After Jack paid his cover the bouncer asked for his ID, and then jerked his cap up to get a better look at him.  After the bouncer stamped his hand and returned his ID, Jack nervously pulled the cap back down and went inside.  His senses were assaulted: blaring music, smoke-laden air, and of course, more than a dozen naked or near naked women.  His heartbeat quickened.  Quickly, he made his way to an empty table in the corner, away from the action.  He was still struggling with himself, telling himself he shouldn’t be here.  Claire wouldn’t approve.  She wasn’t closed-minded, just… old fashioned.  And part of the reason she volunteered at the shelter was to help girls like the ones here, to show them that they had other choices.  Claire was so young, so idealistic, Jack thought.  She wanted to save the world all by herself.  Jack loved her tremendously; she was the most important thing in his life.  But he found it impossible to stay away from the club.  It was a weakness, and he hated himself for it.

Taking a deep breath, he waited for one of the waitresses to notice him.  He ordered a beer and glanced around at all the stages, looking for his favorite dancer.  She was nowhere in sight; Jack guessed that she wasn’t working tonight.  Then again, she may be on break.  He decided he would wait for the dancers to finish their sets and rotate.  It gave him an excuse to stay.
In another dark corner, Chris Lorenzo eyed the newcomer curiously.  He kept glancing around nervously, and his cap was pulled down too far over his eyes.  Then Chris recognized him- it was Claire’s boyfriend, Jack.  What was he doing here?  Chris frowned- Jack hadn’t seen him.  Even though Jack was "disguised" he still looked pretty conspicuous; how many people wore a cap with the words Sky and Telescope on it?  Then Chris saw something else that made him frown; towards the back, a door opened, and Donnie "Dogs" DiBarto emerged, accompanied by another man.  They were dressed differently, but from a distance the two men looked very much alike, Chris noted.  Donnie and the other man conversed briefly.  Then, while Donnie stayed behind, his friend motioned to two tough-looking types to follow him.  The three of them disappeared into the back of the club.  Silently, Chris cursed his luck.  He had hoped Donnie would be the one to leave.  Now, Chris was trapped; Donnie stood between him and the exit.  If he spotted him, Chris’s cover would be blown.  Chris sighed and sat back, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of the club.

Less than a minute later, two people entered the club together- a man and a woman.  Donnie greeted them.  They didn’t seem like average strip club patrons; the woman was Latino, dressed in a low-cut evening gown.  Although she had a very high-society look about her, for some reason the word "dominatrix" came to Chris’s mind.  Her companion had a European air about him: short, dyed-blond hair in a Caesar cut, and a wide-collared, open shirt under his suit.  Donnie shook hands with him briefly, and then the trio started to move in Chris’s direction.  Chris swore under his breath- there seemed to be no way out.  Then, the woman asked Donnie a question.  He stopped and turned towards her to answer, momentarily turning his back to Chris in the process.  Chris seized the opportunity.  As casually as he could manage, he scooped up his beer and headed for Jack’s table.  When Chris sat down across from him Jack nearly choked on his own beer.  "Chris?" he gasped.

Chris nodded and said quietly, "Be quiet Jack, and don’t turn around."  Donnie and his friends moved on, sitting down near one of the stages.

"What are you doing here?" Jack said, trying to look behind him without turning his head.

"I said don’t turn around," Chris hissed.  "Just be cool, man.  I’m working."

 "Oh shit!" Jack whispered.  Chris was a cop- "work" for him meant guns and handcuffs.  Jack began to sweat.  "What’s going on?"

"Nothing.  Don’t worry, this isn’t a bust or anything.  Just doing a little casing.  Now be quiet- I’m trying to eavesdrop."  In truth, Chris hadn’t expected to get anything from his visit to the club, but now he was presented with a golden opportunity.  He positioned himself so that Jack was between him and DiBarto.  He peered out from behind his friend’s cover, trying to see what was going on.  With the music blaring, eavesdropping was out of the question.  He could barely hear Jack, two feet away from him.  He watched as DiBarto gestured to the dancer onstage.  She was a knockout- long red hair and long shapely legs to match.  Chris noticed that she had a tattoo of a cat on the small of her back.  She bent down so she could hear what Donnie was saying, and he pointed to his two friends.  The dancer nodded and went back to work, and Chris noticed that she picked it up a notch.  The men sitting at the stage were treated to quite a show- probably the best one they had seen in a long time.  Donnie and his new friends looked on.  The Latino woman had a strange glint in her eye, a look that set off alarms in Chris’s head.  She looked like a shark just before a feeding frenzy.  Her male companion, on the other hand, sat back coolly, his arms crossed and an almost bored expression on his face.

Several minutes later, the song that was playing ended, and the dancers finished their sets.  Donnie and his friends took the opportunity to converse without yelling.  Chris leaned forward, straining his ears.  His forehead was almost touching the brim of Jack’s cap.  Jack drew back a little and whispered, "What are you doing, man?"

"Damn it, shut up!" Chris ground out between closed lips.  He was picking up bits of the conversation.

Donnie was saying, "So, what… think… her?"

The woman replied, "…perfecta.  We’re… interested.  What about… other chica…?"

"… hasn’t made… her mind yet.  I should… answer from her… this weekend."

"Maybe we… talk to her… help… decide."

Just then, the club’s DJ came over the loudspeakers, and the rest of the conversation was drowned out.  A few minutes later, Donnie and his friends got up and left.  Chris waited until they were out of sight, then he got up from the table.  He slapped Jack on the arm and said, "Gotta go Jack.  Stay outta trouble!"

Jack twisted around and watched Chris leave, thoroughly bewildered.  Whatever "work" he was involved with, Jack didn’t want any part of it.  He guzzled down the rest of his beer, settled his tab with the waitress, and hurried out of the club.

"What is it?" Claire asked.  She sat down next to Rita on the couch.

Rita sighed.  "I’ve seen a lot of girls like Natalie.  I know how they think, how they act."  She paused, looking into Claire’s trusting green eyes.  "I can tell that Natalie likes you a lot."

"She seems like a very sweet girl," Claire replied.  "A little hard-edged, but that’s just a defense mechanism.  Who can blame her, with what she’s been through?  She doesn’t want to be a stripper, Rita- I can tell that.  I don’t think she believes that she has a choice.  She just needs someone to remind her that she does."

"I know how you feel about strippers, honey," Rita said gently.  "But some girls you can’t change.  No matter how hard you try.  And I just…"  She paused again.  "I just don’t want you to get too close to Natalie.  I know her type," she repeated.  "She will break your heart, Claire- over and over again.  You can’t fix her; she has to want to do it herself."

"I have to try to help her," Claire said, quiet but determined.

"I know sweetheart, and I’ll try too.  We just need to have realistic expectations about how much we can do."

Claire nodded, and then the sliding glass door opened and Natalie came back in.  "Chilly out there," she said, rubbing her arms.  "I thought it was supposed to be warm all the time in Florida."

Claire smiled and said, "Not in January- it’s sweater weather!"  Then she got up and went into the kitchen to make Natalie another cappuccino.  Rita smiled too- her smile was for Claire, and her impeccable manners.  She was the perfect host.  As Claire served the cappuccino, she said to Natalie, "Tonight on TV they’re showing Limelight.  Rita and I were going to watch it- would you like to join us?"

"I don’t know," Natalie replied.  Then she thought about what would be going on tonight at her apartment.  Her roommate Jody would have a bunch of people over, they would all be drinking and smoking weed, and then some of them would have sex- in Natalie’s bed, no doubt.  She just wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.  She liked to party, but lately it was getting old.  She decided to stay.  "Sure, why not?" she said.  "What are we watching again?"

"Limelight," Rita answered.  "It’s an old black and white movie- kind of a romance/tear-jerker.  A chick flick, in other words," she added with a smile.

A smile which Natalie returned.  "I love watching old movies and crying," she said.

"Well, you’re in luck," Claire replied.  "Limelight gets me every time."

"Me too," Rita chimed in.  This time, all three of them sat on Claire’s comfortable couch.  Rita looked at the two girls, their young, fresh faces so full of promise.  Despite their disparate backgrounds, they looked like best friends from childhood, sitting there together.  Rita smiled to herself; sometimes she felt old and cynical around her young protégé.  Claire could make even the most hardened cynic believe that the glass just might be half-full.

The leader glanced at his watch, which he wore on his left wrist.  Most men wore their watches on their off-arm, which probably meant that this guy was right-handed.  Chris remembered that when they had found the body, Hattie had pointed out that Billy Vasquez’s killer was probably a lefty.  Chris tried to remember which hand Donnie favored, but he wasn’t sure.  Then, the leader spoke to the toughs as they finished their search.  "Tell me you found it!" he shouted.  The other men shook their heads, causing the leader to spew out a string of expletives.  Then, without further comment, he stormed back into the club, ordering the other two to follow him.  Quickly, Chris made his way back to the front entrance.  He showed the door-bouncer his stamped hand, and was allowed back inside.  He glanced around, looking for the three men.  In his search, he noticed that Jack had left.  Chris was about to give up, when he caught sight of euro-trash and dragon lady again.  They were talking with the red-headed dancer they had watched earlier with Donnie.  As Chris made his way towards them he was accosted by another dancer, who propositioned him for a lap dance.  Playing along, Chris agreed, and slipped the girl a $20 bill.  He picked a table and sat down, far enough away not to arouse suspicion- he hoped.  He again positioned himself again so that he could keep an eye on his prey- and hopefully do a little more eavesdropping.  Making sure to keep his hands to himself, Chris pretended to enjoy the lap dance.  He heard the Latino woman speaking to the red-headed dancer.

