Open Season (12 page)

“Like I said, he’ll turn up, and I’ll be waiting when he does.” Sykes had to make an effort to keep the impatience out of his voice. How often did he have to say it? Mitchell was as good as handled. And in the meantime, business continued. “We have another shipment scheduled to come in next Tuesday night, five girls. I’d rather not take them to the usual place, just in case Mitchell has already talked to the wrong people. That’s another reason I don’t want to push too hard in finding him; if he gets scared, he may go to the D.A. and try to cut a deal, our names in exchange for protection. You got any ideas for another holding pen, to be on the safe side?”

The mayor rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. The problem was that they had to find a place that was isolated enough to be private, but not so isolated that
some
traffic couldn’t be expected. Rural folk were incurably nosy. If they saw headlights where there shouldn’t be any, they’d investigate—and they’d usually be toting at least a .22 rifle. Neighbors looked out for neighbors. That was nice if you were one of the neighbors, but it was a pain in the ass when you were trying not to be
noticed. The usual holding pen was an old travel trailer set well back from a dirt road. During dry weather, the road itself was a warning system, with any approaching vehicle sending up clouds of dust that could be seen well before any car came into sight.

“I’ll find something,” he said. “If nothing else, I’ll rent a big U-Haul truck.”

They’d done that before, in a pinch. It was amazing how little attention was paid to the rental trucks. The girls couldn’t take a bath—and God knows they always needed a bath—the way they could in the travel trailer, but if the client had to take delivery of merchandise that was less than sweet-smelling, well, this wasn’t exactly a dating service. But it was also a pain in the ass to use a rental, because if you parked the thing, sooner or later you could expect a deputy to come check it out. So you had to drive around until it was time for the clients to pick up the girls, then meet them somewhere and make a fast exchange. A rental just wasn’t the best arrangement.

The mayor’s pager began to beep. He silenced it and checked the number. “I have to go, but I’ll get back to you about the alternate location. Just find Mitchell, for God’s sake!”

Daisy paused at the closed double doors of the Buffalo Club. After much consideration, she had decided this was the place and now was the time to debut her new look and try her new approach to man-hunting. She was tired from the long day of shopping and being cosmetically tortured, but she was also still riding high on elation. When she had arrived home after the shopping trip, she hadn’t called out a greeting as she usually did, just walked into the kitchen where her mother and
Aunt Jo were busy putting up peach preserves for the winter. Her mother had glanced around, then whirled in alarm, sharply saying, “Who are you?”

Daisy had begun giggling. The other women had then squealed in delight and thrown themselves at her, exclaiming over the blond hair and the chic haircut. The peach preserves hadn’t been able to wait, so while they continued with their canning, Daisy had fetched all her shopping bags out of the car and displayed her take, which reached truly amazing proportions.

When she carted all of it upstairs to her room and began hanging the garments in her closet, she couldn’t resist trying everything on again. And though she was tired, when she put on one of her trim new skirts and that classic white sleeveless shirt, then the taupe heels, a thrill ran through her. That stylish, pretty woman was really
her.
She wasn’t gorgeous, she never would be, but the uncluttered hairstyle made the most of her rather unremarkable features and made her look. . . oh, reserved, maybe, instead of just mousy. And Todd was right: that anklet gleaming on her right ankle was down-right sexy.

It was a shame to waste this look. She might not be able to get her hair in exactly this style again. And she was already made up . . .

With that in mind, she drew in a deep breath and made a decision:

It was now or never.

So here she was at the Buffalo Club, a large, sprawling country music nightclub just over the Madison County line. It had live bands, a big dance floor, and sort of a reputation. The occasional stabbing and fight had been known to happen, but it wasn’t so far gone that women didn’t feel comfortable attending. Another
plus was that the cover charge was just two dollars; after the money she had spent that day, economy seemed prudent.

If she gave herself time to think, she knew she’d chicken out, so she just forged ahead. She took her two bucks out of the slim envelope purse swinging from her shoulder on a narrow strap. Her everyday purse was big enough to hold a month’s rations, but Todd had insisted she carry something more elegant. “Don’t carry a lot when you go out,” he’d instructed. “Just enough cash to get by, a tissue, a lipstick, and stick a credit card in your bra.” That was good, because that was about all she could get in the slim little excuse for a purse anyway.

