“Hey, anyone here?” Victor asked, pushing the door open and walking into the dimly lit room.

The clouds of winter hung low in the sky, and the winds threatened another cold night, which didn’t help the task ahead of them.

“I’m back here,” Emalee called out from the old darkroom she had converted to a private storage room, three years ago, after cleaning out all the chemicals.

Victor turned the corner a moment later, leaning his hip against the doorframe as he watched her climb the small ladder to the top shelves of the bookcase, her arms outstretched as she reached for a box with the picture of a camera on the side. It wasn’t unusual to see her with another new camera. As soon as the newest model came out, she was in Sweeny’s office begging for one, which she usually got. Five hundred convictions, based on her photos made for a little pride and privilege, when it came to the young woman.

He admired her in silence for a few seconds, enjoying her beauty without being caught. Her slender frame was hidden beneath a tight pair of black dress pants, her ample breasts accented in the white button-up shirt. She had conformed to the style of uniform with a considerable amount of arguing, yet he had to admit, every curve was hugged tightly, and her slacks made her tight bottom look delicious and ripe for picking. Too bad she was his colleague, he thought for the millionth time.

“What’s up?” Emalee asked, climbing down the ladder steps.

The heels of her knee-high boots clicked against the wooden floor, as she walked past the man and back into the main portion of her office. She was anxious to use this new camera, she had spent a full year begging Sweeny to get for her and hoped that something had come up that would give her the opportunity. A strange part of her psyche told her she was morbid for wanting to try her new camera out on a crime scene, but her conscience had long since moved past loud and irritating, to a subdued murmur in the back of her mind. She had begun to grow a stone exterior for this line of work, making the inhumane side of life seem disconnected from reality.

“We have a case down at the mission district,” he said with a half-grin that had her heart flipping.

It had been three years since she first felt the tingle his chocolate eyes produced, yet she still fell under the effects of their warmth.

“Great, that will give me a chance to try out my new camera,” Emalee said with a bright smile.

“You’re the only person I know of, who’s excited by a homicide, just as an excuse to use a new toy.”

“I don’t wish death on anyone, but I haven’t had much of an excuse lately to take any other pictures. I’ve been working so many hours, I don’t have time to concentrate on photography outside of this place. If it were up to me, I’d try this camera out on a cute little baby with big blue eyes and pink cheeks.”

“Why are you here?” Victor asked with a slight frown, causing her to stop unpacking her camera from the box.

“I work here,” she smiled a half grin that sent wild thoughts running through his mind.

“Not here, I mean why aren’t you doing what you want to do? Why aren’t you working in a photo studio somewhere, instead of taking in the back alleys of the sleazy side of town?”

Emalee clenched her jaw tightly to avoid snapping at the man’s question. It was one she had asked herself for three years, since taking her first pictures of a decapitated victim from an auto accident.

It wasn’t like she didn’t dream of her own studio. She had even purchased the top floor of an old warehouse, just so she could convert it to an apartment and private studio, but there were always excuses to keep her from going any further. First, her mother got sick, and then her sister had a baby, her job, the long hours, the lack of live subjects to photograph. There was always an excuse. She still worked occasionally with her sister’s advertising agency, but that wasn’t often enough to pay the bills. It provided her a few brief moments of diversion, and then she found herself back here, working in a small police station on the seedy side of town.

“I thought we had a case?” Emalee said, taking her new camera and her black jacket with her as she walked out the door.

The night was cold as winter hung in the air, biting through the thin fabric of her jacket. She should have had the fortitude to retrieve her heavy coat from the rack by the door, but her mind had been too consumed with Victor’s question, to think of anything other than the path she had chosen for her life.

As if anticipation moved his actions, Victor slipped Emalee’s heavy coat across her shoulders, before she sat down in the passenger seat of the black sedan. She hadn’t seen him pull it from the rack, as they passed, but was instantly grateful for his consideration. Without a word spoken, he walked to the driver’s side of the car and sat behind the wheel.

“A body was found beneath a pile of cardboard boxes,” Victor began after a few moments of silence. “This is going to be rough. If the reports are accurate, the body has been there for a while.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“Not that I’m told, unfortunately, the area is frequented by the homeless, so it’s likely there won’t be a name attached to it.”

“Well, if there’s anything there, we’ll find it.”

Victor smiled that smirky half-grin he always offered her, whenever he knew the conversation was over.

