Page 29 of Rage

“Well, that went south pretty quick,” Skid mutters.

I’ve just put the Explorer in gear when I catch sight of a figure coming toward us. Female. Long hair. Skinny pants. High heels. High-neck halter top. “Two o’clock,” I say to Skid.

He glances right. “Yep.”

I put the Explorer in park, watch as she crosses in front of my vehicle, and I roll down my window. “Can I help you?”

The woman is young. Barely into her twenties. Dark hair. Pretty. A tattoo of a crown on her left shoulder. “I hear you’re asking about Cassidy.” She whispers the words as if not wanting anyone to overhear what she’s telling us.

“Do you know her?” I fish the photo out of my pocket and show it to her.

“I seen her around.”

“What’s her last name?”

“No one uses their last name around here.”

“She works here?” I ask. “As a dancer?”

She nods. “Quit a few days ago. Didn’t say a word to anyone.”

I don’t miss the way she keeps looking over her shoulder toward the club, as if she doesn’t want to be seen talking to us. Because she’s on the clock? Or something else?

“Do you know where I can find her?” I ask.

“No clue.” She bites her lip. “But I’m worried about her.”

“Why are you worried?”

She hesitates, considers not answering, and then says, “She wouldn’t have left without telling me.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.”

I have the photo of Samuel Yutzy at the ready. “You ever seen him?”

She takes a quick glance at the photo, looks toward the club again. “He used to come here. He was … nice. Tipped good.”

“Did you ever see them together?” I ask.

“I think they were an item for a while.”

My interest surges. “They were involved?”

Her head swivels for another look over her shoulder. No one there and she seems to relax. “Cassidy was crazy about him.” She laughs as if the memory amuses her. “We called them the odd couple. I mean, she’s this beautiful wild child and he was like this wholesome Amish dude that just fell off the turnip truck.”

“Do you have any idea where I can find her?”

“No.”

“Do you know why she quit?”

“She never said a word to any of us.” Grimacing, she shakes her head. “Just … left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Was that unusual?”

“We worked together for almost three months. I thought we were friends.” She shrugs. “I tried texting her a couple times, but she didn’t respond. Figured she just moved on.”