“I’ll go in the back and check the girls.”

Jeffrey nodded, turning around to get his beer. There was two dollars and some change on the bar, but Chip was nowhere in sight. Jeffrey drank from the mug, almost gagging at the lukewarm liquid. Either they were watering down their drinks with sewage here at the Pink Kitty or they had hooked up the taps to a bunch of horses they kept under the bar.

“Sorry,” a stranger said, bumping into him. Jeffrey instinctively reached back to check his wallet, but it was still there.

“You from around here?” the guy asked.

Jeffrey disregarded the question, thinking this was a pretty stupid place to cruise for dates.

“I’m from around here,” the guy said, listing slightly.

Jeffrey turned to look at him. He was about five six with stringy blond hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. Drunk out of his mind, he was clutching the bar with one hand, the other straight out from his side as if he needed it there to balance. His fingernails were edged with dirt, his skin a pale yellow.

Jeffrey asked, “You come here a lot?”

“Every night,” he said, a snaggled tooth sticking out as he smiled.

Jeffrey took out a photo of Abigail Bennett. “You recognize her?”

The guy stared at the photo, licking his lips, still swaying back and forth. “She’s pretty.”

“She’s dead.”

He shrugged. “Don’t stop her from being pretty.” He nodded at the two mugs of beer. “You gonna drink that?”

“Help yourself,” Jeffrey told him, moving down the bar to get away from him. The guy was probably just looking for his next drink. Jeffrey had dealt with that attitude before. He had seen it in his father every morning when Jimmy Tolliver dragged himself out of bed.

Lena made her way to the bar, her expression answering his question. “Just one girl in the back,” she told him. “You ask me, she’s a runaway. I left my card with her, but I doubt anything will come out of it.” She looked behind the bar. “Where’d the bartender go?”

Jeffrey hazarded a guess. “To tell the manager a couple of cops are here.”

“So much for coming in soft,” she said.

Jeffrey had spotted a door beside the bar and assumed that’s where Chip had scurried off to. Beside the door was a large mirror that had a darker tint than the others. He guessed someone, probably the manager or the owner, was on the other side, watching.

Jeffrey didn’t bother knocking. The door was locked, but he managed to bust it open with a firm twist of the knob.

“Hey!” Chip said, backing into the wall with his hands up.

The man behind the desk was counting money, one hand going through the bills, the other tapping out numbers on an adding machine. “What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to look up. “I run a clean place. You ask anybody.”

“I know you do,” Jeffrey said, taking Abigail’s photo out of his back pocket. “I need to know if you’ve seen this girl around here.”

The man still didn’t bother to look up. “Never seen her.”

Lena said, “You wanna take a look and tell us again?”

He did look up then. A smile spread out on his wet lips, and he took a cigar out of the ashtray at his elbow and chewed on it. His chair groaned like a seventy-year-old whore when he leaned back in it. “We don’t usually have the pleasure of such fine company.”

“Look at the picture,” she told him, glancing down at the nameplate on his desk. “Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Albert,” he told her, taking the Polaroid from Jeffrey. He studied the image, his smile dropping a bit before he stretched it back out. “This girl looks dead.”

“Good call,” Lena told him. “Where are you going?”

Jeffrey had been watching Chip edge toward another door, but Lena had caught him first.

Chip stuttered, “N-nowhere.”

“Keep it that way,” Jeffrey warned him. In the light of the office, the bartender was a scrawny guy, probably from a serious drug habit that kept him from eating too much. His hair was cut short over his ears and his face was clean shaven, but he still had the air of a derelict about him.

Albert said, “Wanna lookit this, Chippie?” He held out the photo, but the bartender didn’t take it. Something was going on with him, though. Chip’s eyes kept darting from Lena to Jeffrey to the picture, then the door. He was still edging toward the exit, his back pressed to the wall as if he could sneak away while they were watching.

“What’s your name?” Jeffrey asked.

Albert answered for him. “Donner, like the party. Mr. Charles Donner.”

Chip kept sliding his feet across the floor. “I ain’t done nothing.”

“Stop right there,” Lena told him. She took a step toward him, and he bolted, swinging open the door. Lunging, she caught the back of his shirt, spinning him around straight into Jeffrey’s path. Jeffrey’s reaction was slow, but he managed to catch the young man before he fell flat on his face. He couldn’t keep the kid from banging into the metal desk, though.

“Shit,” Chip cursed, holding his elbow.

“You’re fine,” Jeffrey told him, scooping him up by his collar.

He bent over at the waist, clutching his elbow. “Shit, that hurt.”

“Shut up,” Lena told him, picking up the Polaroid from the floor. “Just look at it, you pud.”

“I don’t know her,” he said, still rubbing his elbow, and Jeffrey wasn’t sure whether or not he was lying.

Lena asked, “Why’d you try to run?”

“I’ve got a record.”

“No shit,” Lena said. “Why’d you try to run?” When he didn’t answer her, she popped the back of his head.

“Christ, lady.” Chip rubbed his head, looking at Jeffrey, beseeching him for help. He was barely taller than Lena, and even though he had about ten pounds on her, she definitely had more muscle.

“Answer her question,” Jeffrey told him.

“I don’t wanna go back inside.”

Jeffrey guessed, “You’ve got a warrant out on you?”

“I’m on parole,” he said, still holding his arm.

“Look at the picture again,” Jeffrey told him.

His jaw tightened, but Chip was obviously used to doing what he was told. He looked down at the Polaroid. He showed no visible recognition on his face, but Jeffrey saw his Adam’s apple bob as if he was trying to stop his emotions.

“You know her, don’t you?”

Chip glanced back at Lena as if he was afraid she’d hit him again. “If that’s what you want me to say, yeah. Okay.”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Jeffrey said, and when Chip looked up his pupils were as big as quarters. The guy was obviously high as a kite. “You know she was pregnant, Chip?”

He blinked several times. “I’m broke, man. I can barely feed myself.”

Lena said, “We’re not hitting you up for child support, you stupid fuck.”

The door opened and the girl from the stage stood there, taking in the situation. “Y’all okay?” she asked.

Jeffrey had looked away when she opened the door, and Chip took advantage of the situation, sucker punching him square in the face.

“Chip!” the girl screamed as he pushed past her.

Jeffrey hit the floor so hard he literally saw an explosion of stars. The girl started screaming like a siren and she fought Lena tooth and nail, trying to keep her from chasing after Chip. Jeffrey blinked, seeing double, then triple. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them for what seemed like a long while.

Jeffrey was feeling better by the time Lena dropped him off at Sara’s. The stripper, Patty O’Ryan, had scraped a line of skin off the back of Lena’s hand, but that was all she had managed to do before Lena twisted the girl’s arm behind her back and slammed her to the floor. She was cuffing the stripper when Jeffrey finally managed to open his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Lena said, but it was somewhat drowned out by O’Ryan’s brutal, “Fuck you, you fucking pigs!”