Page 70 of Long Way Down

Melissa swallowed with difficulty.

“Not yet,” he whispered, beneath the throb of music. “Just wait for me a little bit longer, baby, yeah? And we’ll get us a private show.”

She hated him. And her whole body flushed with heat, and want.

Dimly, she was ware of applause around them, of the twin act ending. The music faded out and the lights winked. She stared at Pongo throughout, his pale gaze made neon by the low lights of the club, his smirk full of promise and not even a little bit disappointed, as he’d suggested. He looked hungry, eager, egging her on.

A voice came on over the sound system, and it was the thing that left her blinking and finally breaking away. She took a deep breath and faced forward; picked up her glass where she’d set it on a side table and drained it off in three long swallows.

“You’ve been very patient, ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ said, “and the weather forecast is finally in…”

“Wooo!” someone cheered.

A smatter of applause.

Melissa peeled Pongo’s hand off of her and sat upright away from him; pressed the cold, empty glass to her forehead.

“Put your hands together and offer a very warm welcome for April Showers!”

“Woohoo!”

“Yeah!”

“C’mon, babbbbyyyy!”

Rihanna’s “Umbrella” started, a spotlight kicked on with a thump, and out strode April Showers, clad in a complicated dress of blue straps, skin flashing in all the right places, twirling a black parasol over one shoulder.

This was the girl, Melissa reminded herself with a mental shake, that their rapist had carved up with his tribute to Davey. She fished an ice cube from her glass, popped it in her mouth, and shook off the last of the haze Pongo had stirred to life in her; tried instead to catch a glimpse, as April started her dance, of the damage a blade had done to her.

The costume had been chosen carefully, though. As the dance progressed, she stripped layers of it off to reveal a blue thong and both breasts, nipples covered with glittery blue pasties. Her back was never uncovered, though; her top had a breakaway panel in front that she ripped off and tossed dramatically into the crowd. The straps left behind exposed her breasts, but covered her back, also, an enticing criss-cross that she tossed her long, dark hair against, again and again. Melissa thought she caught the edge of a scab once or twice, but April was always in motion, always dipping, and twisting, and posing so that much more interesting parts of her body were on display. If anyone noticed her wounds, the applause at the end gave no indication.

Melissa was frowning when the lights cut off, thoroughly back in cop mode and wishing for an interview.

She turned to Pongo, who had his wallet out again. “I didn’t get a good look, but I think I spotted the tail of the Y on her right side.”

“You’ll get a good look,” Pongo assured, peeling off bills. “I’m buying us a private dance.”

~*~

When Melissa stepped inside the VIP room a waitress led them to, it took every ounce of self-control not to whirl around and step right back out.

It wasn’t a room, per se, but a corner at the back of a long hallway comprised of blue velvet curtaining on one side. The other three walls were lined with mirrors…dirty mirrors that clearly didn’t get wiped down between occupants, some smudged handprints the least disgusting things clouding their glass. A half-circle sofa sat in the corner, and a small, circular dais in front of it, a pole at its center.

“There has to be a better way to talk to her,” Melissa said under her breath as the curtain swished closed and the waitress left them.

“Not unless you also want to talk to her pimp,” Pongo said, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. “The way the lights were set up out there, there’s no way she saw my face and recognized me. She’s not expecting us, and Titus isn’t here to get rough with her. It’s the best chance we have at getting honest answers out of her. Who knows – you might be able to convince her to testify.”

“I doubt it.” Still, it was worth a shot.

Even if it meant sitting on that couch.

“God,” she murmured, staring at it, insides quailing at the thought.

“Unless you got a bottle of bleach in your bag, you’re gonna have to suck it up, sweetheart,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don’t say ‘suck’ in here.”

He snorted.