If she’s into it, we can make it official. If not, I can write it off as me just assigning her a part for the evening.
I hope it’s the former.
Zebulon takes us into his office, outfitted in a white marble desk—again with yellow lightning bolts flaring along it—across from two fluffy armchairs of the same color. We take a seat.
Zebulon clasps his hands on top of the desk. “What were you hoping to find out?”
I open my mouth, about to ask if he’s seen any suspicious activity from Rouge, when another thought occurs to me. When we were at the Noir Parlor, Lucille mentioned that she rarely heard from former servers once their contracts with the club were up. Some of them were actors, so at least a few of them would have been successful and checked in. Even more would have likely begged for their job back after the film industry spat them back out.
The new girl at Aces. Dudley’s eyes flashed to her momentarily when I was asking around. The Eight of Spades. She must have replaced someone in her section.
Is there a connection?
I lean forward, my voice hushed even though we’re in a private space. “Your servers here. Are they on five-year contracts?”
Zebulon furrows his brow. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“It seems to be the case for all the workers at Rouge’s clubs. Does she bring them in herself?”
Zebulon nods. “She does, from Greece and Italy primarily. Brings back some people to work for the club, gets them set up and housed in the States.”
“And when their contracts are up, do you ever hear from them again?”
Zebulon’s eye twitches, and he takes a deep breath in. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. People move on in their lives. Do you check in with your first employer very often?”
“We’re not talking about a job flipping burgers at the local fast-food joint, Mr. Minos.”
“Zebulon, please. Or Zeb.”
“Fine, Zeb. But it’s hardly comparable. This is a job connected to one of the most powerful women in the city of Chicago, if not the country at large. There’s a reason Rouge Montrose refers to herself as a queen. She has more influence and authority than actual queens.”
Bianca holds up a finger. “What my…boyfriend is trying to ask, Zeb, is if the people employed at MINOS ever check back in. It might be uncommon, but does it ever happen?”
Zeb taps his fingers on the bleached marble. A small bead of sweat trickles down his forehead as he leans in, his voice in a harsh whisper. “Honestly, never.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Never ever?”
“Never ever.” He glances around the room as if expecting a silent assassin to come out of some hidden corner. “And if I’m being honest, I’ve always wondered why. I pride myself on how I run this club in Rouge’s absence, and I treat my staff here with the utmost respect while they’re on the clock. Of course, there is no shortage of great places to work in the city, but even so, whenever a server leaves, I never hear from them again.”
“Do you think they go back home to Greece, or wherever?” I ask.
Zeb shrugs. “Maybe. But even then, in the day and age of social media, it wouldn’t be difficult for one of them to connect with me. It just doesn’t add up. And also…” The color drains from his face and he pulls on the collar of his button-down, his eyes darting toward the office door.
“Also what, Zeb?” Bianca asks.
Zeb’s voice grows even softer. “It’s not just the servers. Sometimes it’s a patron.”
I drop my jaw. “What?”
He nods slowly. “And they really have no reason to disappear, unless they’re getting involved in something shifty. There’s always some excuse—a big vacation or a family emergency or something—but I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the feeling of my skin crawling when something isn’t quite right.”
I stroke my chin. This sounds eerily like what might have happened to Maddox and Alissa.
“Do you have any specific examples?” Bianca asks.
Zeb scratches the back of his head. “Sure. There was a woman named Dishari who used to come here all the time with her boyfriend, Orin. He was a guitar player in a local band and she had no job, so I have no idea how they could even afford to pay the cover, but they were here almost every night. Then one night I overheard her having some tiff with Rouge, and…” He swallows, looks at Bianca. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I should discuss this in front of you.”
“It’s fine, sir.” Bianca crosses her legs. “I’m already aware of what people think of my sister. We’re just trying to help our friends.”
