“Don't worry about the name,” Sally said. “It's just a restaurant. Serves spicy food. Sugar likes spicy food.”
The restaurant was basically one large room. Walls were decorated with faux frescoes depicting various scenes where satyrs and minotaurs frolicked in hell and other hot places. No Sugar.
Two men waved to Sally, and Sally waved back.
“Hey, dudes,” Sally said, moving through the room to their table. “I'm looking for Sugar. Don't suppose you've seen him tonight?”
“Sorry,” they said. “Haven't seen Sugar all week.”
After Dante's we did a full circuit of bars and restaurants with no luck.
“I know we're out here doing this looking for Sugar thing,” Sally finally said, “but the truth is I'd crap in my pants if he all of a sudden popped up. I mean, he's crazy. He could, like, fucking Bic me.”
I was trying not to think about it. I was telling myself Ranger was out there . . . somewhere. And I was trying to be careful, staying alert and on guard, always looking, ready to react. I thought if Sugar wanted to get in my face and slash me to ribbons, I'd stand a chance. If he just wanted to get rid of me, he could probably do it. Hard to avoid a bullet from a man who thinks he has nothing left to lose.
The sun had set and dusk had settled around us, not doing much for my nervous stomach. Too many shadows now. Sally had known someone in almost every place we'd visited. No one had admitted to having seen Sugar, but that didn't mean it was true. The gay community was protective of its own, and Sugar was well liked. My hope was that someone had been lying and a phone call had been made that would send Sugar out prowling.
“We have many places left to try?” I asked Sally.
“A couple clubs. We'll save the Ballroom for last.”
“Would Sugar go out in drag?”
“Hard to say. Depends on his mood. He'd probably feel safer in drag. I know I always do. You put that makeup on, and it's watch out world!”
I could relate to that. My makeup always increases with my insecurity. In fact, at that very moment I had an overwhelming desire to crayon my lids with bright blue eye shadow.
We stopped in at the Strip, Mama Gouches, and Curly's. Only one place left. The Liberty Ballroom. Appropriately named. If you didn't have balls, you didn't want to go there. I figured I had balls when I needed them, so there was no problem.
I drove past the State Complex, which always felt weirdly deserted at night. Acres of unoccupied parking spaces, eerily lit by halogen light. Empty buildings with black glass windows, looking like the death star.
The Ballroom was on the next block, next to the high-rise seniors' housing known to one and all as the Warehouse.
All night long Sally had been telling people we'd end up at the Ballroom. And now that we were here my skin was crawling and all my little hairs were standing on end. It was fear and dread premonition, plain and simple. I knew Sugar was in there. I knew he was waiting for us. I parked and looked around for Ranger. No Ranger in sight. That's because he's in the wind, I told myself. You can't see the wind. Or maybe the wind went home to watch Tuesday night fights.
Sally was cracking his knuckles next to me. He felt it, too. We looked at each other and grimaced.
“Let's do it,” I said.
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
15
SALLY AND I stood inside the door and looked around. Bar and cocktail tables in the front. Small dance floor to the rear. Very dark. Very crowded. Very noisy. My understanding was that the Ballroom was a gay place, but clearly not everyone here was gay.
“What are all these ungay people doing here?” I asked Sally.
“Tourists. The guy who owns this place was going bust. It was a gay bar, but there weren't enough gay men in Trenton to make a go of it. So Wally got this great idea . . . he hired some guys to come in and dance and get all smoochy with each other, so the place would look really gay. Word got out, and the place started filling up. Like you could come here to see homos and be fucking politically correct.” Sally smiled. “Now it's trendy.”
“Like you.”
“Yeah. I'm fucking trendy.”
Sally waved to someone. “See that guy in the red shirt? That's Wally, the owner. He's a genius. The other thing he does is give the first drink free to daytrippers.”
“Day-trippers?”
“Yuppies who want to be gay-for-a-day. Like suppose you're a guy, and you think it'd be a kick to get dressed up in your wife's clothes and go out to a bar. This is the place! You get a free drink. And on top of that, you're trendy, so it's all okay. You can even bring your wife, and she can try out being dyke-for-a-day.”
The woman standing next to me was dressed in a black leather vest and black leather hot pants. She had an expensive perm that gave her perfect red curls all over her head, and she was wearing brown lipstick.
“Hi!” she said to me, all cheery and chirpy. “Want to dance?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I'm just a tourist.”
“Me too!” she squealed. “Isn't this place too much? I'm here with my husband, Gene. He wants to see me slow dance with a woman!”
Gene looked very preppy in Dockers and a plaid sport shirt with a little horse stitched onto the pocket. He was swilling a drink. “Rum Coke,” he said to me, leaning across his wife. “Want one?”
