Free 1 Dicey Grenor by Dicey Grenor Page B

the
audience.
    The smell of
wildflowers hit my nose as soon as I opened the dressing room door. It was an
unusual scent which meant there was someone new inside. The new girl…
    “You must be
Sleepy Willow,” she said from the far corner where she sat wearing a white mock
turtleneck knit dress and black tights. She was braless, and as the pink of her
nipples showed, I knew she’d fit in perfectly around here. The real killers
were the five-inch leopard print stiletto come-hither pumps crossed at her
ankles.
    “And you are?” I
said, after taking her in from head-to-toe. Niiiice .
    “Queen Ming.”
    “Well, welcome to
Pit of Hades Fetish Club.” I leaned casually against my table and folded my
arms. “You Japanese?”
    “Korean.”
    Ah. I was never
good at categorizing people of Asian descent. “Sorry.”
    “No problem.” She
uncrossed her long legs and leaned forward. Long lashes, thin lips, black hair
in a bun showing off a delicate neckline…
    I cleared my
throat. “So what’s your specialty? Shoes?” I joked.
    “Yep. How’d you know? Shoes, feet…all things podophilia .”
    “Really? I was joking. I didn’t know, but those shoes are to die for.”
    She smiled. “Spoken
like a necrophilia expert.”
    I smiled back. Liked her already.
    Franco stuck his
head in the doorway. “Ming, you’re on in five. Tommy Lee’s out there so pay
extra attention to VIP table #2,” he said. Then he stepped in, kissed my
forehead and walked back out.
    Ming grabbed a
crystal bowl of soapy water, some cotton balls and red nail polish. I wished
her luck, and she left, head held high.
    It took me less
than ten minutes to get ready and about as long to perform. The room was
packed, energy high, but my set was dull, totally uneventful. I felt uninspired
for some reason.
    Surely
hoped that reason had nothing to do with Remi’s absence.
    Afterward, I
picked random patrons and collected ten vials of blood from each for later
consumption. Recent events had told me I needed to keep a stash in my motel
refrigerator. I could always warm the blood in a cup. No, it wasn’t as good as
feeding straight from a vein, but it was better than teetering on the verge of
starvation again.
    On the way back to
the dressing room, I was told Franco wanted to see me ASAP. After hiding the
vial case in my duffle bag, I showered, dressed, and headed to his office. Hair
on the back of my neck stood as I walked in and saw Franco sitting behind his
desk and an unfamiliar man sitting across from him. My instincts screamed foe !
    “Willow, this is
Agent Monroe.” Aha! “He’s here to ask you a few questions. I told him
you were tired after your performance and he should come back if—”
    “Ms…?” Monroe cut
off Franco and addressed me.
    “Call me Willow.
What can I do for you?” I said callously. His wrinkled cheap suit, unpolished
loafers, and bad dye job told me he was trying to look bigwig and failing
badly. He was a wannabe trying to earn respect, working his way up the ranks,
doing anything to get to the top.
    Here to ask me
questions. Not good.
    And like a bomb
over Baghdad, he produced pictures from my show the previous night.
    “Ms. Willow, I am
Agent Monroe, here on behalf of the Vampire Extermination Team to follow-up on
a suspicion of vampirism. It has been brought to our attention that you
performed a realistic death scene last night. These photos were posted online.”
He spread all four out on Franco’s desk. “Is this you in the photos?”
    This was one time
when I wished the myth about vampires not having a reflection was true.
    I feigned like I
had to study them closely before answering. “Uh, yeah. That’s me. What about it?”
    “You don’t have to
answer any questions if you don’t feel up to it, Willow,” Franco said. “Monroe,
these photos were obtained in violation of our club’s policy—”
    “ Agent Monroe,” he corrected. “If you have qualms with the persons who took the
photos, file a claim.