Bad Guys Don't Win (Janet Maple Series Book 4) (11 page)

“With all due respect, sir, you weren’t
exactly enthusiastic when I suggested looking into the Kovars’ newspaper
article—” Dennis began.

“That was when you were chasing
supposition based on a headline,” Ham cut him off. “This is serious.”

“We were worried you’d want to go
straight to the FBI,” Janet added.

Ham shook his head. “Who do you take me
for, an amateur? If the Kovars really escaped jail, someone must’ve helped them
from the inside. We can’t trust anyone in law enforcement until we know who it
is.”

“We thought you wouldn’t want us to be
involved—” Janet began.

“And I didn’t,” Ham confirmed. “But you
got yourselves into this mess anyway, didn’t you? Now we have a commitment and
we have to do our best to fulfill it. From this point on, this case takes
priority,” Ham instructed. “Walk me through your plan of action.”

Dennis Walker turned up his jacket
collar and locked his apartment door. It was ten o’clock at night and he was on
his way to Red Door. Most men would’ve jumped at the prospect of visiting a
strip club in disguise as a work assignment, but it wasn’t all it was cracked
up to be. The fake mustache and goatee made his skin itch from the glue and
tickled his nostrils, but that was the least of his problems. He didn’t want to
be going out at ten p.m. to some sleazy strip joint—he would much rather spend
the night with his fiancée. He knew Janet wasn’t happy about his idea and it
made him feel like crap going through with it. But how else were they going to
track down Jess Hall? It was either this or Janet getting a job at Red Door and
there was no way Dennis was going to say yes to the second option.

Half an hour later, Dennis walked into
Red Door. Slowly, he made his way to the hostess’s desk and took in his
surroundings. The place had a damp smell and looked run down. A few girls were
wriggling lazily around stripper poles on a shabby stage. Still, it was pretty
crowded—probably due to the five-dollar drink and lap dance special, which was
prominently advertised on a banner hanging over the entrance.

“Would you like a table?” the hostess
asked.

“No, thank you. For now, I’ll sit at the
bar.”

“Suit yourself.” The hostess nodded in
the bar’s direction.

Dennis headed for the bar and took a
seat. The bar was pretty full, with men sitting on stools to his left and his
right. He waited for the bartender to approach him.

“What will it be?” the bartender asked.

“Gin and tonic.”

A few moments later the bartender placed
his drink order before him. Dennis took a swallow, careful not to upset his
fake mustache and waited. He was really on a wild goose chase. He didn’t even
know if Jess Hall was this girl’s name and he didn’t even have a picture—all he
had to go by was the description that Amy had given him. Most of it was fairly
generic—tall, slim, long dark hair and brown eyes—there were hundreds of girls
who looked like that. The only useful piece of information he had was that the
girl had a butterfly tattoo right above her left breast.

“Say, I’ve never seen you here before,”
a balding, middle-aged man to Dennis’s right was clearly eager for
conversation. Normally Dennis would’ve tried to squash his attempts, but right
now it was exactly what he was looking for.

“I was just passing by and saw the
five-dollar drink special,” he replied.

“Yep.” The man raised his glass. “You
won’t find a deal like this these days.”

Dennis took another sip of his drink.
“You come here often?”

“A few times a week. Whenever the missus
gets me down,” he said with a chuckle.

“I hear you.” Dennis nodded
understandingly.

“Trouble at home?” the man asked
solicitously.

“We had a fight,” Dennis improvised.

“Cheer up, man. Enjoy the night and
tomorrow morning she’ll take you back as good as new.”

“I don’t know, man. We had a pretty bad
fight. She threw a frying pan after me when I was leaving.”

The man chuckled. “That’s a good sign.
Means she cares about you, or why would she spend the energy and throw a pan at
ya? I’m telling you, you come home tomorrow morning and you’ll be like two
lovebirds.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through a good
share of these,” Dennis remarked, genuinely surprised. He knew he was no angel,
but in his entire life he’d never managed to upset a woman enough to throw a
frying pan at him.

