Rachel watched Jazz go. "Why does it bother him that you watch Deceit?"
"He's kidding."
"I don't think so. I think he's serious."
"I guess he's worried about Cha-Cha."
"How's Cha-Cha doing?"
"He's hanging in there." Waltz paused. "Jazz still thinks I poisoned him."
"He's crazy. You'd think he'd know better than that."
"Yeah, you'd think." A tango came on. Waltz pulled her to him and they danced.
Jazz opened the office door. "Rachel. Come in here now."
While Rachel was in the office, Waltz practiced spins.
The door to the office opened and Rachel walked toward him, head down.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Waltz hugged her. "Come on. You can tell me."
"Jazz fired me."
"Why?"
She started to speak, but apparently couldn't.
It was Waltz's fault. He told Jazz that Rachel could have poisoned Cha-Cha. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? "I'm going to talk to him."
She grabbed his arm. "No. Stay out of it. Please."
Gordon walked into the room and started his class. Lala was late. Waltz relaxed. The class could start without disruption. But then he tensed up again. She might come in late all right, but she might be leading a brass band dressed in tutus.
He would have to watch and be ready to stop her. But how? Drop a grenade in the tuba?
The class went well. Waltz learned a lot, for a guy who couldn't dance and would never make it as a dancer.
Lala didn't show up for the class. It wasn't like her to confront Gordon one day and not show up the next. How did Jazz manage that? Did he have her in a closet somewhere, bound and gagged?
***
That evening, Waltz finished his six o'clock. Jazz hadn't left for the airport yet.
Waltz rushed into the office, exhaled, and tried to relax. "Before you go, I want to know why you fired Rachel."
Jazz rolled his dice. They clattered crossed his desk and stopped on seven. He snapped his fingers. "What? The Go-Go-Gonad Kid will miss his new girlfriend? What a shame."
"Seriously. Why did you fire her?"
Jazz shook the dice, emitting a clack-clack sound. "A personnel matter like that is confidential."
"I'm a part owner of this business. I have a say in questions of hiring and firing."
Jazz rolled the dice again, bouncing them off a book on his desk. "Nuts!" He snatched the dice up.
"Did you hear me?"
Jazz shook the dice. "Her firing was justified. Your being in lust with her is no reason to keep her on. The matter is closed."
"But - "
Jazz rolled snake eyes and snatched up the dice. "I know I can never break you of your womanizing, so I've decided to become your pimp. I'll hire a new cutie for you. You'll have a new girl at the studio and Rachel for home."
"Come on, Jazz."
Jazz got up and put the dice in his pocket. "It's the perfect situation for a womanizer. You'll thank me for arranging it. Ta ta." He gave a sarcastic salute, grabbed his strawberry slush and his carry on, and headed for the door.
Lala blocked his way. "We have a deal. I stay away from Gordon's class. You promise you no go to Vegas."
"I've got to go. We need the money."
"What about our deal?"
"You keep telling me the studio is going broke. I'm taking care of that."
"You no beat Vegas. Is for fools."
Jazz sucked up the final dregs of his slush and tossed it in the wastebasket. "I can't lose. I'm hot as a pistol."
Lala stayed in the doorway. "No. The studio is in bad shape. Tell him, Waltz."
"Rigor mortis has set into our bank account."
Lala clasped Jazz's suitcase hand. "Please, Jazz. You will lose much money."
"Not to worry. You know that Gamblers Anonymous brochure you gave me?"
"You read it?"
"No, but it had an ad selling gambling systems. I bought one, guaranteed surefire. We're going to be rich." Jazz snatched his suitcase free. "I'll be back Monday in time for the meeting."
He tried to go through the door.
Lala remained in his way. "I no let you go. We go broke."
Jazz put down his suitcase. He grabbed her upper arms, picked her up, backed up a step, and dropped her next to Waltz.
Lala rubbed her arms. "You hurt me."
"You wouldn't get out of my way." He picked up his suitcase. "Don't worry. I'll bring you lots of money." He headed for the street door.
Lala ran to him, grabbed his arm, and turned him. "I will skin and clean Gordon ready to roast like a fat Chihuahua. He will collect none of my money."
