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Authors: Karen E. Olson
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background.”
Harry cast his eyes to the sidewalk and shifted from one foot to the other. “I thought you’d kick me out if I told you.”
“Damn straight she would.” Wouldn’t you know Jeff would decide to speak up now. “What’s your angle here, Desmond?”
Nice to know I wasn’t the only one he called by their last name, but it was a little disconcerting knowing that he didn’t like Harry. Jeff and I hadn’t liked each other in the beginning. Was this little quirk of his about my name a leftover from that time?
Harry finally stopped moving and straightened himself up. “No angle, Coleman.”
Or maybe it was a guy thing.
“Brett and I had a date,” Harry continued. “We were going over to Cleopatra’s Barge to hear someone sing.”
Jeff looked at me, his eyebrows high in his forehead, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Music, Kavanaugh? Really?”
Jeff knew I was tone-deaf.
“So happens that Dee Carmichael’s replacement in the Flamingos is singing tonight,” I explained.
The smile came out full force. “So you were taking Harry along while you did your sleuthing? I’m hurt, Kavanaugh, that you didn’t ask me instead.”
I felt my face flush and hoped that because it was dark, or semidark, he wouldn’t notice. “Harry knows Sherman Potter, the band’s manager. He invited us.”
Jeff was nodding. “Okay, then what are we waiting for? Let’s take a walk.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “My brother told me to stay away.”
“So when did that stop you before?”
Okay, so it hadn’t ever stopped me before. Except this time Tim was going to be there, and I wouldn’t be able to get away with it. I said as much.
“And I was going to tell Harry, here, that I couldn’t go after all,” I said, trying to look apologetic when Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“You don’t actually have to go in, you know,” Jeff said.
“What do you mean?’
Harry grinned. He knew what Jeff meant. “Brett, you can just walk through to the casino and hear the music.”
“But wasn’t the idea of this to talk to Sherman Potter, who will actually be in the nightclub?” I asked. “It sort of defeats the purpose.”
“Your brother doesn’t know me,” Harry said softly.
No, he didn’t.
Jeff was nodding, and even though he had warned me off Harry, he said, “That’s right. Harry can go in. We’ll hang out outside, and he can see what he can find out about this Ainsley.”
Harry looked like he wanted to do anything except be the third wheel.
“You owe me, Desmond,” Jeff said in a low, threatening tone that would’ve worried me if I were on the receiving end of it.
Harry pursed his lips and gave a short nod. “All right, I’m in. But only for Brett.”
“Fair enough,” Jeff said.
They both looked at me expectantly, until I finally shrugged and said, “Okay. Fine. But if I see Tim there, I have no idea how I’ll be able to explain.”
Neither Jeff nor Harry seemed to care. We fell into step along the sidewalk, sidestepping people carrying two-foot-long, thin glass containers with cocktails in them, college kids with the names of their schools blazoned across their T-shirts, and girls with low-cut jeans and high-cut tops to show off their belly rings and tattoos.
Which reminded me of something I wanted to ask Harry.
“So you hang out at my shop, and you worked for Jeff, but I’m wondering why you don’t have any tattoos.” Harry wore shorts and short-sleeved shirts every day, but I hadn’t seen any sign of any ink. Of course he could have one in as private a place as Ainsley had her rose, and it was none of my business. But because it was my business, I couldn’t help but ask.
Harry gave a nervous look at Jeff before answering. “Not into it, I guess.”
There was more to this than he was saying, but I didn’t press the issue. Not everyone wants a tattoo; I can live with that. Enough people did want tattoos, though, to keep me in business, to keep me
Harry cast his eyes to the sidewalk and shifted from one foot to the other. “I thought you’d kick me out if I told you.”
“Damn straight she would.” Wouldn’t you know Jeff would decide to speak up now. “What’s your angle here, Desmond?”
Nice to know I wasn’t the only one he called by their last name, but it was a little disconcerting knowing that he didn’t like Harry. Jeff and I hadn’t liked each other in the beginning. Was this little quirk of his about my name a leftover from that time?
Harry finally stopped moving and straightened himself up. “No angle, Coleman.”
Or maybe it was a guy thing.
“Brett and I had a date,” Harry continued. “We were going over to Cleopatra’s Barge to hear someone sing.”
Jeff looked at me, his eyebrows high in his forehead, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Music, Kavanaugh? Really?”
Jeff knew I was tone-deaf.
“So happens that Dee Carmichael’s replacement in the Flamingos is singing tonight,” I explained.
The smile came out full force. “So you were taking Harry along while you did your sleuthing? I’m hurt, Kavanaugh, that you didn’t ask me instead.”
I felt my face flush and hoped that because it was dark, or semidark, he wouldn’t notice. “Harry knows Sherman Potter, the band’s manager. He invited us.”
Jeff was nodding. “Okay, then what are we waiting for? Let’s take a walk.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “My brother told me to stay away.”
“So when did that stop you before?”
Okay, so it hadn’t ever stopped me before. Except this time Tim was going to be there, and I wouldn’t be able to get away with it. I said as much.
“And I was going to tell Harry, here, that I couldn’t go after all,” I said, trying to look apologetic when Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“You don’t actually have to go in, you know,” Jeff said.
“What do you mean?’
Harry grinned. He knew what Jeff meant. “Brett, you can just walk through to the casino and hear the music.”
“But wasn’t the idea of this to talk to Sherman Potter, who will actually be in the nightclub?” I asked. “It sort of defeats the purpose.”
“Your brother doesn’t know me,” Harry said softly.
No, he didn’t.
Jeff was nodding, and even though he had warned me off Harry, he said, “That’s right. Harry can go in. We’ll hang out outside, and he can see what he can find out about this Ainsley.”
Harry looked like he wanted to do anything except be the third wheel.
“You owe me, Desmond,” Jeff said in a low, threatening tone that would’ve worried me if I were on the receiving end of it.
Harry pursed his lips and gave a short nod. “All right, I’m in. But only for Brett.”
“Fair enough,” Jeff said.
They both looked at me expectantly, until I finally shrugged and said, “Okay. Fine. But if I see Tim there, I have no idea how I’ll be able to explain.”
Neither Jeff nor Harry seemed to care. We fell into step along the sidewalk, sidestepping people carrying two-foot-long, thin glass containers with cocktails in them, college kids with the names of their schools blazoned across their T-shirts, and girls with low-cut jeans and high-cut tops to show off their belly rings and tattoos.
Which reminded me of something I wanted to ask Harry.
“So you hang out at my shop, and you worked for Jeff, but I’m wondering why you don’t have any tattoos.” Harry wore shorts and short-sleeved shirts every day, but I hadn’t seen any sign of any ink. Of course he could have one in as private a place as Ainsley had her rose, and it was none of my business. But because it was my business, I couldn’t help but ask.
Harry gave a nervous look at Jeff before answering. “Not into it, I guess.”
There was more to this than he was saying, but I didn’t press the issue. Not everyone wants a tattoo; I can live with that. Enough people did want tattoos, though, to keep me in business, to keep me
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