“Versed.” Brian smiled and took a drink of his Tequila Sour.
The DJs voice sounded the change of stage dancers and Birdie leaned in close, “Wanna see me nekid?”
Brian smiled and returned his glass to the table in front of him. “You know I do.”
Birdie popped up out of her chair and began twisting out of her dress in front of him. She locked eyes with him and tossed her hair so it brushed her shoulders. Turning in a small circle, she rolled her hips and pulled her torso up to show off her abs. Raising her arms over her head she danced as if taking a slow-motion shower. When she glanced back at Brian it was clear he was lost in a Birdie-induced trance. Keeping her mask in place, she let her mind wander to the objective at hand.
Birdie wasn’t the nervous type and she didn’t fret about much of anything. She was, however, highly aware of the stakes in this little adventure they were planning, wondering if the other girls really understood what they were getting themselves into. They could still turn back and continue on with life as they knew it. It thrilled her to think about the excitement of it all. Never having been a real ‘no I in team’ kind of person, it made her insides warm in a strange way to think about doing something like this with her closest friends. She knew she could trust them, but could she count on them to come through in a pinch? Part of her self-reliance stemmed from past disappointments. She’d been taught that if you want something done right you had to do it yourself. Letting go and turning control over was a tough one for Birdie, but she knew if there was anyone in the world who would cover her back, it was Sam, Grace, and Mary Jane.
The song ended and Birdie stared at Brian with haunted eyes while she pulled her clothes back on. One of the things she hated about dancing was all the dressing and undressing. She’d rather walk around naked than have to take the same thing off and put it back on like someone caught in a weird Twilight Zone. It didn’t matter how good something looked, if it wasn’t easy to get off and on it was no good. One nightmarish outfit was all it took for a new dancer to learn that clasps of any kind were a no-go.
Brian watched as Birdie slipped back into her red tube-dress. She settled herself back into the seat next to him and he slid a twenty into the garter she wore twisted at her ankle.
She smiled her thanks and gave him a peck on the cheek, reaching across him to retrieve her Scotch.
“So, I didn’t see them give ‘er a pill or anything. How’d they slip her the Mickey?”
Brian threw his head back and laughed, “You’re a persistent little thing aren’t you?”
Birdie sipped her drink and tilted her head like a dog with a question.
“There are a couple ways to give it but the easiest way is to add it in her IV. It’s the easiest way for them to control the dosage and since they were probably giving her fluids anyway, it just makes sense.”
A waitress appeared and began clearing empty glasses from the small glass table in front of the two. “Birdie, you’re wanted in VIP 12. Do you want me to tell them you’re busy?”
Brian leaned forward to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “I gotta run anyway, little Birdie. As always, it was a pleasure.” He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it gently.
“Same time next week?”
“You’re on.
CHAPTER 44
“You?” Birdie stopped in her tracks as she stepped through the doorway of the VIP room.
“You!” Mr. Hot shot back at her.
“And you.” She looked at Grace and Sam on either side of him.
“Um, yeah. We need to talk.” Sam patted the seat next to her.
Birdie glanced out the doorway into the club before she headed for the couch.
“Where’d you find him?” Birdie asked as if the stranger wasn’t right in front of them.
“Actually,” Grace said, “He found us.”
“Roight. Spill it then.” Birdie moved to the glass coffee table directly in front of the mystery man and stared him dead in the eye. “What ‘ave you got to say for yourself Gov’nah?”
Fishing the lime from his drink, he took a moment to appraise Birdie before he began.
“Lean in, and please keep your voice down. I swept the room before you ladies got here but there’s no guarantee this room is clean.” He paused, “I’m Joe. I work for the FBI’s division on organized crime.”
“Joe? The shaggin’ Lena Joe?”
Joe dropped his gaze to the ground for a moment and cleared his throat.
“Yes. I was . . . um, shagging Lena.”
“Did’ja kill her?”
Jerking his head up, Joe met Birdie’s stare straight on. “Hell no, I didn’t kill her! But I think I know who did.”
