“You sound like an old lady. Stop worrying so much.”
The old lady jab dug a little deeper than it should have. “I’m not old. I’m just careful.”
“Super careful, if you ask me.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Come on, that crap with Donovan did a number on you. You’re wrapped tighter than an old nun.”
“I am not. I take chances.”
“When?”
“Hell, I don’t keep a diary.” She wagged her finger. “But I am not an old nun.”
Eva’s gaze trailed over Angie. “Right. Well, I don’t have time to argue. I’m going to Lulu’s apartment and then to her bar. I want to know if anyone has seen her.”
“You’re going now?”
“Yes.” Eva smiled. “Look, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. And I’ll turn on my cell phone so you can call me any time you want.” To prove the point, she pulled the phone from her back hip pocket and made a show of turning it on.
Angie wasn’t old. She wasn’t a nun. She took chances. Sure, she was cautious. Sane people were careful. Shit. “I’m going with you.”
“What?”
“I’m going with you. Right now. I’m going with you to wherever Lulu worked.”
“When the people in that bar see you they’ll think the cops or the FBI have arrived. You’re too buttoned-up.”
Angie glanced down at her dark pencil skirt, matching tailored jacket, white shirt, and single strand of pearls. “I was in court today.”
“You still look stiff. Hell, you’re wearing a bun, Angie.”
Angie gently touched the chignon, which she’d carefully twisted up this morning. She’d been pleased that it had gone up so easily, and the single comb had secured it on the first attempt. But without hesitation, she pulled the comb free and let her thick blond hair fall and skim the top of her shoulders.
She shook her head and ran her fingers through the mane to comb out the kinks. “Okay, lend me some clothes. I can fit into your jeans, and I know you have a million T-shirts.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I am not. Where you go, I go.”
Eva studied her sister. “You’re going to need some makeup to tart you up a bit.”
“Great. Have at it.”
“Okay. Let’s get going.”
Within a half hour, Eva had spoken to King. Angie had changed into faded jeans that hugged her hips a bit too tightly for her tastes and a red T-shirt that said Back Off. Eva had applied too much mascara to Angie’s pale lashes and caked on eye makeup and rouge.
Angie stared into the rearview mirror of her car as she waited for traffic to clear. “I look awful.”
“And now you just might fit. The only trick will be to remove the metal pole that seems lodged in your spine.”
“I’m proud of my good posture.” She sighed. “But I get the drift. Slump.”
“Yeah. Forget all the polite stuff your dad taught you. Embrace the dark side.”
Angie laughed and pulled into traffic. “Great.”
“We’ll stop at Lulu’s apartment first. Then hit the bar.”
“I’m game.”
The drive to Lulu’s apartment took twenty minutes. It was in a seedy, run-down building that smelled of cabbage and garbage. The halls were dimly lit, and the sounds of a couple arguing and a baby crying drifted through paper-thin walls.
Eva rose on tiptoes and ran her fingers along the top edge of Lulu’s front door. She found the key, unlocked the door, and opened it. She flipped on the light inside the apartment. “Lulu. Are you here?”
It was a one-room apartment with a Murphy bed and a kitchen with a microwave, sink, and very small refrigerator. There was a small round table, equipped with four mismatched chairs, a ten-inch television with rabbit ears, and a single window covered with a white sheet.
The Murphy bed was neatly turned down. The sheets were crisp and clean. In the corner was a crib. It had worn edges and clearly was older, but it was clean and filled with stuffed animals.
“Looks like she expected to come back last night. But didn’t,” Eva said.
“Yeah.”
Angie walked to the kitchen table where she found a framed picture. It was a photo of Lulu and her son just hours after he was born. Lulu’s face was freshly scrubbed, and though she looked exhausted she was beaming. Carefully, she set the picture down. “Any sign of her in the bathroom?”
“No,” Eva said. “No mail. Nothing weird. It doesn’t look like she was here last night.”
“What about signs of drugs?”
“Nothing. Not even a drop of alcohol or a fleck of tobacco.”
“She could be in a back alley or with a john.”
“She’s not. I know it.”
“Okay.” Angie smoothed her hand over the table’s surface and discovered it was clean. “So we head to the place where she worked?”
“Yeah. ZZ’s.”
“Let’s go.”
The ten-minute drive to ZZ’s took them deeper into a dark world, a universe away from the historic streets of Old Town Alexandria. The area had a hard, industrial feel, with traffic lights and lots of traffic congestion.
Angie parked in an all-night diner’s lot as Eva instructed.
“We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“In this neighborhood?”
“Just keep your eyes forward and try to look pissed, like you might sock someone if they get too close.”
“A lesson from prison?”
“One of many.”
The night air was cool and quickly cut through the soft fabric of the T-shirt. They moved down semi-lighted streets past hookers and a couple of shady guys. However, Eva didn’t quicken her pace until she spotted a beat cop.
When they were a safe distance, Angie said, “So are you still afraid of cops, or are you afraid of being recognized and word getting back to Garrison?”
“Both, I guess. I still clench when I see a uniform. I have too many bad memories of being led away in handcuffs. And Garrison knows just about every cop on the beat. Word can very easily get back to him. He worries, and I don’t want him to worry.”
“So you care about him?”
Eva shoved long fingers in her jeans pocket. “I like him well enough.”
“That’s why you see him almost every night.”
“We do all right together. I just wonder if we can make the long haul.”
“Why couldn
’t you? I see the way he looks at you. He’s insane for you.”
“I don’t have a history of long-term anything except prison. So I try not to plan too far ahead.”
When a couple of girls came bursting out of a bar, music mingled with a rush of smoky, warm air.
“You are the one that’s always preaching ‘eyes forward.’”
“Yeah, well, we all worry.” She nodded to the block ahead. “That’s where she works. ZZ’s.”
Angie glanced up to the red neon sign that blinked. The front window was lit up with a beer sign, and she could see inside that the place was crowded. “What kind of people come here?”
“Rough people.”
“Like how rough?” She’d dealt with her share of rough clients, but it had always been in the courtroom or a jail visitors’ room. She was always in control … in her element. Now as she descended into their world, she wanted to ask Eva again if this was a good idea. She wanted to preach caution, but the steel in Eva’s features told her the words would hit deaf ears.
And to be honest, she wanted to know where Lulu worked. She wanted to find the girl and give her crap for leaving her in the lurch. “So what do we do?”
“You stay by the front door. Keep an eye out. I’ll talk to the bartender. I kind of know her, and she might talk to me.”
“How do you know her?”
“We were cellmates.” Her tone was casual.
“Okay.”
Inside the bar the music was so loud she could feel the beat pounding in her breastbone. The smoke was so thick, despite the recent ban on smoking in bars. She guessed cigarettes were the least of the vices in a place like this. Eva moved through the crowd, her shoulders back and her chin lifted. By all appearances she wasn’t afraid, but Angie could tell by the way Eva’s fingers tapped the side of her leg that she was nervous.
A couple of big burly guys came into the bar, and one bumped into Angie. She stumbled and almost tripped over a small round table that hosted several girls in tight dresses. They glared at her.
“Oh, sorry.”
Angie righted herself and searched for a safe place to stand. The cigarette smoke burned her eyes even as the music assailed her eardrums. The floor felt gummy under her borrowed boots. She glanced back to an open space of wall, noting it was covered in graffiti. Death. Wolf Pack. #18. Great. They were in the heart of a gang hangout.