A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 02 - Green Eyes in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  I stared at him for a few seconds and sighed. “Why would I even know who stole it?”

  “I don’t know… seems like you know people. Women like you, getting into private parties, going around escorted by that thug, Stone – first you say you’re a dealer, then you tell me you’re a PI. I think you really are a dealer, just not a casino dealer.”

  I stared at him, as though I was seeing his pudgy face for the first time.

  “That’s crazy,” I said softly.

  “Is it? Because I don’t think it is. I think you’re hiding something and I think we’d be better off if you admitted to it.”

  The sleep deprivation must’ve addled his brain.

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” I said stiffly. “And now I need to get to my appointments.”

  I stood up and walked out, feeling a bit rattled by the whole thing. Stone joined me silently at the door, walking with me across the car park.

  “How’d it go?” he asked me as we walked. “You look funny.”

  I sighed. “People are nuts.”

  “That’s a generalization,” he said. “Different people are different kinds of nuts.”

  I got into my car and sat there with the engine idling for a few seconds. I didn’t like the fact that Elwood thought I knew something or, worse, was an accessory to the crime.

  Maybe he’d been bluffing and was trying to get me to tell him something, but I didn’t think so. Perhaps he was sleep deprived, and it was making him think crazy thoughts. Or maybe he’d given up on discovering the thief, and was more intent on covering his ass by accusing the only witness—me—of obstruction of justice.

  I called Stacey from the car, and told her I was coming over. As I drove toward her office, with Stone following behind me in his Porsche, I hoped Elwood wouldn’t try to make my life any more difficult than it already was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the time I got to Stacey’s office, I’d accepted that my day had not been perfect so far. Stone walked me from the car park to the lobby, and as we walked, I looked back over my shoulder, searching for an anonymous photographer.

  The parking lot was half-empty, and the street behind us was semi-deserted. I didn’t think anyone had tailed us on the drive here, but I couldn’t see behind the car windows. Theoretically, someone might be sitting in one of the cars, watching me.

  Stone escorted me up to the AAI reception, and then he said, “This is where I take off. Duty calls. I’ll be at the casino tonight.”

  “You don’t have to be.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You could just tell me when your shift ends. Hang on – aren’t you having lunch with your parents today?”

  “Ye-es,” I said warily.

  “Great. I’ll join you then.” I sighed and Stone said, “Hey, I like your mom’s cooking.”

  I looked at him grimly, but I didn’t say anything as he walked off.

  Stacey’s office seemed very quiet when I walked in, and it took me only a second to pin down the reason.

  “Where’s Sarah?” I asked her, and she sighed.

  “At school.”

  “Oh, it must be nice to –” I was going to say ‘have her out of your hair’ but I stopped myself just in time and finished with, “work uninterrupted.”

  “It’s not uninterrupted. I just got a call from Detective Elwood a few minutes ago, saying you might be trying to mislead the investigation.”

  I narrowed my eyes and clenched my jaw.

  “Don’t worry,” Stacey told me, “the guy’s clueless.”

  I breathed out and felt the tension leave my body. At least Stacey trusted me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I came over to talk to you before handing over the report. I think we’ve got a suspect.” Stacey raised one eyebrow silently, and I went on, “I think Jack Weber has something to do with this theft. His car’s license plate is a partial match, and I think he looks a bit like the guy I saw jumping from the building.”

  “Hmm.”

  Stacey looked at me contemplatively, and I was a bit disappointed that she wasn’t jumping up and down in excitement.

  “What do you mean, ‘hmm?’”

  “Well…” She looked down and toyed with her pen, before continuing. “It’s just a bit flimsy, seems a bit… forced.” She looked at me again and said, “The guy’s a big deal, a major player in the business community here. I don’t think we should mess with him.”

  “So no-one’s going to investigate him?”

  “Oh, no, I’ll ask someone to look into him. Discreetly, of course.”