The mission district was a very sad area with abandoned buildings, a free soup kitchen, and a number of raggedly dressed men and women wandering the dark streets. It was the underbelly of the city, as Sweeny called it, and unfortunately a familiar place known to the police.

Victor pulled the black sedan through a barricade, as the police officer standing nearby to contain the curious onlooker, moved the wooden object aside. They drove down a dark alley to the back of a vacant warehouse, where more than a dozen police officers and the coroner were already present. Emalee busied herself quickly, assembling the new camera she had begged for, as Victor stopped the car next to the black medical examiner’s van.

He opened the door, bathing the leather interior with a soft yellow light, giving her a moment to finish snapping the memory card into the slot on the side of the black device. She followed behind the tall man, stepping around a number of cops she knew, either by name or reputation. Over the past three years, she had developed a hard shell to the looks, comments, and lewd expressions they offered her and concentrated instead on the job.

On the ground, surrounded by policemen, was the body of a young man in his early twenties, she estimated, though it was hard to tell. He was nearly naked with just a pair of bloody underwear across his most private parts. His body was grey and bloated from the days of hiding under the pile of boxes and debris, his eyes closed, with several purple marks across his torso, neck, and arms. Emalee drew a deep breath and began her job, listening to the officer in charge as he relayed what they knew about the deceased man.

“Some of the homeless found him when they were looking for cardboard to insulate their homes,” the heavyset black man said. “From the looks of it, he’s been here a while.”

“Anyone know who he was?” Victor asked.

“They claim he’s never been seen here before. The old man over there was the one who actually found him. He’s a bit inebriated, but he insists he knows everyone who comes around here.”

“Have you taken a statement?”

“Yeah, but it won’t do much good. His mind is half gone. I can only imagine how the D.A. would react if we presented him as a witness.”

Emalee snapped picture after picture of the body, the area surrounding him, and the debris he had been found underneath. As her usual manner, she also snapped a few of those who stood around watching and waiting for the coroner to take the dead man, so they could bunk down for the cold night.

With the last picture, the two men from the medical examiner’s office stepped forward, and carefully placed the cold body into a black bag and zipped it, shut before lifting him to the stretcher. As they moved the body, Emalee continued to snap pictures, noting the strange metal object on the ground where the body had laid. She glanced up to see Victor talking to the old man who had found the victim, catching his eye with a nod of her head, as she silently beckoned him to her.

“What’s up?” he asked, stepping up beside her.

“I found something,” she answered, pointing to the object frozen under a thin layer of ice.

Victor cautiously leaned over the spot and poked at the object with the end of a pen he removed from his jacket pocket. He tried to chip the ice away but wasn’t able to do it with the plastic tip of the pen. Calling Amanda Woods, the red-haired female who occupied the desk closest to Sweeny’s office, he stood back up and waited.

“See what you can do to get this free,” he told her, slipping the pen back into his pocket.

He stepped back, anticipating her to call for a crowbar or perhaps a metal flashlight. Instead, the woman stepped to the spot he indicated and stomped on the ice with her heavy boot.

Victor grunted softly under his breath, then moved over the ice again. Woods slipped a green glove across her skinny fingers, then picked up the metal chain of a broken pair of handcuffs.

“Looks like our man there had a kinky side of life,” Woods said, holding the cuff up for Victor to see. “Might explain his lack of clothes, maybe a side street rendezvous that didn’t go the way he wanted.”

“I don’t think so,” Emalee said, drawing the eyes of the two detectives to her. “He had the marks of a severe beating. A man in control of the situation would inflict the wounds, not carry them.”

“You know that from personal experience, Pecker?” Woods asked, with a deliberate mispronunciation of her name, as she was so fond of doing.

“I know from common sense, Woods,” she snapped in response. “When you play the dominatrix, do you do the beating or receive it?”

“Alright, enough,” Victor said, placing himself between the two women.

There had been nothing but animosity between them, since the day Emalee first started working at the precinct, and he was too tired and too cold to stand by and listen to another spiff between them.

“Woods, take the old man to the station and get his story, then make sure he gets something to eat. We’ll give him a warm bed in holding for the night and send him to the mission tomorrow.”

Emalee narrowed her eyes to the woman who glared at her, then turned and did as ordered, walking back to the man. She took him by the shoulder of his worn jacket and pulled him toward a waiting squad car.

“Let’s get back and take a look at those pictures,” Victor added a moment later. “I’ve had enough of this damn cold for the night.”

