Pyramid Deception (19 page)

He was watching her face and saw her smile replaced by a look of curiosity. She was looking over his shoulder at something unexpected. Still, she sat down so he figured whatever she saw was not threatening. He closed the door and casually looked up the block.

The man walking toward them slowed his pace when Hannibal looked toward him. He was too far away to identify, not far from the corner. Hannibal would not have given the man a second thought if his face had not been obscured by the hood of a gray George Mason University sweatshirt. Of course there were millions of such garments in the area. This could be anybody.

But just to be sure Hannibal took a few steps toward the man in the hoodie. That man stopped, turned and retraced his steps. He walked quickly but didn't run. When he rounded the corner, Hannibal broke into a sprint. His heart pounded as a feeling of déjà vu rushed over him. It was as if Irene Monroe had just
dropped to the ground in front of him. He reached the corner in seconds and drew his pistol.

The street was empty. There was no one in sight on the entire block. His quarry could have stepped into any of a number of doors, or slipped into one of several cars. Swallowing a mixture of frustration, curiosity and slight embarrassment he holstered his weapon and slowly returned to his car.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Cindy asked as he slid behind the wheel.

“Thought I saw someone I recognized,” Hannibal said, hoping Cindy had not seen him draw his pistol. “Did you know that guy?”

“No,” Cindy said. “And I thought I knew all my neighbors. That's why he caught my attention.”

“Probably nothing,” Hannibal said. He fastened his seat belt and settled in for the ten minute drive to the edge of the state. In those four miles Washington Street became Route One and then Jefferson Davis Highway as they rolled into the non-town of Crystal City.

Crystal City is a commercial area in Arlington, but doesn't quite qualify as a neighborhood. Sitting within walking distance of Reagan National Airport, Crystal City might best be described as an urban village, composed of corporate offices, hotels, shops, restaurants and high-rise apartment buildings. It's also just south of Washington D.C. and straddles the busy main road into the city from Virginia. That makes the area rather unfriendly to pedestrians, at least on the surface. However, its core of offices, hotels, stores and residential buildings is linked not just by narrow landscaped parks but by an extensive underground shopping and entertainment complex with connecting corridors in all directions.

Hannibal was surprised to find the Lucent on street level, one of the many inconspicuous storefronts on one of the side streets. Evening was just rolling into the area, and foot traffic was heavier than he expected. With Cindy on his arm and no idea what to expect he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

His first impression was how clean and bright the club was, but that may have been exaggerated by his preconceived notions. It was indeed set up like a middle class restaurant, at least half of it was. The far half was more of a bar with two stages. One was already occupied by a shapely young Asian lady who moved more like a ballerina than a stripper.

“I thought we could get a meal before the entertainment began,” Cindy said in a stage whisper as the hostess approached.

“On Sundays the dancers start at four.” The brunette who met them at the door wore a broad smile and a modified bikini. A mini skirt covered the bottom part, but Hannibal thought her smile was bigger. “My name is Tahnee,” she said. “Welcome to The Lucent. We have no cover charge, but there is a one drink minimum per person, and the use of cameras, including camera phones, is not permitted. May I show you to a table?”

Hannibal nodded and Tahnee escorted them through the dining area. The music was not quite loud enough to be annoying, but it was upbeat and driving in its way. When they reached their table Hannibal turned to hand Tahnee his card.

“While we're here we'd like a moment with an old friend, a Miss Sarah Thomas. Just give her that card and tell her I have some important news for her concerning her past connections. She'll know what I mean.”

He saw her eyes widen for less than a second before she recaptured her composure. “I'll be happy to ask around but I'm not sure I know her. We all pretty much use stage names here so I can't be sure. In the meantime, would you like drinks?”

Hannibal requested a bottle of Riesling and settled in to scan the menu. He couldn't help but notice that Tahnee had seated them so that he faced the stage.

“She was nice,” Cindy said.

“You're nicer. Want an appetizer?”

“They're all basic bar food,” she said. “How about some stuffed jalapeños? Seems appropriate.”