"We’re having a big party tonight for the new girls," she drawled, running her finger down the dancer’s chest.  "I hope you will be there, dulce mia."

The dancer seemed a little put off by her friendliness, but agreed she would come.  With mild alarm, Chris noticed that euro-trash was watching him.  But he wore that same bored expression, and seemed to be watching Chris’s dancer, rather than Chris himself.  Just to play it safe, Chris gave his full attention to the dancer, making a few whoops and hollers for show.  Seeing this, Euro-trash rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his partner.  Then Chris saw her slip the dancer a piece of paper, presumably with the address of their party.  The pair turned to leave, and Chris’s instincts told him he should follow.  He gently picked up his dancer so he could get up and set her on the floor.  He slipped her a few more ones and murmured, "Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve gotta run."

"Anytime, gorgeous," she replied, smiling after him as she watched him leave.  Once outside, Chris saw that the pair were getting into their own limo.  He cursed silently- he had parked a few blocks away.  He quickly noted the license plate number, then began walking as fast as he could without looking suspicious.  At a safe distance from the club he began to sprint.  As he reached his ’66 Dodge Charger, he saw the limo drive past him.  Quickly he got inside and turned the ignition.  All he heard was a sputtering sound.  "Come on, baby, not now- not now," Chris coaxed.  He tried again- more sputtering.  Losing patience, he slammed his hand against the wheel and tried a third time- success!  "Yes!" he shouted.  "Baby, I didn’t mean it- I swear!"  He patted the dash gently and pulled out of the lot.  Ahead of him, the limo was stopped at a red light.  Chris measured his speed, trying to time the light.  Just as he pulled up it turned green, and he let the limo take the lead.  There wasn’t much traffic, Chris noticed, so he had to be extra-cautious.  He didn’t want the limo driver to make him.  He seemed to be heading for the high-rent district; Chris began to see more and more estates, with long driveways and elaborate wrought-iron gates.  Then, the limo crossed a busy intersection.  Chris was about 50 yards behind, and as he neared the intersection, suddenly a big truck sideswiped a car.  The car skidded and hit another car.  Chris threw his hands up in frustration; the entire intersection was blocked now.  He had lost the limo.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Chris noticed that the three participants in the accident were now out of their respective vehicles and shouting at each other.  He made a low growl and sighed, then got out of his car.  He showed them his badge, and managed to get everyone reasonably calmed down.  Then he went to his radio, called for a black-and-white, and left the scene.
Not knowing what else to do, Chris went back to the club.  Maybe he could talk to the red-headed dancer.  As he approached the door, he noted that Donnie’s limo had returned.  When he went back in, the door-bouncer looked at him suspiciously after letting him pass.  This was the third time he had come back in.  The bouncer remembered he had seen him follow Donnie’s special guests out of the club, too.  He considered for a moment, then called for another bouncer to watch the door, and went into the back of the club.  Meanwhile, Chris glanced around, and again was frustrated.  The red-headed dancer was nowhere to be seen.  Chris’s sharp eyes failed to notice that this time, he was being watched.  From the back of the club, the door-bouncer pointed.  Next to him was a heavy set man in an expensive suit, cradling a miniature Dobie in the crook of his left arm.  He saw who the bouncer was pointing to and grunted.  Wearing a deep frown, he told the bouncer to get back to work, and retreated into his basement office.

"That was Charlie Chaplin?" Natalie asked, surprised.  "The little guy with the baggy clothes and the mustache?"

"That’s him," Claire replied.  "He didn’t just make silent movies, you know."

"I still think those are hilarious," Rita said.  Then she glanced at her watch.  It was almost midnight.  Rita realized she was exhausted; she had been up since 3 a.m. that morning, lying sleepless in her bed.  She hoped tonight would be better.
"Well," she announced.  "Unfortunately, I have to get going.  Thank you for dinner, Claire- it was wonderful.  Jack is so lucky to have a girlfriend that can cook like you do."  Claire smiled and they hugged.  Then Rita turned to Natalie.  "Can I give you a ride home?" she asked.

Natalie’s face fell; the evening was over, and with it the peace and quiet that she needed.  Claire misinterpreted her expression.  "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" she asked.

"I have an apartment," Natalie said, her pride wounded.  "I just don’t want to go there."

"You can stay with me, if you like," Claire offered.

"Well…"  She thought it over.  "I would like some quiet time tonight, and I know I won’t get it at home, with my roommate there."

"Okay," Claire replied.  "I only have one bed, but you’re welcome to the couch.  Is that okay?"

Natalie nodded, and Rita hid a frown.  When it came to Claire, Rita was like an overprotective mother.  Rita still didn’t trust Natalie; she thought back to Nicole, the runaway Rita had taken in a few years ago.  After Rita had invited her to stay the night, she had stolen Rita’s Jeep.  Claire didn’t have a car, but she had a lot of nice things around her apartment, things that Natalie could easily pocket if she wanted to.  Rita sighed to herself; she had to trust Claire’s judgment.  Claire wasn’t stupid, after all- just a little naïve.  Still, there was more Rita was worried about.  She said, "Natalie, does anyone know you’re here?"

"No, why?" Natalie replied suspiciously.

Rita forced a smile.  "Just one of those cop things that I have to ask."  She paused, then asked, "Claire, is Jack coming by tonight?"

Claire shook her head.  "No, after his lecture at the planetarium he and his friends are going to do some stargazing.  Normally I’d go with him, but it’s just too cold tonight."

At the mention of Jack’s name, Natalie glanced at the photo of he and Claire.  She was pretty sure now she knew who he was.  She wondered if what Claire said about him going stargazing was true.  She didn’t want to say anything to Claire, though, until she was sure.  Even then, it might not be a good idea.

Then Rita said, "Well, I guess I’ll see you guys later.  Claire, you have my pager and cell phone numbers, right?"  Claire nodded, and Rita went on, "Don’t hesitate to use them- either of you- if you need me."

"Thanks, Rita," Claire said.  "See you later."

As Rita was thinking it over, Chris asked, "How did it go with your witness?"

"Natalie knew more than she thought she did," Rita answered.  "And guess what, Sam?  Donnie is one of the men she saw.  Or she thinks so, at least.  She says one of the men had a New York accent, was balding on top and heavy set."

Chris replied, "There’s someone else who fits that description- someone who works for Donnie, I think.  I saw him behind the club tonight.  He’s about the same age and build as Dogs, although I didn’t hear him talk.  But in the dark, they probably could be mistaken for each other."

"Interesting again," Rita observed.  "Natalie said she wasn’t sure who pulled the trigger.  She also said one of the three men was a German, or talked like one, anyway.  So it could be the German, the New Yorker, or the mysterious third man that nobody knows anything about."

"I think I may have seen the German tonight, too," Chris replied.  "The other half of that charming couple I was telling you about."

Rita sighed.  "Well, now we’ve got plenty of suspects, all with means and opportunity.  But no motive so far."

"I’m sure we’ll get one, Sam," Chris said dryly.

Rita nodded into the phone, thinking.  Then she said, "You know Donnie, Chris.  He may be on the wrong side of the law, but I can’t see him shooting someone in cold blood."

Chris hesitated before replying.  He didn’t trust Donnie quite as much as Rita did.  "Maybe, maybe not," he answered finally.  "If it was something serious…"

"Yeah, and that’s what we’ve got to find out.  I’ll go have a talk with Donnie tomorrow.  By the way, did you get any plates on that limo?"

"Yeah, I did, and guess what?  It’s registered to Blue Diamond Limousine Service.  I called to find out who had rented it, but there was no answer."

"Then we’ll have to wait till morning.  There’s really nothing more we can do tonight."

"Yeah, you’re right.  I’m going to page Lt. Hudson, though, and see if he can help us.  He may know the German and the Latino woman."

"Chris, it’s after midnight," Rita protested.

"Rita, I got really bad vibes from these two.  You should have seen the way the Latino woman looked at that dancer- like a shark in a tank full of raw meat.  After tonight, I think what Lt. Hudson said may have some substance.  Billy Vasquez’s murder may be part of something much bigger."

"Okay, Sam, but prepare yourself to be chewed out.  I don’t think Lt. Hudson keeps very late hours."

"Don’t worry about that," Chris replied.  "He seemed very interested in the case.  I’m sure he won’t mind."

"Okay.  I’m going home to bed now, Sam.  I’ll ask Natalie about the man you saw behind the club tomorrow."

"Do I get to come along this time?" Chris asked jokingly.

"No way, Sam," Rita replied in the same tone.  But what she said was true; she remembered Natalie’s story of the cop in California.  She obviously hadn’t put it behind her, and Rita didn’t want to make things worse for her.  Stifling a yawn, she said, "See you tomorrow morning, okay?"

