Page 51 of Rage

To my surprise, I find Angelica sitting atop a picnic table, smoking a long brown cigarette. Her feet are bare, her toenails painted purple. A pair of high heels sit on the tabletop next to her. She startles upon spotting me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Cassidy,” I tell her.

She gives me a deer-in-the-headlights look, then shifts her gaze to the back door of the club. “She’s not here. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m on my break.”

I go through the gate and stop a short distance away from her. “Where is she?”

“Do I look like her keeper?” She rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake, I can’t keep track of everyone.”

“You called me,” I point out.

She lowers her voice. “Look, I’m worried about her. She was here. I thought you should know. That doesn’t mean I want to be seen with you.”

I take a drink of coffee, wait. When she doesn’t elaborate, I ask, “Where would she go to pick up her check?”

“The office.”

“What’s her last name?”

“Are you kidding?” she snaps. “Nobody uses last names around here.”

She’s wearing a button-down shirt over a bikini top. A thong bottom. The tattoo of a dragon on the inside of her right ankle.

“Why not?” I ask.

The exit door at the back of the building swings open. The cacophony of too-loud bass drum and steel guitar pours out. A young woman with strawberry-blond hair peeks out. Her eyes go wide as she takes in my uniform.

Her eyes flick to Angelica. “He’s looking for you,” she hisses.

Rolling her eyes, Angelica holds her ground. “Tell him I’m on my damn break.”

Something about the blond woman snags my attention and holds it. I don’t know her; I’ve never met her. And yet there’s something familiar about her.

“Can you come over here and talk to me?” I call out to her.

“No thanks.”

“I’m looking for Cassidy,” I say. “Do you know where I can find her?”

The two women exchange looks, some silent message I can’t decipher passing between them.

“She quit,” the strawberry-blond woman says.

Before I can say anything else, she slinks back inside.

Tossing her cigarette to the ground, Angelica slides off the table. “I gotta get back to work. Thanks for ruining my break.”

“That young woman,” I say. “Who is she?”

“Brandy.”

“Is that her real name?”

“Nosy much?”

“That’s my job.”

“Yeah, well, you ask way too many questions.” She bends to slip her feet into the heels. “And there ain’t a soul here going to talk to you.”