***
Lala's delicate nostrils flared. Her perfume wafted up from her earlobes. Her body radiated heat.
Tango required that their bodies mesh. He should step back. He needed to focus on the step, not her body.
He shouldn't hire her to coach him. Especially when Jazz was out of town. Not that it mattered. Waltz wouldn't try to put the make on her, no matter what. She was his brother's wife.
Anyway, it was a fantasy. If Waltz did put a move on her, she'd set him straight fast. She was loyal and true.
He would think about other women - Rachel, for instance. She was tempting too, and he had a date with her tomorrow night.
But she wasn't in his arms then. Lala was. He moved away from the warmth of her body. "Let's take a break."
They got their water bottles out of the fridge and sat on the bench. Except for them, the studio was empty, closed for the night.
Lala leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I'm tired."
"We could cut the lesson short."
She opened her eyes and turned toward him. "No. I like to teach you. No is work. Is fun. You are good. You learn fast. And you no try to put the make on me. Is all some students do. Specially Doc. Why he think a young woman is attracted to him? He disgust me."
She held out her hand. Waltz picked his cigarette pack off the bench and shook one loose. She plucked it out and put it between her lips, her pouty lips. He pulled one out for himself. He lit them both. "I'll straighten him out."
"No. I handle him. Doc pay good. Three thousand dollars each contest. Plus expenses. And he go to all of them."
"I didn't know he liked dancing that much."
"He no go for the dance. He go to try to put the make on all the women. Specially me. He think he is one great lover. No tell Jazz. He will cause a scene. You know how jealous he is." She took a drag.
"I wish there was something I could do."
"Doc no is the problem." She let out a plume of smoke. "Problem is we are going to lose the studio."
Waltz studied his feet and shook his head. "I'm sorry for voting to keep Gordon. I couldn't resist."
She touched his arm. "I know." She sighed. "No is the problem. Gordon no will get money. I promise."
"But we have a contract. If we don't pay him, he can sue us."
"The contract say we no have to pay if we no like the class - or if Gordon no can finish the class."
"You can't keep interrupting the class. It's not fair to Gordon. It's not polite."
"Yes, you are right, but fair and polite no are important if the studio go broke. Gordon himself must decide not to finish the class."
"I wish you'd leave Gordon alone."
Lala spewed smoke from her pouting lips and flicked ashes into the ashtray. "No need to worry about Gordon. That is not the problem. Problem is, we must stop Jazz from gambling. He is gambling addict."
"Not Jazz. He's always gambled a little. It's nothing serious."
"You see him in the office, counting cards and rolling dice?"
"Yeah."
"He do it all the time. At home, too. He is obsess."
"He's okay. It's a hobby."
"You don't know. In the last few months, he go to Vegas more often. He lose big money. Bet
ween trips, he play poker with the guys at Willie Bob's house. He say he win, but he lose. That is why we are broke. He has a serious problem."
"He's going through a bad time, worrying about Cha-Cha."
Lala snubbed out her cigarette. "It start long before that. When I marry Jazz, he make me believe how glamorous this life was and how rich he was. He only need my money to help out for short time. Ha! It was the only money I have in my life. He gamble it away."
"All of it?"
"In total. I will never get it back."
"I'm sorry." He patted her hand. It was so warm. "I thought he gambled for penny ante stakes."
"You don't know. He lose most of our money. He take money from the studio. He lose that. He will lose again this weekend. We will lose the studio."
She took his hand and caressed it. "He is one crazy gambling addict. He needs help. Together we could have the... confrontation. What do they call it?"
"Intervention?"
"Yes, we must have the intervention and send him to a clinic for gambling addicts. He will come back cured. While he is gone, we will get the studio going again. What do you say?"
"You intervened this evening. You tried to stop him from going to Vegas. He moved you out of his way and left. If we try an intervention, the results will be the same."
She squeezed his hand. "Then we must commit him."
***
Rachel climbed on a garbage can behind the building next to the studio. From the garbage can, she climbed onto a ladder affixed to the building. She beckoned Waltz.
