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“I don’t know what she told you, but this is the man Dexter kicked out on multiple occasions.” My mind spins over this misunderstanding. Beth wouldn’t have lied to me about something like this, she had no reason to. It’s not like I know the man on the screen, she’d have no reason to protect him.
“No offense, but strip clubs aren’t exactly short on pervs. This is just another entitled asshole.”
“It’s him.” He sounds bored.
“How do you know? Do you know who he is?”
“No, he’s a ghost. I’ve tapped every one of my resources, and no one knows who he is.” This is disappointing, but not surprising. I’m sure he would be six feet under by now if Cash had even the slightest idea about who he is.
“I want to talk to Dex,” I say, but lean forward to really take in every feature of this man. See if there’s possibly anything familiar about him.
“I thought you might—”
“Wait, hold up—can you zoom in on his hand?” The angle is terrible, but I can tell there is a blur of something darker than his skin along the base of his thumb. I can’t see the rest, but it looks like it continues onto the back of his hand.
“Shit,you can’t tell a damn thing.” I hiss, frustrated when Cash zooms in and the blur remains a blur. “Are there any other angles?”
“Not of his hand. We already checked,” Cash says flatly.
“It’s probably irrelevant because I doubt this is the Doug Beth told me about.”
We turn onto the road I know so well. It makes my chest seize up and my palms sweat. I’m starting to regret coming here. Dexter would probably have met us anywhere else if I’d asked.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.The panic hammering my ribcage builds.
Cash’s face remains impassive as he turns the steering wheel into Peaches’ parking lot. It looks much different in the daytime. The neon sign has a muted glow in the sunlight without the contrast of the dark night. The entry door is quiet and shut, instead of ajar and pulsing with music and colorful lights. Dex isn’t standing there wishing us a good night.
Pools of yellow. Blurred red. Black. More red.
“I think I’m gonna puke,” I realize as he cuts the engine. Clammy sweat pricks my forehead and the roiling in my stomach turns violent.
“Okay,” he says calmly, and it immediately reminds me of how different it is than Beth’s response. She would be the chaotic mix of panic while trying to stay calm for me when really she’s freaking out because she hates vomit and would be doing a poor job of hiding it.
He gets out, and for a second I think he’s gonna leave me here alone. But then he is opening my car door and picking my legs up at the knees to spin me until my feet stick out of the car.
“C’mon, baby, you’re alright. Just put your head between your knees.” He strokes my cheek and slides his hand to the back of my head and gently pushes me down. It’s nothing like the ruthless way he made me gag on his cock a few days ago. It's sweet and encouraging as he reminds me to breathe.
“That’s it. Good girl.” He rubs soft circles up and down my back as I wedge my head between my knees. My blood echoes in my ears as I focus on shoving down the bile trying to crawl its way up my esophagus. “You’re doing so well, keep breathing just like that.”
I hear cars drive past, just any other day for them. The city never stops to mourn or even recognize what it’s lost. A newspaper article every day for a week after the murder until the leads dry up and they focus on the zoo’s new gorilla exhibit or the executive chef accused of sexual assault.
“How do you feel?” I hear Cash distantly even though he’s right in front of me. “Harlow,look at me.” I hearthat.Hard edges surround his order. Because that’s what it is: an order.
I lift my head to meet his eyes where he is crouched in front of me. “There ya are.” His voice is back to neutral tenderness, and he coasts his knuckles along my jaw. “How do you feel?”
I take a minute to truly assess how I feel and realize I am no longer sick. At least physically. “Better.”
“That’s my girl, always a fighter. You good to stand?” I bob my head in a nod. “We’re going inside.”
“Hey, you.” Dex waves to me from his seat at the club’s bar. “How you doin’, sweetheart?” His deep-brown eyes mist, and it tugs on my heart. I’m not the only one who lost someone special. Beth left a special mark on everyone who knew her.
I thought I was the only one hurting the way I was because her family seemed disinterested in finding justice, but I now realize it’s because they had plans of their own that didn’t involve the police.
“It’s weird. Being back here. Without her.” My words get chopped off by my tightening jaw holding back a fresh wave of tears. The thing that stops them from spilling is Cash’s hand slipping into mine, lacing his fingers with my own to anchor me, keeping me from getting swept away.
Dexter sighs with a knowing nod. I saddle up in a stool next to him. “This skinhead kid can’t be Unhung Doug.”
“Who?” He looks at me confused but slightly amused with the epithet.
