Temple sighed and pushed away the green Jell-O, which was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West. “I did PR for a stripper convention over a year ago and met some of the women. When they started getting killed, I talked to a few of my contacts and … I was a TV reporter years ago. I smelled a story, that’s all.” “I smell a story too. ‘Years ago.’ What are you? Twentyfour?”
“Thirty!”
“You won’t be so fast to give your age in a few more years, cookie.” He grinned. “So. You don’t trust me because you
found me in a strip club.”
“I don’t trust you because I don’t know you. And you sure rushed away before the police came. Why? You could have played the hero.”
“You sprayed the guy. I just made sure that he stayed down. But I can see your point. I look like a loser.”
“Not a loser-” Temple couldn’t stand to see anyone putting himself down. She realized that this was a bad habit, smacking of enabling. Every good deed had a diagnosis these days. Even Rafi Nadir lifted skeptical eyebrows. “You wrote me off as a loser. And a bad dude on top of it, maybe even-”
“The Stripper Killer, right. I was wrong there.”
“Apparently.” He laughed. “You’re a lot tougher than you look. Listen.” He leaned forward, his intensity fixing her to the spot. “Being a cop is like being in a secret club. The secret is that no one knows what it’s like except another cop. You’re a necessary evil twentyfour hours a day. Sure, citizens are glad to see you on a crime scene, but drive along the street and watch even the most innocent avert their eyes. You’re a cop. You could object to how they’re driving at any moment, pull them over. And you never know when you pull a traffic violation over whether it’s Miss Tess’s harmless aunt Agatha … or an escaped con with a concealed weapon. You gotta trust no one to be what they seem. Ever. So I’m not surprised even a nice, safe-streets little lady like you isn’t what she seems.”
“I’m sure it’s rough-”
“Cops aren’t that different from strippers, see? No one really knows much about their lives, except to avoid them or use them if they have to. That’s the way it gets with cops and crooks and strippers. We’re all on opposite sides of the law when cops are enforcing ‘community standards,’ but we’re part of the same club. On the inside.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
He grunted as he tucked into his meatloaf. “You never thought. So what did you want to know?”
“You said something funny was going on at Maylords,” Temple began.
He nodded again. “The management has an awful high level of anxiety for a furniture store. They kept some of us hired security guys on after the opening. I’d figured they were worriedabout that Wong woman. I can’t see why she would get death threats.”
“She’s a lifestyle Nazi,” Temple said promptly. “Nothing hits as close to home as that. Some people swear by her and some people hate her house-remaking guts. I’d bet the death threats come from true believers, though, who think her advice somehow done them wrong.”
“Maybe. All I know is the Maylords management is playing amateur G-men, trying to catch what they say is a furniture—
stealing ring.”
“The management? Kenny Maylord himself?”
“Nah, that lard-ass manager, Mark Ainsworth. Acts like a little J. Edgar Hoover. Probably as much of a fairy too.”
Temple had idly tried another mouthful of lime Jell-O and almost spat it out. “Sexual persuasion shouldn’t matter-”
“Around Maylords it does. That place is crawling with queers.”
“Look. I’ve worked in the arts field and I don’t like you calling some of my friends names.”
“I’ve been called a raghead.”
“Didn’t like it, though, I bet.”
“Most people say all sorts of things in their living rooms they wouldn’t say on the street.”
“At least they know enough to keep it shut in public.”
He pushed away the meatloaf dish, now only a bloody smear of ketchup. “I call a spade a spade. You don’t like it, don’t ask me questions.”
“All you’re seeing at Maylords is that gay people are often very creative and they’re drawn to the decorative arts.”
“Why are they so damn creative? Isn’t that labeling them in another way?”
“Well, some observations hold true, by and large.”
“Right. Only mine aren’t worth anything because I come flat out and say it, is that the idea?”
“I didn’t come here to argue political correctness with you.”
“Why did you come here?”
“The Maylords opening is my baby. I’m responsible for things going smoothly. I need to know if any more bad-news
surprises are in store.”
” ‘In store.’ That’s good.”
“So what do you think of that explosion of gunfire?”
“Either sicko kids or a disgruntled former employee trying to throw a scare into the party. None of those shots was meant to hit anyone, or they would have. We were all in a freaking fishbowl.”
“But those shots could have hit someone. Who’d take a chance like that?”
“Someone who was drunk or high.”
“Only one person could do all that shooting?”
“With the right weapon, yeah. Or a gang of kids. I’m not the fuzz here, but I’m betting this was malicious mischief, not a gangland hit. So. Did you take this job because you’re still thinking I might be up to something illegal, or just because you wanted to see me again?”
“No way! How would I know you were there? Running into you again was an accident.”
“Most good things are.”
“That’s a pretty negative view of life. And I’m not so sure this is a good thing. So are you going to be working security there all week?”
“Maybe longer.”
Temple raised her eyebrows. She’d heard via Max’s recent undercover work that the lovely and charming Rafi Nadir had hooked up with a “big outfit” that was going to earn him “real money.” This couldn’t have been Maylords.
“You wouldn’t want to work for them full-time?”
“With all the … uh, creative types running around? No way. I have a semiregular gig for another outfit, but it’s not working out the way they promised.” He picked up a square of unused paper napkin and began pleating it.
His fingernails were completely clean, she noted With surprise. There was some core of self-respect there.
“What else would you do? Doesn’t sound like police work-”
He snorted at the mention and tore the folded napkin in half.
“I suppose you could … I don’t know how official your leaving the L.A. police was, but maybe you could get into private
investigation.”
“Private dick? They’re such sleazy bastards.”
Temple kept quiet, just lifted her hands with an I’m-off-thesubject gesture.
Nadir’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you think I am? So much for my saving your ass. Man, that’s low. A private dickhead.”
“Maybe whatever you did to get taken off the force wouldn’t let you get a license or whatever anyway.”
“Nah. I took myself off the force. I got tired of the political correctness do-si-do. Anyway, they never had anything on me.”
“Boy, is this reassuring.”
“Private cop stuff? I could do it in a heartbeat. If I was dumb enough to want to starve to death doing spousal
surveillance.”
“This is Las Vegas. I bet there’s a lot of higher-level private security work around here than strip joints and furniture
stores.”
“They all have computer degrees nowadays. And the big joints go to big firms.”
“That’s why I pictured the lone operator. One man, one room, and one ex-stripper as a girl Friday.”