Skin (7 page)

Which meant Lilith didn’t want them to be?

Hannah’s insides tightened, and she had trouble breathing properly. She’d wanted so long for Lilith to find her. But she wouldn’t fool herself. She was too smart for that.

“Hungry?” Lilith asked.

“Yeah.
Pick a restaurant.
My treat.”

“Why not here?”

“I like restaurants. Besides, why should you have to cook for me?”

“Because I want to.
Because you’re my sister.
Because we have a lot of catching up and that’s easier to do without an audience.” Lilith paused, then added, “But if you would rather go to a restaurant–”

”Nah, I’ll take a chance that you won’t poison me. I assume you learned to cook somewhere along the line.”

“I think that was an insult, but I’m going to ignore it.”

Hannah followed Lilith into the kitchen. “C’mon, you don’t call making peanut butter sandwiches cooking, do you?”

“That was all you ever wanted me to make.”

“Yeah, why do you think?” They laughed together, and it was a good feeling, and Hannah relaxed a little. “So what can I do?”

“Keep me company.”

The kitchen was small. Not enough room for a table. But there were two stools at a breakfast bar along one wall. Hannah perched on one of those and studied Lilith as she pulled food from her refrigerator.

Despite the blah outfit – dark skirt and white blouse, sensible pumps and pantyhose – and the conservative way she’d tied her hair in a knot at the top of her head, Lilith was a looker. Truth be told, Lilith looked a lot like her. Or was it the other way around since she was the younger sister?

“I could do something with you, you know.”

Opening the refrigerator door, Lilith glanced at her. “What?”

“As in fix you up. The right clothes and makeup, you’d be a knockout. When I got done with you, you wouldn’t even recognize yourself.”

“That’s what I’d be afraid of.”

“And you’d knock your boyfriend’s socks off. Well, say the word...”

“Uh-huh,” Lilith said in a noncommittal manner. “I hope you like pasta.”

Hannah eyed the package of pasta and container of fancy store-bought sauce. “I thought you said you were gonna cook.”

“This pretty much is cooking for me. I can make a mean salad, too.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. What would have been wrong with going out? What was money for, if you couldn’t spend it? She’d lived on the street for too long, had eaten too many cans of cold spaghetti. Pasta was just a fancy name for it, not that she said so.

As if Lilith could read her mind, she asked, “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Hannah knew her voice tightened when she said, “Strip? I thought we went over that the other night.”

“I meant survive.” Lilith pulled two pots down from a shelf. “When you ran, how did you survive? You were thirteen, for God’s sake. You were a child.”

“You don’t stay a kid long on the streets. You get smart fast. You learn to beg.
And to steal.
And to sell yourself, if you gotta.”
There, now it was out in the open, and Lilith could kick her out if she wanted.
“Whatever it takes to get through another hour, another day, another lifetime.”

Lilith blinked and Hannah could see her eyes had filled like she was going to cry. Her own throat tightened, but as Lilith took a step toward her, she held out a hand, keeping her sister at bay.

“I hope you’re not feeling sorry for me. I got tough fast. And I’m off the street. I’m making great money, which means I’m safe now.”

“Mm-hm.”

Lilith wasn’t saying whatever was on her mind. Hannah couldn’t stand not knowing what exactly.

“I’m the one who calls the shots, big sis.” She knew she was heading them for another row, but she couldn’t stop herself. “When I’m up on that stage, I have the power. Every eye in the place is glued to me. I could have any man there under my thumb if I wanted.”

Lilith whipped away from her and stuck a large pot under the faucet and started filling it with water. “I think they’d want more than your thumb.”

“I’m not a working girl, Lilith. I don’t live off the streets anymore.”

“But you still take money from men by using your body.”

“On my terms.
That makes all the difference in the world. I should’ve known you wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right.” Lilith faced her. “I
don’t
understand, Hannah. But I want to try. I love you, and I just want what’s best for you. That’s all. Let me help you figure it out.”

