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  “I played a little trumpet in fourth grade,” Charlie said, “but the teacher said I couldn’t do a good purse, so I switched to trombone and played that a little while. I learned to play just by looking at the sheet. I couldn’t tell an A from an E, so I left the reading music to the better players.” Charlie looked up and around, like he could see the music in the air. “I’m not really much for this Top 40s stuff. I just heard that song ‘Janine’. I quite liked that years ago, but I’m sure it was before your time.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard it,” the girl said.

  “It’s good. The first time I heard it, I was down in Brazil doing some consulting work. I was at this little bar filled with locals, all of whom were a whole lot darker than me. I got more than a few stares, but my eyes were stuck on this one girl. She was pretty, though not as pretty as you.”

  The stripper smiled politely.

  “Still, she had this way of moving when that song came on. I’ve got no idea why that song was on a Brazilian jukebox, but still. She stood in the middle of the floor and swayed her hips from side to side as if the music had wrapped around her. It was just…beautiful. They aren’t much for whiskey down there, but they like rum, and there’s this fancy-sounding drink called caipirinhas, I think. Damn tasty, strong too. I think I passed out that night staring at her dance.”

  The girl laughed, but it was forced—the kind of chuckle a salesman would make in an effort to seem human when all they cared about were the dollar signs.

  “You talk funny,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Charlie said. “It’s the only way I know how.”

  “Do you want a dance?” she asked.

  Charlie looked around. “Where? I don’t see a dance floor, other than the stage.”

  The girl laughed again. “Uh…not that kind of dance.” She smiled again, so much so that Charlie noticed how much he switched between a smile and blank stare. “I’ll do tables for twenty and a private booth for forty. We’ve also got a VIP room for bed dances, if you’d like to be more comfortable.”

  “Oh. Not right now,” Charlie said. “I’m just enjoying the company at the moment.” He resisted looking down at her cleavage, but it was an uphill battle. “So…where are you from?” he asked.

  Her brow furrowed for a second, like Charlie was a waste of time, then something about the girl lightened for a moment, and she seemed a little less like a stripper and more like someone a guy might meet in a bar—a real girl he’d want to buy a drink for. “Well, if you can believe it, I’m not too far from here originally.” Her words came out tentatively over the sound of the throbbing bass hits. “I even played the lead in the high school musical, and I wanted to get outta this bum-fuck town and try Hollywood.”

  “Ya don’t say.”

  “I know, right,” she said and scooted a little closer on her stool, more comfortable sharing her life outside the red lights and glitter. “When I finally got out there, the place was just crawling with sleaze-bags who wanted to get me on a casting couch and make girls work for their roles, all the while telling them how big of a star they were gonna be. Not that it ever happened to me, but it sure did happen to a friend of mine. Anyway, I realized I could make a lot more money working at clubs. It’d be more of a sure thing. So, long story short, I moved out to Vegas for about six months, until I heard about the auditions for exotic dancers back here. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, who woulda thought I’d be able to make more money working the stage back here in North Dakota than in Sin City, right? All those oil workers are dragging in all that dough, and they’ve got nothing to spend it on in this nothing-happening town. So, I came up for the tryouts, and here I am.”

  “Here you are,” Charlie said.

  A round of applause filled the room as the DJ announced over the sound system, “Let’s give a big hand for Destiny on the main stage…”

  A few hoots and hollers and inappropriate remarks and cat calls ensued, and the aforementioned Destiny picked up her scattered parcels of clothing, as well as the singles that filled the brass rail around the phallic bulge of a main stage. All around the stage lined seats, Charlie had heard it called Sniffers Row or The Erection Section, neither was much to his taste, but when in Rome. Most of the guys had at least one empty bottle next to them and were working through another. Some faces were still showed flecks of dried dirt and mud, peeling like a snake shedding its skin to show a new form underneath. A lot of the guys in the club worked twelve hour shifts and went straight to the closest bottle, not a whole lot of layers to contend with. It was a simple pattern, but hard life.

