Page 21

Chapter Twenty

–––

They Live by Night

We drove back to the motel in silence. Between the fatigue and the rage still churning in my gut, it was hard to compose a coherent thought or figure out exactly where to begin. Because it turned out I was furious with Kat. The fact that she’d taken my mother’s side, even for a moment, well…that stung more than anything.

For her part, Kat stared out the window, avoiding my eyes. When I glanced at her, for a moment it felt like I was looking at a stranger. In spite of myself, I flashed back on the night we met.

When my college diploma finally arrived in the mail, I’d immediately headed to the local lesbian bar that had become my second home (in fact, I’d chosen my San Francisco apartment largely because it was stumbling distance away).

The bartender and I were already on a first-name basis, probably because I tipped generously and flirted shamelessly. That night, I’d harbored hope that maybe our flirtation would evolve into something more. But mainly, I was in the mood to celebrate: I’d survived two serial killers and had an actual, legitimately earned college degree. I wasn’t taking any of those things for granted. So I’d swept in and announced that the next round was on me, which elicited cheers from the women nestled at tables around the room. One round had turned into two, and as the night progressed, things got a bit hazy.

But one moment stands out crystal clear in my memory. I was in the bathroom, staring blearily at myself in the mirror. I had definitely been overserved, and the evening was threatening to take a turn. I tried to check the time on my phone but was having a hard time reading the numbers—a sure sign that I’d best be on my way.

Then I heard snuffling coming from one of the stalls. I hesitated, aware that in my current state of inebriation, I wasn’t really capable of offering assistance. But I was planning to become a therapist, right? Which (I assumed) meant it was ostensibly my job to intervene if someone was shedding tears in a public space.

So I lurched over to the stall and tentatively rapped on the door with my knuckles. “Um, hello?”

The sniffling paused and a voice quavered, “Do you need something?”

“Funny, I was gonna ask you that,” I said, bracing myself against the door to keep from falling over. “Everything okay?”

Another sniffle and then the voice said, “I am fine, thank you so much for asking.”

Her tone was oddly formal, in a way that clashed starkly with our environment. It made me smile. “All right, well. I’m not actually a shrink yet, but I’m going to be, if you want to talk about it.”

The door popped open. I’d been leaning against it and almost fell in, catching myself at the last moment. Which is when I found myself face-to-face with one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. She was a few inches taller than me, with long blond hair. Not even the puffiness from crying could diminish those green eyes. My throat went dry, and I fumbled for something to say that wouldn’t make me sound like an idiot. “Um, do you need a tissue?”

She held up a wad of toilet paper. “No, thank you. I am all set.”

“Okay. If you need anything else, I’ll be at the bar.”

“You bought me a drink,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Thank you for that.”

“Oh, um, you’re welcome.” I wasn’t great at chatting up beautiful women sober, and drunk it was an impossibility. Plus, I could feel my stomach churning. Don’t you dare puke! I told myself sternly. Out loud I said, “I like your accent. Where are you from?”

“Germany.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. Your English is great, though.”

She quirked a smile. “Do you think so? I am self-conscious about it, because it is my weakest language. May I ask, why did you buy everyone a drink?”

“I’m celebrating,” I explained. “I got something today that I’ve waited a long time for.”

“I see. And why are you not celebrating with friends?” I couldn’t detect any snark in the question despite its bluntness; she seemed genuinely curious.

“Um, I don’t really have any here yet,” I said, painfully aware this made me sound like a loser. “I’m pretty new in town.”

She brightened. “Really? I am also new!” Jutting out a hand, she added, “Katarina von Rotberg. But you can call me Kat.”

“Hi, Kat.” Bemused, I took the hand she was offering and shook it. “Amber.”

“Nice to meet you, Amber,” she said. “Now, if we are going to be friends, you will need to buy me another drink.”

And that’s how it started. I switched to club soda and gradually sobered up while we ensconced ourselves at a corner table. One thing led to another, and we ended up closing down the joint. Kat told me all about her life and how she’d spent the past few years bouncing around the globe, trying to find a place to stay for a while.

“So how do you decide?” I’d asked. “Gut feeling?”

“Yes, I keep waiting for that,” Kat said, a tiny frown furrowing the spot between her eyebrows. I had to resist the urge to smooth it out with my thumb. “Nowhere has felt quite right. I did love Haarlem in the Netherlands, but it was a bit too rainy.”

“Not a huge fan of rain myself,” I said. “So how do you like San Francisco so far?”

“It is a lovely city,” she said decisively. “Very European.”