Emalee didn’t argue, her fingers were numb from the chill in the air, and snow was beginning to drift down from the grey skies. They climbed back into the sedan and thankfully buckled into the warm interior. Emalee began sorting through the pictures she had taken in silence, as Victor steered the sleek car back onto the main road. A few moments later they pulled into the lit parking lot of a small cafe that looked like an old train car.

“I’m starving,” he said in answer to the look she gave him. “Let’s get something to eat before we go back to the station.”

Emalee watched him step out of the car’s interior, then sighed heavily, as she unbuckled and followed him into the warm diner. She was eager to have done with this, so she could go home and climb into a hot bath, not sit in a crowded boxcar eating greasy burgers.

They stepped to the far corner of the train car, waving hello to Wendy, the middle-aged waitress who worked behind the counter. Three years and every time Victor wanted something to eat, he would bring her here. She was beginning to think he had a secret crush on the older woman, with the yellow streaked brown hair.

“How’d the pictures turn out?” Victor asked, accepting the coffee Wendy brought to them.

Emalee forced the smile from her lips as he took four packets of sugar, and ripped them open, before dumping their contents into the steaming black liquid.

“They’re good. This new camera is great, the clarity and detail are amazing.”

“Can you concentrate on the photos rather than the equipment, just once?” he asked, stirring his coffee as he glanced up to see her playing with the camera’s digital display.

“I have concentrated on the photos. They’re right here and they look great. All I have to do is print them out when we get back to the office. Do you want to see them?”

“No, I want to eat. I skipped breakfast in lieu of the gym, and lunch was a bag of chips. The last thing I want to do now is look at pictures of a dead body. How about chipped beef?”

“Excuse me?” Emalee asked with a frown, as she glanced up from the camera in front of her.

“Chipped beef, or maybe pastrami on rye.”

Emalee laughed softly, realizing his thoughts were a million miles away from the task at hand.

“I’ll take a ham and cheese on wheat,” she said as Wendy rejoined them.

Being a partner to this man, was beyond the ordinary, and always teamed with hidden tension and unpredictable emotions. First anger, followed by lust, only to finish with humor, it was like a roller coaster of senses.

“Preliminary reports are in on that stiff from last night,” Sweeny said, stepping up to Victor’s desk as he and Emalee reviewed the pictures of the crime scene. “His name was Gotum Sevati, a part-time stripper with a club on the Westside. He was reported missing two weeks ago when he didn’t return home from his shift at the club. Nobody knew what happened to him after he left.”

“You said part-time, what did he do during the light hours?” Victor asked, leaning back in his wooden chair.

“He was a student at the community college. Why don’t you go talk to his family and see what you can dig up? Take Peker with you,” he added as he started to walk away. “She’s wanted to get her hands dirty. Let’s see how she can handle herself in the real world.”

Emalee felt embarrassed for being spoken about as though she weren’t in the room, yet excited to finally get a chance to move out of the darkroom. She had been nagging Sweeny for over a year to let her go out on assignments and had been turned down repeatedly. Not that she blamed him, she wasn’t a trained police officer, or even experienced in anything more than a multitude of detective magazines. She spent countless hours in self-defense classes and on the shooting range, but other than that, she came nowhere close to knowing what to do when danger approached her.

“Get your coat,” was all Victor said as he stood up and walked out of the room.

Emalee caught up with him in the parking garage where he was already in the car waiting. She stowed her camera in the trunk and buckled into the passenger seat, folding her hands anxiously in her lap.

“This isn’t going to be what you’ve read about in your books,” Victor said, a slight edge to his tone made her turn and stare at him with a frown. “This is boring for the most part, talking to bereaving family members, former employers, and friends, even disgruntled lovers. We collect the information and give it to the D.A. so they can follow up on it and determine charges. There is no Nancy Drew or Remington Steele lurking around the corner to help solve the mystery.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said sternly. “What is your problem? If you didn’t want me to come along, you should have just told Sweeny no.”

“I have. Countless times.”

“What?” Emalee asked in shock and dismay. “But why?”

“Because it can be dangerous, and you don’t have the training to protect yourself. It has taken me twelve years to get to this position and I am not in the mood to have a photographer interfere in my work.”

“A photographer?” she asked as anger began to creep into her veins.

She had spent three years working with this man and never once did he treat her the way he was now. It was like a Jekyll and Hyde personality. Everything was fine when she had her camera, but once she wanted to do more, she was a photographer.

“You know what I meant,” he argued.

“No, I don’t, why don’t you explain it to me.”

“You’re not a detective, Emalee, hell you’re barely a cop. You have no business out here. It could be dangerous and it’s no place for an amateur.”