  “Next up…my girl, Coco…”

  A waitress in a sequined halter top came by to ask if either Charlie or the girl, whose made-up name Charlie couldn’t remember, wanted anything to drink.

  Charlie asked for a Coke, as he had no inclination to pay obscene strip club prices for whiskey. Even the Coke cost him nine dollars.

  “How about you, Dee Dee?” the waitress asked.

  Dee Dee batted her eyes and acted as if she was flirting with the waitress, then answered, “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  Charlie was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t even ask him to buy her a drink, but it made him smile even more than her name and its cup-size implications.

  “You’re different than the usual guys who come in here,” Dee Dee said after the waitress walked away.

  “Really?” Charlie asked. “How so?”

  Dee Dee smiled sweetly and batted her eyes at Charlie flirtatiously, it was a practiced move, simple, but Charlie liked the attempt. “I dunno. You’re definitely not like the rig workers. They’re always flashing their cash around, making promises they don’t intend to keep, and talking a big game. You just…like to listen.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said. “How else would I get to know people?”

  “And you want to get to know me?” Dee Dee asked with a wry little smile.

  “Actually, I’d like to buy you a drink, but only if we go somewhere else. No offense, but it’d be better someplace quiet, just the two of us, where we could talk. Just talk.”

  Dee Dee’s eyebrow twitched, and she looked down at the tabletop. “I’m flattered, but we’re not supposed to date customers.”

  “All I did was buy a Coke,” Charlie said with a smile. “If it’d make you feel better, I could cancel my order, and then I wouldn’t technically be a customer, would I?”

  Dee Dee smiled again. “I guess not.”

  “Then again, I don’t want to sound rude or like I’m just laying a line. I’m sure guys try to lay a line on you all the time,” he said with a smile, tipping his porkpie at her.

  “Is that what you’re doing? Laying a line?” Dee Dee asked.

  Charlie looked at her for a while, right in the eyes, without so much as a blink and told her a firm no. He liked her, and he had no problem telling her so. Because of that, he wanted to sit down like two normal people and have a drink.

  “Normal?” The word didn’t seem to resonate with Dee Dee at first, but then something changed in her face, all at once. Her voice shifted from what sounded like a come-on to more of a lilt, some semblance of affection or at least a little interest. Charlie could feel her bare foot rub the inside of his calf. “You wanna give me your phone number?” she asked.

  “I would, but I don’t have a phone,” Charlie said.

  “You don’t own a phone?”

  “I rather talk to people in person.”

  For the first time in the conversation, Dee Dee looked confused. “How do you make plans?”

  “I figure that I just show up where I say I’ll be when I saw I’ll be there. That usually works just fine.”

  “What’s did you say your name is?” Dee Dee asked over the blaring music. Her hand had found a less-than-subtle way of tracing up and down the length of his forearm.

  “Charlie,” he said, tipping his hat again. “Charlie Kelly.” Which it wasn’t, but he liked to say so on account of it sounding Irish, which
he wasn’t, but he enjoyed the whiskey and the accent.

  The music changed again, as did the dancer, but Charlie didn’t catch which stage name she’d taken out of the shallow pool of creativity all strippers seemed to draw from. He was otherwise distracted by what he was pretty sure would be a decent end to what had been a really long road trip across the Midwest.

  “So, Charlie, where are you staying?” Dee Dee asked.

  Charlie grabbed the top of his hat and readjusted it on his head. “I haven’t quite figured that out yet, and I’m not real sure how long I’ll be in town. I’m just here to take care of some business, and then I s’pose I’ll be moving on.” The waitress finally brought over his Coke and he looked over at Dee Dee before he told the waitress he’d changed his mind and didn’t need it anymore. He gave her a five for her trouble and caught Dee Dee sharing a little insider glance with the server before she walked away.

