Shutter(66)

Shanice eased her way into her car and handed me my coffee. “I know you don’t like all that fancy stuff, but I put some milk and sugar in it for you.”

“Thank you.” The computer whirred as I burned my tongue on the first sip. “Just right.”

“So, can we go?” Shanice started her engine.

“Take me home,” I said, wondering if that really would be a good idea.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Shanice touched up her red lipstick in the mirror. “You are going with me to the club tonight. I’m not wasting an entire outfit on some cruise to the coffee shop.”

“Shanice. There was a shooting up at the Benavidez mansion.”

“You shot somebody?” Shanice barked. “What are you getting me involved in?”

“I didn’t shoot anyone, Shanice. But I took pictures of the whole thing. So I might not be the best person to be hanging out with right now.” Sometimes Albuquerque was way too small a town. I knew these guys were going to be looking for me for a while.

“Are we, like, in fucking danger here? Don’t you work for the police? Can’t you just call them up and tell them?”

“I’ve seen a lot of things, Shanice. Things that I can’t possibly describe to police without getting my throat cut.”

Shanice sat in stunned silence. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” she said at last. The two of us hadn’t talked about our last debacle with the police in a while. “Please tell me you’re not seeing ghosts again.”

“Just get us out of here.” I kept eyes on the road. “Get us somewhere they would never expect me to go.”

Shanice was in front of the Lotus, her favorite club, within fifteen minutes. The music was pouring from the front doors, which were guarded by a menacing-looking pair of muscle-bound white guys in tight black T-shirts. There was a line already snaking around the building. I knew I looked completely out of place in my all-black getup, like Shanice’s weirdo goth girlfriend. Great. Shanice dragged me right by the line of waiting hipsters, who sighed and complained as we passed. Shanice was like that, and the two giants at the front door knew better than to stop her.

Shanice trekked straight to the bar. “Two cosmos, please. Okay, maybe three. I get an extra since I might be on the verge of death.”

“I don’t want any of your foo-foo candy drinks, Shanice,” I said. Then I told the annoyed-looking bartender, “Change mine to a scotch, please. And no one is going to die.”

The Lotus was filled with the usual glitter and fishnets and giant Amazon women in stiletto heels. The bartenders, DJ, and waitresses were dressed in white angel wings and red vests with bowties. It was a very ’80s club scene—the air was filled with the smell of smoke machines.

“Let’s dance.” Shanice writhed her red body in the darkness. “Oh, look!” She pointed to Philip, who was coming toward us.

“You left early so you could come here?” Philip laughed and poked me in the shoulder.

“No. I left to go home. But this one had to come here.”

“Relax, Rita. Have some fun for once.” Philip tried to make me dance. It didn’t work.

The bartender set our drinks on the bar. I seized my glass and drank it down.

“Make sure she doesn’t leave,” Shanice said to Philip with a glare in my direction. I was famous for leaving early and without notice.

“I won’t.”

“Hey, you know there was a guy that came looking for you after you left. He was super built, you know, in great shape. A new love interest maybe?”

I felt the heat rise in my face, and not for the reason Philip imagined.

“He wanted me to tell him where our event photographer was. I told him you left. Then he wanted to know your name.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Just that you’re a friend. Then I was called away by the hostess.”

“Can I have another, please?” The bartender glared at me but poured me a new glass. I was pissed and paranoid. I now knew for certain that Garcia and his men were looking for me. Maybe I had to worry about Philip too. “Did the police ever show up?”

“Police? You mean besides the chief of police?” Philip was already drunk.

“Yeah. Units. With the lights and everything. You know. The police,” I said.

“Not while I was there. I left about fifteen minutes after you did. Why? What did you do?”

“Me?” I knocked down my second shot and turned to the bartender, who picked up the scotch bottle to pour me another.

“You sure do put that away.”

The voice came from behind me. When I turned around there was no one there except a petite blonde waitress with her tray full of drinks.

“I never really liked scotch myself.” Erma circled to stand in front of me. “You’re wasting time, Rita. You have to fix this.”

I pulled on my drink again and ignored her, closing my eyes.

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t hear me. I can bring everyone with me.”

I opened my eyes and scanned the pulsing crowd, watched the ghosts lingering, unmoving, among the dancers. Two or three became five or six, then nine or ten. I recognized some of them: the young woman from the hotel room with her nightgown full of holes, Judge Winters’s wife and kids. I turned my eyes to the ground as I felt the chill of their unhappiness leach into my bones. They would bleed me dry.