A big guy wearing blue jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt collected her two dollars at the door; then he allowed her to pass and she stepped into a din of colored lights, loud music, and even louder conversation. Voices competed with the band and each other to be heard. The place was jammed. She was bumped from behind, shoving her into a tall redhead with big hair who gave her an irritated look.

Daisy started to mumble an apology, then remembered that she didn’t mumble anymore. Besides, a mumble couldn’t possibly be heard in here. “Pardon me,” she said clearly, her head high as she moved away. Her hair looked better than the redhead’s, she thought with a little thrill. She couldn’t remember ever thinking her hair looked better than someone else’s before.

She squirmed her way to a relatively sheltered spot where she could take stock. The bar, a big square, was lined with stools, and people stood three deep around it. Couples swayed on the dance floor, with colored lights flickering around them, while the lead singer of the band
crooned a love song. The band was situated on a small stage behind a protective netting of chicken wire.

The chicken wire worried her. Maybe the Buffalo Club was a little rougher than she’d heard.

There were a multitude of tables arranged willy-nilly around the dance floor, but they were all taken. Sawdust and peanut shells littered the floor, while jeans-clad waitresses dipped and wove with deftly balanced trays through the swarming crowd.

She was overdressed, Daisy thought. Jeans seemed to be the dress code, on men and women alike, though every now and then she spotted a short skirt paired with a halter and cowboy boots. Todd would have sniffed and pronounced such an ensemble “tacky.”

Daisy had kept on the pumps and the khaki skirt, and the sleeveless white shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned. The gold anklet drew attention to her slim, bare legs. She looked cool and classic, not quite the usual thing at the Buffalo Club.

“Well, hello!” A hard male arm clasped around her waist and swung her around. She found herself blinking up at a smiling dark-haired man with a beer bottle in his hand.

“Hello,” Daisy replied. She had to almost yell to make herself heard.

“Are you here with someone?” he asked, bending so his mouth was close to her ear.

Why, he was flirting. The realization zinged through her. This was a pickup! A man was actually trying to pick her up!

“Some friends,” she lied, because it seemed prudent to do so. She didn’t know him, after all.

“Would the friends mind if you danced with me?” he asked.

Because he was smiling and his eyes were friendly, she said, “Not at all,” and with a grin he set down his beer, took her hand, and led her to the dance floor.

My goodness, that was easy! Daisy thought giddily as she slipped into the man’s arms. He held her close, but not so close that she would have been embarrassed. For a moment she was terrified her dancing skills would desert her—after all, it wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of practice—but he was fairly smooth and she found that, if she didn’t think about it, her feet seemed to do what they were supposed to do.

“My name’s Jeff,” he said, again putting his mouth next to her ear so she could hear him.

“Daisy,” she supplied.

“Have you been here before? I don’t think I’ve seen you, and believe me, I would have noticed.”

She shook her head, just to feel her hair swing and settle. “First time.”

“Don’t let it be the last—” He broke off, turning his head to glare in annoyance at a man who had tapped him on the shoulder.

“May I break in?”

“No,” Jeff said rudely. “What the hell do you think this is, a prom? Go away. I saw her first.”

The other man, lean and blond, also clad in the de rigueur jeans and T-shirt, grinned. “C’mon, Jeff, don’t be selfish.” Deftly he unhooked Daisy’s hand from Jeff’s and spun her away from him.

Daisy looked over her shoulder at Jeff, her eyes a little wide as she wondered what would happen. Jeff grinned and shrugged, then motioned to the table where he would be.

“Are you friends?” she asked the blond man.

“Yeah, we work together. I’m Denny, by the way.”

“Daisy,” she said again.

The love song ended and the band immediately swung into a foot-stomper. Lines formed, and Denny pulled Daisy into position. “Wait!” she protested frantically. “I don’t know how to do this!”

“It’s easy,” he yelled back. “Just follow my lead.”

