I slipped the keys back into a pocket, and found something even more interesting in the inside breast pocket. A wallet. I waited until no one was staring at me before I looked inside. Eighty-three dollars and a few pieces of plastic. There was a pack of business cards describing Tony Montoro, the manager of a bar called the Pole Dance Palace. Seeing the cards made me chuckle and provided me with a brief glimpse of memory. I saw a bar built around a circular stage and a lively crowd of drunks sitting at tables. The card had an address. I committed the address to memory and slipped the wallet back out of sight. Had I been a regular there? Not knowing gave me a strange feeling.
When I reached the boulevard, I was able to flag down a taxi. I had it haul me a few miles uptown and drop me off at an all-night diner that was close to Tony’s joint. I didn’t want to pull right up to the door, and I didn’t want to wait any longer for a meal, so a diner seemed like a good compromise.
I ordered black boiled coffee and a plate of eggs Benedict. I knew somehow when I saw the picture on the menu that the dish was a favorite of mine after recovering from a rough night. The waitress raised one eyebrow, but took the order wordlessly and swished away. When the food came, I ate all of it. My stomach rolled slightly when I was done, but I kept it down. What I needed now was sleep, but my instincts told me this was not the time to lie down and check out.
I washed up in the bathroom and spotted a clock on the way out. It was 8:00 a.m. I paid with a twenty and left the place feeling considerably better. I fished the pair of sunglasses out of Tony’s pockets and stepped into the growing glare outside. The desert sun was over the buildings now, and painfully bright. The streets had been populated mostly by garbage trucks when I had entered the restaurant, but now a fair number of pedestrians had appeared. I kept my coat pulled tightly over my stolen medical garb and managed to look normal enough. Still, I received a number of wary stares from passersby, which I stoically ignored.
I reached the address on Tony’s card without incident and went around to the back. It was off the Strip by a few blocks, but it was close enough to get some of the traffic. Hanging over the alley entrance was a single security camera. I waved at it briefly, figuring Tony wouldn’t be reviewing the footage from the grave. I dug out the keys and tried each one. The third key rattled, then clicked. The door swung open a fraction with a shriek of unoiled hinges.
“Who are you?” a voice asked.
I whirled, knowing the action would make me look all the more guilty, but I was unable to help myself. A woman stood some twenty feet away. She was young and pretty, but she had experienced, suspicious eyes. She wore a short leather jacket and a short leather skirt—all black. I would have stared at her shapely legs on a different day, but I was in a suspicious mood. I eyed her hands for weapons—or strange little statues. Neither was apparent.
“I’m a friend of Tony’s,” I said, looking back into her blue eyes.
Her face changed from narrow-eyed suspicion to an expression of surprise and recognition.
“Oh,” she said, taking a step back. “That’s his coat, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “And these are his sunglasses,” I said, pulling them off and putting them away.
She watched my hands as I folded the arms of the sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket.
“Are you handling his affairs?” she asked.
“I’ve been asked to look into things here, yes.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know,” she said. “I’ll come back later then.”
“Wait a second,” I said as she began to walk quickly away. “Do I know you?”
She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
I pushed the door the rest of the way open, causing it to squeak louder. The interior was dark and smelled of cigarettes and spilled beer.
“If you want to come in and have a look around,” I said, “you’re welcome to join me.”
She paused, clearly uncertain. I could read worry in her eyes now. Worry and indecision.
“Why are you here?” I asked her conversationally.
“I—I came to pick up my last check.”
I nodded. “No one around at this time in the morning, eh? I’m not surprised. Strip joints aren’t usually known for their breakfast specials.”
She shrugged. “It’s been closed since the accident.”
I nodded, thinking to myself she must want that check pretty badly. The place had been closed for days, yet she was here first thing in the morning. But I kept the thought to myself. I suspected she recognized me, and I hoped she knew some details about my situation.
She took two hesitant steps toward me.
“You want to come in and see if he cut your check?” I asked.
After a moment of further soul-searching, she said, “OK.”
“What’s your name?”
“Wildfire.”
“No, not your stage name.”
She flashed me a resigned look. “Holly,” she said.
I thought about the note I’d seen on the dead flower when I’d first awakened. It had been signed Holly, and I didn’t believe in coincidences. I did, however, believe in playing my cards carefully, so I smiled at her reassuringly.
I walked into the gloomy interior and waited. After about seven seconds, I finally heard her clacking heels. She followed me into the place and let the door groan and click behind her. I approved. It seemed she didn’t want anyone discovering us inside either.
“Where are the light switches?” I asked.
“I’ll just open some of the blinds,” she said quickly.