First Girl Gone(30)

She’d been turned away from a seedy strip club, of all places. Almost right away the bouncer had been suspicious of her, called her a cop, figured her for snooping around. Of course, she had, in fact, been snooping around, but there would be no reason she could think of for him to suspect that. She was usually pretty good at blending in. It was part of the job.

She came to the same conclusion she had on the walk up to the building, the gut revulsion she’d felt when she saw the bouncer’s eyes narrow as they fell upon her: this place had something to hide. Probably something big, whether or not it had anything to do with Kara. Might as well stick around and watch the place for a while. She had nothing to lose but a bit of her time.

The dome light clicked off as if on cue, plunging her back into shadow.

Thankfully the stream of traffic into the lot would also obscure whether or not she’d left, though she doubted the bouncer was the meticulous type. Oh, he may be particular when it came to things like anabolic steroids and human growth hormone, but she suspected he was less so when it came to pesky little things like doing his job.

A few flecks of light snow fell on the windshield, melting quickly into water droplets. Charlie stared through the spatter.

The crowd trickled in, slowly but surely. Gentlemen of all ages and sizes stepped out of their cars, trucks, and SUVS and headed for the double front doors. The velvet rope swept aside for each and every one of them, allowing them entry. No one but her got turned away, from what she could see. That was curious, wasn’t it?

“A place like this must have regulars,” Allie said. “He probably knows damn near everyone coming up here on a weeknight.”

“I was thinking the same,” Charlie said.

Allie affected some kind of redneck accent then.

“Goin’ down to the little strip club where everybody knows your name. A few wings. A few laughs. Don’t get any better than that.”

Charlie didn’t respond. It only egged Allie on. Better to play possum. Just sort of play dead until the bad jokes stopped.

Charlie flicked her eyes toward the rearview mirror. She squinted as she gazed into the reflection there. Beyond the rear windshield, where empty asphalt had been the last time she’d looked, tightly packed sedans and SUVs now filled the mirror’s frame.

A good time to make a move, she thought. She could take a look around the back and sides of the building, do some poking around now that things were in full swing.

Her gaze slid back to the bouncer out front, who now had his smartphone pressed against his ear. He spoke loudly into the phone, so loudly that she could hear him plainly in her car.

“So the other night, I’m home alone. Bored out of my skull, right? And I remember that my buddy Dennis got me a bottle of that Yippee Ki-Yay whiskey for Christmas—like the Die Hard thing, you know? So I drink a couple of glasses of that. Wind up getting the spins.”

“This guy speaks in all caps,” Allie said.

Charlie shushed her.

She listened for a few more seconds as the bouncer talked about getting so drunk that he somehow vomited into his dishwasher, and how “for some reason it looked just like eggnog.” He couldn’t be more distracted. Now was her chance.

Charlie slipped out of the car, quiet and slow, and closed the door behind her with a gentle push. She crept between vehicles, staying out of his line of sight.

His voice sounded even louder out here. Sharp. Like he was trying to damage the hearing of the poor soul on the other end of the call.

Soon she reached the edge of the cars. There was nothing to conceal her from this point forward.

She held her breath, counted to three, and darted into the open, scrambling around the side of the building. Based on the ongoing loud babble, he hadn’t noticed. Good.

His voice finally cut out of her range of hearing as she rounded the corner to the back of the building. The sudden quiet was jarring. The dark didn’t help either. A lone floodlight on the far corner provided the faintest yellow glow. Easier to stay hidden, at least.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, and at last she found what she was looking for. A fire door cut a rectangle in the stone facade, a slab of steel there. She lurked toward it. Tried it.

Unlocked.

Yes.

She slipped inside, careful to keep the door from making any noise behind her.

A dingy hallway took shape in the shadows. Brick walls painted white, gouged and scuffed and scraped. Thin industrial carpet, mottled gray with holes worn into it. It smelled like stale beer and must. She snapped a quick picture with her phone and moved on.

“Why take a picture of a beat-up hallway?” Allie said, at least having the decency to keep her voice low.

“So I can remember what everything looked like later.”

She worked her way down the hall, peeking into a couple of doors. Snapping more pictures. It looked like storage, mostly. Boxes of restaurant and drink supplies. Straws. Napkins.

In the next room, she found a healthy stash of booze. A huge box of cheap-ass Five O’Clock vodka sat next to a rack of empty Grey Goose and Absolut bottles with a funnel resting nearby. So they were passing off swill as the top-shelf stuff. Nice. She snapped a photo of that as well. Could be used for leverage later.

Voices murmured out from behind the next door. Girls’ voices. She moved closer, trying to listen through the heavy door, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Her hand drifted to the doorknob. Fingers lacing around it. She turned it.