  Dee Dee turned back to Charlie and smiled again, the way all women did when Charlie spoke in that slow, matter-of-fact way. More often, he spoke to women in countries that didn’t use his native language and not so often in clubs, but in spite of her career choice, Charlie liked the view, and the girl had small-town-girl charm hidden beneath all that make-up and glitter. He was pretty sure Dee Dee wouldn’t pry into his business, as he was in the club surrounded by plenty of other guys with fat rolls in their pockets. Dee Dee probably assumed he had money, and that was good, because he didn’t like to have to lie. Letting her assume things about him and the condition of his wallet was much easier than explaining how he’d worked his way halfway across the country to find the bastard who’d gotten Kay strung out on meth and turning tricks.

  The next morning, Charlie felt that familiar finger tracing up his forearm again. He opened his eyes slowly and prayed that the girl would have a cigarette, or—better yet—one of his cigarillos waiting. She didn’t, but her smile would do in lieu of a nic-fix. She was a nice girl, but her lovemaking was like that of a beautiful woman; she overacted and underperformed. Regardless, she was a nice girl so when it was over, Charlie kissed her sweetly on the forehead, and that made her smile.

  “You wanna get some breakfast?” Dee Dee asked, her naked body chest down on bed.

  Charlie looked over at the clock on the table; it was 12:26 p.m. “Breakfast? Sure you don’t mean lunch?”

  “I like to have breakfast when I wake up. Do you like waffles? I know a really good place just down the street that makes them fresh all day,” Dee Dee said as she stood, naked as the day she was born, and walked to the bathroom of the double-wide trailer. Dee Dee—who’d mentioned that her real name was Deandra, but she actually preferred Dee Dee—had told Charlie the night before, “It isn’t exactly The Palms, but there aren’t a whole lot of options for lodging in the area because of all the Mud Men,” what she called the oil drillers.

  Charlie leaned over the side of the bed and reached for his pants, which were lying in a pile under his shirt and hat to dug out one of his Al Capone cigarillos. As he rolled onto his back again, the faint taste of the rum-dipped tip on his lips when he noticed the “No Smoking” sign on the table. He wondered what kind of foot traffic a person needed to have in their place to find the need for one of those signs. Charlie let the thought pass and nestled the cigarillo behind his ear. He reached down again and grabbed his wallet.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Dee Dee said from the bathroom door, still naked, her chest very much embodying her stage name, blonde hair hanging loose and flowing over her shoulders. She had a toothbrush in her mouth, so the words game out a bit garbled and Charlie couldn’t quite make out what she said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What’s with the wallet, Charlie?”

  Charlie cocked his head in confusion.

  “Either you’re checking to see if I stole from you or you’re getting money out to pay me, as if I’m some fucking whore.” She stomped back into the bathroom, slammed her toothbrush back onto the counter, and spat into the sink with a wet splat.

  Charlie just sat up in the full-size bed, covered in less than discreet black sheets and watched Dee Dee in the bathroom. She was still naked, which made the whole thing pretty funny looking; he had seen quite a share of things in his time, but he’d never seen a naked girl throw a tantrum. Her nudity aside, she looked like an entirely different person from the night before. After she’d left the club with him, they’d gone out for a drink at a bar Dee Dee selected. Charlie hadn’t said much, content to let Dee Dee go on and on about her family and aspirations. Charlie liked listening to her; she’d sounded excited, as if no one had ever asked her about herself. She told Charlie about high school and not fitting in, about her deadbeat father, about how scary it had been to move out to California, but being even more scared to move back to North Dakota.

  Upon their arrival at her trailer, Dee Dee was a little friskier than Charlie. He had tried to take things slow, which seemed to confuse her. He led her to the shower and tenderly kissed her lips and neck, wiping away the layers of makeup, effectively stripping away the person she had to be onstage. Those green eyes of hers had looked so vulnerable, so wanting.

