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Chapter Seven

–––

Man in the Shadow

The room was tiny, barely large enough to contain a listing queen-sized bed and rickety side table, never mind the five other people crammed inside. It stank, too, emanating a distinctive “something died in here” aroma.

“Good God,” Kat choked, covering her nose with one hand.

Marcella and Dot were beside the bed, looking down at a woman—a girl, really—who was lying in the center of it. She seemed out of it; her eyes were having a hard time staying open. Dr. Aboud, the wig store owner/surgeon who had helped us out the previous spring when Grace was stabbed, knelt beside the bed, checking the girl’s pulse.

But what really threw me was that the girl was totally, completely bald. I swallowed hard and staggered back a few steps.

“Amber? Are you okay?”

It sounded like Kat’s voice was coming at me from a distance. The walls of the room receded and then sprung back, pulsing like a heart. Dot hurried over and took my arm, saying, “Let’s get you some air, hon. You look a little peaky.”

I only vaguely registered what she was saying, could barely even see the room around me. Instead, I was back in a dank basement, shaved bald and painted blue, staring up at a bare bulb, the steel table cold under my naked skin…

I staggered to the parking lot and put a hand on Grace’s car hood to brace myself. Eyes closed, I silently repeated my mantra: You’re okay now. It’s over, and you’re okay.

“You all right there, miss?” I heard Frank call out.

“She’ll be fine, I’ve got her,” Dot called back. Distantly, I felt the weight of her hand on my back as she murmured, “Easy, kiddo. Breathe with me.”

I nodded, but it was taking everything I had to keep from throwing up. Drawing in deep breaths on top of that seemed impossible. But I tried to follow along as Dot said, “Four counts in…that’s a good girl, you’re doing just peachy. Now breathe out for six. Nice. Okay, let’s do it again.”

“What is wrong with her?” Kat asked.

And that shook me right out of it. Before any of my friends could explain why the sight of a bald woman sent me into panic mode, I straightened and said, “It’s cool. I’m fine now.”

“Probably a bad oyster,” Marcella said from where she leaned against the doorframe.

I threw her a grateful look, and she responded with a knowing nod. Kat wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, asking in a low voice, “Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yeah, totally. Sorry I freaked you out. It was just the smell,” I said weakly.

“Yes, it is truly ghastly,” Kat agreed.

“What are you doing here, hon?” Dot asked wearily.

“We were, um—”

“Following us in a cab,” Grace called from the room. “Poorly, too. I spotted her almost immediately. I told you she was constitutionally incapable of staying out of it.”

Before I could respond, Dr. Aboud appeared in the doorway. Eyeing me, he said, “Your color is a bit off. Do you need me to prescribe something for food poisoning? Unfortunately, I did not bring an extra IV drip.”

“I’m cool, thanks. Um, nice to see you again.”

“Yes, well. Someday it will hopefully occur under happier circumstances.” Wearily turning to Dot, he said, “Physically, Gina is fine. She just needs to sleep it off.”

“So we can move her?” Dot asked.

Dr. Aboud nodded. “Absolutely. In fact, I would recommend getting her out of here as quickly as possible. Anyone who entered that room should bathe thoroughly as soon as you get home. And put your clothing in plastic.” He shuddered. “This might be the filthiest place I have ever seen in my life.”

“Thanks so much again for coming on short notice, doc,” Dot said, laying a hand on his arm.

“Of course. See you at the wedding.” As he turned toward his car, I overheard him say, “And not before then, if I am lucky.”

A groan from inside the room. Dot made a face and said, “Oh, dear. I should get back to Gina.”

“Who’s Gina, exactly?” I asked.

“One of the girls from the Getaway.” Marcella took a hit off her vape pen as she stepped aside to let Dot back into the room. “Nice kid.”

“And someone drugged her?” I asked, feeling a wave of nausea swell again.

Kat gave me a funny look. Marcella glanced at her, then said, “Yeah. Been happening a lot lately.”

Turning, she went back inside. I hesitated, then started to follow. Kat laid a hand on my arm to stop me and said in a grave tone, “Amber. This seems like something we should not involve ourselves with.”

“Well, they’re involved,” I said weakly. “And they’re my friends, so let’s just get a little more information, then we can go back, okay?”

A beat and then Kat nodded. “I will go wait in the cab.”

“Thanks.” I squeezed her hand. “You’re the best, dolphin.”

She smiled thinly but didn’t respond, which was probably not a great sign, but I was too tired and nauseous to care. I stopped on the threshold where the smell was less pungent and said, “So what the fuck is all this?”

“Oh, dollface,” Dot said, shaking her head. “I really wish you hadn’t come.”

“It’s genuinely remarkable how adept you are at interfering,” Grace said.

“Interfering?” I bridled. “Seriously?”

“There’s no time for bickering,” Dot said sternly. “We need to get Gina out of here—this place really gives new meaning to the word ‘dump.’ Once I get her squared away, we can meet at the Stardust diner. ’Kay?”