Sam watched the exchange like a tennis match while Grace gnawed her swizzle stick.
Birdie nodded. “Let’s be ‘avin it then. Who did it?”
Joe looked from one face to the next. All eyes were fixed on him, waiting for a name to cross his lips. The club had never seemed so strangely quiet. He blew out a long breath and leaned his head in, “Look, the only reason I’m here, and I could be fired for this mind you, is because Lena was helping me. She’d seen some things she shouldn’t have and agreed to help my investigation. The people we’re dealing with are very bad characters. Make no mistake about it. This isn’t the Sopranos or some loveable group of guys who are just a little rough around the edges. These people are the real deal and they mean business.”
“Well no shit! Thanks for clearin’ that bit up for us. We were thinkin’ Lena’s killer must have had a bit of a rough upbringin’ and was some poor misguided bloke.” Birdie gave Joe a stupid stare. “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”
Joe wasn’t about to lose his standing by being the first to look away. “I can pack it in and disappear into the woodwork, Birdie. I’m taking a risk by being here so say the word and I’m gone.”
Birdie dropped her eyes and straightened her dress. “Yeah. Sorry. Go ahead.”
Grace and Sam glanced at each other, then back to Joe, “She’s just a little keyed, that’s all.”
Joe nodded.
“I’m guessing you saw me at the funeral. You three and Mary Jane were hard to miss, in spite of your efforts. So yes, I’ve had the three of you followed since then. For your protection more than anything else. I was worried if anything went awry, well, you know.” Joe paused as if choosing his words carefully, “Lena wasn’t out of our sight for more than twenty minutes when they snatched her. We were about to take her into protective custody when it happened.”
“How could she have kept something like this from us?” Sam seemed hurt, “How long was this going on and how exactly was she involved?”
“She was protecting you.” Joe sighed. “Lena was in the Skybox one night at Fedya’s behest and as you may have already guessed, he’s the one we suspect is behind all this.”
“I fackin’ knew it!” Birdie slammed a stiletto'd heel down.
“Shhhh, please Birdie. Let’s keep it cool. We’re in the lion’s den.” Joe held out his hand in a soothing gesture. Birdie nodded as her face turned crimson with rage.
“So anyway, she’s in the Skybox and saw some transactions she shouldn’t have between Fedya and some other men. Fedya realized it and had been keeping very very close tabs on Lena for several weeks. I guess he didn’t realize that not all the dancers were as high as his plaything, Nikki. We’ve been investigating the club for almost seven months and have a mountain of surveillance footage. Lena kept appearing at odd places and times, usually with Fedya, Gio or one of the goons. She always looked nervous but composed. Once we were able to ID her and trace her file we realized she was probably just someone who was in over her head. The first time I approached her was here in the club so she wouldn’t be nervous. Once we started talking, the details poured out. She didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to put you in jeopardy. By the time she realized what was going on she knew she was in too deep. We hoped she would be able to get the confirmation we n
eeded to lock Fedya up before he got to her.”
“So you said you’re looking into organized crime. Is that what all this is about?” Grace had annihilated the plastic straw and was wringing her hands.
“He’s a major player in one of the Russian mob rings. He has a special talent for money laundering that keeps him doing business with organized crime on a global scale. I’m racing the clock right now because I want to nail this sonofabitch before Homeland Security wakes up. They’ve started sniffing around but haven’t mobilized their troops yet.”
Sam studied Joe in profile while he delivered the same speech to Birdie he’d given her and Grace twenty minutes prior. He’d gotten to his feet as a courtesy when the two arrived although Sam had trouble gauging heights while in platforms. Joe’s shoulders were broad and round enough to suggest defined musculature lay beneath his pressed cotton button down. Soft looking dark brown curls peeked just over his collar, although it looked as if his haircut had recently grown out from a shorter, close cropped military style. He had a dusting of stubble that appeared to be genuine rather than the carefully planned and seriously tired Miami Vice scruff. Sam thought he looked as if he rose early and worked hard. There was a sad tiredness in his eyes that Sam suspected was from restless nights since Lena had been killed. That is, if what he’d told them was true. His eyes were dark, nestled under heavy brows, with thick lashes that stood like soldiers guarding the secrets that lay behind.
