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A grate slid open with a rusty shriek, anda pair of piggish eyes peered out at them.
‘Password,’ a voice grunted. Gruff asgravel in a blender.
Ella flashed her badge like aget-out-of-jail-free card. ‘FBI. We’re looking for a gentleman named LordLeatherworth.' Ella felt a prize fool just speaking the name. He sounded like avillain from some Penny Dreadful.
A pregnant pause followed. ‘Why?’
‘None of your business. Is he inside ornot?’
The grate snapped shut and the door swungopen on groaning hinges, revealing a slab of beef stuffed into a wifebeaterstanding in the dingy foyer.
‘Hell if I know, but go ahead,’ thebouncer said. He stepped aside, and Ella breezed past him into the club proper.Or improper, as it were. The joint was a symphony of sights and sounds designedto make good girls gasp and bad boys reach for their wallets. Strobing purplesand reds, writhing bodies packed ass to elbow, music throbbing like a tell-taleheart.
And the outfits, Christ on a cracker.Leather and latex, PVC and spandex, all squeaking and straining over bits Godnever intended to see the light of day. Made Ella uncomfortably aware of herown get-up, with its black-rimmed glasses and split ends in dire need ofpruning. Luca sidled up beside her, nursing his own flavors of discomfort, butat least the kid looked the part; clean-cut good looks and a jawline forslicing cucumber. Ella couldn’t help but think of Beauty and the Beast.
Luca leaned into her ear and yelled, ‘Welook stupid.’
Just as Luca’s comment registered, astick-thin young man in a neon bodysuit brushed past her, caressing her kneeswith what Ella concluded was a horse tail hanging off his backside.
‘You reckon?’
‘Yeah. If our guy is doing a show, he’sprobably getting ready somewhere in the back.’
‘Let’s go,’ she shouted over the music.‘Scope out the talent.’
Luca just nodded, too green to gag. Theywove through the throng, Ella's elbows as sharp as her tongue, carving a pathto the stage at the back of the room. Some industrial monstrosity of metal andchains, draped in enough black vinyl to upholster a fleet of hearses.
But what really caught the eye was thecurtained-off area just behind it, a slice of shadow hinting at hidden roomsand furtive comings and goings. Ella jerked her chin at it, raised brows askinga question. Luca shrugged, the universal sign for hell if I know, andtogether they slunk through the crowd, two currents in a river of sin.
Ella flashed her badge as they approachthe curtain. The security guard took a closer look, mouthed something to hiscomrade and then asked, ‘FBI?’
‘Looking for one Lord Leatherworth,’ Ellashouted. The name still felt dumb to say.
‘Leatherworth?’ the guard asked. He lookedback at his partner, who nodded and gestured behind the curtain. The guardwaved them through.
Ella gave her thanks and slipped past thecurtain into the humid hush of the backstage area. Cramped and crowded,smelling like sweat and a few substances that under other circumstances shemight care about. In here, the glances fell by the wayside. To unwitting anduncaring performers, they probably just looked like venue staff.
‘Leatherworth,’ Ella called out. In aplace like this, she guessed subtly wasn’t a necessity. ‘Anyone seen him?’
A few curious glances, a whispered wordhere and there. Then a wisp of a woman, sixty if she was a day and dressed likea Power Ranger, jerked her thumb further down the hall.
‘Try the greenroom, sweetheart. Probablypolishing his pistol, if you know what I mean.’
Ella didn't know and didn't want to. Justgrunted her thanks and forged on, Luca sticking close. At the end of thecorridor, a single room loomed. Ella pushed inside, and immediately concludedthat greenroom was a generous term for the closet she found herself in,barely big enough to swing a cat.
But there, crammed between a ratty couchand a lit-up mirror, was the man of the hour.
And Lord Almighty, was he ever a man.Six-six if he was an inch, biceps like boulders and abs you could bounce aquarter off. Oiled to the gills, skin gleaming like glass. Probably spent moretime on his up-do than Ella had in the past fiscal year.
‘Lord Leatherworth?’ she asked, just to besure. The beefcake beamed, teeth so white they probably glowed in the dark.
‘The one and only,’ he purred. ‘Can I helpyou?’
‘I'm Agent Dark, this is Agent Hawkins.We're with the Feds, and we need to ask you some questions.’
That brought him up short, smirk falteringon his fantasy-art face. 'Questions? About what? Listen, sweetie, if this isabout that little misunderstanding with the fire inspector...’
‘It's not,’ Ella cut in. ‘We're lookinginto something serious.’