It was Saturday night. They wanted to dance undisturbed in the studio, but when Waltz's keys went missing, the key to the studio didn't come back with the others. He hadn't even noticed it until tonight. Why would someone just keep the key to the studio? Why didn't they just keep them all?
It made Waltz think that Armando took his keys. Jazz never gave Armando a key to the studio. Armando was pissed off about it.
When Rachel said she and the other instructors sneaked in all the time, Waltz didn't imagine it meant climbing. He hesitated.
"Come on."
He clambered onto the garbage can. He closed his eyes. He knew he couldn't look down, even from the height of a garbage can. He clutched the sides of the ladder with a death grip. He tested each step before he moved up.
Rachel disappeared onto the roof. Waltz shook but he went on. At the top, he had to step up onto the ledge and support himself with the flimsy iron rails of the ladder. A gust of wind hit him. The flimsy rails rattled. He felt himself toppling. He was going to fall two stories to his death. He leaped onto the roof, landing on his hands and knees. Safe. Safe on a flat roof with a concrete ledge around it.
He sighed with relief. Somehow, they could enter the studio building from here. Maybe Rachel could let him out the front when they finished, so he wouldn't have to go back down the ladder. What would he say? He'd need some sort of excuse.
She picked up the end of a plank and shoved it across the alley to the studio building. She stepped onto the plank.
Waltz gasped. "Wait a minute, Rachel. It'll wobble. It's not nailed down."
She turned. "No problem. It's heavy. It's a foot wide. It doesn't wobble. Look." She shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Waltz backed away from the edge and leaned on a ventilator housing.
Rachel stepped down from the plank and took his hand. "Everybody goes across it. We haven't lost anybody yet. Come on. You can crawl across if you want. The first time, that's what I did."
He pictured himself crawling across the plank, wind gusts blasting his body, plank bucking, hurling him into the abyss. "I'm sorry. I can't do it. Let's go to Club Boom-Boom."
She tugged on his arm. "Come on. Everybody does it."
"I'm sorry. I can't." He turned and headed for the ladder.
He'd be lucky to force himself down the ladder. What would she think if she had to call the fire department? How embarrassing to have a firefighter carry him down a ladder.
Worse, they might come in a helicopter. He saw himself dangling from a helicopter on a rope, a mile above the city. The rope would twist and kick in the wind blast from the rotor.
He shuddered. He knew he couldn't do that. He closed his eyes and started down the ladder. If he didn't look down, he might make it. If he got to the ground safely, he'd never do anything like it again.
Chapter 4
Watch Your Toes
At Monday afternoon's staff meeting, Lala finished her usual plea to the instructors to sell more lessons. She glanced over her shoulder. Jazz was still in the office, talking on the phone.
Waltz rose and put his hand over his brow, like a sailor shielding his eyes from the sun. "Is Jazz afraid to come out of the office? Did he lose his ass in Vegas?"
Everybody laughed.
Jazz emerged from the office, dragged himself across the ballroom, staggered sideways into Lala, and leaned on her as he would a crutch.
What could affect Jazz like that? Only something horrible. Waltz dropped to the bench. They were going to lose the studio. Maybe Jazz bet it and lost. If they kept their jobs, they'd all be working for Caesar's Palace.
Jazz raised his head. "Gordon won't be here for the class. Last night someone cut off his big toe."
Waltz started. "Cut off his big toe?"
Jazz staggered.
Lala caught his upper arm with both her hands and braced him. "He die? He bleed to death?"
Jazz steadied himself. He removed to Lala's hands from his arm. He dealt with her as he usually did these days - with sarcasm. "I know you wish he did, but the guy who did it was compassionate. He stitched up the wound and bandaged it."
Lala drew herself up indignantly. "I never wish Gordon no harm."
Waltz shook his head. "Somebody slices off Gordon's toe, but then has the compassion to attend to the wound. Unbelievable."
Lala looked at Waltz. "What so unbelievable? The guy no want Gordon to bleed to death. No want to face murder charge."
"Who did it?"
"Gordon doesn't know. He was unconscious."
No one spoke. Everyone looked at Jazz, as though he was about to perform some amazing feat of magic.