I grinned, charmed by her careful enunciation of vowels and her clipped endings. “So if you don’t mind my asking, what was up earlier?”

“You mean, why was I crying?” she asked.

“Yeah. But you don’t have to talk about it unless you want to,” I amended.

“It is fine.” Kat flushed red. “A bit embarrassing, however. You see, I came here with a date.”

“Oh,” I said, deflating. Of course someone this stunning had a girlfriend. Feeling like an idiot, I said, “So the two of you had a fight?”

“Yes.” She looked up at me from beneath her lashes and added, “I said that the girl buying drinks was very attractive, and she took offense.”

“Really?” I said, perking up. “So was this a serious relationship, or…”

Kat was already shaking her head. “Hardly. We only met last week.”

“Well, I’m sorry for causing drama,” I said. “Not my intent.”

“I am actually grateful,” Kat said, shifting closer so that our knees were brushing. “Because this is turning out to be a much better date.”

The rest, as they say, is history (or herstory). Kat came home with me that night and basically never left. And up until now, we hadn’t argued about anything more serious than where to go for brunch.

Which proved that my parents were still masters at ruining absolutely everything they touched. Perry and Sarah Austin: living embodiments of Murphy’s Law.

I pulled into the Mayhem parking lot, squeezed into one of the few remaining spots, and turned off the car. We sat for a minute in silence. Kat put a hand on the door to get out, but I reached over to stop her. “Listen,” I said firmly. “One of the things I love about you is that you’re such a good person. You really want to help, and that’s a great trait. But there are some people who will see that and take advantage of it. Like my parents.”

“Your father was terribly injured,” Kat said stiffly, without meeting my eyes. “They called and asked for my help. Should I have turned them away?”

“Honestly, yes,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

“Well, it is no longer a problem,” she said, shaking off my hand and getting out of the car.

“Wait, what does that mean?” I asked suspiciously, hurrying to catch up. Because if my parents were deep enough in the hole that they were willing to risk their lives (well, my dad’s life) in a swoop and squat, it was highly unlikely that a single collision would cover their debt. No bookie or loan shark was that generous.

“I have taken care of it,” Kat said breezily over her shoulder as she marched up the stairs to our room.

I groaned. Shit . This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. I hustled after her, catching the door before it closed. “Kat, what did you do?”

She grabbed her suitcase from the closet and tossed it on the bed. “It was not so much money for me. I took it out of my trust and gave it to your mother.”

I winced. “Fuck. How much?”

“It does not matter,” she said stiffly, pushing past me to get to the bureau.

“It matters to me,” I said, grabbing her arm to stop her. “So how much did my mom get from you?”

Kat shook off my hand and said haughtily, “I gave them ninety thousand dollars.”

I swore out loud. “Wow. They really got you, didn’t they?”

“They did not ‘get me,’ Amber. Your mother admitted to everything you said,” she said defensively, jutting up her chin. “But she was not lying about them being in trouble with bad people. She said without the money, they would be hurt even more. Unlike you, I could not just stand by.”

I felt another flare of rage. Before I could stop myself, I spat, “How could you be so stupid?”

Kat froze. “What?”

I should have taken a deep breath and counted to ten. Better yet, I should’ve left the room entirely and come back when I’d cooled off.

But I didn’t do either of those things. I was absolutely livid, and in the moment it was impossible to separate how much of that anger belonged to her and how much to my parents. So I doubled down. “I said, how could you be so stupid? I warned you about how they operate. Even if they do owe someone, there’s no way they’re in that deep. But you forked over ninety K like it was nothing—like an easy fucking mark. So you know what? This is your own damn fault.”

Kat stared at me. I’d never spoken to her like that before. I knew I’d gone too far, but it was too late to take back my words. And I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I wanted to; deep down, I believed in what I’d said. Still, the expression on her face gave me pause.

Slowly, she said, “You think it is my fault your parents robbed me?”

I actually didn’t think that—in fact, I was ready to go back and confront my parents. But the part of me that wanted to fix it for her was being seriously overpowered by a different voice in my head that said, Screw her. She sided with your mom. She can go to hell . I shrugged. “Hey, it’s not so much money for you, right?”

There was a long pause as we faced off against each other, engaged in some sort of silent duel. Kat was breathing hard, her shoulders heaving. We stood a few feet apart but miles away. Then something occurred to me. “How did you pay them?”

“What do you mean, how did I pay them?” she asked sharply.

“It’s the middle of the night in Germany, right? Is your money guy just on call twenty-four/seven?”

