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“If it isn’t Dicker,” one of the men said, unamused.
Both bouncers looked at Daisy.
The other man said, “And who do you have here?”
“My date,” he said with a wink, and this time Daisy didn’t mind so much when he looped an arm through hers. She simply smiled and they stepped aside.
She’d felt out of place before, but now, Daisy thought she might as well have been on another planet. The place was far from the rowdy, flashy, smoke-filled casinos she’d seen in Vegas. Here, everything was a sedate black and white, and there were only a few tables, scattered about a small room. Women and men were dressed in expensive clothes, some casual, some elegant, but all looked as though they owned the room.
Daisy easily extricated herself from the man who’d brought her in as his “date” when he stumbled off to the bar. She scanned the area, looking for someone to ask, then decided her best place to start was with the dealers. She went to the first empty table and said to the middle-aged man working it, “Hi, do you speak English?”
He nodded.
“I wanted to ask if you recognize this man?” She showed him the picture she’d gotten from Goldie. “He was in here, three nights ago?”
The man stared at it blankly, and shook his head. “Sorry.”
She moved on to the next table, and the next, with similar results. Just when she was starting to think that perhaps Tina had gotten the name of the casino wrong, she stopped a waitress who was delivering cocktails to the gamblers on the floor.
The woman bit her lip and whispered, “Oui.”
“You have seen him?” she blurted, too loud. “Did you speak to him?”
She frowned and glanced toward the door. “No. I just delivered drinks.”
Daisy followed her line of vision to a couple of large men in tuxedos, possibly the same ones who’d been outside. They were now staring at her.
One of them tapped an earpiece and mumbled something.
Who was he talking to? That couldn’t have been about her, could it? She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Ignoring the man, she turned away and said, “He was with his friends, right? Can you remember anything about that night? Someone he talked to, something you might have heard him say?”
The woman shook her head stiffly. “No. I remember nothing,” she whispered, then began to turn away.
That was a lie. Something had happened here. But what?
“Please, Miss,” she began, taking the first step to follow the woman.
Before she could take a second, a large hand clamped on her shoulder, holding her in place.
She turned and looked up at a man built like a refrigerator. “Who are you?” he asked. “And what are you doing, harassing the staff?”
“I’m not harassing anyone,” she said, holding up the picture. “I’m asking questions. I’m a private investigator, looking for more information about this indiv—”
She stopped when three more refrigerator-sized men surrounded her. Apparently, they had more goons than the ones that had been stationed outside. A lot of them. She began to feel claustrophobic.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked, but from the look in their eyes, she already knew the answer.
Another man grabbed her arm. “Come with us,” he demanded, yanking her toward the back of the room.
“What? No . . .” she began to argue, but their bodies were like a tsunami, and she was caught within it, powerless to do anything but surrender to wherever they were taking her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Daisy couldn’t see where she was going. She was surrounded by the men, shuffling her out of the room.
Pleasant, classy piano music was filtering through an invisible speaker, and the chatter of exclusive patrons went on, oblivious to what was happening to her. She had the feeling that this sort of thing happened often, that interlopers were dealt with, forcefully and swiftly.