  I nodded, not sure if I was pleased. “Do you want me to help out?”

  Stacey shook her head. “It’s not a priority. We’re not likely to find anything on him, and short of finding the painting in his house – well, there’s not much we can do about it.”

  “What about testing for DNA and fingerprints, that kind of stuff?”

  Stacey gave me a funny look. “Hmm.”

  Realization dawned, and I almost said, “D’oh!” out loud. Of course – AAI wasn’t interested in finding out who committed the crime, they were only interested in recovering the painting itself, so they wouldn’t have to pay out the insurance premiums. For all I knew, they wouldn’t even investigate Jack, especially now that they didn’t have a PI on staff.

  “Did you learn anything from Jeremy?” Stacey asked, and I shook my head.

  “He didn’t say much. I’ll type up the report and email it to you.”

  “Thanks. We’ll get in touch if we need any more work done.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I walked out feeling slightly dejected. Neither of the people I’d talked to about Jack had been interested in him, and I wondered if maybe I was wrong about him. That was impossible though – I had no doubt that the man I’d seen leaping from the building was Jack Weber. All I needed to do was to prove it, and then…

  And then what, exactly? I hadn’t been hired to look into the theft, and it wasn’t any of my business. I’d stop caring about it, I told myself, and I’d stop wondering how Jack was involved.

  ***

  As I drove away from the AAI office, I found myself checking over my shoulder, once in a while, wondering if anyone was following me. I felt safer in the stark daylight, and I was annoyed at myself for becoming so used to having Stone follow me around. I’m a PI. I need to take care of myself, even if it means learning to poke a guy’s eyes out in self-defense. Stone was right – I needed to go back to my KravMaga lessons. By the time I walked into The Peacock Club, my mental resolve to take up KravMaga again was making me feel a lot better, even though I hate all the kicking and poking that it involved.

  The Peacock Club is one of the more “boutique” strip clubs in Vegas, which means it’s very slightly off-Strip, and has only a couple dozen exquisite-looking girls working there at a time, instead of a couple of hundred. The rates are also higher, and the clientele are mostly wealthy locals.

  At this time of day, the club was practically empty. It wasn’t very well-lit, with only a few strange, bluish lights glowing here and there, and when I stepped inside, I found myself blinking as I adjusted to the darkness. Bass thumped loudly from hidden speakers, and a lingerie-clad woman twirled around a pole on the big stage at the front of the room.

  There was a bar along one wall, and the rest of the room was occupied by around fifty small, round tables. Darkly upholstered tub chairs surrounded each table, but only a few tables were occupied at this hour, mostly by single men chugging beers and glancing at the dancers on stage. Strippers hovered around them and every so often one of them would get up and follow a girl into one of the private lap-dance rooms.

  I nodded to Greg, the DJ, and went over to say hello. We’d met during my last investigation, and he was a friendly guy who always seemed oblivious to the half-naked women around him. While Greg and I were catching up on our lives, Samantha popped up beside me. She was wearing white lace lingerie with silver high-heels, and she looked like something ou
t of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. Maybe that’s what I’d look like if I stopped eating so many cupcakes and bought myself some nice underwear.

  “I saw you come in,” she told me. “And I’ve got a ten minute break now. What’s up?”

  “I’d like to talk to some of Crystal’s friends at the club,” I said. “Do you know who they are?”

  Samantha and Greg exchanged a glance.

  “Crystal didn’t have many friends here,” Samantha said. “She liked to keep to herself.”

  Greg nodded. “Yeah. I’d talk to her once in a while, but I never saw her chatting with anyone else.”

  “Huh.” I couldn’t help being surprised. “Everyone on the movie set said she was friendly.”

  Samantha nodded. “She was, but she worried that the more people she made friends with here, the quicker her secret would get out. She was convinced she’d be a big Hollywood celebrity, and she didn’t want anyone knowing she used to be a stripper.”

  I turned to Greg. “But she was friends with you?”

