“Hi, boss,” he said. “Home now?”
“Not yet,” I said.
I looked around, but didn’t see Rudy at first. Noreen nudged me, and when I looked down, she motioned with her eyes to my left. And suddenly there he was, an image of Thor, leaning against the building. He had one of his Mr. Happy smiles on his face.
“What’s going on, Rudy?” I asked.
“Just hanging out.”
“Noreen tells me that you’re looking for Isabel.”
“Then Noreen has a big mouth,” he said, still smiling.
Noreen slid behind me a little more. “Why don’t you go home?” I said to her.
She tried to smile, then nodded and was gone.
“Isabel’s not here,” I said.
“I haven’t seen her leave.”
“You been here long?”
“Long enough.” He pushed himself off the building and took a step in my direction. Even in the glow of the streetlights and nearby neon bar signs, it was hard to tell whether he was drunk or not. But Fields being Fields, it was best to assume he was.
“You been here since ten o’clock?” I asked.
He stopped about five feet away from me, still grinning. “Like I said, I’ve been here long enough.”
“Well, unless you’ve been here since ten,” I said, “then you wouldn’t have seen her leave. That’s when she went home sick.”
He furrowed his brow, his smile slipping a bit. “She didn’t seem sick earlier.”
“She’s not going to act sick in front of the customers.”
He seemed to consider this new information. “You’re sure she’s gone?”
“I already told you she was.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow and see how she’s feeling.”
“Sure,” I said. “But I can’t guarantee she’ll be here.”
“It’s okay. I’m not leaving for a week.” He turned and took a few steps down the street before stopping and looking back at me. “I think she and I made a connection tonight.”
“I’m sure you did,” I said. “Goodnight, Rudy.”
“Goodnight.”
As Rudy ambled in the direction of The Pit Stop, I stopped by Manny’s trike and asked him to follow Rudy for a while to make sure the guy was really leaving.
A half hour later, Isabel joined Cathy and me in the trike as we drove to my house. By then we were laughing about Rudy, saying things like, “He probably won’t remember anything in the morning,” and “I’m sure he won’t come back.” But our laughter was a little forced, and like I said to Rudy, nothing was guaranteed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next night we employed our creep-watch procedure. If Rudy tried coming in, one of the door girls would engage him in conversation while another would slip inside and warn Isabel and me. If Rudy asked about Isabel, our greeter would tell him Isabel hadn’t come in and was still sick. I knew that probably wouldn’t stop him from checking, but if he did, Isabel would be safely hidden in the back room, and the rest of the girls would claim to not have seen her.
But Rudy didn’t show up that night, or the two nights that followed. I was beginning to think he had forgotten, and would return to the States without giving us a return visit.
I was both wrong and right.
It was Friday night and all hands were on deck. Our slow season was quickly approaching, but on this night we were full up. The liquor was flying off the bar, and the music was about as loud as I could stand it. As far as the crowd went, there wasn’t an empty chair. Over a dozen guys were standing around, drinking their beer and watching the show. We had over thirty-five girls working that night, not enough to go around, but enough to keep most of the customers happy.
That many people inside meant the temperature was making a fast path to boiling. I had the air conditioning cranked to full, but it wasn’t enough. On this occasion, outside was definitely cooler than in.
The girls started taking turns going out front to spend a few minutes with the door girls and cool off. I was tempted to do the same, but there was just too much crap for me to deal with. Everyone seemed to want to buy me a beer that night, which meant spending time talking and joking before moving on to the next group.
I think the last time I saw Isabel was around eleven thirty p.m. This wasn’t surprising; I hadn’t seen Cathy since about nine. It was just one of those nights when everyone was hustling-the waitresses constantly hauling drinks across the room, the dancers grinding to the full extent of their talents, and those sitting with the guys displaying as much affection and interest as money could buy-all of it in an effort to create that perfect experience for the customers, that aura of possibilities that drew them halfway around the world to the dirty streets of Angeles.
Around one a.m., I suddenly heard Cathy’s voice in my ear. “I need to talk to you.”
I was sitting with a group of businessmen from Hong Kong-displaced Brits, mostly-talking soccer. Not my favorite sport, but if you spent any time in Angeles, you couldn’t help learning more about it than you ever thought you would. I looked over my shoulder, and found Cathy standing there, grim-faced.
“Excuse me, guys. Back in a few.” I got up and followed Cathy into the back where the noise was several decibels lower.
Veta was there, but the moment she saw me, she looked down at the floor.
“What?” I asked, knowing something wasn’t right.
Cathy grabbed Veta by the arm, and said something to her in Tagalog. The harsh tone surprised me.
Veta cried out as Cathy’s fingers dug into her triceps. She mumbled something, then Cathy gave her a shake and told her in English, “Louder!”
“It’s my fault,” Veta said, still not meeting my eyes. I could see tears beginning to run down her cheeks and heard the fear in her voice.
“What’s your fault?” I had no idea what was going on. The worst I could conjure up was that Cathy had caught Veta trying to steal something, money maybe, or something that belonged to one of the girls.
“Isabel,” she said, then began sobbing uncontrollably.
The hair on the back of my neck began standing on end. “What about Isabel?”
“She’s with Rudy,” Veta managed.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
But Veta had slipped out of Cathy’s grasp and curled up on the floor. I looked at Cathy.
“Veta was outside getting some air,” Cathy explained. “Rudy came walking down the other side of the street, and when he see her, she say he call her over.” Cathy looked down at Veta, her face full of disgust. “Rudy tell her he just want to talk to Isabel, that he was sorry there was a misunderstanding. For five hundred pesos, Veta said she bring Isabel to him.”
Rage is an emotion I seldom feel, but it suddenly coursed through me so quickly it was all I could do to keep it from taking over. I reached down and pulled Veta to her feet. Through clenched teeth, I said, “You took her to him?”
“He only want to talk,” Veta said. “That’s what he tell me.”
“So you gave her to him?”
“I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I made a mistake.”
“No shit,” I said. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know. I just told her we were going for a walk. As soon as she saw him, she tried to run away, but he grabbed her. I ran away. I didn’t want him to hurt me, too.”
I looked over at Cathy. “Keep an eye on things,” I said.
I pushed Veta toward the bar. “Show me where you took her,” I said.
Though Fields Avenue was bright and lively and crowded, there were side streets and alleys where darkness took over. These were the places best avoided on those drunken walks back to the hotel. It was to one of these places that Veta led me.
“Here,” she said.
We had come down one of the less used side streets, but could still hear the cacophony of music blaring from a dozen bars only a block away. Veta had stopped beside the darkened entrance of an old building. At one time the place had been a bar called Tony’s Palace, but it had been closed over a year due to the lack of foot traffic.