“She was out of control. Really making an ass of herself.”
“You were jealous, seeing her with another guy like that.”
He snorted. “Hardly.”
“You were angry.”
“Annoyed.”
“After your shift you went to see her.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Excuse me?”
“You went to her apartment.”
“Did she tell you that?” He looked from her to Zach. “Because whatever she told you is a lie.”
“I’m not convinced.” She looked at Zach. “How about you?”
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that, man.”
“I broke up with her.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice. “Personally, I could care less if she fucked that guy on the dance floor, but my boss would’ve fired my ass over it.”
They didn’t respond, and he shook his head. “Stupid bitch. What did she say? That I raped her? Pathetic. Either order a drink or—”
Zach caught his hand, anchoring it to the bar. “We’re not finished.”
Lacoste froze. Micki looked at Zach in surprise. There’d been steel in his voice; gone was the easy-going charmer. He meant business.
Lacoste paled. “What do you want to know?”
Zach answered. “When’s the last time you saw Gwen?”
“That Saturday night. When I kicked her out of the bar. That’s the last time, I swear.”
“And after your shift ended?”
“I went home with somebody. Was with her all night.”
“Who?” Micki asked. “We need a name.”
“All this because some bitch—”
“Gwen Miller,” she corrected and looked at Zach. “He doesn’t have a very good attitude about women.”
Zach agreed. “He needs to learn some respect.”
Sweat broke out on Lacoste’s upper lip. “I went home with her.” He indicated his fellow bartender. “Shelley. We do that sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“She’ll back you up?” Micki said.
“Yes, absolutely.”
Zach released his hand. “I’ll go test that.”
Lacoste watched him walk away and Micki snapped her fingers to get Lacoste’s attention. “Tell me about the guy Gwen was all over that night.”
“A regular. A real loser.”
Micki sensed that to Lacoste, everyone was a loser but him. “Name?”
“Corey.”
“Last name?”
“LeFever.”
From the corners of her eyes, she saw Zach conversing with the other bartender. Heard her laugh. Obviously, completely charmed.
Pick me, pick me.
Freaking mumbo jumbo.
“You have his contact info?”
“Don’t know him that well. He comes in most nights.”
Zach strolled back. She saw him slip a folded cocktail napkin into his pocket. No doubt, Shelley’s phone number. That figured.
It shouldn’t irritate her, but it did.
Several minutes later, they were back on the street. They climbed into the Taurus. “Proud of you, Hollywood,” she said, as he cranked the engine. “Nice move with Lacoste. You grew a pair in there.”
“I’ve always had ’em. Just picky about how I use ’em.”
She laughed. “Whatever. What’d you learn?”
“Shelley confirmed they spent the night together. The whole ‘Friends don’t let friends go home alone on Saturday night’ thing. Kinda takes the romance out of it.”
“Speaking of romance, you didn’t strike out.”
He looked momentarily confused. “You mean Shelley?”
“Saw you slipping a napkin into your pocket.”
“I couldn’t be rude, right?”
Irritated. Again. She shook it off. “You get a bead on Lacoste.”
“Oh yeah. From the read I got, he didn’t touch Miller Saturday night. But you’ll like this. With him, what you see is what you get. Not much else going on there.”
“No way.” She laughed. “He couldn’t be that shallow?”
“Oh yeah, he could.”
“I wish I could’ve snapped the cuffs on him. The boys in holding would’ve loved messing with him.”
Zach yawned. “What now?”
“Back to the Eighth. Run our mysterious fortune-teller through the system, see if we get a hit.”
“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Welcome to a life protecting and serving, Hollywood. Ain’t it a gas?”
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday, July 9
8:00 P.M.
They did get a hit. Brite Knight had several arrests under her gypsy scarves. Small stuff. Disturbing the peace. Complaints about her business practices. Shoplifting. Pickpocketing.
It also gave them a last known address.
“Got her,” Zach said, grabbing his car keys.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Mick hopped to her feet. “I’ll drive. I’ve had about all I can take of your P.O.S. for today.”
He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “Courtesy of the Bureau.”
“Bastards. They could do better.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
They exited the building, dodging fellow officers escorting several working girls inside. Mick led him around the side of the building to a midnight blue Chevy Nova SS.
He whistled. “Sweet wheels.”