Hannah couldn’t believe Lilith used the “L” word and followed it with a slap in the face. She was holding back, still.

“You help me?” Hannah snapped. “That’s a laugh! You can’t even go to law school because you can’t afford it.” Wanting it all out in the open, she pushed for the truth the only way she figured might work. “I’ll tell you what. Let
me
help
you
. I’ve got some savings, and I make a hell of a lot more money than you do. How much do you need for law school?”

“What? No!”

“But you want to go, right?”

“Not like that. Not taking money from you.”

Yep, there it was. Hannah had known Lilith would fail the test. “You won’t take money from me because you’re ashamed of the way I make it.”

“No, Hannah, I am
not
ashamed of you. I’m concerned for you. If nothing else, that club isn’t safe. Two women who worked there were murdered, for God’s sake!”

A chill shot through Hannah, but she pushed it aside. “You can’t afford to go to school,” she argued back. “You can’t afford a car. You can’t even afford a really nice place to live. What do you think you have that I don’t?”

“Hannah, let’s stop this, please. Let’s talk about something else.”

“You mean about anything but what’s really important? C’mon, Lilith, be honest for once.”

Lilith looked like she didn’t want to say it. But in the end she did. “All right, then.
Respect.
I have respect for myself... and
from
other people.”

Lilith couldn’t have hurt her more if she’d hit her. Hannah jumped off the stool, yelling, “Fuck other people and fuck you!” Halfway to the door, she whipped around and added, “By the way, your water is running over. And I
hate
pasta!”

“Hannah, please,
wait
. Please don’t go.” Lilith followed her to the door. “I’m sorry. I love you!”

oOo

THE WORDS she’d been waiting to hear for years came too damn late!

Hannah was
off,
the hounds of hell on her heels as she flew down the stairs. She’d instigated the fight, but she’d had to know exactly what Lilith thought of her.

And now she knew.

Hannah got in her car and whipped down to Lake Shore Drive where she sped south, top down. And when the cop pulled her over – he’d clocked her at 80 in a 40 mile an hour zone – she turned on the charm.

They parted amiably, he with a comp to get into the club, she without a damn speeding ticket.

Not that she would have cared. She could well afford it. But winning over the cop had illustrated how she could make men do what she wanted.

Not that Lilith believed it.
Or approved.

Not that Lilith had told her to either change her way of life or get out, said a little voice inside her mind.

Lilith had tried to keep her from going. Had said she loved her.

The drive home was filled with regret. For the years lost between them. For the anger she felt every time they spoke. But Lilith didn’t have all the answers. Talk about not seeing what was true, Lilith probably didn’t even believe she’d abandoned anyone. She believed what she needed to.

Maybe like she herself did, Hannah admitted.

Luckily, her cell phone was handy, and she’d already entered Lilith’s phone numbers. She whipped it out as she exited the Drive.

But when she hit her speed dial, it wasn’t to call Lilith at home, but to leave a message at Hamilton, Smith and Willis.
Lilith’s work phone.
Easier to leave a message and have Lilith follow up than to chance being rejected. Maybe given some time to cool off, Lilith would be happy to hear from her.

“Hey, it’s me, Hannah.” She chewed on her lip,
then
hurried before she got cut off. “I, uh, do want us to be sisters again, even if you don’t approve of me.” Hating that Lilith didn’t approve, Hannah took a big breath. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

By the time she hung up, she was almost home. Assaulted by her old feeling of insecurity, she was also sick to her stomach. What if, in the end, Lilith was disgusted by her and wanted nothing more to do with her. Where would that leave her?

Powerless.

A too awful, too familiar feeling, intensified by the fact that, when she turned down her street, it seemed so very dark.
After the sun went down, safety became questionable even here, as it did in all big cities; and tonight she had an unsettled feeling.

All the emotional upheaval was threatening to undo her, she told herself, nothing more.

As she got out of her car, she noticed an urban adventurer sitting on the curb. Layered in fraying, filthy clothes, an elderly woman sat guarding a grocery store cart filled with several black plastic bags.

