212

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 28

2:45 A.M.

“Niiicccce.”

The meathead in a black leather blazer and too much Polo cologne eyed Ellie’s chest as she approached the club’s entrance. Apparently in her sleep-deprived state, she had not tugged sufficiently at the zipper of the hoodie she had pulled on as she ran out of her apartment.

“You’re not doing so bad yourself,” she said, poking one of the man’s flabby pecs. “Where’s my brother? Jess Hatcher. About your height but eighty pounds lighter.”

“As smart-assed as you but a hell of a lot less cute?”

“That’s the one.”

“Saw him go in the back office with one of the girls about ten minutes ago. Knowing your brother, you might want to knock first.”

Against all her better instincts, Jess managed about once a month to persuade her to drop by this place for one reason or another. Given that he’d started working here in March, she guessed this was her seventh trip to Vibrations. For years, Jess had been that guy who couldn’t hold down a long-term job. He managed to hang in for three months as a short-order cook at a Garment District diner one time, but only out of guilt, since Ellie had been the one to find him the gig. His average was a few weeks.

But for reasons she might never understand, this cheesy, neon-lit, 1980s hair-band-blasting strip club on the West Side Highway had brought out the best in her brother. Vibrations was the kind of upside-down, backward, bizarro universe where Jess was the sensible adult and the packs of lawyers and money managers whooping it up for a bachelor party were the raging idiots.

Ellie’s periodic pop-ins were usually preceded by some promise from Jess of the most amazing display of carnal creativity ever witnessed. Ping pong balls were commonly involved.

But this time Jess had promised her more than entertainment. She found him on a couch in the office, the woman perched beside him eyeing Ellie with skepticism.

“Is that her?”

“Yeah. My sister. Ellie Hatcher. She’ll take care of you, Jasmine.”

Jasmine’s look matched the name. She had dark brown hair with caramel streaks that fell well past her shoulder blades. She had teased and sprayed it just enough to replicate pillow-tousled sex hair. She threw Jess a pout that managed to be simultaneously angry and sexy. No doubt she scored big tips with that pout.

“Your brother has a way of talking people into stuff they really don’t want to do.”

“Tell me about it. He says you know something about Prestige Parties?”