Chris heard the fatigue in her voice, and thought about what she had told him earlier in the day.  He hesitated, then said, "Are you sure you don’t want some company tonight?"

"No, I’m going straight to bed," she replied a bit testily.  Then she softened her tone.  "But thanks anyway, Sam.  See ya."
"See ya…"

"He’s cute," Natalie observed.

Claire’s smile grew even wider.  "Aye, that he is.  But he’s got a lot more than just good looks."

Natalie nodded.  "Yeah, he’s- I mean, he seems like a really nice guy."  Claire looked at her curiously for a brief moment.  Then Natalie asked, "How long have you been going out?"

"About six months," Claire replied.

Natalie nodded thoughtfully.  "Are you pretty serious about him?"

Claire smiled again as she made up the couch.  "I think he might be the one," she replied.

"Oh really?"

Claire nodded, then looked at her new friend uncertainly.  "You may think this is stupid," she began, "but Jack and I knew right away that we could fall in love.  It wasn’t love at first sight, because I don’t believe in that.  But it was about as close as you can get."  She paused, recalling a fond memory.  Natalie saw the sparkle in her eyes; she knew that Claire was deeply in love.  "The first time Jack kissed me, we were out under the stars.  It was so romantic.  Jack’s always doing things like that- bringing me flowers out of the blue, playing songs for me on his guitar, taking me out for candlelit dinners.  He’s so romantic, unlike most guys his age."

Natalie nodded, her expression neutral.  "He sounds perfect," she said.

Claire laughed a little.  "Nobody’s perfect, Natalie."

"Then what’s not perfect about him?"

"Well…" Claire replied slowly.  "It’s not like I’ve made a list or anything."  She shrugged.  "He’s… well, he’s a little overprotective, and loses his temper sometimes."  She paused, and a smile made its way onto her face.  "Jack gets so angry when other men flirt with me."  With a giggle, she went on, "One time, he made a scene in the middle of a bookstore.  This guy was being a real jerk- he wouldn’t leave me alone.  Jack was in another part of the bookstore, but when he saw what was going on he went half-crazy.  He literally threatened the other man- I was so embarrassed!  I didn’t speak to Jack the whole way home.  He knew that he had overreacted, though; in fact, he apologized for a week, even after I forgave him!"  She shook her head and laughed again.  Then her expression turned reflective.  She went on, "Jack knows he doesn’t need to be jealous, but I really don’t mind him being overprotective.  My parents passed away last May, and I was just… devastated.  I still am- I go to pieces about it sometimes.  But not long after they died I met Jack, and he’s been so understanding and supportive.  He’s always there for me."

Natalie’s expression changed when Claire mentioned her parents’ death.  "Oh, I’m sorry Claire," she said softly.  "I didn’t know."

"Thank you," Claire replied sincerely.  "Thanks to Jack, and Rita, and all my other friends and family, I’m doing a lot better now.  I’m really lucky to have them to lean on, you know?"

Natalie nodded slowly.  Then she abruptly changed the subject; she had heard enough about Jack.  Talking about him stirred up unpleasant memories.  Matter-of-factly, she said, "I might be going to Japan soon."

"Japan?" Claire echoed, surprised.  "What for?"

Natalie looked down at her hands, inspecting her long nails.  Casually, she replied, "Oh, I was offered a modeling job there."

"Really?  That sounds exciting."

"Yeah, maybe."  Natalie knitted her eyebrows thoughtfully.  "I’m not sure if I’m going to go."

"Why not?" Claire asked.

"Well," Natalie began.  She wasn’t good at keeping secrets, even those she knew would get her into trouble.  "My boss at the club offered me the job."

"Your boss at the club?" Claire echoed again.  "Do you trust him, Natalie?  He may be involved in this- this murder."

Natalie bit her lip.  She thought about the conversation earlier, when Rita had asked her who fit the description of the men that murdered Billy.  One of them could have been Mr. DiBarto.  She didn’t want to believe it- Mr. DiBarto was a nice man, and she wanted to trust him.  Since he had made his offer, Natalie had grown increasingly excited about the idea of fashion modeling, even if she had to start in Japan.

Claire saw the uncertainty in her friend’s face, which effectively answered the question she had asked.  Claire said, "Why didn’t you tell Rita about this?  It sounds important- like it might be related to the case."

"No," Natalie said suddenly.  This time, her tone was pleading, rather than angry.  "No, I don’t want her to know about this.  Claire, this is my big chance- Mr. DiBarto said I could be a runway model, that I’ve got what it takes.  If the cops find out and start questioning him about it, he’ll probably fire me.  I don’t want things to be ruined this time, Claire.  Please, promise me you won’t tell Rita.  Please, Claire?"

Claire crossed her arms doubtfully.  Carefully avoiding Natalie’s plea, she said, "Natalie, you’re not making any sense.  You know this man might be involved in a murder, yet you’re willing to let him send you off to Japan?  That sounds awfully suspicious to me, and a just a bit too coincidental."

Natalie lifted her chin and said, "I knew you wouldn’t understand."  Some of the anger that she often displayed was returning now.  "You’re probably going to call your cop friend right now and have her arrest Mr. DiBarto, aren’t you?"

"No, Natalie, I’m not going to do that," Claire replied softly.  "Not if you don’t want me to."  She sighed.  "I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.  And I want you to think about this very carefully before you make any decisions."

Natalie sat down heavily on the couch, her anger draining away.  Then suddenly, she remembered what Mr. DiBarto had said to her after he had offered her the modeling job.  Straightening up, she said, "Claire, I just remembered something.  After Mr. DiBarto told me about the modeling job, I asked him if he had seen Billy."

"Natalie!" Claire chided as she sat down next to her.  "Rita told you not to be nosy!"

"I know, I know," Natalie replied impatiently.  "I didn’t act like I knew Billy was dead or anything.  But listen- when I asked him he said that he fired Billy, for some reason.  He didn’t say why.  But then he warned me to stay away from Billy!  Like he didn’t know Billy was dead… So he couldn’t have killed him!"

Claire looked unconvinced.  "I don’t know," she said.  "Maybe, but… how can you be sure?  Mr. DiBarto could have been trying to send you a message, like- ‘be careful, or you’ll end up like Billy.’  You know?"

But Natalie wasn’t listening.  She was finally beginning to put the pieces together.  "It was Jerry!" she exclaimed.  "Jerry- that son-of-a-bitch!  He must have been the one I saw!"  Yes, it made sense.  Jerry was about the same age and build as Mr. DiBarto, and they both spoke with a New York accent.  She was sure of it!  "That son-of-a-bitch!" she repeated.  "He always makes my skin crawl."

"Wait a minute, slow down," Claire said, bewildered.  "Who’s Jerry?"

Natalie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.  "He’s this… sleazeball that works for Mr. DiBarto.  A real scumbag."

Claire’s expression became serious.  "Natalie, listen to me.  You’ve got to tell Rita about this.  It’s too important for you not to."

Natalie glanced at her and said, "I guess you’re right."

"Will you tell her in the morning?" Claire asked hopefully.

Natalie nodded.  Then she sighed and slumped back into the couch.  "I really hope Mr. DiBarto isn’t mixed up in this, Claire."
"So you can take that modeling job?"

She nodded again.  "You don’t understand, Claire.  Nobody’s ever given me a chance like this."

Claire started to reply, then hesitated.  She had only known Natalie for less than a day, but there were so many questions that she wanted to ask.  Claire could tell right away that Natalie didn’t belong in the circles in which she traveled.  She wanted to know how someone like her had gotten to be in this position.  She also had to be delicate in her questioning.  Choosing her words carefully, she said, "Natalie, please forgive me for asking, but why did you leave home?"

Natalie glanced at her, then looked away.  Whenever anyone asked her that question, her first instinct was to tell whoever was asking to take a hike.  But Claire was different.  Natalie was a terrible judge of character, but even she could see that Claire was someone she could trust.  It wasn’t just that, however; something about Claire made Natalie want to open up to her.  Claire was very good at making people do that; it was that ability that made her such a good volunteer at the shelter.
Natalie looked back at her and began, "I ran away, when I was seventeen.  Actually, I ran away once before that, but my parents called the cops and they found me, and I had to go home.  But this time I did it right."

Claire nodded- she had expected as much.  "Why did you run away?" she asked.

Natalie folded her arms.  "I was sick of everyone controlling me.  All my life I’ve lived to satisfy my parents.  It didn’t matter what I wanted, it was always what they wanted."  She sighed.  "My family is rich," she went on.  "My dad is a bigshot at an Aerospace company, and the company always comes first, before his family.  I spent my childhood with nannies, because my mom wasn’t around either.  She was always off on a plane to Europe or somewhere.  And I was forced to go to all the snobby academies, where they teach you how to drink tea and curtsey and all that shit.  I just got sick of it; I didn’t want to be a debutante.  I didn’t want to be some spoiled rich kid.  I wanted to party and have fun.  So, I left."

She looked back at Claire, who nodded evenly.  Then Natalie went on, "When I got to where I was going, I called home and told them I was all right.  My dad was furious- he wanted to know where I was, but I didn’t tell him, because I knew he would make me come home."  She laughed a little.  "So the next time I called, he traced the call, and figured out I was in L. A.  He hired a private investigator to find me, but he was looking for the little rich girl from Charleston.  By that time I had become somebody else."