Hannibal agreed. They ordered when Tahnee returned but there was no mention of Sarah Thomas. He saw no reason to
press the point. If she wasn't there they would still just enjoy their dinner. If she was there but didn't want to talk to them, there was little to be done about it. The lead seemed slim anyway. Hannibal almost hoped it wouldn't pan out. Waiting for their food, sipping wine and biting into stuffed hot peppers, he realized that this was the first truly natural and relaxed moment he had had with Cindy in a week. Even peeking over her shoulder at the entertainment, her sense of humor seemed to have returned.

“Hey, she's hot,” she said. “What do they need all these big screen plasmas for? Must be insulting to the strippers.”

“Well if you'd tear your eyes away from the bootie for a second you'd notice they're all on sports events, just like any other bar.”

“Doesn't seem fair,” Cindy said with a smirk. “You don't see them showing porn on the screen at a Wizards game. Now if I was up there working that pole…”

“No one would notice the TVs.”

A change of dancers made Hannibal notice the people around him. The new girl was white, as were the great majority of the patrons. All were well dressed, almost all were couples, and they were quieter than he had expected. Maybe they regarded this as just another dining spot. He wondered if anyone ever came into the Lucent Restaurant without knowing it was a strip club until it was too late to gracefully back out.

Their entrees arrived quickly, and Cindy commented, “I'm surprised you didn't go for the fried oysters in this place.”

“Sorry, babe, but it seemed more appropriate to order the strip steak.”

He liked the heavy silverware but even without it the knife would have glided through his medium rare 16 ounce steak, nicely blackened at his request. It was as crunchy as he hoped on the outside and very moist within. After the first bite he added pepper from the mill and passed on any kind of sauce.

Cindy's face told him she was equally surprised at the seafood on her combo platter. The broiled scallops, she told him,
were how you judged a chef's hand with seafood. Watching her more than the flexible performer behind her, Hannibal remembered why he had gotten drawn into this case, and why he was drawn into her life.

“This is what I wanted to see more than anything. You looking happy.”

“Happy?” Cindy paused to chew a shrimp. “I don't know. I'm still angry. And hurting. In mourning I guess.”

Hannibal reached across the table to cover her left hand with his. “Perfectly normal, babe. Friends are hard to lose.”

Cindy stopped with a forkful of crab cake half way to her mouth and looked up to meet Hannibal's eyes. “And there's guilt, Hannibal. I'm so ashamed of myself. When I was sitting in that hotel room alone after hearing that Jason was really gone, I realized that I was mourning the money more than him. That's why I almost…what I almost did. Now I realize that life has to go on. And after tonight I'm going to let you do what you do. I'm not a detective. Where I belong is in that law office taking care of my clients, and tomorrow morning that's where I'll be.”

Hannibal smiled and was about to say something about people doing what they were born to do when an approaching figure distracted him. It was another of the bikini clad wait staff. This was the first woman of color he had seen aside from the guests. She was average height but looked like some giant had gripped her waist and squeezed much of her body up and down, leaving her in an exaggerated hourglass shape. Her smooth skin, straight black hair and exotic eyes spoke of a Polynesian background. When she stopped at the table she made a point of looking at both of them.

“Hello. My name is Myca.”

“Of course it is,” Hannibal said.

“Ms. Thomas asked me to check to make sure your meal was satisfactory.”

“I have to say the steak was excellent. Cindy?”

“A surprisingly good meal,” she said. “Usually at a dinner theater, either the food or the show is disappointing. But not this time.”

Myca stifled a well-rehearsed giggle. “The chef, and the performers will be pleased. Ms. Thomas also asked if you could tell me a little more about the message you had for her.”

“I'm afraid that message is for her ears alone,” Hannibal said. “But you could tell her that it concerns George Washington Monroe.”

Myca nodded and appeared to do a little calculus in her head. Then she refreshed her smile and said, “Please follow me. And don't worry about the check. Ms. Thomas will take care of that.”

“That's very generous,” Hannibal said standing and reaching into his pocket, “but I still need to leave a tip. The service was excellent.”

