Inside, the club was deceptively large. The stage at the far wall had a band of six going in full swing, swallowing me in thrumming music as soon as I stepped through the door. The main room was separated into two parts: the immense dance floor packed with bodies and a surrounding area of booths where waiters were serving food. Chloe led the way up the stairs to the left. Michael trailed behind us, watching with wonderment as people passed right through him without noticing. I sort of envied normal people sometimes.
We approached one of the booths near the bar on our left where I recognized two of Michael’s bandmates: the brunette with white streaks in her hair and the black guy with the faux-hawk.
“Hey, guys! Having a good time?” Chloe asked with a bright smile.
The short brunette groaned, leaning forward in her seat to shout over the music. “I would if they had a better band on stage. These guys are amateurs with a capital A.”
The black guy shook his head at her. “Give ‘em a break, Casey. Everybody’s gotta start somewhere.”
She shrugged, arching a thin eyebrow at me. “Who’s the new girl?”
“This is Jordan. She’s looking for Michael.”
Casey snorted. “Aren’t we all? I can’t believe he up and left right after we had such a good premiere. Here, sit down.”
She scooted over and patted the open spot to her right. I sat and Chloe took a seat opposite me by the black guy. He stuck out a hand, smiling. I took it.
“Name’s Stan. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied, impressed by how friendly they all were. Michael may have been annoying, but he kept good company. Speaking of whom, Michael stood beside my side of the booth so he could keep up with the conversation. A waiter wandered by, asking for drink orders, but I declined. I knew for a fact how expensive alcohol was at popular clubs in the city. Besides, no sense in drinking while I was “working.” Casey and Stan ordered beers while Chloe stuck with a tried-and-true Vodka soda. I wracked my brain for inconspicuous ways of asking what happened to Michael in the last few days.
“Does he always disappear like that from time to time?”
Stan waggled his hand in the “kind of” motion. “He sucks at communication. Sometimes I’ll go three days without talking to him and then he’ll call me the next day to chat for four hours.”
“Same here. I haven’t been able to keep up with him since I met him,” Casey admitted, absently folding a paper napkin into triangular shapes.
“Why are you looking for him anyway? He’s not in trouble, is he?” Stan pressed, adopting a somewhat wary look. Good instincts. Crap.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I found something of his that I thought might be important to him. It’s an old watch with his name on it. I would have brought it with me but I was worried it would get stolen in this crowd.”
“Oh. I was starting to think you were a reporter,” Stan said in a sheepish voice.
“Or a cop. Especially because of this,” Casey pointed to the duster.
I managed a faint smile. “Yeah, I guess I do sort of look like a cop in this getup. Sorry if I made you suspicious.”
Chloe waved the comment away. “Trust me, we’re honestly shocked there aren’t any warrants out on him.”
Behind me, Michael snorted. “I’m loving the solidarity.”
I cleared my throat to hide a laugh. “So you guys don’t think he’s in any trouble?”
“No more than usual. Last time I heard from him was after Thursday’s performance when he left to head home. He always slips out the back door right after we finish so he can beat the crowd to the bus.”
A red flag went up in my mind. This club happened to spill out into an alleyway that was dark, damp, and far away from the street. That would mean few to no witnesses for our potential killer. I hid the interest with a passive nod and made a mental note to check there as soon as I could get away from the group. I hoped that would be soon because the longer I sat here, the more horrible I felt that these guys didn’t know their friend was dead. It wasn’t like I could tell them his spirit was hovering not a foot away from the table. Besides that, there was no absolute proof. Not yet, anyway.
The waiter returned with the drinks, asking for food orders. Chloe ordered some wings but the other two declined since they’d eaten before they got to the club.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” I asked Casey.
She pointed past my head to the right of the stage. “Go by the stage and hang a right. Good luck, though. The line’s a bitch this time of night.”