She looked at Claire again and shrugged.  "I didn’t know things would go the way they did.  I certainly didn’t want them to.  Somehow I ended up here, and I don’t know what to do now.  I don’t know what to do," she repeated softly.

Claire took her hand, and Natalie met her gaze.  "You should go home," Claire said in an equally soft voice.  "Your parents are probably worried sick about you."

"They don’t give a damn about me," Natalie retorted derisively.

Claire sighed, then looked back into Natalie’s eyes.  "Listen to me,"  she said.  "I understand that maybe they haven’t done the best job they could have as parents.  But they obviously care about you.  Otherwise they wouldn’t have called the police, or hired the private investigator."  Natalie still looked angry, as if Claire’s words meant nothing to her.  Claire pursed her lips, then went on more firmly, "You’ve got a choice to make, Natalie.  You can either shut out your family, or you can make peace with them.  It’s up to you.  You have to reach out to them.  If you don’t, you may regret it for the rest of your life.  I will never have the chance to tell my parents that I love them ever again.  We were a very close family, Natalie- my mother, my father, my brother and I.  But still, I had my regrets, just like everyone else.  Things I should have said or done.  Now my parents are gone, and all I have are my memories.  And memories fade, Natalie.  It terrifies me- every day they fade a little more.  What will I do when they disappear altogether?"

Natalie’s expression had been slowly softening as Claire chided her.  In the back of her mind, Natalie realized this was yet another reason why Claire made such a difference in the lives of the runaways she encountered at the shelter.  She could guilt trip them into going back home.  Natalie knew it wasn’t as simple as Claire made it out to be, but Claire was right- that was the bottom line.

Her voice gentle once more, Claire went on, "Whatever it is that you want to do with your life, Natalie, your parents are there to support you.  You don’t have to live like a homeless person, and you don’t have work in strip clubs.  You’re too smart and too talented to waste your life in those places."

"I know," Natalie answered softly.  "I know.  And I do know what I want to do with my life, but…"  She paused and shook her head.  "It’s so hard sometimes.  I don’t have much self-esteem, Claire, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.   And I… I get depressed a lot.  Sometimes, I think about just ending it all.  It would be so much easier that way.  That’s why I keep running all over the country; I’m trying to escape.  But everything just follows me- I can’t get rid of it.  And when I think I’m finally going to get a break, then something else goes wrong."  As she went on, Natalie’s face became more and more grave.  There was far too much pain and suffering reflected there for someone so young.  "When I was in California, I got into acting.  I even got a bit part in a big movie.  And I hung out with movie stars and rock stars and producers."  She paused.  "Hollywood is a very ugly place, Claire.  You wouldn’t believe what goes on there.  The crowd I was with- every night we would get drunk or high, or both.  Sometimes, the guys would swap girlfriends- they would just trade us back and forth like cattle.  I was so out of it all the time I hardly even knew what was going on.  But I gave that up- I don’t do drugs anymore," she added emphatically, looking at Claire.

Claire nodded and said, "I believe you."

Natalie sat back and went on, "Then there was that cop… unfortunately I was sober for that."  She smiled bitterly.  "Then I went to Vegas.  I was dancing there, and this pimp asked me to escort.  You know what that means, right?"
Claire nodded solemnly, feeling more and more sorry for Natalie as her story unfolded.  Sorry because she knew that Natalie was foolish and naïve. Although it was hard to believe, Claire realized that Natalie was even more naïve than she was.  Claire could see it in her eyes.  She misplaced her trust- she threw it around like money, not stopping to consider whose hands it landed in.  More often than not, the people she trusted betrayed her.

Natalie went on, "Well, I didn’t know.  I thought I was going to be taken out to dinner by old rich guys.  I knew that crowd from back home, so I thought I could handle it- no problem.  But then I found out that it’s not like that.  When you work escort you get sent to hotels, or sometimes people’s houses, and you never know what to expect.  The agency never checks anyone out before they send you, so you’re basically on your own.  You could walk into Norman Bates’ house and get chopped up into little pieces.  One time, these guys had a bunch of snakes they wanted me to ‘play with.’  Other times, guys would ask me to do drugs with them.  Then one time-"  She paused, swallowing hard.  "One time these guys took turns raping me, and then they beat the hell out of me and stole all my money.  It was so bad that I was hospitalized for a week."

Claire was horrified.  She couldn’t believe her ears.  In dealing with runaways, Claire was used to hearing stories of abuse.  But
Natalie had topped anything that Claire had ever heard.  And there was more.

Natalie went on, "I went to New York after that.  When I first got there, I was approached by this ‘priest.’  He said he ran a shelter for young girls, so I agreed to go with him.  Well, there were young girls there, but they weren’t being sheltered.  He was running an underage whorehouse."  She paused, and her resolve broke.  With tears brimming in her eyes, she tried to speak, but her voice broke, too.  Finally, she managed, "The things he did to me…"  Then she stopped, unable to continue.  Claire embraced her as she began sobbing uncontrollably.  She held her tightly, stroking her hair in an effort to comfort her.  Natalie kept crying, pouring out her anguish.  The tears flowed from her, like the innocence that she had lost forever.

Suddenly, Chris appeared in front of her.  His voice seemed distorted as he screamed in rage.  He went for his gun, but his arm twitched and seemed to snap.  He cried out in pain as his arm dangled limply at his side.  Then the man in the mask produced a gun from out of nowhere and shot Chris through the head.  Rita screamed in agony, and the room spun wildly.  Alarms went off, a horrible ringing-

Rita shot up in her bed and cried out in unbridled terror.  She clutched her chest and gasped for air.  Her body was soaked with sweat; her heart pounded like a jackhammer.  Dimly, she was aware that the phone was ringing.  It had brought her out of the nightmare.  She sat there, trembling, for at least 30 seconds, while the phone continued to ring.  Finally, with her unshakable self-control restored, she answered the phone.  She might still be terrified, but she would be damned if anyone would know.  Thankfully, it was Chris on the other end of the line.  Being her best friend of seven years, he knew something was wrong, but didn’t press her for details.  He could tell she wasn’t in the mood for questions.

Rita listened as Chris told her that another dead body had been found.  The night shift supervisor had thought that it might fit into Chris and Rita’s investigation, so Chris had been notified.  He told Rita where he was, and she replied that she would be there soon.

After hanging up the phone, Rita looked at the clock.  It was 3 a.m.  This was two nights in a row now.  Better to be awake than asleep, though, if she was going to have nightmares.  She went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face.  She stood there in the dim light, gazing at her reflection for several minutes.  She shook her head, trying to clear it of the vivid imagery of the nightmare.  The weird part was that her stomach actually hurt, like she had been burned or stabbed.  Great- she thought- now my dreams have special effects.

Donning jeans, a sweater, and her leather jacket, Rita drove to the crime scene- a parking lot near the beach in Palm Beach’s high rent district.  The blue and red lights of the police cars threw eerie shadows into the night.  Rita parked her Jeep and saw Chris talking to the uniformed officers.  They were all sipping coffee from white starfoam cups.  Hattie Morgan, the M.E., was there also.  Rita noticed that Lt. Hudson was arriving as well.  He looked as harassed as everyone else, dressed in a jogsuit and a heavy coat.  Rita thought of an old joke about being a cop- "the pay’s bad, but at least the hours are lousy."

After accepting a cup of coffee from one of the uniforms, she and Chris inspected the body- a young woman, with long red hair.  She was in her car, slumped over the steering wheel.  Chris pointed to a tattoo of a cat on the small of her back.  His expression was even more grave than Rita’s.  "This is the dancer I saw at the club tonight, Rita," he said in a low voice.  "The one the Latino woman invited to the party."

Rita’s face twisted up in anger.  She pounded her fist on the roof of the car, causing everyone to stare at her.  Then, her face a mask, she said to Chris, "Just give me a minute, okay?"

Chris nodded, and Rita went back to her Jeep.  She kicked one of its’ tires in frustration.  Not even 24 hours had passed, and already someone else was dead.

Chris watched his partner carefully.  He suspected that Rita had been having a nightmare when he called.  She looked haggard- more so than the rest of them.  He was trying to decide what to do- if anything- when Lt. Hudson came over to him.  They shook hands, and Lou asked, "Is Rita all right?"

"She’s just tired of seeing dead bodies, and frankly, so am I," Chris replied tritely.  "Sorry to wake you, Lieutenant," he added.
Lou dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.  "I got your page earlier," he replied.  "I was doing a little research when this call came through."  He gestured to the body and shook his head.  "Looks familiar to me.  Remember the other dancer that turned up dead, back when Francesco owned Thoroughbreds?"

Chris nodded.  "The one that drowned."

"Right," Lou answered.  "This has a very similar feel to it.  There are plenty of signs of sexual assault, and I bet when Hattie opens her up she’ll find a high blood-alcohol level and more than a trace of amphetamines."