Hannah remembered what it had been like on the streets. No one should have to live like an animal, picking through other people’s garbage just to get along another day. She furtively slipped her hand into her pocket, drew closer,
then
made a pretense of picking something up from the ground near the woman’s feet.

Rising, she said, “Excuse me.”

Bleary, vacant eyes looked back.

“You must’ve dropped this.”

The eyes connected with the two C-notes Hannah was holding, lit,
then
went out. “Not mine.”

“Yeah.
Yeah, it is,” Hannah said, finding the woman’s boney hand and pressing the money into it. “Get yourself a room for the night and have a good meal.”

The woman took a closer look at her. “Bless you, girl.”

Moving to her front door, Hannah figured she wasted plenty of money. What did it hurt to help someone else? No skin off her back.

The sense of unease returned, more insistent this time, as she dug through her bag for her key ring. Damn, where the hell was it? She nicked the thing with her fingers and took a deep breath as she grabbed the keys and opened the door. One step inside and she deflated like a burst balloon. Her muscles suddenly felt like rubber as she turned to close the door.

Just as a dark-clothed figure separated itself from the shadows and grabbed her arm and followed her inside.

Before she could see what her assailant looked like, a foul-smelling rag was stuffed in her face. She tried to fight, but her head went light, and then all the fight drained out of her in one big whoosh...

oOo

PUCINSKI LED THE WAY into Club Paradise, his new young partner, Frankie DeSalvo, following on his heels.

“I don’t get it,” DeSalvo muttered softly. “Not that I mind checkin’ out the talent on company time. But what the hell are we doin’ here when we got a plant?”

“Putting on a show.”
Pucinski gazed around the place in an effort to spot the cop working undercover. “We don’t act like we’re paying attention, the killer smells a rat.”

“You think he’s here now?”

“The killer?
Why not?”

He took in every detail of the club, gave the well-dressed patrons
a
once-over. He could be any one of them in their fine suits and expensive shoes.
The ones salivating.
The ones watching quietly, their fertile, obscene minds planning overtime.
He’d worked the job too many years to think anyone was exempt.

“Classy place,” Frankie muttered, practically in his ear.

“That’s why they call it a gentlemen’s club.”

“How much to join?”

“Keep your eyes in your head and your ears open,” Pucinski ordered, as a man who looked like he was in charge approached them.

“Gentlemen, can I help you?”

Pucinski gave the guy in the flowered shirt and expensive suit the once-over and figured he was in the game.
“You the manager?”

“Sal Ruscio.”

“Detective John Pucinski.”
He flashed his identification and nodded that DeSalvo should do the same. “And this is Detective Frank DeSalvo. We have some questions concerning The Hunter Case.
About the women who were murdered.”

“I’d rather we didn’t talk here.
How about the office.”
Ruscio stood back and indicated they precede him.

Pucinski didn’t hurry. Let the guy sweat a little. Not that he figured the manager was guilty.
At least not of murder.
But why should he make anything easy for a well-heeled pimp.

The office was as polished as the interior of the club.
Nothing like the cop shop with its municipal green walls, heavy wood furniture and piles of paperwork.
Everything was neat.
In its place.

Ruscio settled behind the streamlined desk. “Can I offer you gentleman a drink?”

“We’re on duty,” DeSalvo said.

“A soft drink, then?
Cappuccino?
Designer water?”

“Plain answers would do it for me,” Pucinski said.

“Of course you have my full cooperation.”

“How well did you know Rosie Harriman?”

“Know her?” Ruscio shrugged his wide shoulders. “She was a good employee.
Always on time.
Gave good service.
No complaints.”

DeSalvo said, “When you say gave good service–”

“Drinks.
She was a waitress and served drinks.”

Pucinski flashed his young partner a look. When would he get it through his skull that he was
backup.
He turned back to the manager. “So no one had a problem with her.”

“Obviously someone had a problem, or Rosie would be alive.”