“Of course,” she said, tossing her hair. “That is what he gets paid for.”

My eyes narrowed; that felt off. Kat definitely wasn’t telling me something, I could sense it. “I thought international transfers didn’t go through right away.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she retorted. “They don’t bother me with the details.”

“Must be nice. How about we call him right now and get some of those details.”

Kat stared at me. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“You just made the transfer, right? A professional money manager should be able to do something. Maybe get in touch with the bank and have the payment stopped. That’s what you pay him for, isn’t it?” I shot back.

Kat glared at me, jaw set. Crossing the room in three quick strides, she jabbed a finger into my chest. “Do you really think you can talk to me like that? You? ”

I fell back a step, startled. Kat sounded like a different person. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing hard as she continued. “You’re nobody, you hear me? Nobody! You’re just like your parents. Trash.”

I fell still. There was silence for a long moment. Then I said, “Trash, huh? That’s what you think?”

Kat’s face shifted and she held up both hands. In a rush, she said, “Amber, I am so sorry. I did not mean that. Please—”

“No, you did,” I said, cutting her off. Stepping back, I drew a deep breath. I knew that later I’d feel everything: anger, sadness, regret. But right now, the rage had cooled to a block of ice in my gut. I nodded toward her suitcase. “Finish packing.”

“No, Amber, please!” She grabbed my arm. “Let’s talk about this.”

I shook my head. “We’re done talking.”

“Do you…are we…” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Are we breaking up?”

“I try not to date people who think I’m trash,” I said in a flat voice. My insides were roiling, but I wasn’t about to let her see that. My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out: It was Dot, asking me to call her.

“Please, Amber. Don’t leave like this,” Kat pleaded, coming toward me.

I held up a hand to stave her off. “Just don’t, okay? I need some space.”

Kat stood by the bed looking distraught, hands dangling by her sides. I waited to feel the usual rush of love sparked by the sight of her, but there was nothing. It was as if she’d wiped all the emotions out of me with a single word.

And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Opening the door, I said, “Call your money guy. Maybe there’s something he can do.”

———

I stormed toward my car, a dull roar filling my ears. I should’ve called Dot back to see what she wanted, but I was so angry I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could form a complete sentence. I just needed to get in my car and drive somewhere I could calm down and think. Part of me was tempted to keep going until I reached San Francisco. I visualized throwing all of Kat’s stuff out the window of my apartment, watching it drift down to Dolores Street. Or better yet, dumping it in the trash.

I stopped next to my Audi and placed both hands on the hood, leaning over to collect myself. It’s over. My first real adult relationship had just completely imploded. New emotions started to penetrate the anger: grief and sorrow and, to be honest, more than a little relief.

You know what made the whole thing even worse? Digging through my pockets and discovering I’d left the car keys back in the room.

“Shit,” I groaned. I couldn’t go back there. I’d rather buy a whole new car than deal with Kat staring at me with that stricken expression on her face, the word trash ringing in my ears.

“What’s wrong, kiddo? You look like someone just sneezed in your soup.”

I turned at the familiar voice; Dot and Marcella were sitting in her convertible, eyeing me like I was losing my shit. Which wasn’t far off base.

“Damn,” Marcella said. “You look pissed.”

“It’s kind of been a rough day,” I said through gritted teeth.

They exchanged a look, then Dot said, “Well, we were just coming to find you. Grace finally got a hit on that license plate, and we’re headed to meet up with her. Why don’t you hop in?”

I shook my head. “I’m not going to be good company right now.”

“What else is new?” Marcella muttered. Off my look, she shrugged. “What? You’ve been kind of a drag since you got here.”

“Hush, Marcella,” Dot reprimanded her. Lowering her sunglasses, she said, “Gotta be honest, toots, you don’t look in any shape to be driving. And it’s no good being alone when you’re in a snit. If nothing else, this will be a distraction. And you can tell us all about it on the way there. ’Kay?”

I hesitated. I desperately wanted to go somewhere—anywhere, really—but without car keys, my options were limited. Deciding, I hopped in the back.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Dot said, pulling out of the parking lot. “I got a good feeling about this! Grace said the plates were stolen. That’s suspicious, right?”

“Sure,” I mumbled, chin on my hand as I glared out the window.

“Anyway, she’s trying to get a bead on where the car is right now. Said something about checking security cameras all over town.”

“Took her long enough,” Marcella grumbled.

“Now, Marcie,” Dot chided. “It was plenty fast, considering the circumstances. I feel awful about bothering her with this when her dad just died.”