“I can handle myself, Detective Armstrong. I’m not completely helpless you know?”

“Nobody said you were. I just don’t want you…” his voice trailed off as he began to grind his teeth.

Emalee stared at him from her seat, waiting patiently for him to finish, but he never did, nor did he discuss his concerns further. They pulled up to the curb of a modest two-story brown brick building and parked. Without another word, Victor climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked around the front of the car, glancing briefly toward her.

Emalee sat there for a moment, uncertain if she should get out or stay where she was. He was right, she didn’t have the skills or training necessary to be a homicide investigator, but she had the ambition and the desire to do more. Surely that was enough to offer her assistance. Still, it was the way he looked at her, that made her think there was more to his confession than he was letting on. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to share the glory once they solved this case, or maybe it was because he didn’t like working with women. Either way, he was hiding his true reasons, and she was determined to find out what they were.

Victor stopped by the entrance door to the building and turned around to look at her, his eyes telling her to stop procrastinating and get her butt in gear He wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. Reluctantly, Emalee opened the car door and climbed out, tugging her jacket tighter around her waist.

They walked up the three flights of stairs to the upper floor, passing walls in need of repair, carpets that were worn and torn, and doors weathered by neglect and use. It was a basic, middle-income building, but when they stopped and knocked on the door at the end of the hall, they were offered a surprising glimpse into another world.

A petite old woman dressed in black answered and looked at the two with a frown as the door opened wider, revealing another woman behind the first. The second woman was quite attractive, nicely made up in black jeans, stiletto heels, and a blue and green sweater. She was thin with large breasts and fake eyelashes, but very pretty nevertheless. The aroma of home cooking met them as the door opened and the noise of many voices came out to greet them.

“I’m Detective Armstrong,” Victor said, pulling his badge out of his pocket and showing it to the women.

The younger of the two pushed her long dark hair over her shoulder and smiled sweetly, revealing perfectly white teeth. She placed her hand protectively on the older woman’s shoulder as she batted her long eyelashes to the man.

“We’d like to speak with Yamya Sevati,” he continued.

“That is my grandmother,” the young woman said, looking at the old lady. “Please come in. Some of the family is here to honor my brother.”

“Gotum Sevati was your brother?” Victor asked as the woman shut the door behind them.

They were instantly encased in a front room that looked more elaborate than anything either he or Emalee had seen before. The room was decorated in traditional India style décor, with colorful drapery and contemporary design white and black sofas and chairs. There was no television, and the brick walls held several portraits of family, along with a beautiful blue-tiled mural.

“Yes, he was my baby brother,” the young woman answered, as the older woman said something in her native tongue.

The victim’s sister answered in the same language before her grandmother nodded to Victor and Emalee, then disappeared through a door near the back of the room.

“I’m sorry. My grandmother doesn’t want to discuss my brother with anyone outside of family right now.”

“We know it’s a hard time for both of you and we’re sorry we have to interrupt, but we do have some questions, Miss…” he said as she waved a slender arm toward one of the two sofas.

Emalee sat next to Victor and remained quiet as the conversation continued. She was still angry with the man from the conversation they had in the car, but more interested in how the interrogation portion of the case was conducted.

“Jaheel Sevati,” she answered in a tone that was like the cooing of a dove. “My name is Jaheel Sevati but my friends call me Jay.”

“We won’t take much time, Miss Sevati. Would you happen to know if your brother had any enemies, someone who might have wanted to cause him harm?”

“None. Gotum was loved by so many. He was kind and caring and willing to do anything for anyone, all they had to do was ask.”

“We’re told your brother was a stripper. What can you tell me about his job?”

“My grandmother doesn’t know what kind of work he did,” Jaheel said as she lowered her voice. “She is from the old country. She came here after my parents died in a car accident, five years ago. Gotum only told her that he worked as a server at a private club, so I would appreciate you not informing her of the contrary.”

“She’ll find out when the papers file their story,” Emalee said, muscling into the conversation.

“She doesn’t speak or read English, so she’ll never know more than what she’s told,” Jaheel answered, glancing at the young blonde as if she were an intruder in the night.

Emalee suddenly got the impression that her presence had been forgotten by both of the others, as Victor turned and glanced at her as if she had just joined them from another room.

“My grandmother would never approve of my brother’s job, even though he made a lot of money and was able to keep himself in school. He was nearly finished with his degree in business and managed to make enough money to keep my grandmother off the poverty lines. He planned on moving her out of here once he graduated and got a decent job.”