I shook my head no. “I have a gun in my shoulder bag,” I said. “A big one.”
Gene and his wife moved away and disappeared in the crowd.
Sally had an advantage at 6'4". He was swiveling his head, looking the crowd over.
“See him?” I asked.
“No.”
I didn't like being stuck in the Liberty Ballroom. It was too crowded, too dark. People were jostling me. It would be easy for Sugar to come up on me here . . . like Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald. That could be me. One shot to the gut and I'd be history.
Sally put his hand to my back to steer me forward, and I jumped and shrieked. “Yikes!”
“What? What?” Sally yelled, looking around panic-stricken.
I had my hand to my heart. “I might be a tad nervous.”
“My stomach's a mess,” Sally said. “I need a drink.”
Sounded like a good idea to me, so I trailed behind him to the bar. Every time he'd push through people they'd turn and look and go, “Hey, it's Sally Sweet! I'm a real fan.” And Sally would go, “Shit, man, that's cool.”
“What do you want?” Sally asked.
“Beer in a bottle.” I figured if Sugar attacked me, I could brain him with my beer bottle. “I didn't realize you were so famous,” I said to Sally. “All these people know you.”
“Yeah,” Sally said, “probably half the people in this room have slipped a five under my garter belt. I'm like regional.”
“Sugar's here somewhere,” the bartender said, passing drinks to Sally. “He wanted me to give you this note.”
The note was in the same tidy little invitation-sized envelope Sugar had given Grandma. Sally opened the envelope and read the note card.
“ 'Traitor.' ”
“That's it?” I asked.
“That's all it says. 'Traitor.' ” He shook his head. “He's wigged, man. Beyond Looney Tunes. Looney Tunes is funny. This isn't funny.”
I belted back some beer and told myself to stay calm. Okay, so Sugar was a little over the edge. It could be worse. Suppose the guy who was going around chopping off fingers was after me? That would be worrisome. He'd already killed someone. We didn't know for sure if Sugar was a killer. Arson didn't necessarily mean he was a killer type. I mean, arson was remote, right? So no point to getting all freaked out ahead of time.
Ranger moved next to me. “Yo,” Ranger said.
“Yo yourself.”
“Is the man here?”
“Apparently. We haven't spotted him yet.”
“You
armed?”
“Beer bottle.”
He gave me a wide smile. “Good to know you're on top of things.”
“No grass growing here,” I said.
I introduced Ranger and Sally to each other.
“Shit,” Sally said, gaping at Ranger. “Jesus shit.”
“Tell me what I'm looking for,” Ranger said.
We didn't exactly know.
“Blond Marilyn wig, red dress with short skirt,” the bartender said.
Same outfit he had been wearing onstage at the club.
“Okay,” Ranger said. “We're going to walk through the room and look for this guy. Pretend I'm not here.”
“You going to be the wind again?” I asked.
Ranger grinned. “Wiseass.”
Women spilled drinks and walked into walls at the sight of Ranger grinning. Good thing he didn't want to be the wind. The wind would have had a hard time with this group.
We cautiously elbowed our way to the back, where people were dancing. Women were dancing with women. Men were dancing with men. And a man and a woman in their seventies, who must have been from a different planet and had accidentally landed on Earth, were dancing together.
Two men stopped Sally to tell him Sugar was looking for him. “Thanks,” Sally said, ashen faced.
Ten minutes later, we'd circled the room and had come up empty.
“I need another drink,” Sally said. “I need drugs.”
The mention of drugs made me think of Mrs. Nowicki. No one was watching her. I just hoped to God she was hanging around for her doctor's appointment. Priorities, I told myself. The apprehension money wouldn't do me much good if I was dead.
Sally went off to the bar, and I went off to the ladies' room. I pushed through the door labeled Rest Rooms and walked the length of a short hall. Men's room on one side. Ladies' room on the other. Another door at the end of the hall. The door closed behind me, locking out the noise.
The ladies' room was cool and even more quiet. I had a moment of apprehension when I saw it was empty. I looked under the three stall doors. No size-ten red shoes. That was stupid, I thought. Sugar wouldn't go to the ladies' room. He was a man, after all. I went into a stall and locked the door. I was sitting there enjoying the solitude when the outer door opened and another woman came into the room.
After a moment I realized I wasn't hearing any of the usual sounds. The footsteps had stopped in the middle of the room. No purse being opened. No running water. No opening and closing of another stall door. Someone was silently standing in the middle of the small room. Great. Caught on the toilet with my pants down. A woman's worst nightmare.
Probably my overactive imagination. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my heartbeat, but my heartbeat wouldn't steady, and my chest felt like it was on fire. I did a mental inventory of my shoulder bag and realized the only genuine weapon was a small canister of pepper spray.