“So, Boy-o is a kingpin, huh?”
“Yup. Looks that way.”
Clearing her throat, Sam decided to try and save Joe from Birdie’s interrogation, “So where does that leave us?”
“Just watch your backs. From everything we can tell, Fedya’s planning something and I don’t want you four caught in the cross fire.”
“That’s it?” Grace stared at the outline of his developed pecs the way some men stare at boobs.
Sam nudged her, “Eye contact.”
Grace’s attention snapped back to Joe’s face and a smile curved the corner of his mouth.
“Yup. Just keep your heads down. I don’t know if there’s much you can do at this point other than be careful.” Joe removed a ballpoint pen from his breast pocket and began scribbling numbers on a bev nap in front of him. Wadding it up, he handed it in the direction of Sam and Grace. Sam took the scrap, folded it and placed it at the center of the money in her garter, hidden from view.
“Well,” Joe said slapping his knees, “I guess that’s enough for one night, huh ladies?”
Questions raced through their minds. They didn’t want Joe to leave but the jumbled words failed to fall into coherent sentences.
“Uh, um, what if we need you . . . or you need us?” Sam stammered like a fourth-grader with a crush.
“You’ve got the number. I’ll be around.”
With that Joe rose to his feet and peeled some bills from his money clip, dropping them on the table.
“Thanks again, ladies.” He turned to leave and paused, “Oh yeah, and the guys say thanks for the coffee and doughnuts, Birdie.”
For the first time since their introduction, Joe flashed his thousand watt smile at the trio. His eyes seemed to light up and deep, manly dimples creased his face, from cheeks to jaw. He turned and disappeared through the doorway into the club.
A few moments passed without a word.
“Damn, he’s hot.”
“He is pretty sexy.” Grace stared through the doorway as if willing him to return. “I need to get rid of Kyle and get laid.”
CHAPTER 45
“I guess it’s considered bad form in some circles to be paying for your boyfriend’s sex change operation.” Tanya paused for dramatic effect and moved her delicate hand to her bosom. “I feel that it’s a gentlemanly thing to do, free me from my current imprisoned state, that is.”
“So tell us about Shug,” Mary Jane said, pushing her cleaned plate forward making room for her elbows.
Screwing up her face as if in thought Tanya said, “ he’s an old white man. That’s why I call him Shug — cuz’ he’s white as sugar and can be just as sweet when he’s got a mind to. Old money, and I do mean old. If I said his name, which I nevah will, you wouldn’t believe me. That ol’ boy’s tough as whit leather and queer as a three dollar bill, although you’d be hard pressed to tell by talkin’ to him. He’s very top, which is somethin’ I’ve never had any interest in being. I’m bottom all the way and lovin’ it. So, we’re a perfect pair. Interracial, homosexual couple with an age gap in the double digits. He’ll die before he sees me get saggy.”
“Never thought about it in exactly those terms but I guess you’re right.” Sam nodded.
“Are you getting excited about the surgery?” Grace beamed over her cheese grits.
“Not particularly excited, child, but I’m definitely ready for the results.” Tanya’s eyes flicked in their usual dance around the restaurant. “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks minimum. They say three, I say two so we’ll see who’s right. Never know, maybe I’ll just fall in love with Bangkok and become a bar girl.”
“I looked up the procedures on the Internet and found some pictures . . . ,” Mary Jane said, leaning her head back.
“LORD NO! Do not tell me about that! Just because I’m havin’ it done doesn’t mean I want to know anything about it! Man goes to sleep. Woman wakes up. That’s all I need to know. Well, that and what cup size ya’ll think I should be.”
“C.”
“C+.”
“C.”
“Bloody hell, if she’s gonna get em’ done, no sense in goin’ off half cocked,” Birdie glanced at Tanya, “Sorry, you know what I mean. I say get double E’s.”
“Tell ya what Bird-brain, I’ll get double E’s right after you do.”
