the door must lead directly to the stage.
“What a crowd today,” said one of the women, a short blonde in a Batgirl costume. She spoke with a
thick accent and looked as if she couldn’t be a minute older than sixteen. “I dance my tits off, and for what?” She pulled a handful of dollar bills out of her underwear. “Ten…eleven…twelve. Twelve dollars. I could have stayed home and watched When Harry Met Sally on cable.”
“It’s all those freakin’ college students,” said another, an unnatural redhead dressed as Aquagirl. “They expect you to let them cop a feel every time they put a dollar in your pants.”
An older, more worldly-looking Catwoman, who was at least twenty-three, shook her head. “Some days just suck.” As if she’d just noticed Grace, she said, “You better get going, girl. The natives are getting restless.”
“Oh, I’m not…My shift hasn’t started.”
The girl shrugged.
“Hey, do any of you have a cell phone?” Grace asked.
“They don’t work in here,” said Aquagirl. “Don’t you know this is the pit of hell?”
The others laughed.
“There’s a pay phone in the hall,” one offered.
“Great. Anybody have a couple quarters I can borrow?”
The girl with the accent handed Grace one of the dollars she’d pulled out of her G-string. “You’ll have to get change.”
Grace thanked her and went to the door that led into the hallway, opening it just a crack. Benny stood less than two feet away.
Damn.
She closed the door softly. If he decided to poke his head in there, she was a goner. She was trapped like a rat in a trash can.
No, that wasn’t quite true.
She looked at the stage door.
There was another way out.
Chapter 20.5
Monday, 2:02 p.m.
Chernobyl
“Su-per-girl. Su-per-girl.” The kids in the back chanted at the empty stage.
Usually Pete enjoyed Masked Mondays. It was something a little different, watching the surrogates of his boyhood fantasies come alive onstage. But not today.
Today, he’d already had all the excitement he could handle, and then some.
His chest squeezed, and he wondered idly if he might be having a heart attack. Even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. He was gonna sit right there in that chair, still as stone, until Lou gave him the goddamned signal.
“Come on, Lou,” he muttered under his breath.
At Skobelov’s table, things were heating up.
The Russian wore a flat look, which Pete knew from experience was his look of rage. His Chernobyl look.
Morton, oblivious to the impending explosion, continued to shake his head. Pete tried to focus on Lou instead of the unfolding scene, but he found he couldn’t look away.
Skobelov leaned back in his seat and looked at Nick.
Nick leaned forward and spoke to Morton, who shook his head again.
Skobelov’s goon moved to the table and stood behind Morton.
Pete held his breath.
He willed Morton to back down. The man couldn’t testify with his balls in his throat.
Skobelov turned redder and redder. Borscht-red.
Morton said something else, and Skobelov smiled. He waved his goon off and lit a cigar.
Pete wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. Morton would live to see the next minute, at least.
From the corner of the club, a cheer went up.
Supergirl had arrived.
Chapter 21
Monday, 2:05 p.m.
Kryptonite
Grace stumbled into the light, tugging at the sequined bra that barely covered her boobs.
In the corner the boneheads cheered wildly. She prayed Michael was no longer among them. Wasn’t there a law against letting your nephew see you in a G-string?
This was insane.
All the other stuff—giving Nick her panties, cooking for Skobelov, trying to save Tom—that stuff was crazy. But this? This was certifiably insane.
“Psst. Hey, Supergirl. You forgot something.” A dancer just off the stage tossed Grace a big, blue, phallic-looking chunk of plastic.
Grace caught it in one hand. “What is it?”
“Your kryptonite.”
Another cheer went up from the frat boys.
You should see what she does with her kryptonite.
“Ugh.”
Music blared over the speakers behind her, but beyond the lights she could see anticipation in the eyes that stared up at her. They were waiting for her.
Actually, they were waiting for Tina, but they were gonna get her, at least for a minute or two. Just until she could make sure Benny and his friend weren’t around and she could get off the stage and get out of this place.
She hoped the black wig she was wearing changed her appearance as much as it had changed Tina’s.
She shimmied out to one of the poles as the music changed from pulsing techno to a sensuous rhythm-and-blues thing with lots of sax. She scanned the faces in the crowd, spotting Benny.
