“Nope, it’ll probably give me a better cover. It always looks a little strange when a woman goes into this kind of place alone.”
“So you don’t come here enough to be recognized?”
“I usually meet her somewhere else, but I lost all my contacts when we switched phones. She probably won’t be able to talk to me here. I’ll have to give her my number and hope she gets in touch.”
“She’s a dancer?” James asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then if she’s workin’, we’ll be able to get her alone.”
“A private room?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, it’s the best option.” He turned toward me. “You sure she’ll talk if I’m there?”
I gestured to him. “She’ll like what she sees and she semi-trusts me. I suspect she might say more to you than me.”
“If she’s working,” he said flatly.
“Exactly.”
He opened the front door, standing to the side to let me enter first.
I cast a glance toward our car. Alex’s face was lit up by the glow of his phone screen.
“Hey,” I said. “How did you come up with that photo of our pretend niece to show Alex?”
“I had Carter pull up a list of missing girls in Little Rock,” he said. “I figured they might be tied up in this trafficking ring. So I opened the file and picked one.” Then he added, “Her name really is Penny.”
It was a good idea, but it stuck under my skin. When had he asked Carter for the file and why hadn’t he shared it with me?
James paid the cover charge, then we entered the dimly lit club. My eyes took a moment to adjust as I scanned the seating area. James seemed to be waiting for my lead, so I headed to an empty table in the back row—not that the place was very large. The rules for adult clubs in Little Rock were pretty strict—topless, but the dancers had to wear pasties, and they had to have some kind of bottom covering, even if it was a tiny G-string. Most people who wanted to visit an establishment like this wanted more skin and they wouldn’t find it in Little Rock.
A woman was dancing on the stage, but she wasn’t my contact. We’d only been seated about thirty seconds before a waitress wearing barely anything more than the woman on stage came over to take our order.
“I’ll take a draft beer,” James said, looking up at her face and ignoring the massive amount of cleavage less than two feet in front of him. “And my wife will have a club soda.”
“No alcohol?” the waitress asked in surprise.
James made a face. “She’s on a medication that she’s not supposed to drink with. Sucks. I know.”
The waitress gave me a semi-sympathetic look, then walked over to the bar.
“Good call on the medication idea,” I said.
“Yeah, most people drink in these kinds of places. It might look suspicious if you didn’t,” he said, glancing around. “Do you see who you’re lookin’ for?”
“No, she’s not on stage, and she’s not out here either. If she’s working, she’s probably backstage getting ready.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his gaze on the stage. “That’s how we ran things too.”
I did a double take. “Wait. You own a strip club?”
“Past tense,” he said, still not looking at me. “The Feds took it over when I was arrested. I heard it reopened, but the new owner’s an asshole and treats the girls like shit.”
I continued to stare at him in disbelief.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” he asked, after turning to face me. “You know I was up to shady shit in my past.”