There was the scrape of high heels on the tile floor, and a pair of shoes moved into view. Red.
Shit! I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from whimpering. I was on my feet now. And I was dressed. And I felt sick to my stomach.
“Time to come out,” Sugar said.
I reached for my bag, hanging on the hook on the back of the door, but before I could grab it the bolt popped off and the door was wrenched open, taking my bag with it.
“I did everything for him,” Sugar said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I kept the apartment clean, and I made all his favorite food. And it was working—until you showed up. He liked me. I know he did. You ruined everything. Now all he thinks about is this bounty hunter business. I can't sleep at night. I worry all the time that he's going to get hurt or killed. He has no business being a bounty hunter.”
He held a gun in one hand, and he swiped at his tears with the other. Both hands were shaking, and he was scaring the hell out of me. I had my doubts that he was a killer, but an accidental gunshot wound is just as deadly as an intentional one.
“You've got this all wrong,” I said. “Sally just decodes messages for me. He doesn't do anything dangerous. And besides, he really does like you. He thinks you're terrific. He's outside. He's been looking for you all night.”
“I've made up my mind,” Sugar said. “This is the way it's going to be. I'm going to get rid of you. It's the only way I can protect Sally. It's the only way I can get him back.” He motioned to the door with the gun. “We need to go outside now.”
This was good, I thought. Going outside was a break. When we walked through the Ballroom, Ranger would kill him. I carefully inched my way to the door and stepped out into the hall, moving slowly, not wanting to spook Sugar.
“No, no,” Sugar said. “You're going the wrong way.” He pointed to the door at the other end of the hall. “That way.”
Damn.
“Don't think about trying something dumb. I'll shoot you dead,” he said. “I could do it, too. I could do anything for Sally.”
“You're in enough trouble. You don't want to add murder to the list.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said. “I've gone too far. Every cop in Trenton is looking for me. And do you know what will happen to me when I'm locked up? No one will be gentle. I'm better off on death row. You get your own room on death row. I hear they let you have a television.”
“Yes, but eventually they kill you!”
More tears streaked down his cheek, but his eyeliner didn't smudge. The man knew makeup.
“No more talking,” he said, pulling the hammer back on the revolver. “Outside. Now. Or I'll shoot you here. I swear I will.”
I opened the door and looked out. There was a small employee parking lot to the right and two Dumpsters to the left. A single overhead bulb lit the area. Beyond the Dumpsters was a blacktopped driveway. Then a grassy lawn and the seniors' building. It was a really good place for him to shoot me. It was private and sound wouldn't carry. And he had several exits. He could even choose to go back into the building.
My heart was going ka-thunk, ka-thunk, and my head felt spongy. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I need to go back inside. I forgot my shoulder bag.”
He closed the door behind him. “You don't need your shoulder bag where you're going.”
“Where's that?”
“Well, I don't know exactly. Wherever you go when you're dead. Climb into the Dumpster so I can shoot you.”
“What are you nuts? I'm not climbing into the Dumpster. That thing is disgusting.”
“Okay, fine, then I'll just shoot you here.” He pulled the trigger and click.
No bullet in the chamber. Standard safety procedure.
“Darn,” he said. “I can't do anything right.”
“You ever shoot a gun before?”
“No. But it didn't seem like it'd be all that complicated.” He looked at the gun. “Ah, I see the problem. The guy I borrowed the gun from left one of the bullets out.”
He sighted the gun at me, and before he had time to pull the trigger, I jumped behind one of the Dumpsters. Bang, zing. A bullet hit the Dumpster. Bang, zing again. We were both so panicked we were acting unreasonably. I was running between Dumpsters like a tin duck in a shooting gallery, and Sugar was firing at shadows.
He got off five rounds, and then there was the telltale click again. He was out of bullets. I peeked out from my hiding place.
“Shit,” he said. “I'm such a loser I can't even shoot somebody. Damn.” He plunged his hand into his red purse and came out with a knife.
He was between me and the back door. My only real option was to run like hell around the building or across the grass to the seniors' building. He looked more athletic than me, but he was in heels and a skirt, and I was wearing shorts and sneakers.
“I'm not giving up,” he said. “I'll do it with my bare hands if I have to. I'll rip your heart out!”
I didn't like the sound of that, so I took off across the grass for all I was worth, running full out for the seniors' building. I'd been in
the building before. There was always a guard at the door at this time of the night. The front of the building was well lit. There were two double glass doors, and then the guard. Beyond the guard was a lobby where the old folks sat.
I could hear Sugar laboring behind me, breathing heavily and shrieking for me to stop so he could kill me.
I barreled through the doors and hollered for the guard, but no guard came running. I looked over my shoulder and saw the knife arc down at me. I spun to the side, and the knife blade sliced through the sleeve of my Rangers jersey.