The Enemy

that way. It felt cold and vast and empty. Like some kind of a factory. Without a press of bodies the music was louder and tinnier than ever. There were whole expanses of vacant floor. Whole acres. Hundreds of unoccupied chairs. There was only one girl performing. She was on the main stage. She was bathed in warm red light, but she looked cold and listless. I saw Summer watching her. Saw her shudder. I had said:
So what are you going to do? Go work up at the strip club with Sin?
Face-to-face, it wasn’t a very appealing option.
    “Why are we here?” she asked.
    “For the key to everything,” I said. “My biggest mistake.”
    “Which was?”
    “Watch,” I said.
    I walked around to the dressing room door. Knocked twice. A girl I didn’t know opened up. She kept the door close to her body and stuck her head around. Maybe she was naked.
    “I need to see Sin,” I said.
    “She’s not here.”
    “She is,” I said. “She’s got Christmas to pay for.”
    “She’s busy.”
    “Ten dollars,” I said. “Ten dollars to talk. No touching.”
    The girl disappeared and the door swung shut behind her. I stood out of the way, so the first person Sin would see would be Summer. We waited. And waited. Then the door opened up again and Sin stepped out. She was in a tight sheath dress. It was pink. It sparkled. She was tall on clear plastic heels. I stepped behind her. Got between her and the dressing room door. She turned and saw me.
Trapped.
    “Couple of questions,” I said. “That’s all.”
    She looked better than the last time I had seen her. The bruises on her face were ten days old and were more or less healed up. Her makeup was maybe a little thicker than before. But that was the only sign of her troubles. Her eyes looked vacant. I guessed she had just shot up. Right between her toes.
Whatever gets you through the night.
    “Ten dollars,” she said.
    “Let’s sit,” I said.
    We found a table far from a speaker. It was relatively quiet there. I took a ten-spot out of my pocket and held it out. Didn’t let go of it.
    “You remember me?” I said.
    She nodded.
    “Remember that night?” I said.
    She nodded again.
    “OK, here’s the thing. Who hit you?”
    “That soldier,” she said. “The one you were talking to just before.”

twenty-one
    I kept tight hold on the ten-dollar bill and took her through it, step by step. She told us that after I slid her off my knee she had gone around looking for girls to check with. She had managed whispered conversations with most of them. But none of them knew anything. None of them had any information at all, either firsthand or secondhand. There were no rumors going around. No stories about a co-worker having a problem in the motel. She had checked back in the private room and heard nothing there either. Then she had gone to the dressing room. There was nobody in there. Business was good. Everybody else was either up on the stage or across the street. She knew she should have kept on asking. But there was no gossip. She felt sure someone would have heard something, if anything bad had actually happened. So she figured she would just give up on it and blow me off. Then the soldier I had been talking to stepped into the dressing room. She gave us a pretty good description of Carbone. Like most hookers she had trained herself to remember faces. Repeat customers like to be recognized. It makes them feel special. Makes them tip better. She told us Carbone had warned her not to tell any MP anything. She put emphasis in her voice, echoing his own from ten days before.
Any
MP
anything.
Then to make sure she took him seriously he had slapped her twice, hard, fast, forehand, backhand. She had been stunned by the blows. She hadn’t seen them coming. She sounded impressed by them. It was like she was ranking them against other blows she had received. Like a connoisseur. And looking at her I figured she was reasonably familiar with getting hit.
    “Tell me again,” I said. “It was the soldier, not the owner.”
    She looked at me like I was crazy.
    “The
owner
never hits us,” she said. “We’re his meal ticket.”
    I gave her the ten bucks and we left her there at the quiet table.

    “What does it mean?” Summer said.
    “Everything,” I said.
    “How did you know?”
    I shrugged. We were back in Kramer’s motel room, folding stuff, packing our bags, getting ready to hit the road one last time.
    “I saw it wrong,” I said. “I guess I started to realize in