Chris then described to him the events he had witnessed earlier at the club, including the German and the Latino woman that had invited the now deceased dancer to their party.  A look of recognition came into Lou’s eyes.  "Now it makes sense," he said slowly.  "Yeah… The man you saw is Fritz Rhinegold.  A German with questionable family values, to say the least.  Interpol has a sheet on him for underage pandering, among other things.  And he was quite the vice division poster boy a few years back.  He and Francesco were partners when Francesco was being investigated for drug trafficking and pornography.  Rhinegold’s a few cards short a full deck- unstable, even psychotic, some say.  But he’s always managed to stay one step ahead.  In fact, he hasn’t been heard from in a while, but now… now he’s the connection between these two dead dancers."
"That’s quite a coincidence, Lieutenant," Rita said.  Chris turned his head and noticed she was by his side again, and she had heard most of Lou’s briefing.

Then Chris asked, "Is Rhinegold left handed?"

Lou shook his head.  "Couldn’t tell you."

"What about the woman?"

"I’m not sure about her.  She’s been seen with Fritz before, but I don’t know the extent of her involvement with him."

"What do you know about Jerry Magee, Lieutenant?" Rita asked.

"He used to work for Francesco," Lou answered.  "Another coincidence.  The word among the wise guys is that Jerry gave him up.  Like Donnie, he was a suspect in Francesco’s murder, but he was never charged."

Rita nodded, then turned her attention back to the body and said, "Did you get her name, Chris?"

Chris shook his head.  "She’s got no ID on her, either."

Then Rita waved to Hattie.  "Hi, Rita," Hattie said as she walked up.  She too could see that Rita was upset, but Rita had that "don’t even think about asking" look on her face.

Rita managed a small smile and said, "What have you got, Dr. Morgan?"

"Well," Hattie replied, stepping up to the open car door.  "She’s been dead for no more than… one, two hours, max.  As for cause of death, I’d say strangulation, judging from the bruises on her neck.  But that’s only a guess.  I’ll need to get her on the table before I know for sure.  She’s also got some bruising and small cuts on her wrists- I’d say from handcuffs, probably.  And it looks like there’s more bruising on the inside of the thighs."  Hattie paused.  "And that’s all folks- for now, anyway."

"Thanks, Hattie," Chris and Rita said simultaneously.  They glanced at each other, and exchanged winks.  Then Rita added, "Hattie, be sure you check for any signs of sexual assault."

"Will do," Hattie replied.  Then she motioned to her team and said, "If you guys are done, I’ll go ahead and get to work."
Rita looked around at the others, and received nods from all.  "Sure Hattie, go ahead."

Hattie nodded.  "Actually, I haven’t been able to sleep, so I think I’m going to go back to the lab and get a workup for you guys."

"You too, Hattie?"  Rita said, surprised.  "It must be catching."

"You’re a sweetheart, Dr. Morgan," Chris said.  "See you in the morning."

Hattie nodded and replied, "I’ll have the results on Vasquez for you, too."  Then Hattie’s team got busy, and Chris and Rita said goodbye to Lt. Hudson.  After tonight’s events, he seemed eager to be involved in the investigation.  He had brought a lot to the table so far, so Chris and Rita promised they would let him in on the action.  After he left, the two Sams went back to Rita’s Jeep.  Concerned about his longtime partner and best friend, Chris asked, "Nightmares again, Rita?"

Rita looked away, the muscles in her jaw tightening.  "Yeah," she murmured.  "Tonight’s episode was particularly bad."
Chris grunted, not knowing what to say.

Rita shook her head, trying to clear it.  She had to concentrate on the facts, the hard details that she and Chris could work with.  The ghosts that lived in her dreams would have to wait.

"Okay, Sam, let’s figure out what we’ve got," Rita began.  "A dead bouncer, a dead dancer.  How may killers, one or two?"

"Two," Chris answered, holding up two fingers to match.  "That’s my guess, anyway.  The problem is, we’ve got a hell of a lot of suspects."  Rita nodded in agreement.  Then Chris went on, "But if I was a betting man, I would put my money on Rhinegold and/or his female companion for the dancer.  After all, she was at their party tonight."

"Maybe," Rita said.  "You just overheard them invite her.  We’ll have to confirm that with witnesses.  But as for Billy’s killer, there’s Magee, Rhinegold, and someone else we know nothing about.   And Donnie Dogs, too, maybe."

"Yeah, we can’t rule him out yet.  Do you know if he’s left handed?"

Rita shook her head.  Then Chris went on, "I think Magee is right handed, for whatever it’s worth."

"It may not be worth much," Rita replied.  "If the shooter was standing behind Billy, then he would have used his right hand.  I asked Natalie about that, but she didn’t know if the shooter was in front or behind."

Chris thought for a minute, then said, "In front- definitely in front."

"What makes you so sure?" Rita asked.

Chris held out his hands as he explained, "You know these gangster types- they’re always so melodramatic.  If they’re going to pop you, they want you to know who’s doing it."

"Maybe," Rita replied.  With a wry grin she added, "Or maybe you’ve just seen Goodfellas one too many times."

With a goofy expression, Chris pointed his finger and said, "You’re a funny gal, Rita."

Taking his cue, Rita shot back, "What- am I a clown?  Am I here for your amusement or somethin’?"

They both laughed, and after a few seconds Chris went on more seriously, "Tonight at the club I saw Magee and two of his thugs out back.  They were looking for something, and they seemed pretty anxious to find it."

"And did they?" Rita asked.

"No, no they didn’t."  He shook his head thoughtfully.  "Whatever it is, it must have something to do with Billy Vasquez."

Rita nodded.  "So, you think Magee and the charming couple are all in bed together, Sam?"

Chris nodded.  "Let’s just hope Donnie’s sleeping alone," he quipped.

"Well, I’m definitely going to talk to him tomorrow and get his side of the story."

Chris nodded again.  "But for now, I want to know what it is that Magee was looking for.  If he didn’t find it in the club, where’s the next place he would look?"

"Billy’s apartment," they answered simultaneously.  Then Chris asked, "Are you up for it, Sam?  After all that coffee I’m wide awake."

"Yeah, I’m not in any hurry to go back to sleep either."

They smiled at each other, glad to be together again.  Choosing Rita’s Jeep, as it was more reliable than Chris’s Charger, they drove off into the night.

Fritz finished his tirade and straightened the lapels of his expensive suit.  The rage left his face as quickly as it had come.  He turned his back on Carlotta and faced the "rack."  They were in the basement of their West Palm estate.  Down here, Carlotta fed her ravenous sadist appetites.  The rack served many purposes; it was equipped with handcuffs, stocks, clamps, a spreader bar, and other assorted restraints.  Some of Carlotta’s guests liked the rack- some did not.  Sometimes, Carlotta went too far in her sexual escapades, as she had tonight.  Fritz toyed with the idea of using the rack on Carlotta herself.  Unfortunately, he didn’t have time tonight.  Another day, very soon…

"This is the second time you’ve damaged the merchandise," Fritz said evenly.  "Because of your overindulgence, our clients aren’t going to get what they asked for.  That will cost us a lot of money."  He turned back to face her, his hands clasped behind his back.  "What do you propose in order to remedy the situation?"

Carlotta stood up and straightened her long black hair.  In a thickly accented voice, she replied uncertainly, "There… there is still the blond girl.  Señor DiBarto’s other dancer.  We will use her instead."

"We were going to use her anyway," Fritz replied in the same tone.  "Now, our profits have been cut in half."  Suddenly he grabbed a handful of Carlotta’s hair and jerked her to him.  She cried out, and struggled to free herself from his grip.  Moving with the precision and skill of an assassin, Fritz immobilized her in seconds.   His voice was quiet, deadly quiet.  "This is the last one," he said threateningly.  "I will not sacrifice anymore merchandise to feed your sick appetites.  One more mistake, and you will wind up on the auction block."  He paused, and a chilling smile made its’ way onto his face.  "Sheik Hassan Al-Wahad has told me on more than one occasion that he would give his last camel to possess you.  Unless you want to become his next acquisition, you will heed my warning."  Fritz laughed coldly, then forced a rough kiss on his partner.  Finally, he released her and retreated upstairs, resuming his evil laughter.  Enraged, Carlotta spewed obscenities in Spanish, then grabbed the spreader bar from the rack and tore it loose.  As she spat venom she vented her anger on the sturdy rack, until finally she hurled the spreader bar into a mirror.  It shattered, sending shards flying.  Panting, Carlotta stared at her distorted image and continued to seethe.  Fritz had been pushing her like this for years; pretty soon, she was bound to push back.

Quietly, she stripped off the pyjamas that Claire had given her.  They were plaid- Natalie’s favorite.  Being a Scot, Claire owned a lot of plaid, too.  Natalie folded them up and laid them on the couch, then got dressed.  As she was putting on her shoes she stopped and considered.  Should she leave a note?  She decided against it- best not to get sentimental.  Better to just slip out quietly, before Claire tried to change her mind.  She finished dressing and looked around for her purse.  Duncan, Claire’s cat, was sitting on top of the dining room table, watching her.  She tiptoed over to him and rubbed the top of his head.  He burst out purring, and hopped off the table, ready to follow her.  "Bad kitty," she whispered.  She scooped him up, trying to decide how to prevent him from following her out the door.  She put him in the bathroom and pulled the door to, not closing it.  He would get himself out in a few minutes, or at worst, Claire would find him when she woke up.

