Angels Fall

for instance. Or could be recognized by someone here who does business in the Fist. Or it was just a guilt reaction."
    Like Reece, he stood and leaned on the open door for a moment. "But he didn't kill her because she 
    objected to being dumped. That hap-pens its annoying, potentially inconvenient, but it's still basically:
    'Too bad. sister. We're done. Deal.'"
    "Men really are bastards."
    "Your breed gets to call it off, too."
    "Yeah, but we're usually: 'I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me.'" He made a dismissive noise as they climbed in. "Rather be stabbed in the eye with a fork than hear that one. But the point is, she had something. She threatened something. He'll pay, that's what she told Marlie. I'd say he didn't want to pay."
    "So he killed her, disposed of the body, covered his tracks. Came back here in the middle of the night, on her bike. He'd already written the note."
    "He's the one with a computer or with access to one." Brody agreed. "Which narrows it down not a single bit."
    Still, as a puzzle she could see it coming together. They had a name, a lifestyle, and, unless they were forcing in the wrong pieces, a motive.
    "Took her clothes," Reece added. "A woman doesn't leave her clothes, her personal things behind. So he took them. Easy enough to get rid of. Left the dishes and so forth—too cumbersome. Did the note to cover his ass, too. Just to tie up the ends. Nobody would look for her because everyone would think she'd just pulled stakes."
    "He didn't count on you. Not only seeing what you did, but caring enough to stick with it until you found her."
    "Deena Black." Reece closed her eyes a moment. "I guess we've got a name now. What's next?"
    "Next? We go to a titty bar."

    REECE DIDN'T KNOW what she was expecting. A lot of leather and chains, hard looks, hard music. In reality, there was as much denim as leather, and the looks were disinterested. Still, the music was harsh, gritty rock that pumped out over the stage, where a woman with an explosion of purple hair wore nothing but a red G-string and platform heels.
    Smoke curled blue in the light over a stage-side table where a cou-ple of hefty guys with generously tattooed arms watched the show and sucked down bottled beer.
    There were a lot of tables—small, one-and two-seaters—most of them facing the stage. Only a few were occupied.
    Since it seemed the thing to do. Reece sat at the bar and said nothing while Brody ordered them Coors on draft.
    The bartender had a russet-colored mustache that hung to either side of his chin. And a head as bald as a peeled melon.

    Brody shifted back to the bar to pick up his beer. "Seen Deena lately?" he asked the bartender. The man swiped at spilled foam with his rag. "Nope."
    "Quit?"
    "Musta. Stopped showing up."
    "When'"
    "While back. Whatsit to ya?"
    "She's my sister." Reece sent out a big smile. "Well, half sister. Same mother, different fathers. We're on our way to Vegas, and I thought we could hook up with Deena for a day or two." She glanced briefly at Brody and noted he'd simply lifted that single eyebrow in an expression she recognized as surprised amusement.
    "We went by her place," Reece continued, "and they said she moved out last month, but this is where she worked. Haven't heard from her in a while. Just wanted to say hey, you know?"
    "Can't help you."
    "Oh well." Reece picked up the beer, frowned at it. "It's not like we're tight or anything. I just figured since we were so close and all we'd touch base with her. Maybe somebody knows where she went."
    "Didn't tell me. Left me short a dancer."
    "Typical." Reece shrugged, set down her beer without drinking. She wasn't at all convinced it was the sort of place that worried about health inspections. "I guess we wasted our time," she said to Brody.
    "Maybe she took off with that guy she said she was seeing." There was a snort from the waitress as she dumped a tray of glasses, bottles and ashtrays. "Not likely."
    "Sorry?"
    "Had a bust-up. Big. bad one. Pissed her off. You remember. Coon?" The bartender only shrugged. "Pissed off half the time, you ask me."
    "I guess that's typical, too." Reece rolled her eyes for effect. "But she made out like this one was serious. What the hell was his name?"
    "Never told me," the waitress replied, "just called him Trout. He was her fish on the line, get it?"
    "Yeah. I get it."
    " Two beers and bumps. Coon. Bud and the house whiskey."
    Reece bided her time as the waitress gathered the order, clipped over to the table