The next afternoon, showered and changed and hopped up on four times the recommended dosage of Advil, I drove into Jacksonville. I was still a bit sore, but I didn’t look too bad. I had a small scrape and some bruising on the side of my face, but the swelling had subsided. I was carrying my gun again. I had resolved last night to carry my gun everywhere for the time being.

I found Kisses again and paid the cover and sat in a dark corner as far away from the stage as possible. I was wearing a short-brimmed black straw fedora pulled low over my face and thick-rimmed glasses in place of my contacts. I had my hair tied back so it would look short from the front on a casual inspection. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but small changes can do the trick nicely as long as you’re not trying to fool someone who sees you regularly. The glasses never would’ve worked on Lois, but Clark Kent could’ve fooled the rest of Metropolis, no sweat. Most people just aren’t that observant. I was hoping Ria was like most people.

She wasn’t around when I got there, so I drank overpriced Coke and smoked cigarettes and watched the place. The strippers who weren’t on stage worked the room, inviting themselves to sit at customers’ tables, flirting, occasionally leading men off for lapdances in the private booths at the back of the club. I started timing the comings and goings from the back. Most strippers took guys back there for five to ten minutes. Time enough to "dance" to one or two of the songs that blasted over the club’s sound system. On rare occasions, though, the stripper and her customer would be gone between thirty minutes and an hour. Each time that happened, I noticed, the guy was around my age or older. None of the frat boys were getting the extended service. And the same two or three dancers seemed to be the only ones giving the extended service.

As I watched the back, I heard a "Hi" at my elbow. I looked around and saw Stormy, the tiny, dark-haired girl in the transparent negligee. She smiled a professional smile with no hint of recognition. "Buy me a drink?" she said.

"Sure," I said. "Have a seat." Stormy sat down and waved the topless waitress over and ordered a Red Bull. I was perplexed. If I could keep Stormy sitting at my table, the other strippers would keep their distance and I could continue my surveillance unmolested. On the other hand, what could I tell her to keep her from pestering me for a lapdance?

"So how long you been working here, Stormy?" I asked.

"Just a couple of months," she said. "I’m working my way through school."

"Really now?" Seemed like all the strippers in the world were working their way through school.

"I’m studying evolutionary biology," she said. Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding. I decided to tell her the truth, or at least a version of it. I handed her a business card and a hundred-dollar bill.

"Look, Stormy, I’m investigating someone who frequents this club," I said. "I’ll pay you to sit here at my table, drink your drinks, and keep the other girls away from me. Help me stay incognito."

"A real private investigator?" she said. "Like Patrick Kenzie?" A scientist and a reader. Stormy had hidden depths.

"Don’t have the hot crime-fighting girlfriend," I said.

Stormy grinned. "Maybe I could fill that job."

"What about evolutionary biology?" I said.

"I’d just do that on weekdays. Nights and weekends, I’d be all yours." She leaned in and looked at me closely. "You were here the other day, too," she said.

I nodded. "Good eye. Most people wouldn’t have remembered. So how about it? Help me out?"

"Sure, what the hell?" Stormy said. "So who you after?"

"Better you don’t know," I said. "Stay out of trouble."

Stormy shrugged. "Got a cigarette?" she said. I handed her my pack and held the lighter for her while she got a smoke going. She leaned back and took a big drag and exhaled. Her transparent negligee fell open. She didn’t seem to mind; it hadn’t exactly been hiding anything anyway. I looked away.

"You can look," Stormy said. "It’s how I make my living. Doesn’t bother me."

I looked long enough to be polite. I like naked women as much as the next guy, but I had been seeing a lot of vulvas on this case, and I was approaching overload. Stormy shaved, I noticed. Too bad.

"You’re quite beautiful," I said. It was true.

"Thanks," Stormy said. "You phrased that a lot better than most of the guys around here. So what do I do? Just sit here and smoke while you watch whoever you’re watching?"

"No, we can talk while I watch. Looks better that way."

So we talked as I scanned the room for Ria. Every half-hour or so, Stormy would have to go onstage and dance through a couple of songs, but she always came back to my table afterward. Mostly we talked about evolutionary biology. I’d just read The Greatest Show on Earth, and it was nice to talk to someone who could discuss it intelligently. Actually, I had trouble keeping up; Stormy was out of my league.

Ria came in at about seven o’clock. She took her turn onstage and then worked the room. She took a couple of frat boys in the back for private dances, took another turn onstage, worked the room again. She never came near my table.

At about eight, a guy in a Kisses polo shirt came up to Ria with a fiftyish guy in a business suit close behind him. Polo Shirt gestured at Business Suit, and Ria smiled and shook his hand. Polo Shirt went away, and Ria and Business Suit talked for a few minutes. Then she gave him a thousand-watt smile and led him into the back.

After twenty minutes, they still hadn’t reappeared. I looked over at Stormy.

"So what’s with the hour-long dances in the back?" I said. "Some people just keep buying them over and over?"

"No, they’ve got a VIP room," Stormy said. "Pay a hundred and fifty for an hour dance. Plus a tip, if you’re so inclined." She looked at me steadily.

"I get it," I said. "You ever take anyone to the VIP room?"

She wasn’t offended. "No. Not my thing anyway, unless I’m totally wrong about what’s going on in there. But Buck only lets certain girls use it. Seniority, he says."

"And Buck is?"

"The manager."

"I need to get into that room," I said. "Anybody on the door?"

"Yeah," Stormy said. "Sharky."

"Sharky?"

"I didn’t name him. He stays at the door to the VIP room, kind of keeps an eye on it and the private booths both."

"Ah," I said. "A plan is forming."

"Good to know," Stormy said.

"It would require your participation," I said.

"Would I get in trouble?"

"No one would ever know," I said. "Just the same, you might think about a new job. I think this place might be a bit unsavory."

"I like doing this," Stormy said. "I could work at Burger King and live in a shitty part of town and graduate with a hundred grand in student loan debt, or I can do this and pay my tuition in cash every semester. I prefer this."

"I’m not knocking the job," I said. "Just this place. Bad stuff goes on here. Just a feeling."

I dug around in my wallet and came up with a card for the club where I did lapdance patrol. I gave the card to Stormy.

"You want to make a change, try that place," I said. "It’s not quite as tony, but the clientele’s still good and the manager doesn’t allow any funny stuff."

She took the card. "I’ll think about it," she said.

"So, about the plan," I said. "You in? Be your chance to be my hot crime-fighting partner."

Stormy took a long drag on her cigarette and looked at the tabletop. Then she grinned and shrugged. "Sure," she said. "What the hell?"

"I knew I could count on you, Stormy," I said. "You’re one of the good guys."

I pulled out my phone and dialed up Monster. He picked up on the third ring.

"You busy?" I asked.

"Nah, man, you need somethin’?"

"A favor," I said, and gave him the address for Kisses. "How soon can you be here?"

"Half hour," Monster said. "What I gotta do?"

"Let a pretty girl sit in your lap," I said.

Next Chapter: ELEVEN