Page 20 of Open Season

“And strictly off-record and on my own,” Jack said wryly.

“Hell, buddy, it’s better that way. Nothing official. You’re a single man with an active social life, so what could be more natural? And if, in the course of a night’s entertainment, you notice something or accidentally overhear something, why, I do believe we have probable cause. Whaddaya say?”

“It’s a long shot.”

“Granted. But, damn it, I don’t like having girls’ bodies dumped in my county. I can work my usual sources and get some busts around here for possession, but that isn’t going to stop the bastards who cruise the bars. We need an edge, and I think you might be the sharpest knife available to us.”

“We don’t want to get crossways with the DEA, maybe foul up an operation they have going.”

“Fuck ’em,” Petersen said cheerfully.

Jack had to laugh, because it really was a pretty good setup. If he did step on some toes, it would be purely accidental. What the hell, it wouldn’t hurt him to spend some time in some clubs. His experience was in SWAT, not narcotics, but he’d seen enough to know what to look for. “Who else is going to know about this?”

“About what?” Petersen asked, with an immediate case of amnesia.

“I don’t guess you can tell me what some good clubs in the area are, can you?”

“Not speaking from personal experience, you understand, but I hear the Hot Wing in Scottsboro has some action. You might check out the Buffalo Club in Madison County, and the Sawdust Palace in Huntsville. I can come up with some more names if you’re interested.”

“Get me a list,” Jack said, and hung up.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he ran the plan in his mind again. There weren’t any rules, because he was on his own. Hell, there really wasn’t a plan, just a see-what-you-can-see mission. He’d have to play it by ear if he did happen to run across something, but his training had taught him how to act with initiative in fluid situations.

He felt the old surge of adrenaline through his veins, the tightening of anticipation. Maybe he missed the action more than he’d realized. This wasn’t the same as a hostage situation or an armed standoff, but it was every bit as important. Women were getting raped and were sometimes dying because of GHB; if he could catch just one son of a bitch slipping it into someone’s drink, he’d gladly nail his balls to the wall.

That night Daisy hesitantly knocked on Todd Lawrence’s elaborate leaded-glass front door. The door itself was a work of art, painted a shade of blue that matched the shutters, with the detailing pinstriped in a dark green that made one think of a forest; given the number of potted plants on the wide porch, that analogy wasn’t far off. The leaded glass gleamed as if it had just that day been cleaned with vinegar. Two antique bronze lamps bracketed the door, casting a soft light that made the entrance feel cozy and inviting.

Through the glass she saw a blurred figure approach; then the door opened and Todd Lawrence himself smiled down at her. “Hello, Daisy, how are you? Come on in.” He stepped back and gestured with his hand. “It seems like ages since I’ve seen you. I don’t get by the library as much as I should. Since I opened the store in Huntsville, it seems as if it takes up all my spare time.”

Todd had always had a way about him that made you feel as if you were his best friend. Daisy’s own contact with him had been limited, but his easy manner dissipated some of her nervousness. He was a slim, neat man, clad in tan chinos and a chambray shirt with the cuffs rolled back. Todd was about five-eleven in height, with brown hair and eyes and an easy smile, one that made you automatically want to smile in return.

“Successful businesses have a way of doing that,” she said, following him into the front parlor and taking a seat on the overstuffed floral couch he indicated.

“Do they ever.” He smiled ruefully “I spend a lot of my free time going to auctions. A lot of nights there’s nothing but junk and reproductions, but every so often a real gem will show up. The other night I bought a hand-painted Oriental screen for less than a hundred dollars, and sold it the next day for three thousand. I had a client who had been looking for something exactly like that.”

“It takes a good eye to be able to tell real antiques from reproduction stuff,” she said. “And years of study, I guess.”

He shrugged. “I picked it up here and there. I like old furniture, so it was only natural that I paid attention.” He put his hands on his hips and studied her, his head to the side. Normally such an examination would have made her uneasy, but Todd had a twinkle in his eyes that said, Hey, isn’t this fun? “So, you want a makeover, do you?”

“An all-over makeover,” Daisy said honestly. “I’m a mess, and I don’t know what to do to correct it. I bought some makeup and tried it, but there has to be a trick to it or something, because I looked awful.”

He laughed. “Actually, there are several tricks to it.”

“I knew it,” she muttered, indignant. Would it have been too much trouble for the companies to have printed the real proper way to apply their products?

“Most of it, though, is just practice, and learning not to use too much.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Makeup’s easy; I can show you that in less than an hour. What else are you planning to do?”

She felt her face heat up at having to catalog her faults. For goodness’ sake, weren’t they obvious? “Well, my hair. I was thinking about having Wilma put in some highlights—”

“Good God, no!” he exclaimed, horrified.

Daisy sighed. “That was pretty much the same reaction I got from my family.”

“Listen to them,” he advised. “They know whereof they speak. Wilma hasn’t kept up with the trends or the new developments in chemicals. I doubt she’s been to a hair show since she got her license forty years ago. There are some good stylists in either Huntsville or Chattanooga who won’t burn your hair off at the scalp.”

Daisy shuddered at the mental picture of herself bald. Todd lifted a strand of her hair and fingered it. “Your hair’s in good shape,” he said. “There’s no discernable style, but it’s healthy.”

“It doesn’t have any body.” Now that she had gotten started, she was determined not to leave out the slightest flaw.

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