Lala stepped forward. "Someone has the vendetta against the studio. First, he poison Cha-Cha. Then he attack Gordon."
Everyone spoke at once.
Jazz held up his hands for quiet. "Vendetta? Nonsense. The guy stole Gordon's laptop and some other stuff. It was a common burglary. Gordon must've surprised the burglar. He conked Gordon on the head and cut off his toe - just for fun."
Lala stepped in front of Jazz. She poked him in the chest with her finger. "I tell you is the vendetta. Somebody is out to get you. He poison your dog. He attack your old friend."
Waltz got to his feet. "Lala may be right. Without his big toe, Gordon will never dance again. It would have to be revenge, not theft. It's a vendetta either against Gordon or against Jazz."
Jazz shook his head. "Why'd they steal his stuff then?"
Waltz sagged to the bench. "For that matter, why'd they sew up the cut and bandage it?"
Lala paced in front of the bench. "One moment. Maybe Jazz is right. We no want the students to think there is the vendetta. We must tell them Gordon is injured in a robbery. The studio is a place to meet friends, to dance, and to have fun. If the students have fear to come here, we all lose our jobs."
Waltz couldn't believe this discussion. "Okay, you're right, and that's what we'll tell the students. The point is, whoever did it was targeting Gordon, not just stealing a laptop. The guy knew that Gordon was a dancer. He knew that losing a big toe would ruin a dancer's career."
Jazz frowned. "So are you saying a dancer did it? Somebody at the studio?"
Who at the studio would have anything against Gordon? He hadn't been around long enough to make any enemies - except Lala.
Did Lala attack Gordon? Or hire somebody to? No, no, it was impossible.
***
After the staff me
eting, Waltz went to the office. It was a bad time to bring up Rachel's job, but he had to do it. "Lala may be right. Have you thought about someone having a vendetta against you? Someone who hates you?"
Jazz stopped shaking his dice. "Why would anyone hate me?"
"I don't know, but look at the pattern. Whoever poisoned Cha-Cha was hurting you. He's your dog. Whoever attacked Gordon was hurting you. He's your friend. Nobody is going to want to dance where a madman poisons dogs and slices up instructors, so it's hurting your studio. Everything seems designed to hurt you."
Jazz pressed on one of the dice and popped it across the desk into his pen set. "You're getting paranoid."
Waltz took a breath. "Okay. Consider this. The person who poisoned Cha-Cha and the person who attacked Gordon must be the same person."
"Maybe."
"Rachel loved Cha-Cha. She would never poison him. Even if she did, can you picture her overpowering Gordon and whacking off his toe? And why? She barely knows him. You shouldn't fire her for something she didn't do. Case closed." Waltz smiled in triumph.
Jazz took a sip of his strawberry slush. "That's not why I fired her. It has nothing to do with that. Case closed."
The way Jazz sidestepped his best arguments was infuriating. "It's not fair."
"Case closed."
How could he convince a pile of rubble? He hesitated.
Jazz rolled the dice. "Seven! That closes the case."
"Okay. So if that's not why you fired Rachel, then you must agree that she did not poison Cha-Cha. Is that right?"
"Maybe she didn't. Maybe she did. I'm still working on that." He rolled the dice.
Waltz grabbed the dice. "Okay. I'll forget about Rachel for now. Why would someone attack Gordon? He's new in town. Lala's right. The sole reason is to hurt the studio."
Jazz picked up a dart from his desk, closed one eye, and fired over Waltz's shoulder at the dart board on the wall. "Gordon is gay."
Waltz ducked to his right. The dart whizzed by his left ear. "What does that have to do with it?" He turned and saw that the dart was way off center. It hit the target on the side next to Waltz.
"He probably pissed off some anti-gay psycho. Or maybe it was one of his gay buddies. Or maybe a rejected lover." Jazz fired another dart.
Waltz slid his chair to the right. "He's been here a week. You're his one friend."
"The gay scene in San Salsa is famous, even in New York. That was one of the inducements to get him to come down. He's been hanging out at the gay bars. He made me take him on a tour." Jazz aimed another dart.
Waltz slid over a little more. "You're saying in one week he's managed to make some gay mad enough that he attacks him like this?"