First Girl Gone(63)
A shirtless Will sat half-propped against a pillow in Charlie’s bed, blinking groggily. He raised a hand in Zoe’s direction.
“Morning, Zo.”
“What have you two kids been up to?” Zoe asked, and Charlie could hear a ridiculous level of glee in her voice.
Charlie swiped a key from the bedside table and tossed it into Will’s lap. He picked it up and examined it as if it were some mysterious artifact he’d never seen before.
“Spare key,” Charlie explained. “So you can lock up when you leave.”
Will closed his fist around the key and shook it, a child’s look of awe still occupying his features.
“With great power comes great responsibility,” he said, staring into the middle distance. “I will guard it with my life.”
Zoe tittered. She seemed to be highly amused by the whole scenario, standing in the doorway with that Cheshire Cat grin on her face. Charlie nudged her out the door.
Zoe waggled her fingers at Will.
“Goodbye, Will.”
Charlie pulled the door shut behind her. The metal stairs down to the parking lot sounded like a steel drum under their collective footsteps. Zoe beamed all the way down to her car, shooting Charlie periodic glances.
“After all that business where you tried to deny totally having the hots for him in school,” Zoe said. “How full of shit are you?”
“Nothing happened, if you must know.”
“Uh-huh. Riiight.”
Charlie grumbled something unintelligible and climbed into the car. They rode a while in silence before Zoe started in again.
“Hey, man, I’m happy for you. You’re cute together.”
Allie made a disgusted, gagging sound at the same moment that Charlie said, “Oh, barf.”
“What?” Zoe asked, taking a right.
Charlie gestured to the Salem County jail, which had come into view on the road ahead.
“Can we maybe put this on hold until later? I’d rather not walk in here looking like a total amateur.”
Zoe pointed at Charlie’s legs.
“That why you wore sweatpants?”
Charlie glanced down at herself. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten to change.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Zoe shrugged.
“I thought it would be funny?”
Allie cackled.
Charlie crossed her arms over her chest and glared out the window.
“I hate you.”
Chapter Fifty
The owner of the Red Velvet Lounge was Silas Demetrio, a swarthy little man with thick eyebrows and a permanent sneer. Acne scars pocked his cheeks, evenly divoting his skin like hammered metal. Despite the circumstances, the guy didn’t look frightened in the slightest.
Charlie watched from the observation room as he mostly declined to talk, deferring questions and waiting for his attorney to arrive.
“Robbie Turner. That’s all I’m saying. He’s the one that brought the girl around, OK? Said he was her… manager, I think he called it. That’s about all I know. Want to know more? Talk to him.”
A detective named Peterson wiped at the corner of his mouth.
“By manager, you mean to imply he was Kara Dawkins’ pimp, correct? On your property?”
Two lines formed between Demetrio’s brows as his scowl deepened.
“No. We don’t allow nothing like that.” He held up his hand like a crossing guard halting traffic. “No way. She wanted to dance? Fine. But that was the end of it. We run a pretty tight ship, I think.”
A slight smile formed on Peterson’s face.
“A tight ship, eh?” he repeated. “So the fact that she was underage, that would be representative of this ‘tight ship’ that you run?”
Demetrio’s thin lips practically disappeared as he pressed his mouth into a tight line.
“All I would have known was the ID she showed me, OK? The ID says eighteen and up, then as far as I’m concerned, it’s all above board. Not like I’m running deep background checks on every girl who shows up looking for a job. Someone shows me convincing forged documents, how am I responsible?”
Still smiling, Peterson nodded.
“Yeah, well, the court will have their say.”
“Perfect. In the meantime, you can direct all questions to my attorney when he gets here. I’m done talking.”
“No need to get testy,” the detective said, backing off the pressure. “We’re just talking here.”
Demetrio just shook his head. When he spoke again, he did it through a predatory smile.
“Lawyer.”
Detective Peterson gathered his papers, tucked them in a folder. He pushed his chair out from the small table and stood.
“Robbie Turner, eh?” he said.
“That’s right. Robbie. Turner. Other than that?” Demetrio leaned back in his seat. “Lawyer.”
Charlie and Zoe studied the club owner through the two-way glass.
“What do you think?” Charlie asked.
On the other side of the window, Silas Demetrio drummed his fingers on the table, tapping out a random beat.
“He seems remarkably calm for a guy who’s got a one-way ticket to prison,” Zoe said, crossing her arms. “We’ve confirmed that at least two of the other girls from the club are underage. Combined with the drugs we found in the office, they’ll get shut down for sure. He can blame this Robbie Turner all he wants. The fact is, he’s the captain of this ship, and it’s going down.”