He grumbled. “My rate doubles during retirement.”
“Fine.”
“Triples when I’m woken up in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t push it, Bragg. It’s only eleven.”
“Middle of the night for me. I went to bed hours ago.”
Beau waited through another coughing spell.
“That’s what happens when you disturb an old man’s sleep, Olivier. So what’s this personal business? Brigitte? Your mom?”
Beau stared down into his drink. The policeman-turned-private-detective was the only person he trusted with important matters. “Why do you assume that?”
“You got nothing else personal. You don’t got a wife, so she ain’t cheating. No kids, so it isn’t a runaway teen. There a cat in your life I don’t know about? Check the trees—I hear they like to climb.”
“Jeff,” Beau warned.
“All right.” He heaved a sigh. “Go.”
Beau picked up his Scotch, stood and paced his study. His shoulders were already loosening. “You’re going to find someone for me, and it has to be tonight. She won’t be very far yet.”
“She?”
“Yes. A woman.”
“What woman?”
“Do you need to know?”
Bragg cleared his throat. “Guess not.”
“One minute I was talking to her, and the next she was gone.”
“When was this?”
“About an hour ago.”
“As in sixty minutes? Hang on while I grab a pen. I haven’t even shit out what I had for dinner yet. An hour’s nothing, kid.”
Beau massaged the bridge of his nose. It was nothing. An hour was a long time in his and Lola’s story, though. He’d only actually known her two or so months. Lola was beginning to seem like a wild dream, a hallucination brought on by a night fever. Something untouchable.
“Got my pen,” Bragg said. “Shoot.”
“Her only family in the area is her mom. She works at The Lucky Egg diner in East Hollywood.”
“What about the girl? Where’s she work?”
“She left her job at Hey Joe on Sunset Boulevard a few weeks ago.”
“Think the folks there’ll know anything?”
Beau spun his drink on his desk. It wasn’t impossible that Johnny knew something. Veronica too. Maybe Lola had mentioned something to her, and they were all in on it. They weren’t friends to him. Fuck, Lola might’ve stopped there to say goodbye. Maybe she was there now. Beau could be there in twenty minutes, and with money as leverage, he could have Johnny talking in twenty-five.
Johnny responded to threats, but Beau didn’t. He wasn’t going to play Lola’s game and track her down himself. He was an important man. He hired people like Bragg for that.
“They might know something,” Beau decided. “Her ex-boyfriend works there. Start with him.”
“Going to tell me how to do my job? You want to do this yourself, be my guest.”
“I’ve got better things to do,” Beau said. “That’s why I’m paying you.”
Bragg muttered something into the phone. “All right. Tonight—what’s the last place you saw her?”
Beau’s mind went to the strip club, Lola’s hips swaying within his reach. She was in her element there, sexy as hell. Just like the night her sweet, red mouth had lovingly eaten his cock the first time. “Cat Shoppe. It’s a strip joint, also on Sunset Boulevard. You know the place?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not allowed in there, so don’t mention my name until you know what you’re dealing with.” Beau rubbed the skin above his eyebrows. “On second thought, maybe you should start there.”
“Sounds like you got ideas on how to do this, which is fine since the clock’s ticking. You go talk to
the boyfriend, and I’ll hit the strip club.”
“No. Like I said, this isn’t worth my time.”
“And like I said, don’t tell me how to do my fucking job. So what else you got?”
“That’s everything. She’s got black hair, blue eyes.” And she’d leave you with an impression that stayed no matter how many times you tried blinking it away. Like glimpsing the sun. Beau grit his teeth against the thoughts he wanted to shut out. “Don’t worry, Bragg. You can’t miss her.”
“I’ll start with the titty bar after I get something going on her license plate number and credit cards.”
Beau took another long gulp of his drink, welcoming the burn of alcohol down his throat. He set the tumbler on his desk. “She doesn’t have a car.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“No license plate. She could be on the goddamn city bus for all I know.”
“The bus? She’s a slippery one, eh?”
“Apparently.”
“How about a name? She got one of those?”
“Right. It’s Lola. Lola Winters.”
“Lola…Winters,” he repeated slowly as if writing it down. “Middle name?”
A middle name? At times, he’d thought he’d known Lola inside out. He’d anticipated her every move, directed her, surprised her. Once in a while, though, he was reminded how little he knew. Like the girl she’d been before Johnny, how many kids she wanted or even if she was a dog or cat person. He’d never thought to ask her middle name.
“I don’t know.”
“How about a cell number?”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck. “She doesn’t have one of those either.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to find some chick who’s got no job, no car, no cell. And she disappeared into thin air?”
“I called you because you’re the best.”
“Yeah, well—the best is going to cost you, Olivier.”
“Bill me.” Beau hit ‘End’ and put his phone away. It was only a matter of time now before he had her back. The question was what he’d do with her.
Afterword