Free The Dead Detective by William Heffernan Page A

to the beat of the music, the men would stuff the bill into the string of her thong.
    There were men at the bar, filling half the stools, most turned toward the dancers, some just staring blindly into their drinks like drunks the world over. Harry moved toward the bar with Vicky at his side, stopping at the far end and raising his shield for the bartender when their eyes met.
    The bartender, a thickly built thirty-something with a shaved head and one gold earring, gave a heavy sigh to let Harry know he wasn’t pleased to have cops in his bar, then moved slowly toward them.
    “You need somethin’?” he asked.
    Closer up Harry could make out part a barbed-wire tattoo that showed through the open collar of his shirt and appeared to encircle his neck. There were matching tattoos encircling each arm.
    “I need you to look at a picture,” Harry said.
    “I’m not too good with pictures,” the bartender replied in the raspy voice of a heavy smoker.
    “What’s your name?” Harry asked.
    “Name’s Jack.”
    “Well, Jack, if you’re not good with pictures, it’s probably the lighting in this pisshole of a joint.” Harry made a show of looking around the room and squinting. “I think it might help if we took you someplace where the light is better.”
    “I’m workin’,” Jack offered.
    “Yeah, so are we,” Vicky said. “And guess whose work comes first.”
    Jack turned his head away to demonstrate his disgust. “Show me your picture,” he said. “I’ll light a match if I need to.”
    Harry handed him the photo of Darlene Beckett.
    Jack looked at it and snorted. “This is who you wanted me to ID? Shit, that’s Darlene.”
    “How do you know her?” Harry asked.
    “I know her ’cause she’s here a couple times a week,” Jack said.
    “She’s a regular?” Vicky asked.
    “As regular as they get here. Hell, she was here last night.” Jack jerked his head toward the front entrance. “Her car’s still in the parking lot. I saw it there when I came to work.” He gave them an evil smile. “She musta got lucky and found somebody to take her home last night. Not that it would take much. I mean she’s a good-lookin’ broad.” He grinned again. “And, what the hell, she’s a fuckin’ celebrity, am I right?” The grin widened and returned to its distinctly evil quality. “I mean a real fuckin’ celebrity.”
    Harry and Vicky ignored the comment.
    “You ever take her home?” Harry asked.
    Jack shook his head. “Never got that lucky.”
    “You sure?” It was Vicky this time.
    “Yeah, I’m sure.”
    How come you know what her car looks like?” Now it was Harry. They had Jack’s head swiveling between them as though he were watching a tennis match, and small beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip.
    “Hey, I helped her get it started once, that’s all.”
    “Just a good Samaritan, huh?” Vicky said. “Just the kind of a guy who offers to help when a lady finds herself in a tough spot, is that right?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Bullshit,” Harry snapped.
    “Hey, what the fuck is goin’ on here? What’s this all about?”
    “Who was Darlene with last night?” It was Vicky again. “Who was she talking to?”
    “How the hell do I know? I mean she was a friendly broad. She sat here at the bar and talked to lots of people.”
    Harry leaned in closer. “ You better talk to us , Jack. You better stop the shit, and talk to us.”
    “Hey, look, I don’t want no trouble, alright? I don’t remember who she was talkin’ to, not what guys, anyway. I know she was talkin’ to Jasmine. She’s one of our dancers. Darlene likes to talk to the dancers. I always thought maybe she goes that way too.” He tried a knowing sneer; then gave it up when he saw it wasn’t working.
    “Is Jasmine here?” Harry asked.
    “Yeah. She’s in back.” He inclined his head toward a black velvet curtain between the stage and the bar. “She’s doin’ a private lap dance.”
    “Get her,” Vicky