  Her eyes were anything but vulnerable as she stomped around the trailer; rather, her emeralds were replaced by burning gasoline. Charlie figured it best just to wait and let it play out. Charlie knew a thing or two about burning oils and force was almost never the way to let it burn out.

  “Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself or not?” Dee Dee asked as she stomped back into the room and tossed things around, looking for her underwear and pants. For a trailer, Dee Dee lived pretty well in the double-wide, four bedroom, two bathroom model. It was a heck of a lot bigger than the trailers Charlie grew up in. Though for all the space, there was barely a personal item in the place. No pictures, wall-hangings were straight out of the Walmart “art” section, the furniture was leather, but looked out of place. Dee Dee clearly made good money and had no idea what to do with it.

  “It’s not what you think,” Charlie said.

  “I can’t believe this. I thought you were different, but you’re just like all the other assholes around here. You talk some big game and act like some out-of-town smooth-talker, but as soon as you get in my pants, you toss me aside like I’m a fucking piece of shit.” In the throes of her discontent, Dee Dee looked to be having a hell of a time getting her shirt straight.

  In an effort to defuse things before Dee Dee stomped out without giving him a chance to explain, Charlie slid forward to the foot of the bed as Dee Dee stomped back and forth between he and the master bathroom, arm still not fully through her shirt sleeve. He still had his wallet in hand. “Dee,” he said, and pulled a picture out of his wallet, “have you ever seen this girl before?”

  Dee Dee stopped and stared at Charlie, then cocked her head like a confused puppy, her tantrum derailed. It seemed she was trying to figure out if she should still be mad or if Charlie was playing some kind of a mind game. Her hand reached forward toward Charlie’s wallet, and she snatched the picture of the young brunette, wearing a big grin and hugging an oversized teddy bear. The girl in the photo was very pretty, and it looked like she’d been laughing just before the photo was snapped. “Hmm. I don’t recognize her,” Dee Dee said. “She’s cute. Is that why you came into the club? Are you looking for a dancer you know or something?”

  Charlie stood up and pulled his pants on. “Honestly? I really can’t say what she’s doing nowadays. Last I heard she was in the area. I haven’t seen her in a while and figured it was about time we caught up.”

  Dee Dee looked him over, and her eyes dropped in shameful reproach. “Oh my God… I’m so, so sorry, Charlie. I just—”

  Charlie stepped close to her and put a finger to her lips, before laying a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled and waited for Dee Dee’s face to lighten. “Just lead me to those waffles you were telling me about.”

  Chapter 3

  Ser
geant Perez preferred to eat at the Daily Diner around noon or one in the afternoon, the least busy time of day, when the first-shifters were already busy at work and the third-shifters were fast asleep in their beds or passed out. Bluff Falls was more or less dead from noon to five, and Perez liked to take advantage of that, forgoing his usual lunch and dinner of gas station food for a hamburger or maybe breakfast for lunch. While he still ate his morning breakfast there on occasion, he wasn’t a fan. It wasn’t so much that the roughnecks were bad company, as most of the guys in the diner for breakfast were either on their way to work or to bed, but they were always so dirty; the whole town seemed to be constantly covered in a thin layer of filth, beneath the surface and always there. Perez hated that the oil and mud lingered under everyone’s nails, even if the rest of them looked presentable. He felt the grime in his bones.

  Perez sat alone at the counter and read through the local paper, assuming someone would break through his peace and quiet any minute. As usual, that unpardonable interruption came in the form of his partner, the ever-present Sergeant Nikki Hamill, sunglasses still on indoors. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun on the back of her head, she wore a powder blue button up shirt for a change, and she had a bounce in her step. She was a morning, noon and nighttime person, if there was such a thing. Her energy annoyed Perez, particularly since she was always telling him that he needed to exercise more or that they should go on a run together in the mornings. He generally looked at his partner, fifteen years his junior, with a patient stare, and chose his comments well.