R Is for Ricochet

vacation or what's the deal?"
    "I'm here looking for her."
    One of Misty's shoulders went up in what passed for a shrug. "Last I heard she's in prison. California Institution for Women."
    "Not anymore. She was released on the twentieth of this month."
    "No fooling. Well, good for her! I'll have to drop her a line. The real world's a shock when you're not used to it," she said. "Hope she makes it."
    "The prospects of that are dim. She did well at first, but lately things haven't been so hot."
    "Sorry to hear that, but why come to me?"
    "Just a long shot," I said.
    "Must have been awful long. I've worked here a week. I don't get how you managed to track me down."
    "Process of elimination. Reba told me you worked as an exotic dancer. With a name like yours, it wasn't difficult."
    "Get off it. You know how many strip joints there are in this town?"
    "Thirty-five. This is the thirteenth I've tried. Must be my lucky number. Can we chat?"
    "About what? I start work in two minutes. I need time to get centered. Gig like this is tough unless you have your head on straight."
    "I won't keep you long."
    Gingerly she perched and I wondered if the wooden chair seat felt cold on her bare butt. The sensation couldn't be that keen, but she didn't yelp or otherwise vocalize dismay. She said, "Is this a fishing expedition or did you want something in particular?"
    "Why do you ask?"
    "I just thought if I heard from her, I could pass the message along – provided it's not obscene."
    "I've heard she's in town. I'm hoping to talk her into coming back to California before she blows the terms of her parole."
    "It's no skin off my nose what she blows. Or who, for that matter."
    "I understand you were cellmates."
    "Six months or so. I got out before she did – obviously."
    "She told me you kept in touch."
    "Why not? She's a nice kid and she's fun to be around."
    "When was the last time you heard from her?"
    Mock thought. "Must have been last Christmas. I sent her a card and she sent one back." She glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry to cut this short, but that music is my cue."
    "If she happens to get in touch, tell her I'm in Reno. We really need to talk." I'd written the name of the motel, the telephone number, and my room number on a slip of paper that I handed her as she stood.
    She took the note, though she had no place to put it unless she stuck it up her bum. "So who's paying you?"
    "Her dad."
    "Nice job. Like a bounty hunter, huh."
    "It's more than a job. I'm a friend and I'm concerned about her welfare."
    "I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. One thing about Reba, she can take care of herself."
    I watched her head for the bar. The matching moons of her ass scarcely wobbled as she walked, and I could see the muscles in her thighs flex and relax with every step she took. Bumping and grinding must be better than Jazzercise, plus she didn't have to pay the weekly freight. I made a stop in the ladies' room, where I availed myself of the facilities before returning to my car.
    Once there, I fired up the engine and sat with the windows rolled down, listening to the radio to pass the time. An hour later I began to worry about (1) running out of gas, or (2) asphyxiating myself with my own exhaust fumes. I cut the radio, killed the engine, and stared at the brick wall in front of me. This was the perfect screen on which to project recent memories of Cheney Phillips, probably not such a hot idea as he was many miles away.
    Unwittingly, I dozed. Lights from a passing car flashed across my windshield and I woke with a start. I looked to my right as Misty's car passed behind me and slowed. She exited the parking lot and turned right. I started my car, backed out of the space with a quick chirp of tires, and pulled out shortly after she did. A glance at my watch showed it was 4:00 A.M. Apparently she did a six-hour shift instead of the usual eight put in by the ordinary working bloke. Then again, it was hard to imagine prancing around in high heels for more than a couple of hours at a stretch.
    I kept the Ford Fairlane in view, allowing as big a lead as I could give her without losing sight of her altogether. There were fewer cars on the road now and many of the storefronts were dark. The big casinos were still doing a lively business. Misty pulled up to the front entrance to the Silverado Hotel. The wide overhang that stretched across the eight-lane drive was so densely studded with lightbulbs that the air seemed to shimmer with artificial heat. Misty