“Don’t be stroppy, you know that’s ridiculous since I’m built like a small lad. Bristols that size would make me look cheap.”
“Bristols?” Grace looked at Sam.
“Cheap?” Tanya looked at Birdie.
“Bristol City is rhyme slang for ‘Titties.’ In the purest form ya always drop the second half and just call it by the first word.”
Mary Jane was roaring, “You’re not worried about looking obscene? It’s cheap that you’re worried about?”
Tanya was rolling her eyes around in their sockets, “Ya’ll are crazy as hell! You’re gonna corrupt me and muss my lady-like image.”
“So, the slang is always two words?” Grace was getting into it.
“Yeah. I read up on it. It’s how prisoners would communicate without letting the guards know what they’re talking about. For example, ‘dog and bone’ is phone. ‘Trouble and strife’ is wife. ‘Tea Leaf’ is thief, get it?”
“So Tanya, why’d you steer us away from our usual booth?”
“Shit, I almost forgot to tell ya’ll! The mid-shift has detail cleaning duties this month. You know, they hafta’ wipe down every inch of the place? Anyway, looks like someone left ya’ll a little present on the underside of the table.”
“What the . . . ?”
“Looks like a listening device to me, but I’m no expert. Couldn’t have been there too long because she’s been cleaning all around that area and today’s the first she saw of it. We left it there so nobody’d get suspicious. Do what you will about it, but be careful what you say over there. I didn’t wan’chall launchin’ into some big detailed thing where you’re spillin’ all your private business.” Tanya arched a perfectly plucked brow. “Ya’ll know what yer’ doin’?”
“Yes ma’am and thanks for the information, Ms. Tanya.” Mary Jane swallowed hard. “We owe you.”
She shook her head, “Ya’ll don’t owe me shit. Careful now, hear?” She headed off with a slight squishing noise and a bounce from her crepe soles.
CHAPTER 46
Grace crouched under the warm light of the swing arm-lamp and used her jeweler’s files — narrow sticks of varying shapes, sizes, and grits — to gently work away the rough edges of the sil
ver key she had cast from the plastic master. She had painstakingly added a thin layer of extra wax to the side flattened by Kyle at the putty stage. Subtractive was much easier than additive when working with metal. Filing a little, comparing it to various keys on her key ring for thickness and filing some more, she was bringing it as near to perfection as possible. Holding the silver key up to the light, she scrutinized every edge and plane surface. Once she was satisfied with the shape and thickness she carried it to a motorized buffing wheel and worked off the remaining silver dust.
She was grateful to be able to find a full jewelry workshop, which she could rent by the hour, at a local arts center. She knew the final hurdle would be trying to find a key smith that could cut a key into steel from her silver template. It was something of a crapshoot. Hopefully, it would work.
* * * *
Running her fingers along the orange-peel texture of the cardstock with her left hand, she closed her eyes and touched the cover of her passport with her right. The two matched in texture. She’d alter the color to match too. Several trips to paper wholesalers, which she knew from her design work, had been necessary. In the end, she was able to find everything she needed to produce passable forgeries.
Sam had scanned her passport cover to cover and had set up a master file in Photoshop with a gridded system of guides, ensuring everything was accurate to the millimeter. Pushing herself back in her office chair, she grabbed her coffee mug by its warm body and raised it to her lips. What would seem like a cluttered nest of cellulose to the untrained eye was a complicated system of stacks to Sam. Even she found it odd that her house had to be in such rigidly organized order for her to find anything, yet her projects always spilled across her workspace like an overflowing river. She tapped required materials with a pencil eraser as she inventoried her desk, preparing for the next step.
* * * *
Mary Jane lay on the soft flokati rug next to her desk. Feet propped on the edge of the desktop, they wobbled lazily back and forth in time with the ambient music from her mp3 player. She glanced at the glowing monitor. Her screen saver floated serenely by. If she’d had the energy or inclination to jiggle her mouse, it would have revealed the series of codes racing up her screen like obedient ones and zeros, marching in formation.
Tea Leafing: A Novel Page 16
