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“You don’t earn enough juice working here to cover private coaching.”
“I get a lot of tips.”
“What’s that I hear?” Eve cocked her head. “Oh yeah, that’s the sound of five hundred sucking down the drain.”
“Goddamn it.” Cassie pushed to her feet, stared hard at Eve. “This is about the murder, right? That’s big-time. You’re big-time. Christ knows you are,” she said to Roarke. “I need some assurance you’re not going to shake me down over small-time.”
“If you’re working off book, I’m not interested in rousting you for it.”
Cassie took a moment to stare, to study, then apparently satisfied by what she read on Eve’s face, nodded. “I do some private. I’m not licensed for private. And I do the coach’s father for free, every week. It’s like a barter, cuts down on the fee. He’s a nice guy, actually. Can’t get out much ’cause he busted himself up bad about thirty years ago. He’s gimpy, got scars. Even if Anders offered coaching, I’d keep it how it is, because it’s working. And I gotta have a part in providing for my kid. If you’ve got some cop idea that I was doing Anders, and screwed up the deal so he kicked, that’s off, way off. I’m home nights. I don’t leave my kid home alone. Not ever. You ask anybody. You want to look at somebody, you ought to take another look at the wife. Make damn double sure she wasn’t there.”
“Why is that?”
“Bitch got stones. She’s got cold, hard stones.”
They were done. Roarke knew Eve’s rhythm well enough to know she’d written Cassie off. But he was curious. “Why are you working here? You could make more in a classier place.”
“I can’t dance worth shit.” She said it cheerfully. “Classier places expect classier strippers. I got this.” She opened her robe, revealing a curvy body that showed some wear. “It’s good, but it ain’t great. I go more upscale,” she continued, absently tying the robe again, “they’d want me to get the shifting parts put back in place. Here, they don’t care about that, long as you put in your rounds and pull in your quota of bj’s and hand-jobs upstairs.
“I can work days, and be home at night wi
th my girl. Not a lot of places going to let me call that shot. And I don’t work weekends, because I’m with my kid. It’s a trade-off. It’s worth it. She’s worth it. You’re going to see her take gold in the Olympics one day. She’s a freaking champion.”
“Gracie Gordon. I’ll remember. Appreciate the time.” Eve took a step toward the door, and Roarke slipped a money clip out of his pocket, peeled off bills.
“Shit a brick, you carry like that?” Sheer shock covered Cassie’s face. “In this neighborhood?”
“I carry as I please. There’s the five, and one extra. For the champion.”
Cassie stared at the six hundreds in her hand. “You’re all right, Blue Eyes.” She lifted her head to look into them. “You’re all right, down the line. You ever want a free bang, you got one coming.”
“It would, no doubt be a memorable bang. But my wife is fiercely jealous and territorial.” He grinned over at a very cold-eyed Eve.
“Her? You? That’s a kick in the ass.”
“Every damn day,” Eve muttered, and strode out.
She kept striding, out of the club, back into the comparatively fresh air of the city street. And fisted her hands on her hips as she spun to him. “Did you have to do the ‘my wife’ crap?”
His grin remained, and only widened. “I did, yes. I felt a desperate need for your protection. I believe that woman had designs on me.”
“I’ll put a design on you that won’t come off in the shower.”
“See, now I’m excited.” Reaching out, he toyed with the lapel of her coat. “What have you got in mind?”
“And you gave her six fucking hundred dollars.”
“Looks like you’ll be buying dinner tonight.”
She made a sound, a kind of grinding grunt as she fisted her hands in her hair and yanked. No wonder she got headaches, he mused.
“Look, King of the World, you’ve got no business giving some stripper who’s also a suspect six bills.”
“Isn’t that the Power of Roarke?” he countered. “And I didn’t give her the six for the very intriguing flash. And,” he continued, giving her a quick poke, “she stopped being a suspect, a serious one, the minute you saw her backhand that drunk degenerate in the club.”
Before she could argue, the grunt in the doorway yelled out, “Hey, cop. You gonna move this crap ride or leave it here all damn night?”
She only turned her head, burned him to silence with one stare. “If she makes six bills in six rounds in that dump I’ll go up and dance on a pole.”