  He grinned. “All the girls like me. How can you hate the only gay guy in a strip club?”

  I smiled back. That explained how he was so oblivious to all the bare breasts surrounding him.

  “What did you talk about?” I asked him.

  “Just the usual. She’d get leads for parts, but usually they didn’t work out. And then she got a serious lead for the part in Casino Kings, and she was real excited about that.”

  “Did she have any enemies? Anyone who might want to harm her?”

  He shook his head. “She didn’t try to make friends here, but that’s normal. Lots of girls keep to themselves.”

  “Was she acting different before she died? Worried about anything?”

  Greg frowned. “Not really. But she did mention that some guy was constantly bugging her and she wasn’t interested. She said she’d have to deal with it.”

  I turned to Samantha. “Did she tell you anything about that?”

  Samantha shrugged. “Guys come on to women like us all the time. We do work in a strip club. Crystal might’ve said something, but I don’t remember.”

  “Was he someone she met here?” I asked Greg.

  He shook his head, and sat quietly, trying to remember. “Some hotshot,” he said finally. “I think he had something to do with Casino Kings.”

  I pulled out the list of names Tony had given me, and showed it to Greg. He read through the list and handed it back. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember any names, but I think she said it was someone on the set.”

  Samantha looked somber. “I should’ve paid attention. I should’ve realized it was serious, not just some random creep.”

  “It’s ok,” I told her. “You had no way of knowing. Besides, we don’t even know if this guy had anything to do with her death.”

  Samantha shook her head, and I knew that my words sounded hollow.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Do you know a Cheryl Czekanski?”

  Greg and Samantha both made puzzled faces.

  “A lot of girls here don’t go by their real names,” Samantha told me. “What’s her stripper name?”

  “I’ve got no idea. She might not even be a stripper.”

  “I know a Cheryl,” Greg said. “See that red-head walking up to those two men? That’s Cheryl Adams.”

  We all watched the red-head. She had a mass of long curls, and was wearing a tiny string bikini. Even from this distance, we could see the star tattooed on her lower back, and she glanced at us before sashaying off toward one of the private lap-dance rooms with a man following her.

  We’d all looked away when Cheryl had glanced at us, looking obviously guilty.

  “I don’t think that’s the Cheryl I’m after,” I said, “But it’s worth a shot.”

  “Why’re you after Cheryl?” Samantha asked.

  “Crystal made bank transfers to her… lots of money at a time. Do you know anything about that?”

  Samantha shook her head. “Maybe it was someone in LA. Maybe a casting agent.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “How long do these lap-dances last?”

  “Longer than my break,” Samantha said. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  I watched as she walked away, swishing her hips as she approached a man sitting by himself in a booth. His face lit up immediately, and he stood up automatically and trotted after her like a dazed puppy.

  I watched them disappear into a private room, feeling a bit awkward. Greg had his headphones on again, and was busy with his music. I noticed a bouncer glancing at me, and I didn’t want to get kicked out for looking like a social worker, so I headed over to the bar, ordered myself a juice, and tried to chat with the sullen bartender.

  My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID and sighed. I was tempted to let it just go on ringing, but that would just worry her even more. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Tiffany! Your Nanna just got a call from her friend Nancy who saw you walking into The Peacock Club.”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m just here to talk to someone.”

  She made a disapproving noise and said, “I don’t want everyone to think my daughter’s a stripper.”

  I rolled my eyes. Suburban moms are the same everywhere. “Maybe you shouldn’t have named me ‘Tiffany Black’ then,” I told her.

  She made another disapproving noise and said, “When are you going to come over? It’s almost lunch-time.”

  “Soon,” I said, wondering if it was too late to make some excuse and not go. Free home-cooking was nice, but I didn’t want Stone showing up with me at my parents’ place again. I just knew they’d get the wrong idea. “But I’m a bit busy with work, maybe I could just–”

  My mother interrupted me before I could finish. “Your nanna’s invited some man over.”