The man grunted, taking a long swallow
of his drink. “Just wait till you get to be my age. What did you fight about
anyway?”

“It’s work related,” Dennis lied. “I’m a
photographer. She gets jealous—thinks I’m into these girls, but I keep telling
her that it’s only work.”

“Is it?” The man cocked an eyebrow.
“That sure sounds like a sweet job to me.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
There’s a lot of pressure,” Dennis ventured. Truthfully, he knew very little
about photography, but he thought it would be a good cover to get close to Jess
if he were lucky enough to find her.

“Hmm, pressure. I bet.” The man grinned.

“The world of high fashion is very
stressful,” Dennis plowed on. “I’d gone into the business thinking I’d be doing
shoots for the National Geographic, traveling the world. Well, let me tell you,
that was a pie in the sky. I have to take any job I can. I’ve lucked into the
fashion business through an ex-girlfriend of mine and it’s been my bread and
butter ever since.”

“Seems to me taking pictures of boobs is
way more fun than freezing your ass off photographing the Himalayas or some
other crap like that.”

“To each his own,” Dennis said sagely.

“I suppose so. So what magazines do you
work with?”

“
Vogue
,
Marie Claire
,
Cosmopolitan
—it
varies.”

“Snazzy. Do you get to go to all those
fancy parties?”

“Not really. I’m a freelancer, but I’m
fast and I always show up on time, so the jobs are pretty steady.”

“Say what you will, but I still think
it’s a nice way to make a living. I’m John by the way.”

“Frank,” Dennis gave a fake name just in
case. “Nice to meet you.”

John raised his glass and nodded. “Same
here.”

“So you have a favorite girl here?”
Dennis asked casually.

John shook his head. “Naw, man.
Strippers are sleazy.”

Dennis looked at him as though he had
two heads. “I thought you were a regular here.”

“I am, but I don’t come here for that
riffraff.” John waved dismissively at the stage. “I come here for the drinks
and the warm company of the bartender.”

Dennis looked questioningly at the burly
guy tending bar. He was good at mixing drinks, but he was hardly a good
conversationalist.

“I don’t mean this nincompoop they’ve
got filling in tonight. The girl who usually works here is a knockout. She’s
got a butterfly tattoo right above her left tit,” John added in an admiring
whisper.

“Sounds kinky,” Dennis said, hardly
believing his luck. What were the odds of another girl with a butterfly tattoo
working in the same bar?

“If you’re careful, you can see it when
she leans over the bar stand. The trick is not to stare.”

“I’ll remember that.” Dennis grinned.

“Hey, you can look, but you can’t
touch,” John said protectively. “She’s a nice girl that Jess. Fell on some hard
times, is all. I think of her as my daughter.”

“I was just kidding.” Dennis did his
best not to look creeped out. He only hoped John didn’t have any real children.

“I just hope she’ll be back. She was
gone for a while, but then she came back.” John was about to wave to the
bartender for another drink but the bartender was engaged in a heated
conversation with a young girl. Dennis pricked his ears—the girl fit the
description Amy gave him to a T.

“Speak of the angel.” John’s fat lips spread
in a smile. “Jessy’s back.”

“She sure is easy on the eyes,” Dennis
chimed in.

“Don’t you try anything fresh with her,”
John cautioned him.

“Would you boys like a refill?” Jess was
now behind the bar stand. The man who’d been replacing her had left and took a
place by the door as a bouncer.

“Yes, honey. Everything all right? I
hope that gorilla wasn’t giving you a hard time,” John said, alluding to the
guy who’d been tending bar until Jess arrived.

“Thanks for looking out for me, Johnny.
It’s fine. I was running a little late and Nick had to back me up—he hates
manning the bar. Thinks it’s demeaning ’cause he’s a bouncer.” Jess rolled her
eyes. “Your usual?” she asked.

John nodded.

A few moments later she placed John’s
drink in front of him. “And what can I get you?” she asked Dennis.

“A gin and tonic,” Dennis said
pleasantly, noting that the girl was wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck
dress. Too bad. He’d just have to take John’s word on the butterfly tattoo, but
then the name and the rest of the physical description matched, so he was
pretty sure this was the Jess he was after.

