Page 28 of Rage

A lighted RESTROOMS sign leads me to a hall in the back of the main room. At the end of the hall, I see an exterior door with a push bar and lighted red EXIT sign. On my right, two interior doors are marked WOMEN and MEN. A third door, to my left, is marked OFFICE. A steady flow of patrons come and go from the restrooms. I wait for a lull, sidle over to the OFFICE door, and knock. I wait a few beats and try the knob. Locked.

I turn and nearly run into a chest the size of a tank. “Can I help you?”

The man with the tanklike chest is standing a scant foot away, looking down at me. I guess him to be about six four, two hundred and fifty pounds. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the logo of the club emblazoned front and center. Bouncer, I realize. Forty years old. Silver-black hair combed straight back, a stylish goatee, gold earring, and a mouth pulled into an I-caught-you smile.

Though I’m wearing my uniform, I pull out my shield. “I’m looking for the manager.”

Eyes the color of a winter sky flick down the front of me. “You putting in an application?”

“You’re a funny guy, aren’t you?”

“Usually.” His mouth twists into a smile. “Jokes are falling flat tonight, I guess. No pun.”

I don’t smile. “Where’s the manager?”

“I believe he left to grab a bite to eat.”

“What’s his name?”

“I think I’ll let him tell you that.”

I nod, take a moment to look around. “Who owns this place?”

“No idea.”

“Do you work here?”

“Sometimes,” he says.

Knowing he’s not going to be any help, I pull the photo of the mystery woman from my pocket. “I’m looking for her,” I say. “Do you know who she is? Have you seen her around?”

He keeps his eyes level on mine, not bothering to look at the photo. “Nope.”

I show him the photo of Samuel Yutzy. “What about this guy?”

Before he can answer, I catch sight of Skid approaching, his expression taut with annoyance. The man behind him is the size of a sumo wrestler, dressed similarly to the man I’m speaking to, and I wonder if we’re about to get bounced out.

“If you’re not going to order something to eat or drink,” Sumo Guy says, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Nothing personal, but those are the house rules.”

“We’re looking for the manager,” I say.

“Can’t help you,” Sumo tells me.

“Who’s in charge?” Skid asks.

“My wife, usually.” One side of his mouth hikes, snarl or smile, I can’t discern.

I look at Skid. “I didn’t realize this place was a comedy club.”

“I hear they’re not that funny,” Skid says.

Sumo loses his smile. “Maybe you and Barney Fife will have better luck if you call in the morning and make an appointment.”

“One more quick question.” I show him the photo of Samuel Yutzy. “Have you seen him here at the club?” I ask. “Do you recognize him?”

Both men look at the photo, but neither of them responds. They move closer to me, crowding me. I don’t give up any space.

Taking my time, I tuck the photo into my pocket. “Appreciate the help,” I say, and we start toward the door.