  I groaned. “Nathan. I can’t believe this.”

  “How do you know him?” my mom asked sharply. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  I couldn’t tell her that I’d met him during one of Nanna’s poker games, so I muttered something about meeting him when I ran into Nanna and her friends at a buffet.

  I didn’t think I sounded convincing, but my mom seemed to buy the story. “How long ago was this?”

  “Umm. Yesterday.”

  “Well. You should’ve told me.”

  “About what?”

  “Your nanna says this man’s her boyfriend, can you believe that? I want you to come meet him. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  “Is Stone coming?”

  She sounded hopeful and I frowned. A few weeks back she’d thought that we were dating, and no matter how often I told her we weren’t, she kept hoping for a relationship between us. “No, he’s not,” I told her, sounding more annoyed than I’d meant to. Now I’d definitely have to talk him out of coming with me.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Don’t worry. There are lots of men out there. Even if you broke up, you’ll find someone new.”

  “We didn’t break up. We were never together.”

  She started to say something about plenty of fish in the ocean but not enough time to waste and I let my head roll backwards. I couldn’t take any more of her dating advice, so I said, “My appointment’s here. Gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”

  I hung up before she could tell me to keep my eyes open for a good man and to remember to wear nice clothes – there would be enough time for her to say all that during lunch.

  ***

  Samantha and Cheryl came out of their rooms at about the same time. I exchanged a glance with Samantha and we went to talk to Cheryl.

  “Hi, Cheryl,” Samantha was saying when I reached her. “How’s it going?”

  “Not bad.” Cheryl glanced at me with a questioning look.

  I waited as Samantha introduced me and explained that I was looking into Crystal’s death. As Samantha talked, I watched Cheryl’s face.

  Up close, I could tell that Cheryl was a little older than us, mayb
e in her late thirties. Her expression was guarded, and the angular contours of her face made her look slightly cynical. I’d guess she was a parent, and that although she had a slim, supermodel-worthy figure and a face that looked stunning to me, she probably wasn’t allocated the lucrative night shifts, the times when big spenders came out to play.

  In a year or two she’d be older than all the other strippers here, and she’d probably have to leave The Peacock Club for one of the slightly less picky larger clubs. Or maybe by then she’d have accumulated a fortune and would retire to a beach in Costa Rica.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Cheryl told us when Samantha was done. “But I didn’t know her, and I need to get back to work.”

  “Maybe we can chat during your break?” I asked her.

  Cheryl’s glance was slightly contemptuous. “I’ve got stuff to do during my break. And I don’t want to be rude, but I didn’t know Crystal, I never work weekends and according to you she only worked one weekend a month.”

  There was an undercurrent of resentment in her voice, and I knew my guess about her not getting the lucrative shifts was spot on.

  “Come on, Cheryl,” I said. “I think you know more than that.”

  Cheryl rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to work. Don’t bother me.”

  She began to stalk off, trying to choose which of the men to talk to.

  “Cheryl,” Samantha called out after her.

  A stripper wearing a “sexy nurse” outfit, sky-high red stilettos, and a vacuous expression turned around to look at us. She was wearing dark makeup, and her long blonde hair fell to her waist in big, loose curls. She looked familiar…

  “Hang on,” I said, rushing up to the blonde “nurse” before I’d sorted through my jumbled thoughts. “You’re Cheryl. Cheryl Czekanski.”

  Samantha had followed me, and said, “No, her name’s Sherry.”

  Sherry/Cheryl smiled at us. “Sherry’s my stripper name,” she said, and then lowered her voice to a breathy whisper. “My real name’s Cheryl, but that’s not quite as sexy.” She giggled in a strange, high-pitched voice. “Do I know you?”

  I smiled and shook my head, pleased with my hunch. She was one of the beautiful blondes my Google Images search had turned up, and she’d thought we were calling out to her earlier.