Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(54)

“Was Andy Walton?”

The smile faded from Darla’s face. “Very much so,” she said. “Mr. Walton . . . was a very sad man.”

“Sad about what?” Rick asked.

Darla shrugged and leaned into him, wrapping her arms through Rick’s. “Everything. He was dying, did you know that?”

“Pancreatic cancer, right?” Rick asked.

Darla nodded. “He didn’t tell me right off. The first few times he came in, we just sat in the back of the bar, talking. He really liked talking to me. And . . . I could tell he liked the way I touched him.”

“How would you . . . ?” Rick’s voice faltered. Questioning a stripper about how she touched a patron was not something you learned in law school.

“Just like this,” she said, turning to face him. “I’d brush his hair, hold his hand, or wrap my arms through his.” She leaned into Rick, and he blinked his eyes, trying to focus.

“Did you eventually, you know . . . ?” Again Rick faltered.

“Dance naked for him?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, looking away from her.

“Of course,” she said. “Eventually . . .” She shrugged. “My approach to dancing was different than most of the girls. Most of them would prance around in their G-string and throw their boobs in the men’s faces. Every few seconds they’d ask if they could give them a lap dance.” She paused. “Larry always said he needed a few foot soldiers like that. Tall, horsey-looking girls with big breasts who could work the pole and get the small bills from the day laborers and the truck drivers who would stop by. That was important for the success of the club. It set the tone and allowed me to work my magic.” She stopped and eyed him curiously. When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Don’t you want to know what my magic is?”

“I . . .” Rick gazed into her brown eyes and then looked away, focusing on a boat floating slowly along in the water. “I didn’t want to insult you by asking. I’m pretty sure I know what it is.”

“Then tell me,” Darla said, leaning into him and elbowing him under the rib cage. “Don’t be shy, Counselor.”

“It’s . . . this,” Rick said, shrugging. “What you’re doing right now. The touching. The way you talk. The way you smell . . .”

“Do you like me?” Darla asked.

“Very much,” Rick said.

She smiled. “That’s the magic. Stripping at the highest level is no different than any other business. It’s all about building relationships . . . and I’m good at that.” Darla placed her elbow on the bench and let her hand drop onto Rick’s shoulder.

Beginning to feel warm again, Rick tried to stand. One leg had gone completely asleep, and he stumbled, almost falling into the harbor. Jesus Christ . . .

Behind him, Darla was laughing.

Rick gazed down at her and wiped sweat off his forehead. He needed to regroup. “You said Andy told you about the cancer.”

“You’re a cutie, you know that?” She was smiling at him. “I bet you have a girlfriend.”

“Ms. Ford, please . . . I . . .”

“Ms. Ford? Oooooo . . .” She narrowed her gaze and wrapped her arms around her left knee, her smile widening. You’re starting to turn me on, Counselor.”

Before Rick could protest again, Darla yawned and stretched her arms above her head. “There is a VIP room at the club,” she finally said. “After Mr. Walton requested that I dance for him, I began to take him up there. The VIP dances cost a hundred dollars for thirty minutes, but Mr. Walton didn’t care about the money. He’d let me dance with him for two or three hours. There were some weeks where he would be the only customer I’d have at night and I’d take home six grand, while some of the foot soldiers had done the pole all night along with ten lap dances and only had two hundred dollars to show for it.” She paused, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Anyway, after about a month he told me about the cancer.”

“Do you remember when that was?”

Darla shrugged. “Wasn’t that long ago. Maybe the beginning of summer. May, I think.”

“Did he say how bad it was?”

“Just that it was terminal. I think at some point he said he wasn’t sure how long he had left. Could be a year. Could be a few months.”

Rick nodded. Keep her going . . .

“You said he was a very sad man,” Rick began. “How so? Was it just the cancer?”

“No. That was a big part of it, but there was something else. Mr. Walton . . . had something weighing on him. A secret, you might say.”

Rick felt his stomach catch and took a step closer to her. “A secret?”

Darla nodded and leaned forward on the bench, resting her elbows on her knees. When she didn’t say anything, Rick prompted her. “Did he tell you this secret?”

“Not in so many words,” she finally said.

“What does that mean?” Rick pressed, sitting down again on the bench.

She shifted her gaze to the water. “Mr. Walton said he had done a lot of bad things in his life and he was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of dying.” She looked back at him. “He was scared of dying. He said the truth would die with him.”