We all mumbled agreement. From the bed, a weak voice said, “Are any of you fuckers gonna get me a hat? My head is fucking freezing.”

———

Kat’s new best friend Frank was relieved that we’d survived our experience with Vegas’s skankiest motel unscathed, although he looked askance at our lack of an ashtray.

“It turns out they do not even have them,” Kat explained with a shrug. “So we got matches instead.”

“Should count,” he agreed. Frank felt a lot better about dropping us at the Stardust diner and filled the silence en route with a long-winded story about how he’d met his third wife there.

I wouldn’t call it romantic, but the Stardust certainly fit the bill of an old-school diner, with wide, circular booths and a revolving display case layered with pies. Despite it being nearly three a.m. on a weekday, it was hopping, with just about every table occupied. Kat and I managed to grab a large booth at the far end of the room.

The waitress set steaming mugs of coffee in front of us and hustled away. Kat took a sip and said, “So this is turning out to be a bit of an odd night.”

“That has generally been my Vegas experience,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Sorry, babe. If I’d known, I would’ve just taken us back to the motel.”

“Oh, it is not that.” She shook her head vigorously. “I suppose I just was not aware of how…interesting your friends would turn out to be.”

A bit taken aback, I cautiously asked, “What do you mean?”

“That bald woman seemed to be a prostitute,” Kat said hesitantly. “Was she not?”

“Yeah, probably,” I said. “Sex work counts as work, though, right?”

“Does it?” Kat cocked her head to the side. “I do not mean to offend; I simply never thought of it that way.”

“Yes, it does. Here they come,” I said, half-standing to wave them over. “Um, look. Probably don’t talk about sex work around Marcella, okay?”

Kat’s eyes widened. “Oh, is she—”

“She was. Retired now,” I said. “But maybe just don’t bring it up.”

Kat pursed her lips and eyed me. I stared back, trying to repress the thought that had popped into my mind: Maybe people who came from completely different backgrounds—different worlds, really—weren’t destined to work out.

You finish each other’s sentences , I reminded myself. And no relationship was perfect, right? Maybe it was good that we were still discovering new things about each other. And Kat probably had never encountered a sex worker before, so it was understandable that she’d have some misconceptions. It didn’t mean she was a bad person.

“I gotta tell you, toots, this is not how I pictured my bachelorette party ending,” Dot said wearily, sliding into the booth. She was still wearing her vintage gown, but Marcella had changed into jeans, a sweater, and a motorcycle jacket, and Grace was in her standard all-black uniform. I frowned; did she keep a spare outfit in her trunk?

“Definitely not what I was expecting,” I agreed. “How’s Gina?”

“Better, I think. The IV drip seems to be helping. One of the other gals is keeping an eye on her.”

“Great. So what’s going on, exactly?”

Before anyone could answer, the waitress came over to take our orders. After she left, Dot ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I hardly know where to begin. So a couple weeks ago, Marcella told me something upsetting.”

“More than fucking upsetting,” Marcella muttered. I couldn’t help but notice that Kat was examining her closely. “Jade got so spooked she caught a bus back home.”

“Hang on,” I said, holding up a hand. “Who’s Jade?”

“Another working girl. Poor thing says she’s eighteen, but I think she’s younger.” Dot shook her head.

“She was staying at the Getaway,” Marcella said.

“There’s a bad john kicking around,” Dot explained. “He’s already attacked three girls that we know of.”

“Four including Gina,” Marcella said darkly.

“Oh.” I swallowed. “A rapist?”

“Not that kind of attack,” Dot said. “Luckily.”

“Well, it’s not much better,” Marcella said.

“He drugs prostitutes and shaves their heads while they’re unconscious,” Grace stated bluntly. Nodding at me, she said, “You should find that particularly relatable.”

“Why would Amber find that relatable?” Kat asked.

“No reason,” I said quickly, glaring at Grace. “Um, is he painting them blue, too?”

Kat threw me a perplexed look. I really couldn’t blame her.

“No, Amber,” Grace said. “It doesn’t appear to be a copycat.”

“The creep doesn’t even have sex with them,” Marcella said.

“Which is why the cops won’t get involved,” Dot said. “They say unless we can prove the girls didn’t consent to being shaved, there’s nothing they can do.”

“As if anyone would agree to that,” Marcella snorted. “Fucking fetishists.”

“Yeah, that’s super creepy,” I agreed. My chest still felt tight, but the panic was easing. Based on what they were saying, this wasn’t related to what had happened to me. And selfishly, that was a relief.

“How does he drug them?” Kat interjected. “Perhaps these women could just not take anything from their…customers?”

Seeing Marcella’s expression, I rushed to intervene, saying, “Not to be judgmental, but maybe Kat’s right and there’s an easy fix?”

“There’s not,” Marcella snapped. “Jade thinks he dosed the cheap bubbly he brought with him. Mystique had heard the rumors, so she turned it down when he offered and tried to leave.”

