Carole Douglas - Cat in a Zebra Zoot Suit

“That animal looks rabid.” Buchanan pulled out his cell phone and contemplated its face with faux regret. “Animal Control would snatch him up in a minute if they happened by.”

Electra gasped. “That’s a threat if I ever heard one.”

“A fact,” Buchanan told her, basking in her shock.

Temple was unfazed. “Louie has gotten into, and out of, worse dangers. And if you try anything like that, I will restyle your stupid hair with my steel-heeled shoes.”

Buchanan glanced down in alarm. “You have steel-heeled shoes? By God, you do. Do you have a license for those things, T.B.?”

“Just a sales receipt, C.B. You don’t have to register shoes as deadly weapons, even if they are.”

Temple was glad she’d worn the vintage Stuart Weitzman spikes she’d bought as much for self-defense as style.

“Just watch you don’t impale your cat on one of them someday.” Buchanan finally moved away to photograph the billboard with his cell phone.

Electra edged close to Temple and Louie. “You’ve said he was a creep, but he outdoes your opinion. Is that the kind of person this new adult emporium is going to attract?”

“The business is legal, Electra, and many tourists come to Vegas for a walk on the wild side. A lot of mainstream couples patronize businesses like these. The biggest audience for Fifty Shades of Gray , the film of the kinky bondage novels, came from the South and Heartland. Folks who’d be gun-shy about being seen entering a strip club in their hometowns, know that here…nobody cares.”

“Buchanan,” a rough male voice yelled from fifty feet away.

The owner of it advanced on them fast. His mai-tai fruity Hawaiian shirt was louder than his hacksaw voice, but he was built like an aging bull. Brillo pad curls of iron-gray hair covered his head and poked out of the shirt’s v-neck.

He stopped beside Temple and Electra. “These girls want work at the new place? The redhead is scrawny, but the blue-hair could help the girls with the wardrobe, such as it is.”

The women’s jaws dropped and then shut in unison.

Buchanan quashed a nasty giggle.

“So,” Temple said, nudging Electra silent with a genteel tap of a steel heel on her instep. “You’re the owner of this forthcoming enterprise, sir?”

“One of ’em. I don’t rule out scrawny, mind you. It’s the customers.”

“I would like to work for you, but in my capacity as a PR manager.” Temple whipped out her card, which read TEMPLE BARR, P.R.

“Heh,” he said, punching the beefy hand that held her card forward in a thumbs-up position. “Like Magnum, P.I . Clever.”

“My chief client is the Crystal Phoenix.”

“The Phoenix.” He savored the name, nodding appreciatively. “Classy Strip hotel-casino. I could use a little class. But very little, if you know what I mean.”

She smiled sweetly. “I do, Mr.—”

“Nemo. Leon Nemo.” His gazed narrowed. “The Phoenix. The Fontana boys are all over that operation, and others around town.”

“Indeed they are. But you’re, um, sponsored by the Lust ‘n’ Lace. They’re a long-standing Vegas tradition too.”

Leon’s hands, beefy and hairy but expressive, pantomimed playing an iffy piano. “Just as a familiar introduction of a new tune. My people are an indie operation.”

“I’m an independent operator too.”

“I bet you are, Red.” He leaned away to look down. “Nice ankles. You planning on doing some jack-hammering in those heels?”

“If needed.”

Louie began weaving defensively around her ankles. Nemo looked away, back to her face. “So what brings you to my site?”

“Curiosity.”

Leon looked down again. “That the name of your cat?”

“It could be.”

“I like cats. You never know what they’re thinking and you can’t hear ’em coming. That’s the way people should be. No useless yapping.”

“Speaking of useless yapping,” Temple jerked her head over her shoulder, indicating Crawford Buchanan eagerly eating up their conversation.

Nemo got the message. “Thanks for the run-by, Buchanan. I’ll call you later. I got another fish to fry now.” He looked down at the cat as Buchanan departed with a sour look.

“His name is Midnight Louie,” Temple said.

“Yeah, he’s a Louie, all right.” Nemo squatted down, showcasing bare knees and hairy calves. “Big fellah. Put ’er there, Louie.”

Louie sat back on his haunches, then patted the back of Nemo’s hand. Like your average harmless Curious Kitty.

“Nice baby claws, Louie.” Nemo grunted as he stood again and laughed. “He was holding back until he decides about me. I like cats. Velvet when you meet ’em, but steel like your heels when you cross ’em. So,” he asked Temple. “Why are you here in this dead neighborhood eyeballing a sign for a live X-rated adult show?”

“I like to keep track of new business opportunities in Vegas. What does puzzle me is the zoning restrictions. This neighborhood is zoned residential, mixed use, which covers small businesses. Not so sure that covers an adult business.”

“Zoning regulations?” Nemo slapped the rear of his khaki Bermuda shorts. “Right here in my back pocket.”

Temple nodded. He seemed confident, and she knew adult enterprises were part of the city’s bread and butter…and influence was peddled freely.

Electra finally unleashed her pent-up questions. “So who sold you this land? I heard it was an out-of-town owner.”

“And how did you know that, Grandma?” Leon raised furry eyebrows. Temple thought of the Caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland .

“Well, sonny,” Electra said in no-nonsense tones, “I was married to the man. He swore never to sell it without telling me. I can’t believe Jay would sell out to an adult entertainment club. He was brought up Baptist.”

“Oh, ma’am.” Nemo waved gently placating palms. “This is not an extension of Vegas’s second biggest X-rated store since the Adult Superstore. No tawdry warehouse operation like that.”

“No?” Electra asked hopefully.

“No, no no. This is a small and intimate place, fitting for the neighborhood.”

Electra took a deep, earnest breath. “So it’s a done deal.”

“Good as Fool’s Gold. Don’t worry. No X-rated movies or walls full of you-know-whats,” Leon explained. “This will be just a nice, quiet, neighborhood topless stripper bar on a major scale.” He turned to Temple. “Nothing you couldn’t promote with the same classy style you’d use for the Crystal Phoenix, Miss Temple Barr, P.R.”

His self-satisfied, somehow dirty smile made Temple think of someone who knew more about her than she’d like. Someone who’d been pawing through her underwear drawer for a prank. Someone who thought all women were alike, and lying if they said they didn’t live up to his slutty expectations.

Someone Temple would like to kick down a flight of stairs. She probably was staring daggers at him, to no effect, when Electra grabbed her elbow.

“Maybe it’d be all right if we looked over the building,” she suggested.

“Sure. Be my guests.” He gestured to the shabby structure and then headed to a Lexus SUV parked suspiciously far down the block.

Temple was reluctant to leave Nemo with the last word, and a smirk to boot, but Electra had pulled her off balance, so she spun around on one steel heel to watch him leave.

“We can inspect the property, thanks to Nemo,” Electra said, “but you don’t have time to worry about him. You and Matt are leaving for an important family reunion. I’ll ask Ernesto and his brothers about this Leon Nemo. The Fontanas know the sleazy operators in town. And they’d know about zoning and such, given all their business interests.”