“Good riddance,” Marcella muttered.

“Amen to that, but he’s still her father. And remember, we’re not a hundred percent sure it’s even the right person. This time, we’re not gonna rush into anything. BJ is still pretty riled up about getting his head shaved.”

Marcella snorted, and I grinned in spite of myself. “Go ahead and laugh,” Dot added. “He’s trying to get a bonus, calling it ‘combat pay.’?”

“Tell him if he keeps pushing, his bonus will be ten more minutes with Portia,” Marcella said. “She can finish the job.”

“Truth be told, I do feel a little bad. Poor kid looks like a plucked chicken.” Dot pulled into the left turn lane and put on the blinker. “Here’s the odd thing, though. Grace asked to meet up at the Buggy Suites.”

“Aren’t they still closed?” Marcella said, frowning.

“Last I checked.” Dot caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “You know anything about that, toots?”

“Um—I’m sure she has her reasons,” I hedged.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Dot said. “So back to the business at hand. You and your gal are still tussling?”

“You could say that,” I muttered. “She said I was trash.”

“She what ?” Dot exclaimed. “The nerve!”

“That bitch,” Marcella agreed.

“Well, I did call her stupid,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. My anger was ebbing, and all sorts of other feelings were swooping in to fill the void. Maybe I was actually the asshole in this scenario.

Or maybe something else entirely was going on. But every time I tried to catch hold of it, my mind forced it away. I twisted the Rolex she’d given me around my wrist.

“Is she stupid?” Marcella asked.

I shrugged. “She definitely did something dumb.”

Dot caught my eye in the rearview mirror and frowned. “Still doesn’t justify name-calling, Amber.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “Maybe I overreacted.”

“I meant by her,” Dot said.

“Can’t trust someone like that anyway,” Marcella said knowingly.

“Someone like what?” I bridled.

“Rich,” Marcella said.

“Technically, I’m rich, too.”

“Not like her. That’s generational wealth. It’s different.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she was right. The past few months had made that painfully clear. But that wasn’t what was bothering me. “You don’t even know her,” I said defensively. “Besides, she was just trying to help my parents.”

“Hold up. Your parents ?” Marcella asked, turning in her seat to face me. “The fuck is going on?”

I sighed. “It’s a really long story that I’m not up for telling.”

“Suit yourself,” Marcella said, turning back around.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Marcella snapped. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. So maybe we should just stop talking about it.”

“It’ll work out if it’s meant to be, kiddo,” Dot said, shooting Marcella a look. “Probably good for you both to take a beat and cool off.”

“Yeah, probably,” I agreed, sinking back in my seat.

“Anyway, I’m glad to have you with us. I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be another wild goose chase.” Dot sighed. “I swear, if I’d known it would be this hard, I wouldn’t have gotten you all involved.”

“I actually think this has been good for Grace,” I said. “She needed a distraction.”

“Poor lamb,” Dot said. “She handling it okay?”

I shrugged, remembering her downing shots the night before. “I guess she’s doing about as well as could be expected. Stuff with her dad was…complicated.”

“I bet,” Dot said. “Well, here’s hoping she’s got the right creep. If this isn’t wrapped up by the time Jim gets home tomorrow, I’ll have to put a pin in it.”

“I told you I could handle this alone, Dottie,” Marcella said. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yeah,” I chimed in. “Shouldn’t you be having a spa day or something?”

“Me and Jim are getting mani-pedis and massages at the Wynn tomorrow afternoon,” Dot said. “And hell, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I bet we get lucky.”

“Sure,” I agreed, opting not to share what I was really thinking: Based on how my week was going, luck wasn’t in the cards.

———

Dusk was falling as we arrived at the Buggy Suites. Dot steered into the lot and parked between Grace’s sedan and a little Honda that probably belonged to the nurse. The remodeling banner snapped in the wind, and a plastic bag skittered across the back fence. I turned up my coat collar against the chill and climbed out, regretting the fact that I still hadn’t bought a parka; Vegas in November was much chillier than San Francisco.

“I simply don’t understand why we couldn’t meet at the Getaway,” Dot said, hands on her hips.

Marcella leaned against the hood, arms crossed over her chest. “When Slimy Stanley sold this place, I was kind of hoping it would get torn down.”

“I just hope they don’t make it too nice,” Dot said with concern. “The last thing the Getaway needs is competition right next door.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “It’s not a motel anymore.”

Dot frowned at me. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m the new owner,” a voice said from behind us.

