“You like that?” Jesse asked him.
Darryl grinned. “I hate this fucking song, but damn if she don’t make it better.”
They laughed. I tried to join in, but found I couldn’t. My stomach hurt. I felt tense. First Sondra hadn’t come out. Then that shit with the bouncer in the bathroom. There had to be some connection—but what? Even the other strippers seemed nervous. They kept glancing around the club, looking over their shoulders, distracted. Cowed. There was definitely something serious going on. Something bad.
After that, the fun seemed to go out of the evening. The Odessa’s atmosphere became muted, its energy drained. The customers didn’t clap as loud, didn’t tip as well. The dancers moved slower. Even the DJ seemed off, stepping over songs and fucking up the mix. Darryl and I finished our beers, and left the rest for Jesse to drink.
“You guys taking off?” His voice rang with disappointment.
“Sorry, man,” I apologized, “but I can’t stick around. Darryl needs to go in.”
“Damn straight,” Darryl said. “And so do you, Larry. You keep taking off work to look at pussy and GPS is gonna fire your ass. Besides, your girl ain’t here anyhow.”
Jesse twisted the cap off another beer. “She probably got tired of you stalking her and bailed.”
“Fuck you both. Twice.”
We said goodbye to Jesse, told him to be careful driving home, and then we left. Otar wasn’t at his usual spot. In fact, nobody was watching the door. More proof that something was up; people could just walk in now without paying. Definitely not business as usual. When we got outside, I saw why.
The moon was out and the sodium lights hummed and buzzed. Despite the illumination, it was still dark and shadows lurked between the cars. Whitey, Otar, and the rest of the bouncers were walking around the parking lot. Several of them had flashlights in hand, training the beams on the ground, looking for someone or something. One bouncer glanced at us briefly, but otherwise they paid us no attention. I heard Whitey grumble something in Russian. It sounded like his mood had worsened.
Darryl drew closer and whispered, “Maybe somebody was out here breaking into cars.”
“I hope not.” Immediately, I thought of my iPod. I’d put it in the glove compartment, but if a thief had broken into the Cherokee, they’d probably find it easy enough. “Shit.”
As we got closer to the Jeep, I sighed in relief. The windows weren’t broken and the door wasn’t ajar. The tires weren’t slashed. No signs that vandals had scratched it with a key or anything like that. None of the other vehicles looked like they’d been broken into either. The Russians continued searching the lot, walking slowly up and down between the rows of cars, shining the flashlights along the ground. They didn’t speak. Only Whitey remained motionless, standing in the middle of the lot and watching their progress. The moonlight sparkled in his white hair. He glared at us as we approached the Cherokee. I nodded at him and tried to smile. Instead of returning the gesture, Whitey turned away.
My stomach was in knots and I didn’t know why. It was a terrible feeling. I looked to the sky. Darryl followed my gaze.
“Full moon,” he muttered. “Bound to be some crazy motherfuckers out tonight.”
“True that,” I said.
I pointed my keychain at the Jeep and pressed the button to unlock the doors. While Darryl hopped inside, I walked around the front, checking the hood and grille for damage. There was none. At that point, I really wasn’t expecting to find any, either. Whatever the hell Whitey and his guys were looking for, it wasn’t vandals. Not the way they were going about their search.
Darryl leaned over and opened my door. I raised my leg to step inside. Something grabbed my ankle. It startled me, but I didn’t scream. Not loud, anyway. Instead, I made a strangled little noise in the back of my throat. The Russians were too far away to notice.
I glanced down. A hand gripped my ankle. The fingers wrapped around me tightly. It was a pretty hand. Slender and fair-skinned. The fingernails were long and red. The hand was attached to an arm and presumably, the arm belonged to someone hiding on the ground beneath my ride.
I recognized the fingernails and the hand. Had studied them every night, along with the rest of their owner.
It was Sondra. I was sure of it. For some reason, Sondra Belov was hiding beneath my Cherokee. And suddenly, I was pretty sure I knew who the Russians were looking for. I just didn’t know why.
I took a breath and held it.
“The fuck you doing,” Darryl hollered. “We’re gonna be late for work.”
The bouncers glanced in our direction. The hand on my ankle squeezed harder.
“I stepped in some gum,” I said loud enough so that the others would hear me. “Hold on a second. I want to scrape it off first. Don’t want to get it on my upholstery.”
“Well, hurry up.”
I knelt on the pavement and peeked under the Jeep. My breath hitched in my chest. Sondra stared back at me. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Her face was covered with black smudges. After a second, I realized it was her mascara. She’d been crying. Her lip was swollen and bleeding. There was blood under her nose, as well. She started to speak, but I put a finger to my lips and shushed her. Then I stood back up again, and slowly opened the door. The sound of my knees popping made me jump.
“Darryl,” I whispered. “Be cool.”
“Be cool?” His voice was very loud. “The hell do I care, Larry? It’s your ride. If you don’t want gum in it, then it don’t matter to me.”
“Be fucking cool.” I stared at him as hard as I could, trying to convey the weight and gravity of the situation. He must have seen that something was wrong, because he nodded at me.
“Right. Cool. Like a cucumber.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bouncers. They were all reconvening now, heading back to Whitey. They seemed to have given up their search. None of them were looking at us.
“Okay, Sondra,” I whispered. “Quick as you can, sneak up into the Jeep. Stay out of sight and keep your head and shoulders down. Crawl between the seats and into the back. Don’t let them see you. Understand?”
“Sondra?” Darryl mouthed the word silently.
I glared at him and gave a slight shake of my head.
Sondra slipped the top half of her body out from under the Cherokee and slid into the vehicle, wedging herself between the driver’s seat and the gas pedal. Then she crawled in the rest of the way. She was barely dressed—skimpy blue silk shorts and a matching silk robe, more like a pair of pajamas than clothing. It was very obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra or panties. On her feet was a pair of baby blue high heels. Darryl stared at her, bewildered. Sondra wriggled over his lap and he turned to me. I shrugged. Sondra slid between the seats, and then hid in the backseat, hunkered down on the floor, keeping her head low. My heart beat faster. I glanced around again. The Russians hadn’t seen her.
Darryl was flustered. “The fuck is going on, Larry?”
“Quiet,” I said. “Not now, man. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
I slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind me. Then I put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine thrummed to life. I dropped the Cherokee into reverse and slowly backed out of the parking space, trying to drive normally, trying not to attract attention. We headed for the exit. Sondra hyperventilated. I checked the rearview mirror, making sure she was okay. Her robe had come unfastened and her breasts were sticking out. I tried to ignore them. Even though I stared at them dozens of times on stage, it seemed wrong somehow to gape at them now. I stared straight ahead.
“Hey, you!”
“Oh shit.” Darryl looked back over his shoulder. “You done pissed off the Russians, Larry.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror again. Otar was running after us, waving his hands and shouting something. His face was red and flustered.