“I’m not interested in ordering a drink,” I say.
Dudley nods and moves down the bar toward another patron.
“Wait,” I say.
Dudley narrows his eyes and moves back toward me.
“Do you know who Maddox Hathaway is?”
Dudley lifts his eyebrows and nods.
“And do you know the young woman who he brought as his guest?”
He tilts his head for a moment but then nods again.
“You received one of Chet’s sketches?”
He shakes his head.
That makes sense, though. Mr. Night said that only the speaking staff received copies of Chet’s sketches. Dudley and DeeDee don’t speak, so they’d have no reason to need to know people’s names.
“So you just remember her because he brought her here so frequently.”
Another nod.
“Good. Did you witness anything unusual while they were in the Spades section?”
Dudley crinkles his eyes but then slowly shakes his head.
That’s a fucking tell if I ever saw one. I’ve treated patients for years who have come in with mysterious symptoms that are clearly the result of drug abuse. A scratch on the arm, a wrinkled nose, or the slight narrowing of the eyes I just saw from Dudley—they’re all clues that the person is hiding something.
Something did happen. And Dudley knows.
“You sure about that, Dudley?”
He raises a hand to quiet me and then shifts down the bar.
“Don’t you walk away from me.” I scurry down to where he is and pop myself between two patrons who gasp at the invasion. “What happened, Dudley?”
He blinks several times, but for a moment his gaze flickers on a nearby waitress.
She has dark skin, long black hair, and red lips. She’s wearing the usual waitress attire—the black bikini dotted with white spades. I eye her shoulders—on the left is a spade symbol, and on the right the number eight.
One of the patrons at the bar elbows my shoulder. “She’s hot, isn’t she? Just started here.”
I turn to the patron—he’s middle-aged with a graying handlebar mustache. “Did she? How long ago?”
He twiddles his thumbs. “About a month ago, I’d say?”
A month.
That’s when Maddox and Alissa went off on their little excursion.
It could be a coincidence. There’s a high turnover rate at this club. Every time Maddox has brought me here, there’s been a sea of fresh faces. I imagine Rouge is a nightmare to work for.
Still, perhaps an answer lies with the Eight of Spades.
She won’t speak to me either.
