Page 56 of Preferential Treatment

Kate’s lungs seemed to freeze. “I told you not to let her in!”

“I didn’t let her in. She was hanging out outside the building. I think she was asking everybody who went in if they knew you.”

Kate accepted the envelope, brow furrowed. “Did she seem… okay?”

“I guess? I don’t know what she’s normally like, so it’s hard to say.”

“She didn’t insult you or threaten you?”

“No,” Naomi said quickly, shocked. “Would she?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.” Kate reluctantly opened the envelope. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she definitely hadn’t been expecting to find a stack of twenties. “What the hell?” she muttered, counting them out. Two hundred dollars, with a small note that read, For the damages. Her broke, homeless, addict sister had sent her two hundred dollars? Guilt like she hadn’t felt in years soured her stomach and gave her an instant headache.

“Are you okay?” Naomi asked gently.

“I’m fine. I… I have to call my mom.”

Kate went to her bedroom and shut the door. The phone rang for so long, Kate was sure it was going to voicemail, but at the last second, her mom answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom. Have you heard from Angel lately?”

“Oh, I’m doing alright. Thanks for asking,” her mom said airily.

Kate ground her teeth together, but when she spoke, she made sure her voice was patient and unruffled. If she got snappy, Mom would get snappy right back, and then she’d never get the information she needed. “Glad to hear it, Mom. Have you heard from Angel?”

“Not for a couple weeks. Why?”

“Do you know where she is?”

“She’s in Chicago. You knew that. Why are you asking? Is she in trouble?”

“Is she still in Chicago?”

“Last I heard. Got a spot at a real high-end club, she says.”

Kate doubted very much that Angel’s bony ass got a place at a “high end” club, but the news that she was making money was good. “Do you know the name of it?”

“Uh…” Her mom thought for a second. “The Cathouse, I think.”

“The Cathouse?” Kate repeated, making sure she heard correctly.

“Maybe,” her mom replied uncertainly. “It was something to do with cats.”

“Alright. I’ve got to let you go, okay?”

After bidding her mom goodbye, Kate looked up Chicago strip clubs. There was no Cathouse, but she did find one called The Cat’s Meow. She called them.

“Cat’s Meow,” a bored-sounding woman answered. “Open four p.m. to four a.m. Wednesday through Sunday. Fifteen dollars at the door. How can I help you?”

“Hey, I know the answer is already no, but I’m trying to find my sister. If I tell you her name, can you just confirm if she’s not working there?”

The woman sighed. “Do you know how many bullshit stories I hear from people trying to track down our dancers?”

“I can’t even begin to guess at the number, but I know it’s bad. My sister’s been working at strip clubs for ten years, I’ve heard the horror stories. Her real name is Angela Pasternak. Can you just confirm that you don’t have a dancer by that name?”

“I can’t give out our dancers’ information.”

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