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Charlie lowered her hands. “What exactly am I paying for?”
“Our silence.” The redhead smiled. “Otherwise, Hammer,” she said, pointing to the bouncer, “is going to tell every dude inside to be on the lookout for you, along with your description, the make, model, color and license number of your car.”
This was a shakedown. How many private investigators had they put through the same process?
With a groan, Charlie got her purse and fished out what little cash she had. “It’s all I have. Eighty bucks will have to suffice.”
“This will do.” They divided the cash between them. The bouncer headed back to the club while the woman stayed. “The husband inside yours?”
“No.”
“What’s his name?”
Charlie folded her arms. “I’d rather not say.”
“And I’d rather that you did. Believe it or not, I’m all about women helping women.”
A harsh chuckle flew out of Charlie’s mouth. “Forgive me for not believing you, considering you just extorted me for money.”
“We all got to make a living, sweetheart. Even you’re getting paid by the hour to sit out here with your camera.”
“This is pro bono for me. A friend of mine is missing, and I’m trying to figure out if her husband is responsible.”
Something passed over the woman’s face, perhaps a flicker of curiosity or concern. “Most of the men in there treat us like meat. Disposable. Not like working women, trying to pay their bills, who deserve respect. I don’t owe any of them anything. What’s his name?”
There were a hundred reasons not to trust her and if any of them were valid, then forty dollars was going to buy her silence anyway. “Seth Olsen,” Charlie said, figuring she had more to gain than to lose.
The redhead reeled back. “Haley is missing?”
“You know her?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “We’re friends.”
Friends?Charlie hadn’t seen that one coming.
“We can’t talk out here,” the woman continued, glancing back across the street. “Drive around to the back of the club and park behind the dumpster. Wait about thirty minutes. Give me a chance to do my performance and I’ll come out afterward.”
“Okay.” Charlie opened the car door as a thought struck her. “Hey, I didn’t get your name?”
“Aubrey. Who are you?”
“I’m Charlie.”
Once she had parked in the rear of the building, where Aubrey had told her, it was the longest thirty minutes of her life as she waited. Hard to believe that Haley was friends with Aubrey, stripper and extortionist. Haley was always Miss Prim-and-Proper. As a housewife, she had plenty of time to volunteer at the hospital and for social clubs like the Kiwanis, the cache of crocheters, and running the weekly bingo game down at the VFW—Veterans of Foreign Wars.
This didn’t fit her image. Then again, when Aubrey was fully clothed and not wielding a knife, maybe she enjoyed crocheting, too.
Charlie’s pulse spiked when the redhead pushed through the back door, once again wearing a robe.
The staccatoclick-clackof Aubrey’s heels echoed in the alleyway as she approached the vehicle. She hopped in the passenger’s seat and shut the door.
One question kept repeating in Charlie’s head. “How did you and Haley meet?” she asked, hoping it didn’t come across as offensive.
“At the club,” Aubrey said. “Haley used to work here. That’s how she met Seth. She caught his eye and made sure to keep his attention. At first, he was adoring, even sweet. She reeled him in, and he swept her off her feet. After they got married, he made her quit. Haley didn’t mind. She thought he just didn’t want her taking her clothes off for other men, but soon enough she learned that he wouldn’t let her get a job anywhere. Insisted that she stay at home.”
He wanted her isolated, alone and completely dependent on him for money. “That’s the classic behavior of an abuser.”
“You know?” Aubrey turned toward her and leaned against the door. “That he beats her?”