As Natalie made for the door, she noticed all the locks on it.  In addition to the regular door lock, there was a chain, and two deadbolts.  Probably Jack’s idea, she thought to herself.  Claire had said he was "a little overprotective."  She glanced around, and saw Claire’s keys laying on the dining room table.  She picked out the door key and slipped it off the ring.  With deliberate stealth, she opened all the locks and slipped out the door.  After closing it behind her, she tried the key on the deadbolts- it fit.  Locking them from the outside, she bent down and stuck her finger in the mail slot.  Peering inside, she saw that Duncan had already escaped from the bathroom, and was watching her again with his intelligent green eyes.  With a grin, Natalie tossed the key back inside and strode confidently off.

She took a cab to Thoroughbreds.  After flirting with the bouncers, she asked Jerry Magee to see Mr. DiBarto.  Ignoring his creepy eyes as he stared at her, she hurried past him and down the steps to Mr. DiBarto’s office.  He was sitting at his desk, looking tired.  Dutchie was curled up in his dog basket, which was sitting on the edge of the desk.  Natalie smiled upon seeing the little dog, and tickled his chin.  Donnie looked up from what he was reading, prepared to tell whoever was there to get lost.  But when he saw Natalie’s face his gentlemanly manners returned instantly.  "Oh, hello doll," he said.  "I wasn’t expecting you this late."

"Sorry, Mr. DiBarto," she replied.  "But I wanted to talk to you."  She took a deep breath.  "I’ve decided, Mr. DiBarto.  I want to be a model."

Donnie’s polite smile grew wider.  "That’s great news, Natalie," he said.  "You didn’t take long to decide, did you?"

She shook her head.  "I’m tired of what I do, Mr. DiBarto.  Don’t get me wrong- it’s been great working for you.  Everyone- well, most everyone- has been really nice to me, you especially.  But it gets old, the same old thing every night.  And I thought I would be making a lot of money dancing, but I never seem to have any."

Donnie wagged his finger at her.  "That’s because that scumbag roommate of yours steals it from you.  Her friends, too.  And you let them, Natalie.  You shouldn’t let people walk all over you like that.  You’re a good kid- you deserve better."
Natalie smiled a little and looked down.  "It’s not really the money that bothers me," she said.  "It’s never done me any good, and I’ve managed to survive without it."

"Well, you won’t have to for much longer, doll,"  Donnie said, his grin returning.  "In the modeling business, you sign contracts.  As long as you hold up your end, you’re guaranteed that money.  And you’ll have a good agent that you can trust- namely me- so’s nobody can steal from you no more."

"That would be nice," Natalie replied wistfully.  "I think I could get used to that."

"You will, Natalie- trust me."  He rearranged some papers on his desk, resuming a businesslike manner.  "You’ll be leaving on Saturday.  Is that all right with you?"

She nodded in reply.  "The sooner the better."

"Good.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, Dutchie and I are going to retire.  We’ll go over the fine details tomorrow, so make sure you get here before your shift starts."  Natalie nodded again.  "Good," Donnie repeated.  "Now you go home and get some rest.  I’ll have Jerry drive you."  He saw the look that crossed her face at the mention of Jerry’s name.  "What’s the matter, you don’t want Jerry should drive you?"

"He- he gives me the creeps, Mr. DiBarto," Natalie replied timidly.

Donnie made a dismissive gesture with his hand.  "Aw, Jerry’s harmless, Natalie.  But if you don’t want to ride with him, then ask Jimmy Shoes.  I think he’s still hanging around up there."

Natalie looked relieved.  "Okay, Mr. DiBarto.  Thank you."

"See you tomorrow, kid," he replied with a smile.

"Goodnight."  Donnie watched her go, dollar signs lighting up in his eyes.  As Natalie’s agent, he would get fifteen percent of her earnings.  She would have to give lap dances and hustle drinks for the rest of her life to return the kind of money that Donnie would get in the first year of her modeling career.  On top of that, another of his dancers was trading in the stage for the runway.  Yes, he thought to himself, business is good.


Inside Rita’s Jeep, Chris glanced at his partner.  As she put the Jeep in park, Chris decided she looked a little better.  Not much, but it was a start.  He was glad they had the case to occupy their minds, especially Rita’s.  Together, they got out and went up the stairs of the apartment complex.  They were prepared to roust the landlord in order to be let into Billy’s apartment, but when they reached the door, they knew immediately that something was amiss.  The door had been sealed with yellow tape, with the words "police line- do not cross" pasted all over it.  The seal had been broken.  Rita drew her gun and stepped off to the side, ready to cover her partner.  Chris drew his own gun, then threw the door open in an attempt to surprise whoever was inside.  He waited a half second, then burst into the room.  Rita followed and quickly found the lightswitch.  She flicked it on, and what she saw made her frown.  The room was empty, but its’ contents were in disarray.  Lowering her gun, Rita stepped inside and said, "Well, Sam, looks like somebody beat us to it."

Chris nodded and replied, "Yeah, the place has been tossed.  It wasn’t like this when I came by here earlier.  Damn."

Holstering her gun, Rita said, "But the question is- when was it tossed?"

Chris frowned.  "What do you mean, Sam?"

Rita was looking into the kitchen, squinting her eyes.  She had spotted something.  As she went in Chris followed and switched on the light.  Rita bent down and said, "Look, whoever tossed the place knocked over this bottled water when they were searching.  It went all over the linoleum floor- but see-"  She felt the floor with her hand.  "-It’s almost dry now.  So they must have been here awhile ago."

"Aha," Chris replied, his face brightening.  "So this means they tossed the place before I saw them at the club, otherwise they wouldn’t have been searching there."

Rita nodded in agreement.  "That was just a couple of hours ago.  If they had been here after that, the floor would still be soaking wet.  So they must not have found what they were looking for here."

"And, from what I could tell they didn’t find it at the club either."  Holstering his gun, Chris smiled and added, "I guess we try again."

Rita sighed and stood up.  "Have I ever told you how much I like this part of the job, Sam?" she said dryly.

Chris grinned.  "Tell me about it.  I’ve already done it once today."  He paused and let out his breath.  "Well, it’s better than getting shot at," he added.

"Only just.  I call the living room, so you take the kitchen."

"Aw, Sam, that wasn’t fair," Chris whined.  Muttering under his breath, he pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and watched his partner’s sarcastic smile as she went back in the living room.

Donning her own gloves, Rita looked around and said, "Looks like they left no stone unturned.  I really doubt we’re gonna find anything."  She went to a small desk in the corner- it was as good a place as any to start.  Its’ drawers had been left open.  Rita picked through the contents, and pulled out a small black notebook- an address book.  Chris had mentioned that he had seen it on his previous visit.  She thumbed through it, and the only name she recognized was Natalie’s.  There was nothing much else of interest in the desk, so Rita moved on.  Meanwhile, Chris had finished his search of the small kitchen already.  "Find anything, Sam?" Rita asked.

Chris shook his head.  He had gone through everything in the kitchen, from the boxes of cereal to the orange juice in the refrigerator.  "I’ll try the bedroom."

Rita nodded and continued her search.  She turned up nothing- Billy’s apartment was very neatly kept.  What little there was to ransack, Magee and his thugs had already done.  Hands on her hips, she glanced around, looking for anything they might have missed.  Her eyes settled on a potted plant in the corner, which, unlike the rest of the furnishings, had not been disturbed.  It set off a little bell in her head.  Being a detective, she had to consider every possibility…

She went over to the plant and lifted it out of the wicker basket it rested in.  Nothing there.  Well, she thought, time to get my gloves dirty.  She began to dig through the soft, dark soil, and before long, she uncovered the edge of a plastic bag.  Excitedly, she pulled it out.  "Hey, Sam!" she called.

Chris came out of the bedroom.  "What’ve you got?" he asked.

"Look at this!"  Rita held it up.  It was a waterproof food storage bag, and inside it was another small black notebook.  She handed it to Chris and wiped off her gloves.  Chris opened it and slipped the notebook out.  Together, they flipped through the pages.

"It’s some kind of log," Chris murmured.

"It starts about two months ago," Rita added.  "Look, he’s been recording events at the club.  Meetings, snatches of overheard conversations."

"Right, and it’s all about our friends- DiBarto, Magee, Rhinegold, and someone called Carlotta."

"Must be Rhinegold’s partner," Rita said.  "Their names are all over this thing.  What are they up to?"

Chris shook his head slowly, and they kept reading.  Not long after, Billy began speculating in his log as to what he suspected.  He wrote: "Carlotta and Rhinegold- slavers?"

"Slavers…" Rita murmured, her jaw tightening.  She and Chris exchanged troubled glances.  Then they anxiously read through the rest of the notebook.

"Look at this entry," Chris said.  "It’s dated Jan. 15th, just 3 days ago.  ‘Deal goes down on Jan. 20th.  They want Kayla and 1 other- don’t know who.  Will make exchange 8 p.m.- airport.  Must warn Kayla.’" Chris rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "That’s all he wrote."

"Slavers…" Rita said again.  "Well, that explains their interest in the dancers.  But where does Magee fit in?"

"It would seem that he- or DiBarto- is the talent scout, from what I saw tonight.  When he finds a prospect, Carlotta and Rhinegold step in."