“How did your brother come to be an entertainer?” Emalee continued, ignoring Victor’s set expression.

“I got him started. I’m an exotic dancer as well,” she said with an inviting smile. “I introduced him to the manager of the club and she gave him his start. Gotum was the headliner. Women came from all over the East coast to watch him. He was young, handsome, and had a great body. What more does a woman want in a male?”

“You work at the same club?”

“Yes. It may be on the wrong side of town, but it’s very exclusive and they pay well, besides the tips.”

“Was there anyone at his job who may have felt threatened by his status?” Victor asked, taking out a small pad of paper from his breast pocket and began making notes of the conversation.

“Not that he ever told me, but we didn’t really see each other that much. He worked the weekends, Friday and Saturday nights. I work Monday through Thursday, and on Sunday the club is open as a bar, no dancers to entertain the crowd. To be completely honest, I haven’t spent much time with my family since I moved out two years ago. Life has a way of moving around you at a steady pace. You either keep up or drown in the tidal wave of events.”

“Do you know if there was anyone he may have owed money too?” Victor said with a nod as he continued his questioning.

“Not a chance. Gotum didn’t gamble or do drugs and he made more than enough money to support him and our grandmother.”

“How much money?”

“The club pays fourteen dollars an hour, but we get to keep our tips. I make an average of four or five thousand a week, Gotum made double that. Women are much more appreciative than men when it comes to gratuities.”

“What about his school?” Victor asked, ignoring the flirty looks she offered him. “Was there anyone of importance there who would feel threatened by his job, a roommate, a lover?”

“Nobody he ever mentioned. Gotum had a lot of lovers but not one specific person that I’m aware of. Many of his partners were customers of the club. They paid him for private lap dances and he would arrange to meet them after closing hours at their place. It’s a common practice.”

“So, he was a gigolo as well as a dancer?”

“He wasn’t a whore, Detective. If they paid him outside of the club, then it was a private matter between him and the woman he was with.”

“Did he ever mention any specific customer he was most interested in?”

“As I said, it was a private matter. Gotum would never mention names. It was too risky to cause problems in personal lives and it would be bad business for the club.”

“Do you know if your brother was into any kind of…activity involving women?”

“Like what?”

Now that Jaheel frowned, she looked much older than her cosmetics were allowing, Emalee thought silently.

“Your brother was found with a set of handcuffs,” Victor said as gently as possible, without relaying the manner of which the deceased was actually discovered.

“Are you asking if he was into the kink?” Victor nodded and Emalee watched the amusement flood the woman’s dark eyes. “Well, Detective…don’t we all have a bit of a kinky side to us?”

“I think that’s all the questions I have for now,” Victor replied with a soft cough to clear his throat while ignoring the subject.

He stood up and glanced back to Emalee who followed suit. Before he could put his note pad away, Jaheel took it and scribbled her name and phone number on the top page, smiling seductively at the man as she handed it back to him.

“You’re free to call me any time you need to ask more questions,” she told him. “Maybe we can discuss the other side of life a little more intimately.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Emalee nearly groaned with disgust, as he slipped the pad back into his jacket pocket, then walked behind the woman to the door.

“Come by the club some night. I’ll be happy to give you special attention.”

Victor tried to look dignified but had a difficult time trying not to smile, at the invitation.

“I’ll consider that. Thank you for your time. Please extend our sympathy to your grandmother.”

Back in the car, the tension began to build again, but for a different reason. Emalee was angry at the way he conducted himself. As a professional police detective, he should have immediately rejected that woman’s attention, but instead, he practically accepted her offer of special attention.

“I want to talk with Sevati’s boss,” Victor said, ignorant to the reason she was sitting next to him, her arms folded across her chest as she clenched her jaw.

“Fine,” she answered shortly.

“Are you alright?” he asked her with a frown, as he looked across the seat for the first time since they closed the doors.

“Fine,” she answered again.

“Two fines in ten seconds. If I was the paranoid type, I’d say I did something to get on your bad side. Is this about what I said earlier?”

“No, and don’t act all innocent with me, Detective Armstrong. You know very well what you did. I’m surprised you didn’t kiss that woman goodbye on your way out.”

“Are you jealous?” Victor asked with a smirk.

“What the hell?” Emalee gasped, her mouth as wide open as her eyes. “Why would I be jealous? I just think you should have been a little more professional, that’s all.”

“How was I not professional?”