“Coming right up.”

A few moments later she placed his drink
before him.

“Jessy, you should talk to Frank here,”
John made the introductions. “Frank is a photographer.”

“No kidding,” Jess said wryly. “There
are lots of photographers here.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d better put your
camera away, mister, or you’ll get thrown out of here in no time. The boss
doesn’t like anyone getting a free lunch here.”

“I beg your pardon?” Dennis asked, doing
his best to look offended.

“You can’t photograph the goods,” she
explained to him. “If you want to watch, you have to come in here and pay for
it, every time.”

“Oh, I see.” Dennis nodded. “It wasn’t
my intention at all. I don’t even have my camera with me.”

“Like you don’t have a camera on your
cellphone.” She rolled her eyes again.

“I wouldn’t call that a camera,” he
countered. “Anyway, I just stopped by here for a drink.”

“Women trouble,” John grunted an
explanation.

Jess gave him a onceover. “Are you
really a photographer?” she asked.

Dennis nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

“You don’t seem too proud of your
occupation,” she observed.

“He’d rather be taking pictures of some
rocks than pretty girls,” John butted in.

“My dream was to work for National
Geographic,” Dennis explained, rather proud of the cover he picked—Jess had a
model wannabe look written all over her. “But that’s all in the past now.”

“So what kinda pictures do you take?”
she asked, genuinely curious now.

“Fashion.” He repeated the high-profile
magazines he’d boasted to John about a few minutes earlier.

There was a wistful look in her eyes.
“Sounds exciting.”

“Not really, but it pays the bills. Hey,
if you’re interested, I can get your headshots over to the editorial team—they
are always looking for fresh faces.”

She blushed. “You think they’d consider
me? I spent years trying to get into the business—spent a fortune for my
headshots, even got an agent—the sleazebag charged me a ton of money and the
only job he ever got me was for a Sears catalog.”

Dennis shook his head in disbelief. “A
beautiful girl like you? You should have job offers knocking on your door.”

She smirked. “No one’s knocking on my
door, so I’m stuck in this dump.”

“Tell you what. I’ll make a new set of
headshots for you, free of charge,” Dennis offered. “And if I get you a job,
the only thing you’ll owe me is a drink.”

“Careful there, he’s got a girlfriend,”
John piped in.

“A platonic, no strings attached, thank
you drink,” Dennis clarified.

“Deal.” She grinned. “So when do we
start?”

“How about tomorrow?” Dennis asked.

“Sounds good. I’m free until eight p.m.”

“Gives us plenty of time. Meet me at
Columbus Circle and Central Park South tomorrow at one p.m. We can take some
nice shots there.”

“I’m looking forward to it already.” She
smiled. “Look, I gotta get back to work, but here’s my number just in case.”
She slid a napkin across the bar. “See you tomorrow.”

“Didn’t I tell you she’s something
special?” John grunted triumphantly.

“She sure is,” Dennis agreed, hardly
believing his luck. Now all he had to do was take a crash course in photography
and he was in business.

***

“How did it go?” Dennis heard Janet’s
voice as soon as he opened the front door. Of course she was staying up,
waiting for him.

“I’ll tell you in a sec. Let me just
take my shoes off.” He started to take his jacket off and was nearly knocked
off his feet by Baxter who raced into the foyer to greet him with the speed of
light. “Hey there, buddy, I missed you too.” Dennis patted Baxter behind the ear.
He kicked off his shoes and went into the living room, taking a seat next to
Janet. She was seated on a couch, dressed in her fuzzy robe, a cup of tea in
her hands.

“Did you find her?” she asked.

“I did.”

“That was lucky.”

“I was surprised myself. But then since
she works there several nights a week, it makes sense.”

“So she’s still working there?” Janet
asked.

“Yep. I’ll find out more tomorrow. I’m
supposed to take her headshots.”

“Her what?” Janet nearly spilled her
tea.

“Her headshots. I told her I was a
photographer.”

“But I thought we agreed on the
cover—you were going to play the trouble at home card.”