Vicarious (16 page)

“Whatever,” he replies. “You don't need glittery false eyelashes and caked-on makeup to be hot.” He glances around at the crowd. “Some of these chicks probably spent hours disguising themselves before they left the house. What's the point? The guy you're with has to be okay with the real you.”

A current of pain jolts through me. Jesse wouldn't like the real me, the girl who spent years being violated and victimized. “You combed your hair to cover your ear,” I point out.

“Yeah, but that's just part of the disguise.” Jesse looks down at his shiny shirt. “This isn't who I am. I bought it for tonight. My ear, my scar—they're part of me. I don't
need
to hide them from anyone.”

I wish I felt like he did, like I didn't need to hide my scars. Like people wouldn't judge or pity me if they knew my history. I wish I were as strong as Jesse. Almost without thinking, I touch my right hand to where I know the angry pink line lingers, just beneath the forward sweep of his brown hair.

He blinks rapidly and then reaches his hand up and twines his fingers through mine. Leaning in close to me, he says, “Are you okay being here?”

The scent of either cologne or aftershave tickles my nose. I take my hand back and step slightly away. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“You said crowds made you nervous. Doesn't get much more crowded than this.”

He's right. Maybe I'm finally getting over my fear of other people. Or maybe I just feel more comfortable here because I've already experienced this place in a ViSE. “It's not too bad,” I tell him.

Jesse nods. “Do you want to dance?”

I imagine his hands on me, his eyes skimming their way down the lines of my body as we move to the music. I shake my head. “We need to stay focused on why we're here.”

“Okay.” Jesse scans the room again. “Hey. Is that Isaiah?” He points across the club at a tall African-American kid who is slipping gracefully through the crowd of dancers.

“Looks like it,” I say. Isaiah is Gideon's newest recorder. He's sporting a head full of braids—a wig—which means he's recording. We watch as he escorts a petite girl with long dark hair toward one of the bathrooms.

“What do you think that's about?” Jesse asks.

“Drugs or sex, I'm sure,” I say. “Nothing else happens in bathrooms at a club, right?”

Gideon won't sell ViSEs of torture or sexual assault, but almost everything else is fair game. If you're willing to do it, chances are someone out there is willing to buy it. Some people feel like ViSEs encourage risky behavior, but Gideon's philosophy is the opposite—if we can provide people the experience in a safe environment, they'll be less likely to go out and do it on their own. I remember arguing with him about the sexual ViSEs once, telling him no one's first time should be someone else's experience.

“No one's first time should be with a girl who isn't willing,” he responded quietly.

I never brought it up again.

“I wonder if Isaiah got the message about not working alone,” Jesse says.

“Let's find out.” I cut across the crowded dance floor toward the women's restroom, with Jesse right behind me.

A guy who is dressed in a maroon shirt and black pants—a bartender, maybe—holds up his hand. “Bathroom is occupied right now.”

“We know.” Jesse gives him a gentle shove out of the way and we stride right past.

I lift a hand to my mouth when I see what's going on. I was wrong about the drugs or sex part. Isaiah and the girl are fighting. She's only half his size but she's throwing punches like a heavyweight. Her fist connects with his stomach and he doubles over. She lands a right hook to his jaw and he stumbles backward against the sinks, his lower lip wet with blood.

Jesse and I spring into action. I step between the girl and Isaiah and Jesse grabs her. He pins her back against the wall.

The girl blinks rapidly, like she's not sure where we came from. “Is this part of it?” She looks over at Isaiah.

“Part of what?” Jesse asks. “What's going on?”

“Jesus, Ramirez.” Isaiah wipes the blood from his mouth with one hand. “Talk about sneaking up on a brother.” He turns to the girl. “Sorry, babe. We're going to have to do it over.”

“You were recording?” I say in disbelief. “You think there's a big demand for the experience of getting beat up by a girl?”

Isaiah chuckles. “
She's
recording. Not me.”

Jesse steps back and the girl removes a black wig to reveal a headful of coppery twists partially mashed by a recorder headset. “I'm Helene,” she says. “Isaiah's girlfriend.”

