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I didn’t have to wait around for very long. Domino reappeared five minutes later with an annoyed-looking Evan on his tail. He was a bigger guy with a mustache and goatee that seemed to be meticulously cared for. Both his arms were covered in black-and-white ink, with a few tattoos going around his neck and under the hem of his black T-shirt.
His handshake was as firm as I expected it to be. “Thanks, Dom,” he said in a dismissive tone. Domino made a curtsy, attaching an eye roll to it that Evan missed but I caught. He went back through the curtain of beads, leaving me and Evan alone at the bar.
“What do you want?” Evan asked, looking me up and down. “I’m not fond of police.”
“I’m not either,” I said. “I’m a private detective. I don’t work with the police.”
“Question still stands: What do you want?”
For you to take the fucking ten-inch stick out of your ass.
“Information,” I answered. I figured I should keep my thoughts to myself in this instance. “Your partner, Hank, seems to be hard to get in touch with, so I’m hoping you might be able to help me with a case.”
Evan sighed like I had just asked him to clean the entire club with a toothbrush. “I don’t like getting involved in Hank’s shit.”
“So you open up an entire strip club with the guy?” I shot back.
Evan didn’t seem to like that. He had been halfway sitting on a barstool and was now on both feet, chest out.
“I just need some information,” I repeated. Nothing in my tone or posture said I was backing down from this, even though I could tell that’s what Evan wanted me to do. “Did you ever see Hank meeting with Charlie Marsh?” I showed Evan a picture of Charlie in case he needed his memory jogged.
“Yeah,” he said after a few moments of grinding his teeth. “I remember that face.”
“And did Hank ever mention why he was meeting with Charlie? Was it a business thing? Friendship?”
“I don’t think it would be any of that. Hank runs all his business shit through me, and Hank doesn’t have any friends.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and said, “All right, so did he say anything about why he was meeting Charlie?”
“Maybe it had to do with Hank’s feud, I don’t know.”
“Feud?” I asked, cocking my head. Music pounded out of a nearby speaker, but I could hear Evan’s every word.
“He’s got this thing with the Popes. It all started when Hank dated Cary for a few months. I told the idiot not to do it, but he didn’t listen. The sheriff’s tried shutting us down about a hundred times now, and each time pissed Hank off more than the last.” Evan paused and leaned on the bar, ordering a shot of vodka before turning his attention back to me. “Why don’t you ask him all this?”
“I’ve been trying to, but Hank’s harder to contact than the pope. Do you know where he’s at?”
Evan shook his head. “Not a fucking clue.” He shot back the vodka and slid the glass to the bartender. “Are we done here? I’ve got shit to do.”
“I’ve just got a few—”
“Great, thanks for coming. Enjoy Twinkletoes over there.” Evan pushed off the bar and started walking away. Something about him giving his back to me made my blood boil.
I got up from the stool and caught up to him in a few seconds. “Hold up, hold up.”
He didn’t stop walking, so I reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder.
Big mistake. A guy like Evan didn’t seem to like getting grabbed, almost as much as I didn’t like being ignored. He turned around, but he turned around swinging. His fist cut through the air, and I almost caught it with my jaw, but thankfully, my reflexes had been quickened by years of jiujitsu. I snapped up and grabbed the fist in my palm, the impact sending a ray of burning pain through my hand but nothing like the pain I would have felt if he knocked me across the jaw.
I twisted his hand, bringing it down and using the momentum to turn him around. He pushed back with all the force he had, like a rhino barreling through a wall. I stumbled and lost my footing. We both fell down onto the ground, exactly the place you’d most want to avoid in a strip club.
Evan had fallen on top of me, and he used it as an advantage, pinning both my hands down. People were yelling, but no one seemed to be listening. Evan looked pissed, his mustache and goatee popping against the maroon red of his face, veins bulging across his forehead.
Evan wasn’t a fighter, though. He might have been a big and intimidating guy, but he didn’t know how to fight, how to make sure all his weaknesses were covered.