The line dance involved some stomping and whirling, and she managed to stomp and whirl not too far behind the rest of them. She and Denny bumped into each other at one point and she began laughing at herself. She was
so
out of place here, in her old-money classic clothes, surrounded by jeans and tube tops, but this was fun. She hadn’t been here ten minutes yet, and already two men had come on to her. That was more attention than she’d had in . . . oh, thirty-four years.

The line dance ended, and the band segued into another slow song, for a breather. Denny had barely gotten his arm around her waist when another guy cut in on him, and he surrendered her to yet another man. This one was older, probably in his fifties, with a close-cropped gray-and-brown beard, and not much taller than she was. He could dance, though. He grinned at her, said, “My name’s Howard,” and expertly twirled her. Daisy laughed, giddy with excitement and joy as their hands caught and he twirled her back into his arms.

Howard didn’t mind showing off his expertise, so Daisy polished up her rusty skills as fast as possible and did a credible job, she thought. She was nowhere near as good as he was, but at least she didn’t stumble, and she didn’t step on his toes.

After Howard came Steven, and after Steven was a guy named Mitchell who had big brown eyes and a shy smile. By that time Daisy was breathless and more than
a little warm. “I need to sit this one out,” she gasped, fanning herself with her hand.

Mitchell slipped his hand under her elbow. “I’ll get you something to drink,” he said. “Beer? Wine?”

“Just water, for now,” she said as she walked off the dance floor and looked around for a place to sit. The tables were just as crowded now as they had been five dances ago.

“Ah, c’mon, have some wine,” Mitchell cajoled.

“Maybe later. I’m really thirsty now, and water’s best for that.” Besides, she had to drive home.

“A Coke, then.”

His big brown eyes said he wanted to buy her a drink, and she was thwarting him by insisting on water. She relented. “Okay, a Coke.”

His shy smile bloomed. “Wait right here,” he said, and plunged into the crowd.

That was easier said than done. The swarming, shifting crowd constantly forced her to move this way and that, and within five minutes she was quite a distance from where Mitchell had left her. She peered toward the bar, trying to pick him out of the mass of bodies, but she didn’t know him well enough to recognize him in a crowd and, besides, it might take him a long time to get the drinks. The new shoes fit very well, but they were still new, she had danced five dances, and her feet hurt. She wanted to sit down. She rose on tiptoe, trying to spot an empty chair.

“Looking for a place to sit?” a burly guy yelled, and looped a beefy arm around her waist before she could react, hauling her down on his lap.

Alarmed, Daisy immediately tried to jump up. He laughed and tightened his arm, pulling her back, and instinctively she put her hand down to brace herself.
Unfortunately, she braced herself on his crotch, all of her weight bearing down on her hand.

He yelped, a high-pitched sound that rose above the din of music and voices. Suddenly aware of where her hand was and what she was feeling, Daisy squeaked and tried to leap up again, and her downward shove brought an even higher sound from the burly guy. Actually, it was now approaching a scream, one that brought heads turning their way.

Her face heated and she began struggling in earnest, but she couldn’t find her balance or purchase, and wherever she put her hand seemed to be wrong. She felt something soft grind under her knuckles, and the burly guy turned purple.

My goodness, it was amazing how things escalated. Distracted by the steam-whistle noise coming from the burly guy, a man accidently walked into a woman and made her spill her drink down her dress. She screamed, and her boyfriend swung at the other man. A chair overturned, a table was shoved, and there was the sound of breaking glass. People scattered. Well, some people scattered; others seemed to leap in their eagerness to join in the fray.

The melee was like a tidal wave, sweeping toward her, and she couldn’t get to her feet to escape it.

An iron clamp suddenly wrapped around her waist and hauled her off the poor guy’s lap. He collapsed on the floor, wheezing and holding his privates with both hands. Daisy squealed and clutched at the clamp, surprised to find it was merely flesh, but there was no way she could wiggle free. Her feet didn’t even touch the floor as she was swiftly carried away from the tangle of heaving bodies and swinging fists. The nightclub’s bouncers were wading in now, cracking heads left and
right and roughly restoring order, but Daisy didn’t get to see what happened because the bouncer who carried her waded through the throng as if it were water, moving people out of his way with his free arm, and before she knew it she was bundled out the door and deposited on her feet with a thud.