He squinted at her as if trying to figure out how he knew her, and she realized if she didn’t start moving soon, he’d figure it out pretty quickly.
So she closed her eyes and grabbed the nearest pole, leaning her back against it so she didn’t pass out or fall over or something.
Grace did a couple of squats and then spun around and hooked an elbow around the pole, spinning until she was dizzy. She opened her eyes a crack and saw that the men at the bar along the stage were looking at her as if they expected something more.
Benny had moved closer, and she began to panic.
Her movements felt stiff, even to her, and she suspected she looked something like a corpse humping a pole. She forced herself to loosen up. Go with the flow. Listen to the music.
She’d done this before. Tina had taught her all the moves in the big white bathroom at Skobelov’s place. She’d done fine there, and she could do it again.
But the lights, the music, the eyes. They conspired against her.
She knew then that she was about to relive one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. A humiliation so acute, it had taken many dozens of cupcakes to repair the damage to her reputation at William Marker Elementary School, and several months’ worth of therapy later in life to repair the damage to her psyche.
It was the fourth-grade talent show, and she had forgotten every single step of the jazz dance routine she’d practiced for months. So she’d ended up performing the only dance she could remember at the time—the one the kids on the Brady Bunch had done for their talent show when they’d sung that groovy song “Keep On.”
The humiliation had been utter and complete.
And now, in a horrifying echo of that day, she did the only moves she could remember.
Yoga poses.
She threw the kryptonite on the floor and sank to her knees, striking the lion pose. To her surprise, the crowd cheered. Maybe because her left breast had nearly popped out of her bra.
But, hey, it had worked.
She transitioned into cobra pose and then rolled onto her back, bringing her feet over her head into plow pose. The crowd cheered again.
Who knew yoga could be so sexy?
Getting into it now, she did the full sun salutation sequence into scorpion pose, standing on her elbows, back arched, her legs dangling above her head.
“Hey, come on over here, honey!” a guy called from the bar. She crawled over to him on her hands and knees, retrieving the kryptonite on the way and rubbing it sensuously over his bald head. The crowd went wild.
The guy stuffed a couple dollar bills into her bra, and she almost punched him until she remembered she was supposed to be grateful.
She scanned the room again and noticed that Benny had moved back by the DJ booth.
She struck a shooting bow pose before crawling along the edge of the bar. More bills were stuffed into places she didn’t want to think about, before she finally made it to the edge of the stage and dropped down to the floor.
It was now or never.
She started off
toward the front door, but just then Easter Island materialized there. His beady little eyes came to rest on her, so she danced toward the tables.
Easter Island moved closer.
She turned her back to him, and straddled the lap of a guy wearing a Flyers cap.
“Not now, honey.” He tried to push her off.
“Hey, cowboy. Don’t you want a special dance?”
The guy tensed. “Grace?”
Oh, my God.
“Pete?”
“What in the hell are you doing here?” he growled. “What’s with that getup?”
“I—”
“Wait. No. I don’t even want to know. Just get the hell out of here, right—”
“Freeze! Everybody stay where you are!”
Men in uniforms and blue jackets poured in through the front door and from the back hallway, surrounding the stage and the DJ booth, blocking the exits.
“Goddamn it,” Pete swore.
“What? You didn’t call them?” Grace said.
Pete shook his head. “I don’t even know if we got what we needed yet.”
Grace’s stomach turned. She could have made a wild guess as to who had called the cops. She looked around but didn’t see Tina anywhere.
Much to her relief, Michael was gone, too. A few police officers had rounded up the boneheads and were checking their IDs.
Numerous police officers and a group of men in dark blue windbreakers with the letters USCIS emblazoned in yellow on the back surrounded Skobelov’s booth.
Grace’s close proximity to Pete—and she couldn’t get much closer than straddling his lap—allowed her to see the anger and disappointment in his eyes.
She took his face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
And she really, truly was.
Pete shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Just bad luck.” He lifted her off his lap. “By the way, you look pretty hot.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.”
He left her standing there and went over to where Louis was talking to the men in the blue windbreakers.
“Ma’am?” An officer approached her. “You’re going to have to come with me.”
“But I’m not a dancer. I don’t really work here.”
A Widow in Paradise & Suburban Secrets Page 34