“Then he grabbed her and held something over her mouth that made her pass out,” Dot said grimly. “Did the same thing tonight to Gina. Cindy called me when she found her because she knew the kid was one of Marcella’s.”

“One of yours?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not pimping,” Marcella said, rolling her eyes. “Just offering safety tips, that sort of thing.”

“Kind of like harm reduction,” Dot explained. “The girls really seem to appreciate it. And Lord knows, with this creep around, they need all the help they can get.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of our food. Silence fell while we waited for the waitress to pass around the plates. After she left, I asked, “So why didn’t you tell me this was happening?”

“It’s not personal, hon. We just thought it would be too much for you. After, well, y’know…” Dot cut her eyes meaningfully toward Kat, then continued, “everything you’ve been through, we thought it best to keep you out of it.”

“Plus you don’t add value,” Grace said blithely, cutting her toast with a knife and fork.

“I don’t ‘add value’?” I glowered at her. “What about you?”

“I created an algorithm.”

“Of course you did.” Moodily, I scooped a bite of eggs into my mouth. They were surprisingly tasty.

Dot looked abashed. “I just figured Grace was coming to the wedding anyway. And she’s so good with that computer stuff.”

“It’s my wedding present,” Grace said, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

“Seriously?” I gaped at her.

Dot laughed nervously. “Well, yes. It’s not on the registry, but it is kind of the perfect gift for me. Some of the Fatal Femmes are helping out, too.”

Which explained their caginess in the limo earlier. “And here I only got the vintage candlesticks,” I muttered.

“I am confused,” Kat said. “Could you explain why the police will not help?”

I kept forgetting that Kat was there; I really needed to stop doing that. “Um, yeah, so…the police aren’t always so helpful to people who work in the sex trade.”

“They’re fucking useless,” Marcella scoffed.

“But that is terrible!” Kat said. “Is there no one to report them to?”

I sighed, not really up for explaining the injustices of the American legal system, especially when a hangover was already creeping over me. “It’s complicated.”

“Not really,” Marcella said. “They don’t give a shit about you unless you’re white and rich.”

“Really?” Kat asked, eyes wide.

“Basically, yeah.” I pushed the last of the eggs onto my fork. “I still can’t believe no one told me about this.”

“Spoken like a true adult,” Grace said.

Dot rapped her on the arm and said, “Sorry, kiddo. It sounded like things were going really well for you. I didn’t want to rock the boat by dragging you into something messy.”

“Yeah,” Marcella said. “We’d hate to screw up your perfect little life.”

I threw her a look. She met it, raising an eyebrow in a challenge. I shifted my gaze away, focusing back on my food.

“We would love to help,” Kat said. She’d barely touched her plate.

“We would?” I asked, taken aback.

“Absolutely,” she said firmly. “It sounds important. So what do we do?”

“Well,” Dot said hesitantly. “Me and the other Femmes set up a sting operation for tomorrow night…”

“A sting!” Kat’s eyes lit up. “That sounds exciting!”

“Oh, it is,” Marcella said with a smirk. “And I’ve got an outfit you can borrow.”

“Nope, she’s not doing that,” I said, jabbing a finger at Marcella.

“More of a stakeout, really,” Dot said reassuringly. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have another team available. But only if you’re up for it, toots.”

I mulled it over; a stakeout sounded relatively low risk. “Do you even know what this guy looks like?”

“Grace helped with that, too.” Dot scrolled through her phone and then held it up to show me a series of images, all of a nondescript-looking white guy in his forties. In some he had a beard; in others, a ponytail or glasses.

“How many people are you looking for, exactly?”

“That’s part of the problem. The girls all described someone slightly different, so we think he’s wearing disguises,” Dot said. “So the pictures aren’t very helpful, I’m afraid.”

“Which is precisely why I developed the algorithm,” Grace said. “There’s a ninety-five percent chance that he strikes again this week, sometime between midnight and three a.m.”

“And we’ll be waiting,” Dot said firmly.

“We will, too,” Kat said.

I leaned over to her and said in a low voice, “Are you sure? I know this isn’t what we’d planned.” Far from it. I’d promised her we’d rent a cabana at a fancy resort and spend the days poolside, gorging on fruity drinks and greasy food.

“But this sounds like more fun,” Kat murmured back. “It will be an adventure!”

I sighed; she seemed determined. And Vegas was chillier than I’d expected. Since neither of us were gamblers, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how to occupy the rest of the week otherwise. “Exactly how dangerous is this guy?”

“Well, aside from the drugging and head-shaving, he hasn’t technically injured anyone,” Dot said.

“Yet,” Grace said, striking her usual ominous tone.

“I guess that’s something. So what’s the plan if you catch him?”

“Oh!” Dot clapped her hands together. “That’s the best part. The other half of my wedding present from Grace is a cattle prod.”

“Carbon fiber, top of the line,” Grace chimed in.

“Fabulous,” I sighed.

“Can I get one of those, too?” Kat asked, eyes wide.

“I guess we’re in,” I said, already knowing that I’d regret it.