Page 24 of First Star I See Tonight (Chicago Stars 8)

Jada led the way downstairs. She leveled her Nerf and took a quick survey of the alley before she stepped out.

Piper had stuffed everything into two suitcases and a couple of boxes. Jada took one of the suitcases, gun still raised, head swiveling. Piper pulled out the other. “Do you really think anybody’s coming after you back here?”

Jada looked at her as if she were a moron. “You’re kidding, right? This is a great place to ambush me. The third day of school, these kids named Daniel and Tasha hid behind Coop’s car. They were working as a team.”

“Cagey of them.”

“They’re dead now,” Jada said with all kinds of satisfaction. “I tried to get Tasha to team up with me, but she’s one of the popular kids. She also likes Daniel.”

“Another woman being stupid over a man.”

Jada gave a world-weary nod. “I know. I’m going to be a psychologist someday.”

“Hard to imagine much of a future with Murder One on your rap sheet, but follow your dream.”

Jada grinned, her wide mouth and silver braces so winning that Piper forgave her for the ambush.

***

Tony, the club manager, had a big voice, a bigger smile, and an effusive personality, but Piper vowed to keep her eye on him anyway, although, since Graham had told him exactly why she was in the club, that wouldn’t be easy. At the staff meeting, Coop introduced her as the new digital strategist. She learned that Torpedo Head’s name was Jonah. He was the head bouncer and a former Clemson linebacker. Even though he didn’t seem to recognize her, his gaze was far from friendly—either because he had a naturally surly disposition or because he’d decided she wasn’t hot enough to work at Spiral. The other six bouncers also looked like former football players, a theory it didn’t take her long to confirm.

Tony briefed the servers on the premium brands they were pushing that evening. Piper found it interesting that Coop stepped in at the end to warn them about overserving guests. As the meeting broke up, she said, “You walk a fine line here.”

“I want to build a business based on people having a good time, not killing themselves.”

“Ever think about miniature golf?”

“Cute.”

At nine o’clock, the guests began spilling into the club—long-haired women in short skirts, stretchy dresses, silk blouses, and incredible shoes. Guys in sports coats, open-collared shirts, or pricey T-shirts that showcased their pecs. All of them seemed to be vying for the attention of the Oklahoma cowboy who’d come to Chicago by way of Miami and brought glory to their city. They swarmed him like wasps, pushing and gesticulating. The bouncers let it happen.

A woman in fitted leather shorts and another rocking a scarlet dress with a cutout midriff passed by. Piper only had one dress in her closet suitable for the job—the innocuous black number she’d had on eight days ago, the night she’d been caught. The one good thing about having worked in a cubicle was that she could wear jeans. Dressing up for a job was a pain.

As she walked around the club, she saw that new bartending practices had already been put into place, but one of the servers, a slender brunette named Taylor, caught her attention. That first night in the club, Piper had observed that she seemed to have a particularly close relationship with bartender Keith.

When Taylor stopped at the bar to pick up a drink order, Piper introduced herself. “I’m thinking it might be interesting to post a regular feature profiling some of the servers on Spiral’s Web site. Put up a picture, a couple of fun facts. Do you think the staff would go for it?”

Most of the servers, Piper had already observed, seemed happy with their jobs. The pay was good, they got decent benefits, and none of them were expected to do lap dances to sell bottles, but maybe Taylor wasn’t as happy as the rest. She set the drinks the bartender handed her on a black lacquer tray. “Sure. They’d do anything to make Coop happy.”

Was there a slight edge to her answer? “They? But not you?”

“Oh, yeah. Me, too. It’s a great job.”

Her enthusiasm didn’t quite ring true, and Piper made a mental note to keep a sharper eye on her.

Coop was being pressed for autographs, and none of the bouncers was stepping in to give him some room. She appreciated the wisdom of keeping the bouncers from looking like prison guards, but these guys had taken it too far. Everyone wanted to be Graham’s friend, and even though tonight’s crowd was benevolent, that could change. Still, it wasn’t her job to watch out for him, and she stayed on the move, hanging out at the bar, drifting toward the dance floor, and making frequent checks of the ladies’ room.

As midnight approached, she headed toward VIP. The odious Jonah stopped her at the bottom of the stairs. “You can’t go up there.”

She’d met these grown-up bullies before. He knew she was part of the staff, but he wanted to make sure she understood he was top dog here. Her heels gave her an extra couple of inches of height, and she utilized every bit of it. “I go where I want. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Mr. Graham. But don’t cry when you talk to him. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

She pushed past him and headed up to VIP. Her first night on the job, and she’d already made an enemy.

This lounge was decorated in bronze and black like the rest of the club, but with lacquered lattice screens separating conversation areas and a golden jewel of a bar at one end. The female servers’ uniforms were identical to the ones on the main floor—suggestive but not trashy. Black slip dresses with twin spaghetti straps that crisscrossed at the back and a midthigh hem edged with an inch of black lingerie lace. Some of the women wore calf-hugging leather stiletto boots, others, gladiator sandals that laced up their calves but still looked more comfortable than the shoes Piper was wearing.

A man she recognized as the Stars’ new running back sat with a couple of Bears players and a predictably gorgeous quartet of swishy-haired twenty-somethings. She wandered over to the bar and chatted with the bartenders while she observed her surroundings. Here, most of the guests tended to keep their attention on the people at their own tables instead of letting their eyes wander from group to group like the main floor clientele. The VIPs apparently assumed they were the most important people in the room.

She made her way to the small ladies’ lounge at the back. As she stepped inside, she saw a dramatic-looking brunette she dimly recognized as an actress on one of the Chicago-based cop shows. The actress sat on a padded cube in front of an oval mirror, staring at her reflection as muddy mascara tears rolled down her cheeks.

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