I turned. Grace was framed in the doorway of her new living quarters. As usual, she was dressed all in black and carried a cattle prod.

“Hang on a sec,” Dot said. “What do you mean, you’re the new owner?”

“I purchased the property a few months ago,” Grace said. “As an investment.”

Marcella made a strangled noise. I met her eyes and said, “Yeah, I know.”

“You bought the Buggy Suites? But—why?” Dot asked with what seemed like professional indignation.

“We can discuss it on the way,” Grace said, checking her watch. “I need to be back by six to interview a new attendant for Mother.”

Marcella raised an eyebrow. “Wait, your mom is here, too? What the fuck is going on?”

“Like I said, long story,” I sighed.

“If he changes locations, I might not be able to track the car,” Grace said, striding toward us. “So we should take full advantage.”

Dot was still gaping at her. “But—”

“Time is pressing,” Grace insisted, climbing in the back seat. “I texted the address to you, Dot. Shall we?”

The three of us looked at each other, and I shrugged. What the hell—at least it would offer a distraction from my relationship drama. As Dot started the car, she shook her head. “I just can’t get over it. Stanley told me he sold out to some group that was going to turn it into condos or something.”

“Well, it’s definitely ‘or something,’?” I muttered.

“You should torch it and start over,” Marcella said. “I got crabs once from the sheets.”

“As I told Amber, the exterminators were extremely thorough,” Grace said. “I also discarded all of the original furniture.”

Dot said, “I guess what’s bugging me, hon, is that you were right next door this whole time and never reached out! I could’ve helped with whatever you needed.”

Grace was looking out the window blankly. When she finally responded, she said, “In all honesty, I’m not accustomed to asking for help.”

“I get that,” Dot said, her voice softening. “And I’m not saying you have to either. But if that ever changes, I’m here. Oh, and my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Grace said. “Although I haven’t spoken to Father since I was ten years old, and given the circumstances, grief seems inappropriate.”

“Still. Even when parents are real pieces of work, it’s hard not to feel something when they go.”

Grace looked uncomfortable. “I suppose. But at the moment I would prefer to focus on coming up with a plan.”

“We got the cattle prod, right?” Marcella said. “How much more of a plan do we need?”

My phone buzzed with a text: Kat. I tucked it back in my coat pocket without reading it. It started ringing. I checked the screen: Kat again. Well, she was persistent, I’d grant her that.

“Maybe you should pick up, hon?” Dot suggested from the front seat.

“Not ready to talk to her yet,” I muttered, turning on do not disturb mode.

“Are you referring to your girlfriend?” Grace asked.

“Yeah. We’re kind of in a fight right now.”

“Are you?” Grace asked. “Then perhaps this is a good time to tell you—”

I held up a hand to cut her off. “I get it, no one else likes her. But I’m really not in the mood for ‘I told you so’ right now, okay?”

Grace eyed me for a beat, then said, “As you wish.”

“Thanks.” I settled back against the seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “Let’s just focus on catching this asshole.”

“Here we are!” Dot announced. “Dino’s Lounge.”

“I hate this dive,” Marcella said.

“It’s not a dive,” Dot protested. “Krissie runs a clean place.”

“There’s no such thing as a clean karaoke place,” Marcella scoffed.

“Wait, the guy who has been drugging and attacking girls is hanging out at a karaoke bar?” I frowned. “You think he’s looking for another victim?”

“No way. No one works this joint, they wouldn’t make a dime,” Marcella said.

“Maybe he works here?” I offered. “As a bartender or something?”

“Or he’s a big fan of shitty singing.”

“I just hope it’s really him this time.” Dot looked nervous as she turned off the car.

“I believe it is,” Grace said. “In addition to running the license plate, I performed a meta-analysis of every car that passed the victims’ locations for weeks prior to the attacks. Then I cross-referenced those license plates against local residents and performed a demographic analysis—”

I held up a hand to stop her. “Listen, Grace. I’m sure whatever you did was super nerdy and way beyond our ability to understand and also boring. Does that sound about right?”

“I would dispute your framing, especially the boring part,” she sniffed.

“Jumping ahead,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “You’re saying you’re pretty sure we got the right guy this time?”

“Yes. A car bearing that license plate was in this parking lot a half hour ago.”

“So now what?” Marcella asked. “We just go in and zap him?”

“Damn straight,” Dot said with determination, digging the cattle prod out from underneath the driver’s seat. Brandishing it, she added, “We’re bringing down this asshole tonight.”