“Yes, what happened to Tahnee?” Cindy asked.

“Change of shifts,” Myca said. “We rotate.” She nodded toward one of the stages. Tahnee was giving an energetic dance performance, whipping the nearby male patrons into a subdued frenzy.

“Rotate,” he said with a smile. “You do indeed.”

Myca led them to a door that was obscured by a sheer curtain hanging in front of it. After guiding them through she led them down a hallway to a small service elevator. Hannibal and Cindy entered but Myca stayed in the hall, pushed a button and waved to them as the doors closed.

“The whole speakeasy feel of these places just doesn't go away, does it?” Cindy said.

Hannibal didn't say anything, but his left hand was halfway to his shoulder holster when the elevator doors opened on the lower level. They stepped out into a room that was a little bigger than Hannibal's living room but was set up as an office. The furniture, conservative but not antique, rested on a dark brown carpet. The room smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. At the far end of the room a woman sat at a computer with her back to
them, apparently handling some correspondence. Her fingers tapped the keys with the deft expertise of an executive secretary.

“Hello?” Cindy called. “We were looking for a Sarah Thomas.”

The woman spun toward them on her wheeled chair. “You've found her. Now who are you?”

“My name is Cindy Santiago.”

“And I'm Hannibal Jones.”

“Yes I know,” Sarah said. “That's why you're here. So what's on your mind?”

The woman was close to Hannibal's height, near six feet tall, with raven hair in waves resting on her shoulders. Her smile challenged him while she pulled out and lit a cigarette.

“Ms. Thomas, I have news regarding your ex-husband, George Washington Monroe. He would want you to know.”

“Know what?” she asked. Her beauty was fully matured and her skin was as dark as ebony. After meeting a brunette named Tahnee and another woman named Myca, Hannibal wondered if Sarah had danced as Onyx.

“He would want you to know that he's dead.”

Sarah took a deep drag on her slender cigarette and sat back on the desk. “Wash is dead?”

“Wash is dead. I believe he was murdered.”

Sarah pointed toward the small round meeting table, inviting them to sit. She again filled her lungs with smoke. She breathed it out in a long, slow stream. She reached back to the desk and pushed buttons on the phone. A young woman answered.

“Bourbon,” Sarah said. Then she stepped slowly toward the table on heels that might have frightened Tina Turner. She looked at Cindy, then Hannibal and said, “Thank you. Thank you for coming instead of calling. You are an exception among your gender, Mr. Jones. You are all that people say you are.”

A dancer/waitress entered carrying a tray. She placed it on the table, set a glass in front of each of the guests and left one in front of an empty chair. She smiled at the guests, nodded toward
Sarah, and vanished out the door. Sarah poured for the three of them and settled into her chair.

“How do you know Hannibal?”

Sarah looked at Hannibal. “She with you?” When Hannibal nodded, Sarah turned to Cindy. “You know what you got, right?”

“Yes, I believe I do.”

Sarah smiled and leaned back. “Girls on the street know Jones. They know if they get into trouble he doesn't worry about who they are or what they do. And they know he doesn't ask for specials or freebies or payment in kind.”

Hannibal nodded his thanks. “I haven't found a lot of people who were close to Wash,” Hannibal said. “I'm hoping you can help me find out who took his life. Have you been in touch with him recently?”

“I'm afraid I haven't seen Wash since the day he gave me the money to set this place up,” Sarah said, swirling the liquor in her glass. “That was five years ago.”

“Five years.” Hannibal repeated her words, lifting his glass and inhaling the aroma from the snifter but not drinking yet. “About the time he committed to Irene.”

Sarah gave a bitter grin. “Severance pay.”

“You couldn't have been with Wash all that time,” Cindy said.

“No, not all that time. We were together for a while, then I left Wash for a few years because I thought I could see where his life was going. I married a man I thought would take care of me. All he ever gave me was a hard time and three little mouths to feed. When he took off I kind of floated back to Wash. We had some more good times but then he set his sights on a younger girl, so he needed me and mine to disappear.”