“I still don't understand,” I say. “Does our boss know you're letting other people record?”

“He won't care once he checks out this footage,” Isaiah says smugly.

Jesse smirks. “Because you think people will pay big bucks for the honor of kicking your ass?”

Isaiah ignores Jesse. “Winter, haven't you ever wanted to slap the shit out of some guy who won't take a hint? Maybe he asks you to dance or he asks you for your number and you're polite at first but he won't let it go, even follows you into the bathroom like a creeper.” Isaiah gestures around the cramped room with a flourish. “I present the Bathroom Beatdown.”

“Pretty sure if Winter wanted to slap the shit out of some guy she'd just go ahead and do it,” Jesse says.

I bite back a smile. He's probably right. “I guess I can see the appeal of this, but please be careful.”

“Yeah, about that.” Isaiah looks over at Helene. “Give me a second, babe.” He pulls Jesse and me to the other side of the room. Dropping his voice he says, “Gideon told me about your sis. I only met her once but she seemed cool. I'm sorry for your loss. It probably seems disrespectful as hell that I'm out recording, but I still got to eat. Knowing Gideon, he'll be back up and running in a week, and I need to have something new to offer him.”

“How did you even get in here?” Jesse asks.

Isaiah grins. “I got my ways.”

“Have you seen a guy in a gray leather coat?” I ask. “Maybe wearing a fedora too?”

“I don't think so, but I haven't spent much time checking out the guys tonight.” He gestures at Helene. “You see anyone wearing a gray coat up in here tonight? With a hat maybe?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing like that. I've seen a few girls who probably ought to
put on
a coat.” She clucks her tongue. “Transparent is not a dress color.”

“Cool. Thanks anyway,” Jesse says.

“Be safe,” I add, as we head for the restroom door. The guy in the maroon shirt is gone. Maybe he didn't want to hang around to be yelled at by Helene and Isaiah for letting us get past him.

Back out in the club, Jesse and I muscle our way up to the bar and ask the two bartenders currently making drinks if they've served anyone in a gray leather coat tonight or anytime recently. Both of them just shrug.

“How can people be so oblivious?” I mutter as we turn away.

“Speaking of oblivious.” Jesse gestures across the dance floor. “Superchoke is heading in this direction. I'm not sure how much of what's going on you want him to know.”

I turn around. Andy is working his way through the crowd toward us. A pair of girls stops him on the way over. He shakes each of their hands.

“The less he knows, the better,” I say. “I told him I was worried about Rose because she didn't come home last night, but nothing else.”

Jesse nods. “That's what I thought. I'm going to get into one of the cages—get an aerial view of the whole place. If there's a guy in a gray leather coat here, I'll find him.”

“Don't get your ass kicked,” I say just as Andy reaches my side.

“Who said anything about fighting?” Jesse winks.

To my surprise, he sidles up to a cage full of dancing girls who happily welcome him inside. I shake my head as the girls twist and writhe around him. I never would have figured Jesse for a dancer, but he moves like he's completely comfortable. One of the girls plants a kiss on his jawbone. I force myself to look away.

“So is he your boyfriend?” Andy asks.

“No. We work together, but we're just friends.”

“Are you guys recorders like Rose?”

I clench my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open in surprise. I'm shocked at how much Rose confided in Andy. It's great that she trusted him, but no one is supposed to know we're recorders and I'm not about to violate the rules Gideon put in place to keep us safe.

I give Andy my best blank look. “What's a recorder?”

He chuckles. “Oh, so that's how it is? Very hush-hush? Okay. I'll play along.”

Before I can respond he slides his arms around my waist and sweeps me out onto the dance floor. “A recorder is someone who makes ViSEs. Do you know what those are?”

“Everyone knows what ViSEs are,” I say. “Everyone around here, at least.” People come from neighboring states to try them. Gideon even has some rich customers who fly in from the West Coast to vise.

“Do you ever do it?”

I feel the pressure of the metal headset beneath my wig. “I don't think I would like it.” I try to slide away from Andy. “I don't really like to dance either.”

