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“The thing about these new, flashy nightclubs, my darling Drake,” she said, settling back in her chair as if she planned to give a long diatribe on the matter, “is that there is no appreciation for the subtlety of our art.”
Subtlety wouldn’t exactly have been the word Josie Lynn would have used.
“These nightclubs are all about flash and glitz, not about appreciating the intricacy of being a true lady. And performing like a true lady.”
Drake nodded, appearing to be listening with rapt attention, then Josie Lynn noticed he was inconspicuously patting his pockets, looking for his wallet, only to realize he didn’t have it. And Josie Lynn was willing to bet there was no money squeezed into those shiny, turquoise pants.
Damn, now they were really stuck listening to Madame Renee lament the days of true burlesque.
But to Josie Lynn’s surprise, Drake seemed to feel something and managed to squeeze his fingers in the tight pocket. Miraculously, he pulled out a twenty. He subtly waved it under the edge of the table for Josie Lynn to see.
“You know how it was in the day,” Renee was saying. “The talent, the delivery, the elegance, those were the things people came to see. Not just some rote imitation of someone else’s expressions and moves. Any tranny with a mirror and a record player could practice those things until they were passable. True talent is original. Unique.”
“I know,” Drake agreed emphatically. “It really is a shame.”
“A shame? My dear boy, it’s a crime.”
Drake took that segue to place the twenty on the table. “You are so very right, Renee, which is why we have to try to find these Chers. We have every reason to believe they were involved in some illegal activity.”
Renee perked up, leaning forward in her chair again. “Nefarious deeds?”
“Yes. So you will have to forgive us for not staying for your second performance.”
Renee nodded instantly. “Most certainly. I understand if you must go.”
Drake leaned down and kissed the woman’s rouged cheek. “Thank you for your help, Madame.”
“Ah, Drake, I’m happy to help any way I can. You know our kind must stick together.”
The older woman caught his hand and squeezed it briefly, more in a gesture of some unspoken camaraderie than affection.
Our kind? What did that mean?
Okay, Drake had been dressed as a pirate when she met him. And now he wore skintight vinyl pants that belonged to a dominatrix. And there were, of course, the assless chaps, but she still didn’t get any vibe from Drake that he was normally a cross-dresser.
Drake finished his good-bye and Josie Lynn mumbled her own, then followed him back through the narrow bar.
Once they were back on Bourbon, she asked him over the cacophony of people and music, “What did she mean when she said our kind?”
Chapter Eleven
ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE
JOHNNY remembered when he reached the front door of his apartment that Lizette had changed the locks after he had gone in and taken his drum kit. Or more likely Dieter had. But either way, his key wasn’t going to work. See what happened when you let a woman into your life? She locked you out of your apartment. Okay, so maybe Lizette had locked him out because he’d faked his own death, but the point was, he didn’t like his world being disrupted. Even if he was the one who had started it.
Damn it. Feeling aroused and annoyed all at once because he was having emotions he didn’t entirely understand, he was fully prepared to break a window to get in, but Lizette held up a key.
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” she said politely, because Lizette was always polite. When she wasn’t yelling at him. Or letting him kiss her.
He wondered what she had been like in bed. If she had screamed or if she had been silent in her pleasure. Here was to finding out. “Thanks. I was just going to break the door down.”
She gave a cluck of disapproval that made him laugh. He pushed open the door, having a momentary fear that the place looked like crap, then realizing it didn’t make any difference. Lizette knew everything he owned, right down to his last pair of underwear. There was no impressing her at this point. Still, he was a little self-conscious about the fact that despite quitting smoking a month ago, there was still a stale lingering aftereffect of the cigarettes in his apartment. The drapes were drawn tightly closed, but he led her across the floor and pulled them open, wanting to see the moonlight spilling into the living room.
“Make yourself at home,” he told her. “Clearly Saxon isn’t here, and there is no sign he was.” The room was still and everything was undisturbed. Apparently Dieter put things back the way he found them as he check-listed other people’s shit. What a douchebag job.
“I suppose we should have realized that Saxon wouldn’t be able to enter the apartment,” she said, pulling the sweater off her shoulders one-handed.
“He would have just broken in if he wanted to crash here,” he reassured her, then realized that probably wasn’t reassuring to a woman like Lizette.
“There is a lot of breaking and entering going on,” she said, shooting him a long look.
“Being a vampire does have it advantages.” Lizette looked like she wanted to sit, but he desperately wanted a drink. He suspected he was still dehydrated from the night before. “Can I get you a drink? Have you had a hurricane yet? They’re the local classic.”
“No, I have not. What is in one?”
A crapload of alcohol. “Rum. It’s a sweet drink.” He was a rum kind of guy, though he usually didn’t add fruit juice to it. Drake always gave him a hard time about it, given that it was the guitar player who had been the pirate, not Johnny. But rum had a smoother flow to it than whiskey, and gin tasted like lighter fluid. Every man had his drink, but Lizette looked like she needed some pineapple juice added to her booze to take the edge off.
“Sure. I am thirsty.”
“How many rules are you breaking by being in here with me?” Johnny asked, moving into the kitchen and pulling ingredients out of the cupboard.
“More than I care to consider.”
“I’m sorry that you got wrapped up in all this, Lizette, I honestly am.” He was. He didn’t dig that they’d been drugged. He could only imagine how she must feel.
“Thank you. Though you aren’t ultimately responsible for what happened at the wedding reception.”
“It was my fault you were there. You were tracking me down.”
