Middle Of Nowhere

   "A woman who likes to watch other women," she reminded him. "Not touch, despite what they say about me. Not woman on woman—nothing like that. But I appreciate the SI swimsuit edition as much as any of you. The boys can't understand a woman appreciating the female body—but they can watch one guy pound another guy on the scrimmage line every Sunday—so that's their problem, not mine. I'd never been to strip joints until the guys from our squad dragged me in one time. And them thinking they would gross me out. You should have seen them! Have I ever gone down on a woman? No. Do I want to? No. Disgusting! Do I like marble nudes? You bet. Nude dancers? Why not?"

   "I think I have more information than I need," Boldt said.

   "If I had a body like that, I might show it off for a few bucks. I'm built like a truck. So what can I do about it?"

   "You are not!" Boldt objected. "You're a good-looking woman."

   "That's horse shit, L.T."

   "Lacey Delgato is one thing." He hesitated, "I'm not having this conversation," he said vehemently.

   After a long silence, Gaynes said under her breath, "Thank you for saying that, L.T. You're a peach."

   "So I'll make you a deal," he said.

"Shoot."

   "I'll handle the bouncer and the bartender if you'll do the talking with the ladies." He checked to make sure a cruiser was following, as ordered. "If she's here, it's straight into the radio car for a ride downtown. I want her scared."

   "They're girls, L.T." Correcting him. "Bodies as hard as that; they just don't last all that long."

   Upon entering Mike's Pleasure Palace, Boldt shouted to be heard above Don Henley's grinding rock and roll.

   "These girls don't often use their real names, even with the help," Gaynes said, pulling him down to hear. "Use the mug shot from BCI."

   "Unnecessary," Boldt said, pointing to the stage where pulsing blue light welcomed the next dancer to the platform. Wearing a translucent wet T-shirt and an equally showy, wet white cotton thong, the relatively small-chested Courtney Samway strutted out onto stage, her platinum blond hair showing slightly from beneath a black wig. There was no mistaking her. She didn't have the meaty frame of a stripper, and the crowd of men seemed to be assessing her until she began to move to the music, at which point all eyes took to the stage.

   Boldt scanned the crowd for Flek. "You see him?"

   "No," Gaynes replied. "But I'm thinking we might want to hang for a while in case he shows. We approach her too soon we could scare him off."

   "I'm not hanging around, if that's what you're sug gesting," Boldt said. "I want her downtown. I want some answers."

   She slithered like a snake, wrapping herself around her own frame suggestively. The T-shirt came off somewhere in the process, followed a moment later by the thong. Boldt told himself he wouldn't have watched if he hadn't been required to, but in truth there wasn't a male not watching. She didn't have a centerfold body, but she was shapely enough.

   "Hair coloring's a match," Boldt said, still looking.

   "Thing looks like a sheepskin rug," Gaynes said. " 'Bout as natural-looking as one of those car seat covers."

   "You take the dressing room," Boldt advised Gaynes. "I'll stay out here." He reminded her: "Radio car's out front." Probably hadn't been helping win Mike any customers.

   Gaynes never met Samway face to face that night. Following her dance, the woman slipped into a robe and stepped off out front, summoned for a lap dance. Boldt cut the private performance short. Two minutes later Samway was escorted to the backseat of the police cruiser and was headed downtown to Public Safety.

* * *

Samway occupied the chair inside the interrogation room in her satin robe. Chewing gum kept her jaw pumping. Deputy Prosecuting Attorney Delgato could see this all for herself, since Boldt had summoned her to the 1 A.M. interrogation. The witness had requested a public defender despite the fact she was only in for questioning. Where a public defender appeared, prosecuting attorneys followed; hence Delgato. Daphne too had been rousted. Gaynes watched from the other side of the room's one-way glass with Delgato. Boldt's ATeam. All but LaMoia. It hurt Boldt to think about him laid up in the hospital.

   "You talk to us now before your court-appointed attorney arrives," Daphne told the young woman, "and the lieutenant here forgets about the probation violation of associating with known felons and we forego the urine test to see if you've been smoking pot."

   "I'm sure," she said.

   "You want to hear it from a deputy prosecuting attorney?" Daphne asked. "I give the signal and she's in here laying it out for you."

   "Trust me," Boldt intervened from the chair next to Daphne. "All we want is a little frank discussion about your roommate."

   "He saw you on the news at that Denver hotel," she said ominously while staring at Boldt.

   "Meaning?" Daphne asked.

   Samway said, "Listen, who's talking to you? I've never seen you before. But him?" She eyed Boldt.