“So fake it. You're not going to see much with your back pressed into a corner.” He raises my hands in the air and swings them from left to right. “Your sister is all kinds of dancer.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Reluctantly I move my feet in time to the music, swaying my hips as I systematically scan the room looking for the guy in gray. Each song bleeds seamlessly into the next. I try to keep enough of a space cushion around me so I'm not brushing up against other people.

Andy snickers at my awkward dancing. “Do you want a drink?” he offers.

“I don't drink.” Another activity best avoided by the reality challenged.

“Maybe you should.” He winks at me. “It takes the edge off.”

“Maybe I like the edge.”

“Ouch,” he says. “Feisty.”

“You went back in the VIP room with your football friend, right?” I ask. “You didn't see anyone in a coat and hat?”

“I haven't seen anyone in a coat anywhere tonight. People either left them in cars or checked them.”

I sigh. “You're right. This is hopeless.”

Across the room, Jesse climbs out of the cage to the chagrin of the female dancers. One whispers in his ear as he turns to shut the door behind him. A spike of jealousy moves through me like a faulty electric current. But I'm being stupid. I can't be the girl he wants. He deserves someone who can.

He holds my gaze through the dark as he makes his way around the gyrating dancers. I can't even see his eyes, but I can feel them on me. Like my own personal eclipse, the room falls away until there is nothing but grayness and Jesse's dark form superimposed upon it. He looks taller. Half his face is bathed in shadow. He looks like someone has gouged out one of his eyes. My heart thrums in my chest. Then Jesse steps out of the circling black lights and his form is the same as always. Two eyes. Just a trick of light.

“Any luck?” I ask.

“Nada,” he says. “You want to do more asking around?”

I shake my head. “Let's just get out of here.”

The three of us begin making our way to the front door of the club. I grab Rose's coat from the coat check and fling it around my shoulders. As we step out into the cold, Jesse says, “So where to? Do you know of anywhere else Rose spent a lot of time recording?”

Andy turns toward me, his lips twisting up into a smile as he watches me squirm at being so blatantly caught in a lie. My face flushes red in the frosty air. A few flakes of snow swirl around us.

“What?” Jesse looks from me to Andy. “Oh, man. Didn't you say they dated or something? I thought he knew that much at least.”

“I did.” Andy fishes his keys out of his pocket. “But someone here has trust issues.”

Jesse whistles long and low. “Dude. You have no idea.”

Ignoring Jesse, I give Andy a defiant look. “Fine. So I know Rose is a recorder. Her boss doesn't like for people to talk about it.”

The snow starts coming down harder. It looks like we're due for another blizzard.

“Let's go,” I say, frustrated at wasting so much time on a dead end.

We head across the parking lot. “Well, she has to be somewhere,” Andy says hopefully. “Maybe the cops will come up with something.” He presses a button on his keychain and the doors to his Range Rover unlock with a shrill electronic chirp. Another button and the engine roars to life.

We're only a few yards from the Range Rover when my eyes are drawn to a car in the next row. Black. Midsize. Completely nondescript. There's a man sitting in the driver's seat.

A man wearing a coat and a fedora.

 

CHAPTER 16

“Guys,”
I start. “Don't look, but there's a guy wearing a hat and a coat in a black car one row over, and I think he's watching us.”

Jesse keeps his eyes trained on me, but Andy starts to turn his head.

The sedan's engine suddenly springs to life. The driver backs up quickly, shifts into drive, and squeals his tires as he heads for the exit.

“Shit,” Andy says. “Sorry.”

I am already running toward the Range Rover. “Let's go after him.”

We peel out of the parking lot in pursuit of the black car. Andy drives like a race car driver and we quickly gain on the sedan, pulling ever closer as it heads for the riverfront. Snowflakes slap the windshield and immediately get shunted to either side by the wiper blades. Andy accelerates until the Rover is vibrating, the seams rattling so hard I start to worry they might come apart. The arrow on the speedometer jumps and twitches as it climbs higher and higher.