Rita shook her head and looked back down at the notebook.  "This guy was pretty brave, Sam," she said.  "He took a big risk, spying and eavesdropping on their conversations."

"Apparently it was a risk that got him killed."  He paused, then went on gravely, "The exchange goes down in less than two days, Rita.  I’ll bet Kayla is the dead girl we found tonight.  Billy must not have warned her."

Rita nodded slowly.  "But there’s still one other girl they’re going to… sell.  We have to find out who she is."

He got back into his car and drove off towards town.  When he was near Claire’s apartment, he called her on his cell phone.  The only reason he had a cell phone was so that Claire could reach him- anytime, anywhere- in case of an emergency.  Jack had given her one just like it, and insisted she carry it with her at all times.  Claire answered sleepily after a few rings.  When she heard Jack’s voice she was mildly alarmed, but Jack assured her that everything was all right and that he just needed to see her.  After looking at the clock she protested, also thinking of her sleeping guest.  But Jack sounded upset, so Claire finally agreed.  By the time they finished the conversation, he was pulling into her apartment complex.

Jack parked his car and hurried up the stairs.  Claire opened the door, clad in her flannel pyjamas and her bathrobe.  She was also wearing a worried look on her face.  "Honey, what’s wrong?" Jack asked.  Then he glanced down and noticed that Claire’s door key was laying on the floor.  He bent down to pick it up.  "Sweetheart, what is this doing here on the floor?"

Claire took it from him, looking at it strangely.  Then she retrieved her keys from the dining room table and inspected them.  "That’s so very odd," she murmured.

Then Jack noticed the covers, the pillow and the folded up pyjamas on the couch.  "Who’s sleeping there?  Do you have a guest tonight?" he asked suspiciously.

"I did," Claire replied.  "She must have left."  Her face looked even more worried as she added, "I hope she hasn’t done anything stupid."  She remembered the modeling job Natalie had been offered by the club’s owner.  Natalie had convinced herself he was not involved in the murder, an assumption Claire thought was shaky at best.

"Claire, what’s going on?" Jack said, his voice rising.

Taken aback, Claire looked at him.  She pursed her lips, then said sternly, "Jack, don’t yell at me."

Jack sighed, and his shoulders slumped.  "Honey, I’m sorry," he replied softly.

Claire laid her hand on his chest and said, "It’s all right.  I’ll explain everything to you, but I’m still trying to figure it out myself."

"Sorry," Jack whispered again, pulling her close to him.

Claire embraced him, then pulled back and wrinkled up her nose.  "Jack Shoemaker, where have you been?" she asked.  "You smell like cigarettes."

"Honey, you know Don smokes," Jack lied.  Well, technically it wasn’t a lie- one of his stargazer friends was named Don, and Don was a smoker.  Jack just happened to have gotten the smoke smell from somewhere else on this particular night.

"Oh," Claire replied, satisfied.  Then she knitted her eyebrows and said, "I think I figured out what happened, Jack.  You remember the girl I told you about tonight?"

"Yeah, the dancer who came to you at the shelter this morning.  You and Rita were going to interview her, or something."
Claire nodded.  "Natalie decided to spend the night here, but now she’s gone.  She must have taken my key off the ring so she could lock the door behind her.  Then she must have tossed it back through the mail slot.  How peculiar…"

At the mention of Natalie’s name, Jack stiffened.  Half a dozen emotions flashed across his face in less than two seconds.
Claire saw his reaction, and asked, "Jack, what is it?"

Jack looked down at her, trying to mask his expression.  "Well- I-" he stammered.  Making a quick recovery, he went on smoothly, "That bothers me that she took your key.  Did she take anything else?  Are any of your other keys missing?"

As Claire looked down at her key ring again Jack breathed a mental sigh of relief.  He had almost given himself away.  Claire looked back up at him and replied, "No, all my keys are here.  Don’t let it bother you, sweetheart; Natalie was just being considerate."  She paused, grinning.  "She probably saw how my door was bolted up tighter than a Scottish castle, and thought I was some kind of paranoid looney!  Only it’s not me, it’s my boyfriend!"  She poked Jack in the ribs playfully.

"Hey now, be nice," Jack replied, with a hint of a smile.

"I’m only teasing."  Then her expression became more serious.  "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Jack?  You sounded upset on the phone."

Jack tore his mind away from the memories swirling there- haunting memories that he wished he didn’t have.  If Jack believed in God, he would have thought this was his punishment.  What other cosmic forces, then, had brought these two girls together?  Jack knew the answer- it was just plain old bad luck.  He looked down at his Claire, his beloved Claire.  He gazed into her trusting green eyes, her innocent, guileless face.  He was racked with guilt.  He laid one hand gently on her cheek, feeling her baby soft skin.  On the verge of breaking down, he pulled her tightly to him.  Stroking her long, auburn hair, he whispered into her ear, "I missed you, sweetheart.  I just wanted to see you."

Touched by his unexpected display of affection, Claire held him tightly and closed her eyes.  "Oh," she replied softly.  "I thought maybe something was wrong."

Jack shook his head slowly.  "No, nothing’s wrong," he whispered.

"Everything is right."  He paused, squeezing his beloved tighter and tighter, enveloping her completely in his warmth.  Then he said, "I love you, angel.  I love you more than anything in the world…"  He repeated it over and over again, as a tear rolled silently down his cheek.

Claire held him, swept up in the moment.  Jack was a very emotional man, prone to sudden outbursts of anger- and love.  His emotions affected her on a primal level, like pheromones.  Sometimes, it was almost like having a twin.

Finally, Jack released his beloved and smiled down at her, his face dry of tears.  Claire smiled back up at him beatifically.  Then Jack gave her a quick smooch and scooped her up off her feet.  He carried her to the bedroom as she giggled at his chivalric treatment.  He set her down next to the bed, then untied her robe and slipped it off.  With a roguish grin, he unbuttoned the top button of her pajamas.

Claire pretended to be mad.  "What do you think you’re doing, you scoundrel?" she said, adding another giggle at the end.

Affecting his best Cary Grant voice, Jack replied, "Why, I only wanted to see your ucipital mapilary, my dear.  It’s quite beautiful, I might add."  He slowly traced his finger across it.

Claire wrapped her fingers around his.  With a knowing, affectionate smile, she finished shyly, "You didn’t have to touch it."  Jack returned her smile, leaning his forehead against hers, and they laughed softly at their secret joke.  Then, as Jack began to undress himself, Claire went to her dresser and retrieved a pair of pyjama bottoms that Jack kept at her apartment, for nights like these.  Jack pulled them on, then took Claire’s hand and climbed into bed.  He reached over and turned off the alarm clock; both he and Claire had the day off tomorrow, and he wanted to sleep in for a change.  Then he pulled Claire to him, resting her head between his shoulder and the pillow.  They settled in, snuggling into a comfortable position.  Then, with one hand on his bare chest, Claire made little cooing noises as she drifted back to sleep.  Jack listened until her breaths became slow and regular, and he knew she was asleep.  He closed his eyes and let the sound of her breathing fill his mind.  It was a sound he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.  He would do anything in the world for her; his love for her was immeasurable.  He knew that, now- if only he had known it then, before that night…



Flashback: It was a warm October evening in Palm Beach.  Jack walked into the club called Thoroughbreds, his baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.  He didn’t want anyone to recognize him.  Frowning to himself as he glanced around the club, he shook his head and wondered what he was doing here.  Then, his eyes settled on a dancer- a new dancer, one he hadn’t seen before.  Jack caught his breath; she was incredible.  Stunning blue eyes, luscious red lips, as well as other… attributes- all in plain view.  Jack walked over to her stage, gawking at her like a schoolboy.  He chose a nearby empty table and sat down.  Jack didn’t like sitting right at the stage- it intimidated him.  Perhaps being farther away made him feel less guilty.  The dancer noticed his interest, though.  After her set, she went into the back and changed clothes.  When she returned, Jack noticed her new outfit was just as skimpy as the one she had been wearing.  Then he noticed that she was heading straight for his table.  Smiling confidently, she sat right down in his lap and yanked his cap off his head.

"Hi there," she said.  Embarrassed, Jack tried to grab his cap back, but she held it out of reach.  "How about a lap dance, sweetie?" she asked, rubbing certain of her attributes against him.

Jack composed himself and managed a smile.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, the standard fee for a lap dance at Thoroughbreds.  As she reached for it he pulled it away.

She raised an eyebrow and said, "Touché!"  Then she laughed and gave him his cap back.

Jack’s smile grew wider.  "How about you skip the dance and let me buy you a drink?" he asked.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, accepting the twenty.  Then she moved from Jack’s lap into a chair.  She flagged down a waitress, and they ordered drinks.

"What’s your name?" Jack asked, folding his hands on the table.

"Call me Tasha," she answered easily.

"Is that your real name?"

She looked at him appraisingly, then smiled and shook her head.  "Natasha’s my stage name- Tasha for short.  My real name is Natalia, but my friends call me Natalie."

Jack laughed a little.  "Very confusing," he quipped.  "But I think I’ve got it now.  I’ll call you Natalie."

"I’d like that," she replied, grinning.

Just then the waitress returned with their drinks.  Taking a sip of his, Jack said, "So, Natalie, I haven’t seen you here before."

