Karen Olson: Pretty In Ink

“Thanks,” she said, then leaned toward me a little and whispered, “You talked to that cop?”

“I told him everything I saw,” I said. “I hope they can find the guy.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He didn’t tell me about the other champagne incidents,” I said, not quite sure, though, whether that was what she meant.

“Okay,” she said, and I guess it was. She went around to the driver’s-side door.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Bitsy said, although it was already after midnight, so who knew when “late” was.

Charlotte gave a short wave and climbed into her car. We watched her drive off before going over to our respective vehicles.

We were bidding each other good-bye when the door to the club opened and Kyle came out and walked toward us.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he said.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’ve been thinking about Trevor’s pin.”

On reflex, I glanced over to where Charlotte ’s Fit was pulling out onto the main drag.

“You might want to leave it with me.”

I frowned. “Why?” The Fit was getting farther and farther away.

“Eduardo, one of the dancing boys-remember him?”

There had been so many. We all shook our heads.

“Well,” Kyle continued, “he said some guy came around the club looking for Trevor this afternoon. He told Eduardo that Trevor had pawned something last week and bought it back today. But the guy said there was a mistake.”

“What sort of mistake?” I asked.

Kyle shrugged. “Not sure. But it had to be that pin. Trevor’s pawned it before, so he probably did again. I can’t think of anything else Trevor had that was worth pawning.”

“Are they real stones?” I asked, but Bitsy interrupted.

“We can talk to Trevor about it. Charlotte already took it with her. We don’t have it anymore.” Bitsy was just as tired as I was, and I could see she just wanted to get going.

Something crossed Kyle’s face, but I couldn’t read it. “Okay, that’s okay,” he said after a few seconds, but I could tell by his tone that it wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, Kyle?” I nudged.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips, staring off into the distance before answering.

“Eduardo is feeling guilty.”

“About what?” I asked.

“He told the guy he’d give Trevor the message. But the guy said he’d send his own message, one that Trevor wouldn’t be able to ignore.”

I could put two and two together. “So Eduardo thinks that this is the guy who hit Trevor with the cork?” I asked.

Kyle nodded. “He says everything that happened tonight was all his fault, just because he didn’t tell Trevor about this before the show. But he said there wasn’t time.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that Eduardo was telling the truth. Had there been time? Maybe, maybe not. It was water under the bridge now. Or, rather, champagne under the bridge.

“Did the guy leave a card or anything?” Bitsy asked, ever practical.

“No,” Kyle said. “He didn’t even tell Eduardo his name.”

“So he could’ve been lying,” Joel piped up. “Maybe he knows about Trevor’s pin and for some reason he just wants to get his hands on it.”

Kyle sighed. “Maybe. There was a big basket full of those pins at that fund-raiser. Trevor says all the other ones were fake, but this one is real. He says Lester Fine gave it to him.” I could tell by his tone that he was doubtful.

Lester Fine was an Academy Award-winning actor who was running for a senate seat. You couldn’t look at a newspaper front page in the last month or so that didn’t have his picture plastered all over it. Granted, he was a good-looking older man, and he was a shoo-in for the seat because of his celebrity.

“Was Lester Fine at the fund-raiser?” I asked.

“Sure, he was there.”

“So could what Trevor says be true?”

Kyle laughed. “Honey, Trevor would lie to his grand-mother if it meant a good story.”

“So you don’t believe him?”

“Let’s just say I don’t think Trevor runs with Lester Fine’s crowd.”

He had a point.

“But maybe the story’s true. Maybe that’s why the other guy wants it. Maybe there was no mistake at all; maybe Joel’s right that he was just angling to get his hands on it.” I thought a second. “The stones in the brooch must be real. A pawnshop wouldn’t give Trevor money for something that wasn’t worth anything.”

The look on Kyle’s face told me that he wasn’t convinced.

I did know one thing for sure: If the guy looking for Trevor was the one who hit him with the cork after making a threat, then the police needed to know about it.

“Eduardo should talk to the cops,” I suggested. “He could tell them what the guy looked like. Maybe he could look at one of those books with the mug shots.” I watched too much TV.

Kyle batted his eyes a few seconds, then said, “Well, you know, there’s a problem with that. Eduardo isn’t exactly… well… legal. He’s not going to want to talk to the police about anything.”

I could see his point. But at the same time, we needed to try to find out who the cork shooter was. Maybe it was the same guy who’d been doing this all over town, or maybe it was this pawnshop guy.

“You could do a sketch,” Bitsy said, pulling on my arm.

I looked down at her. “What?”

“You do great portraits. What if Eduardo told you what the guy looks like and you draw the face? Then you can give it to the police.”

“What, like a police sketch artist? That’s not what I do. I work from photographs.”

Despite my misgivings, Kyle was nodding faster than a bobble-head doll.

“That’s a great idea,” he said.

I looked at Joel for support, but he seemed to be agreeing.

“Oh, go ahead, Brett. I think it’s a good idea, too,” he said.

I knew when I was beat.

“Okay, sure. I’ll come back in the morning,” I told Kyle.

But he was shaking his head. “No, no, you have to do it now. I’m not sure Eduardo will be around tomorrow.”

“Why not?” I started to get suspicious about the whole thing.

“He’s got another gig in Reno tomorrow night and has to get up there.”

It sounded like the truth, but who knew?

“I don’t have any sketching paper,” I tried.

Kyle threw his arm around me and started leading me back to the club. I twisted my neck around to see Bitsy and Joel headed to their cars.

“Where are you going?” I stopped, turned, and glared at them. “This is your idea. You can’t leave me here.”

Bitsy shrugged. “I’ve got to get to the shop early tomorrow to open up,” she said. “See you then.” She waggled her fingers at me, gave me a quick grin, and got into her MINI Cooper.

I’d talk to her tomorrow. I was too tired right now. I raised my eyebrows expectantly at Joel. His shoulders sagged with obedience as he clicked his key fob to relock the doors of his car, and he joined us as we went back into the club.

The same group that had been drinking when we left was refilling their glasses. Someone had cranked up the music, and Miranda Rites and Marva Luss gyrated on the stage to a Donna Summer song as a couple of the young men hooted their enthusiasm while waving huge white feathered fans, reminiscent of old-time burlesque shows. The disco ball splashed little bits of light against everyone, like glitter come alive. I guess Miranda had decided after all that she wasn’t going to go hold Trevor’s hand until Charlotte got to the hospital.

Kyle led me over to one of the young men and whispered in his ear. His face was classic Latino, with olive skin, dark, piercing eyes, and high, pronounced cheekbones. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, showing off his rippled abs, muscled biceps, and tiny waist. He had black tribal tattoos running down both arms and across his back. His jeans weren’t buttoned, showing off white shorts beneath.