Four to Score (Stephanie Plum 4)

Sally looked to me.

“No sweat,” I said. “I'm from the burg. I was putting makeup on Barbie before I could walk.”

Half an hour later I had him appropriately slutted up. We tugged on his wig and did some last-?minute combing. Sally zipped himself into a short black leather skirt and a black leather top that looked like Madonna meets the Hell's Angels. He slipped his sizefourteen feet into a pair of platform heels, and he was ready to go.

“How are you doing on time?” I asked.

He grabbed his guitar case. “I'm cool. So how do I look? Am I pretty?”

“Well, uh . . . yeah.” If you like almost-?seven-?feet-?tall, slightly bowlegged, hook-?nosed guys with hairy chests and arms dressed up like the bride of the Valkyries.

“You should come with me,” Sally said. “I'll introduce you to the rest of the band, and you could stay and watch the show.”

“Do I know how to take a girl on a date, or what?” Morelli said.

We took the elevator with Sally and followed him out of the lot. He looped around down by the river and got on Route 1 north.

“That was nice of you to help him with his corset,” I said.

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “I'm Mr. Sensitivity.”

Sally went about fifteen miles and put his blinker on, so we'd know he was turning. The club was on the right side of the highway, all lit up in red and pink neon lights. Already there were a lot of cars in the lot. The sign on the rooftop advertised an all-?girl revue. I guessed that was Sally.

Sally crawled out of the Porsche and straightened his skirt.

“We've played here for four weeks now,” he said. “We're like fucking regulars.”

Regular what I didn't know.

Morelli looked around the lot. “Where's Sugar's car?”

“The black Mercedes.”

“Sugar does okay.”

Sally grinned. “You ever see him in drag?”

We both shook our heads no.

“When you see him you'll understand.”

We followed Sally in through the kitchen entrance.

“If I go through the front I'll get fucking mobbed,” he said. “These people are animals.”

We went down a dreary narrow hall to a back room. The room was filled with smoke and noise and the Lovelies. All five of them. All dressed in various forms of leather . . . with the exception of Sugar. Sugar was wearing a blood-?red satin dress that fit him like his own skin. It was short and tight and so smooth in front I thought he must have been surgically altered. His makeup was flawless. His lips were full and pouty, painted in high gloss to match the dress. He wore the Marilyn wig, and on my best day I never looked that good. I slid a sideways glance at Morelli, and he obviously was caught in the same dumbstruck fascination that I was experiencing. I shifted my attention back to Sugar and realization suddenly hit me.

“The woman in the bar was Sugar,” I whispered to Morelli. “It was a different blond wig, but I'm sure it was Sugar.”

“Are you kidding me? He was right in front of you, and you didn't recognize him?”

“It happened so fast, and the room was dark and crowded. And besides, look at him! He's beautiful!”

Sugar saw the three of us come into the room, and he was on his feet, calling Sally an ungrateful slut.

“Christ,” Sally said, “what's he talking about? Don't you have to be a chick to be a slut?”

“You are a chick, you dumb shit,” one of the other drag queens said.