I was watching the crowd. A silver-haired man in new jeans and boots was making his way closer to the stage. He looked out of place and ill at ease, like he was slumming.
"He's a private investigator," I said. "He wants to find Vernell."
Jack laughed. "Well, he ain't here!"
"I know. He thinks if he sticks to me like tape, Vernell will show up. Must not know Vernell's down at the jail-house, entertaining a certain detective."
Jack played a line or two of the break and then danced toward me again. "That ain't necessarily stupid, Maggie." Then he broke off and stared at me. "What do you mean Vernell's in jail?"
But I was singing, looking at the young cowboys who danced below me and belting out "Feeling Single and Seeing Double." The silver-haired man was staring at me, his ice-blue eyes almost as pale as his hair.
"I need to talk to you," he mouthed.
I looked back at Carlucci, saw him watching, and felt covered. Whoever this guy was, he wouldn't get far if he intended to hurt me. When the song ended, we were done for the night. I looked at the newcomer and nodded him toward the edge of the stage.
Carlucci took it all in, and Harmonica Jack watched Carlucci, and over it all, Cletus the bouncer was watching. I couldn't have been safer.
"Archer VanScoy, Ms. Reid," the silver-haired man said. His voice was as cool and slippery as ice. "I tried to reach you at home, but you haven't returned my calls."
Something about him made me mad straight off. I didn't like him. Didn't like his tone, the way he seemed to be trying to make up to me. So I didn't apologize.
"What can I do for you, Mr. VanScoy?"
"Archer, honey, just call me Archer."
I said nothing. This one here was a snake.
He didn't seem to mind my obvious coolness toward him. He stared at my breasts and began to talk.
"Vernell and I were trying to set up a little deal," he said. "I wanted his mobile home lot and Vernell wanted to sell it." VanScoy smiled broadly. "Would've worked out right nice for the both of us. However…" Here he stopped smiling, easing his face into a Teflon-coated expression of sympathy. "I understand Vernell's in a bit of a bind. Now I know you're the other partner, and while we still need Vernell's John Hancock, I feel sure we can wrap this deal up and cut you a check. Money's what Vernell needs now, I'm sure."
I took another step lower on the stage stairway and stared at him.
"I'm not sure what bind you mean," I said.
VanScoy nodded, as if he understood why I might be leery of him. "Well, between us," he said, looking around like a co-conspirator, "Vernell's taking all the cash assets out of the bank, and then disappearing with a large sum given to him by what you call investors is a bit of a bind. Being arrested for Nosmo King's murder, on the other hand, is a legal emergency as well as a bind."
"I think you've got your facts wrong," I said. "Vernell is not under arrest."
He leaned back a little, his eyes flashing from my breasts to my face.
"Honey," he said, "you might want to call down to the police station. The eleven o'clock news was covered over with it. Vernell's been arrested for Nosmo King's murder. They got him locked up tighter than Houdini's trunk."
Archer VanScoy fished into his suit coat pocket and drew out an embossed business card.
"Why don't you get up with your husband and then call me? Vernell's gonna need all the help he can get." He hesitated, before he handed me the card. "Of course, some time's elapsed. My original terms have changed. It's one hundred thousand now."
I turned my back on him and walked up the stairs and onto the stage. All around people moved like ants, disassembling cables and equipment, packing up instruments, and closing up for the night. The house lights were on and the last few customers were clearing out. Tony Carlucci hadn't moved.
I walked over and stood in front of him, looking right into his eyes without flinching.
"Vernell's in jail," I said. "If you want him, go get him."
Carlucci was unreadable. "I know."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Vernell's in jail, but the money isn't. They're not going to ease up any with him in jail, they'll just come after you."
Jack walked around us, behind Carlucci, standing just out of Carlucci's sight, but where he knew I could see him.
"I can take care of myself," I said.
"Yeah, I've seen how well you do that." Carlucci pushed off from the wall and looked down at me. "People get right pissed about three million dollars," he said. He took a step closer and I felt the heat radiating from his body. "You don't know what they'll do to get their money back."
I shuddered involuntarily and Jack started toward us.
"Maggie, you ready to go?"
Carlucci stared at him, but Jack didn't move.
"In a couple of minutes," I said. "I'm just finishing something up."
Jack took the hint and moved back a few feet, still unwilling to let me be alone with Carlucci.
"So, you gonna let them kill him too?" he asked.
"Stop it!" I hissed.
"Stop acting like an idiot and I won't have to continue to bombard your small mind with the realities of your current situation."
"Jack's is the safest place I can think of," I said.
"You want to stay alive? Come with me and let me put you someplace safe."
He was too close. I had the sudden urge to turn and run, but didn't.
"I'm not playing with you, Maggie," Carlucci said. "Ditch your friend and let's go."
I looked at Jack, saw him watching, and smiled a tiny, tight smile.
"They'll kill him to get to you, Maggie, and he'll die trying to defend you. And don't think they won't hunt you down, because they will."
"What makes it any safer with you?"
Carlucci looked at Jack, then back to me. "Because I don't love you, Maggie. This is what I do for, a living, straight up. I find people and I protect people. I'm trained and I'm objective. Your friend isn't any of those things. He'd defend you to the death; you can see that in his eyes. I won't have to."
I looked over at Jack and saw that Carlucci was right. I turned away and walked over to where Jack waited.
"He wants me to go with him," I said, "and I have to do it." I raised my fingers to his lips when he started to argue. "It's all right. This is what I want to do."
And I walked away, knowing I'd hurt him.
Chapter Nineteen
I woke up at five a.m. because I could feel him watching me. Tony Carlucci had played an elaborate shell game with my car and his motorcycle before putting me on the back of his bike and driving me in a zigzag pattern across Greensboro, south of town to the small village of Pleasant Garden. He stopped several times, waiting, watching, making sure no one followed us, and then proceeded to drive his Harley across a field and up onto the back of his property.
It was a long, narrow piece of land, rimmed on three sides by a tall, barbed-wire fence. Tony stopped the bike by a gate, unlocked it, and drove the Harley through before returning to lock it behind us.
"Do you live in a prison?" I asked. Floodlights spotted the backyard, which was filled with fruit trees.
"Nope, I'm the caretaker," he said. "It's a concrete factory. They let me live in the house that was here on the property. In return, I keep out the riffraff."
He drove across the yard, up to the deck that spanned the back of the tiny, brick ranch. The instant we pulled close, a Doberman lunged out at us, his neck bound by a heavy collar that was attached to a thick chain. The muscles corded and strained against the collar and the dog drooled in his attempt to get to us.