I glanced back at the stage as Steele took my mother’s hand and lowered her gently into a folding chair, his microphone catching her breathyoh myas his muscular thighs straddled her lap. The rest of her was obscured behind the broad expanse of his chest.
Seizing my moment, I pulled two fifties from my pocket and pressed them into the server’s hand. “Can you do me a favor and keep my mother occupied until I get back? I’ll only be a few minutes,” I promised, dashing off before he could object.
I squinted against the strobe lights, searching for Vero. Our eyes caught. I pointed frantically at Pokey over the crowd, but she was already on the move toward him, weaving between tables, her path to our mark slowed by the grabby women standing in the aisles, waving dollar bills and shouting to get Steele Johnson’s attention as he ripped the handcuffs from his belt.
He swung them over his head and let them fly into the audience. I dove for them as they sailed toward me, the breath rushing from my lungs as a large woman in a party hat tackled me sideways to the floor. The cuffs flew out of my hands and skittered away from me. She grabbed me by my shirt, pulling me back as I lunged for them. The crowd began to chant, begging for a catfight, a circle forming around us as we scrabbled for the cuffs.
“I really need those handcuffs!” I growled as her nails dug into me.
“I saw them first!” she shrieked, yanking a fistful of my hair.
I kicked her away. She grunted, both of us baring our teeth as I wrestled the cuffs from her hand. The crowd cheered as I shot to my feet, victorious.
Pokey glanced up at the commotion. His smile fell away as our eyes locked and Vero and I started toward him from opposite sides of the room. Tucking his tray under his arm, he started briskly toward a door markedEMPLOYEES ONLY.
“Somebody stop him!” Vero shouted. When no one moved to block his retreat, Vero stood on a chair and yelled, “Francis Slocumb, I’m having your baby!”
Every woman in the room turned to stare at Pokey.
His eyes went wide and he took off running. An elderly woman extended her cane as he sprinted past her table. He tripped, stumbling out of one of his cowboy boots. His bin of empty bottles went flying and his glistening skin squeaked against the parquet floor.
Vero jumped down from the chair. Aisles cleared for her as she picked her way toward him. Pokey scrambled to his feet, his hat falling back, the cord catching around his Adam’s apple and his leather tassels flying as he bolted out the closest fire door.
A cheer went up from the audience as Vero and I dashed through the emergency exit after him.
“Which way did he go?” Vero asked, panting as she looked both ways down the alley.
“There!” I said, pointing at the flash of Pokey’s bright white backside as he limped past a streetlamp at the end of the narrow passageway, hobbled by his single boot. We chased him between two buildings. The concrete sidewalk gave way to crumbling asphalt. Pokey swore, grabbing his bare foot and hopping in place as Vero plowed into him and tackled him to the ground. His breath burst out of his lungs as they both hit the gravel.
She unhooked his flimsy lasso from his belt, looping it around his ankles. I bent double at her side and fought to catch my breath.
“Are you Francis Slocumb?” she panted.
“I swear, I didn’t get anyone pregnant!”
He yelped as she wrenched one of his arms behind his back. “I know that, you idiot! Just answer the question.”
“I’m Francis,” he said with a defiant lift of his chin. “Who the hell are you?”
A familiar spark lit in her eyes as I passed her Steele’s handcuffs.
“I’m Detective Dolce,” Vero said, assuming her fake cop voice as she snapped the cuffs around his wrists. “And this is my partner, Detective Gabbana.”
Pokey’s eyes narrowed. “Like the handbags? You seriously expect me to believe that?” He craned his neck to look at us. “If you two are cops, let me see some ID.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Vero warned him, “but I would strongly advise against it.”
“I don’t have to tell you shit. Did Steele put you up to this?”
“Where were you last night between the hours of tenP.M. and midnight?”
He writhed against his cuffs. “I was here all night, working my shift!”
“So you didn’t pay a visit to Marco Toscano’s suite?” Pokey went still, his eyes wide as Vero continued. “Because somebody stole Marco’s ledger last night, and your name was in it.”
Sweat trailed down Pokey’s temple, along with a few other parts of him that were hard not to notice, given his current position. “Why the hell would I steal Marco’s ledger?”
“Probably because you were overdue for a hundred Gs and Marco was trying to collect.”