Natalie nodded again.  "I just moved here from New York," she said, downing most of her cocktail in one swig.

Jack noticed this and laughed again.  "Hey, are you old enough to be drinking that?"

With the same effortless grin, Natalie replied, "What are you, a cop or something?"

Jack continued chuckling, and he and Natalie talked until her next set.  As he watched her climb back onstage, he thought to himself: She doesn’t act like a stripper.  In talking to her, he observed that she was very smart, and seemed to have a good family background.  I wonder what she’s doing here? he asked himself.

As he watched Natalie dance, Jack had several more drinks.  Instead of looking at her body, he kept his eyes fixed on hers the entire time.  Natalie noticed this; she wished he would sit by the stage, so she could embarrass him again.  He stayed at his table, though, so she continued dancing, teasing him by avoiding his eyes.

Jack stayed long into the night; he had run up a considerable tab for his and Natalie’s drinks by closing time.  Natalie’s had contained a lot more alcohol than Jack’s, and she had quite a buzz going.  Most of the club’s patrons had gone home, and the dancers were in the process of collecting their night’s tips and settling with the waitresses.  When Natalie was done, she hopped down off the stage and fell into Jack’s arms, laughing.  Jack smiled and steadied her.  He could tell she had had too much to drink- and that meant trouble.  As she stuffed a large wad of dollar bills into her purse, Jack asked, "Natalie, do you have a place to stay?"

Natalie shook her head.  "No, I just got here a few days ago.  Tonight was my first night- how did I do?"  She laughed again and draped her arms around Jack’s neck.  Before he could answer, Jack noticed he and Natalie were being watched by some decidedly Godfather-esque characters.  One was a heavy set, middle aged man in an expensive suit, cradling a miniature Dobie in his left arm.  He was flanked by two henchman, standing stiffly with their hands clasped in front of them.  One of them was tall and thin, and he wore a fedora and wingtips.  The dog-man wore a frown, Jack noticed.  Embarrassed, he quickly disentangled himself from Natalie’s embrace.  Then she noticed the stares they were receiving, and smiled in her boss’s direction.  "He doesn’t like us to flirt with cu- hustomers," she said to Jack, hiccuping.  "Go on out to your car, okay?  I’ll be there in two minutes."  She held up three fingers.  Still nervous, Jack nodded and left the club.

Natalie swaggered over to her boss and stopped unsteadily in front of him.  "Hi, Mr. DiBarto," she said, giggling.  "Hi Dutchie!" she added, tickling him under his chin.  He licked Natalie’s fingers.

Putting his arm around her, Donnie led her away from his two toughs.  "You did very well tonight, Natalie," he said.  He chuckled a little and added, "You really had that poor guy going.  His face was redder than a beet!"  He paused, and then his expression became more serious.  "Now, there is one thing we need to discuss.  As I said, you did good, doll.  That guy you were hustling- he bought you a lot of drinks, and that’s good for business.  But next time, drink a little less, dance a little more.  Kapesh?"

"Yes, Mr. DiBarto," Natalie replied solemnly.  "I’m sorry."

Donnie grinned.  "It’s okay, doll.  Now, why don’t I have my associate Jimmy Shoes take you home?"  He gestured towards the tall, thin man.  "You’re in no condition to drive."

"Oh, no, that’s okay, Mr. DiBarto."  Quickly, she thought of a lie.  "Uh- Billy’s taking me home tonight.  He’s waiting for me in his car."

"Okay then."  He patted her cheek gently.  "Welcome to my family, Natalie.  That’s what we are here, is family.  You need anything- anything at all- you come to me.  You’re safe here, and you’ll always be taken care of.  Out there-" he gestured with his thumb- "Out there, you’re alone.  And remember, you don’t do any work on the side.  You need money, you come to me.  Understand?"

"Yes, Mr. DiBarto.  Thank you."  She kissed his cheek and gave Dutchie a goodbye scratch.

Outside, Jack sat in his car, leaning his head against the headrest.  Just start the car and go, just start the car and go- NOW, he told himself.  But then, it was too late.  Natalie opened the passenger door and got in.  "Everything okay?" Jack asked, glancing in his rearview mirror.  He was sure he was going to wind up wearing cement overshoes and tossed into the river, after seeing the Mafia types in the club.

"Sure," Natalie replied, grinning.  "Mr. DiBarto’s harmless.  Just a little overprotective."

"I can understand that," Jack said dryly as he started his car and drove hurriedly out of the parking lot.  "So, Natalie, why don’t I drop you off at a hotel, and you can get a room for what’s left of the night."

"Oh, Jack, I want to go to your place," she replied, draping her arms around his neck again.

He had been afraid she would say that.  He managed to remove one of her arms so he could see the road.  You’re really going to get into trouble, Jack, he warned himself.  He glanced over at her.  She had one eyebrow raised questioningly, and she wore perhaps the sexiest smile Jack had ever seen.  It was her lips; round and full, and her bottom lip had a cleft right in the middle.  Dimly, Jack was aware that his girlfriend had a cleft there, too.  Then he looked over at Natalie’s slender, shapely legs- every inch of which was uncovered- and his resolve melted.  The alcohol had lowered his inhibitions, and raised his libido.  Besides, he had a weakness for legs, and Natalie’s were to die for.  Jack sighed and turned his attention back to the road.  Maybe she’ll pass out when we get to my place, he hoped.  And then I’ll put her in bed, pull the covers up, and take a cold shower.

Natalie flirted with him for the rest of the drive.  He made a show of resisting her, but his heart wasn’t in it.  When they arrived at his apartment, Natalie wasted no time.  She sat him down on the bed and sat in his lap, facing him.  Straddling his legs, she wrapped her arms around him.  Her full lips found his, and he kissed her hungrily.  She squeezed tighter, and Jack drew back, breathing heavily.  "Natalie, I can’t," he murmured, shaking his head.  "I can’t.  I- I have a girlfriend… and I’m in love with her, Natalie.  Please, you have to understand."

All through his protesting, Natalie kissed his neck and nibbled his ear.  "I do understand, Jack," she said in a near whisper.  "Just pretend I’m her."  She pulled his shirt off, then laid him back on the bed.  Still straddling his body, she slowly pulled her dress up over her head.  When it covered her face, Jack really could pretend that Natalie was his girlfriend.  They were both thin, petite, and beautiful.  Although Jack hadn’t seen all of his girlfriend’s body yet, he imagined her breasts looked very much like Natalie’s, small and beautifully shaped.  Jack closed his eyes, trying to get the image of his girlfriend out of his mind.
Natalie tossed her dress on the floor, then began leaving a trail of kisses down Jack’s chest.  She reached his jeans and unbuttoned them.  Inside his head, Jack was fighting a tremendous battle- and losing.  When Natalie pulled his jeans down and stuck her hand down his boxers, the fight was over.  He had lost.

He sat up and held her, finding her lips again.  Then he reversed their positions, so that he was on top.  He removed his boxers, then slipped off Natalie’s panties.  Then, still with the image of his Claire in his mind, he made love to her.



They lay in bed together, afterwards, Natalie smoking a cigarette, Jack staring at the ceiling.  Natalie looked over at him, then wished she hadn’t.  She could see it in his eyes- the regret, the guilt, the betrayal.  Suddenly, she wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but here.  If Jack had been a lousy lover, she wouldn’t have minded, but he was in fact the best lover she had known in her short life.  He was tender, and gentle beyond measure.  He knew how to make love to a woman; he had made her really feel it, for the first time in a long time.  And that was the problem.  They hadn’t just had sex- they had been intimate with each other.  Sex and intimacy: Natalie knew they didn’t always go hand in hand.  But Jack had given her both, and she knew that he wished he hadn’t.  She knew he was laying there thinking about his girlfriend, rather than her.  Natalie had stolen the intimacy that belonged to his girlfriend, and there was no way she could give it back.  The depression that plagued her so often settled comfortably into her mind, and she despaired.

She climbed out of the bed and put on her panties.  "Jack," she said wearily, her back to him.  "Take me to a motel so I can get some sleep."

Jack glanced at the clock- it was 5:30 a.m.  He shook his head and sighed.  "It’s too late, Natalie.  You can sleep here tonight, okay?"

Natalie looked at him in disbelief.  "You can’t be serious," she said.  "You’re going to lay there with that look on your face, like you wish you had never laid eyes on me, and then you’re going to tell me to spend the night with you?"

Still lying on his back, Jack simply stared at her.  She could see the pain in his eyes, and deep down she knew that she was mostly to blame.  Sure, Jack was a big boy, he had a free will and all, but Natalie had been aggressive with him.  That was unlike her, but she had never been attracted to a guy like Jack.  She had simply wanted to know how it felt to be with someone like him.  She had not stopped to consider the consequences, and now she and Jack were both going to pay for them.

"God damn you, Jack," she said wearily, tossing a pillow at him.  "Why did you have to be such a fucking great lover?"

Jack shrugged.  "Blame the man upstairs," he replied, pointing his finger towards the ceiling.  There was a hint of a smile on his face now.  Then he held his hand out to her, inviting her back to bed.  She stared at his outstretched hand for several minutes.  Then finally, she crawled back under the covers and laid her head on his chest.  Slowly, they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.