“You took her phone number and you said you’d consider her offer. That’s far from being professional.”

“First off, she wrote her phone number on my note pad, what was I supposed to do, rip up the paper and throw it in her face? Second, I was simply being polite. I’ve never been offered special attention by a woman who looks like that. She was gorgeous, only a fool or a gay man would refuse her to her face.”

“I do not want to discuss this further,” Emalee snarled as she looked out the side window. “Just try very hard to show a little restraint when we go to that stupid club, will you please? The last thing I need to do is drag your sorry ass out of a strip bar.”

“Yes, darling,” he commented in a tone filled with amusement, making her snort her irritation again.

They fell victim to the tense silence of the leather interior once again, as the car continued toward its destination. Victor’s mood had somewhat lightened with the friendly banter, while Emalee’s had grown darker. The idea of having the woman as a partner was disturbing to him. He had spent three long years trying to avoid asking her out, thinking about her in an unprofessional manner, or lusting after her the way the other detectives in the office did. He knew if he allowed himself to relax enough around her, things would get out of hand and that was the last thing he needed. An on the job affair would lead to nothing more than misery and demotion. Neither of which he was anxious to experience. Teasing her, however, that was a different subject.

He pulled the car into the paved parking lot of the weathered building, then turned off the ignition. They both glanced out the windshield at the sign that flashed between a martini glass and a dancing lady in red neon lights. It was enough to irritate Emalee even further. The idea that women would display their bodies for the pleasure of men was primeval. It was like living in the dark ages.

“Maybe you should stay in the car,” Victor suggested in a light tone.

He knew this would cause her more irate emotions, yet he wasn’t quite ready to raise the white flag. If he could get another quick jab to her ego, he was going to take it. Strike while the iron was hot.

“Why?” she snapped with a narrowing of her blue eyes.

“I just thought it would be best, considering it's five o’clock on a Wednesday. That means the women are dancing and I know how shy and intimidated you can get.”

Emalee clenched her jaw and opened the passenger side, stepping out into a puddle of melting snow, and slammed the door shut so hard it rocked the car. Victor’s laughter filtered out from the interior as he opened the driver’s door, then quickly pressed the button to lock the car, as he caught up to her by the entrance.

A large Tongan man stepped out of the shadows, blocking the door from being opened.

“Are you members?” he asked in a deep voice, his eyes roaming over Emalee with what appeared to be dark appreciation.

“Do I look like a member?” she snapped as Victor pulled out his badge.

“Detective Armstrong, this is Emalee Peker, we’re here to see Natalie Banton. It’s in regard to one of your dancers,” he told the man, moving his coat aside just enough to show the handle of the pistol strapped to his waist.

“Which dancer? We have twenty,” the man growled.

“Gotum Sevati. Know him?” Victor asked.

“Yeah, I know him, good kid, but he hasn’t been around lately, and he wouldn’t be here tonight. It’s Ladies Stage, only women dancing.”

“He hasn’t been around because he’s dead,” Victor said, watching the shocked expression cross the dark black eyes, of the large man in front of them.

“When? How?” the bouncer asked, no longer looking like an authoritative threat but rather a shocked friend. “He was just here the other night.”

“Do you remember when you last saw him?”

“Yeah, about a week ago…no, maybe two, he was leaving to meet up with a lady friend. I walked him to his car, like I do all the dancers, and watched him drive off.”

“You may be the last person to have seen him alive,” Emalee said, no longer feeling the irritation that had embraced her over the past couple of hours.

“That’s impossible. He called off his last shift. He said he was out of town and couldn’t make it in. Are you sure you got the right guy?”

Victor pulled out a picture the coroner gave them as evidence and showed it to the man, watching as his dark skin seemed to pale slightly.

“Is this Gotum Sevati?” Victor asked, knowing the answer as it flashed through his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s him. I can’t believe he’s dead. Who would want to do anything like that? He was a real nice kid, all the ladies loved him.”

“Maybe one loved him more than the others,” Emalee commented under her breath.

“Can we go in now?” Victor asked, slipping the picture and his badge back in his pocket.

The bouncer nodded once, and moved aside, allowing them to continue through the dark hallway and into the loud, colorful bar.

On the half-circular stage was a woman with short spiked hair, dancing around a silver pole. She wore red thongs that were stuffed full of dollar bills, matching stiletto heels, and nothing else. Her breasts were large - obviously fake, Emalee thought - and bare of all clothing. She was very attractive, slender, and smiled seductively to the men sitting at the tables that surrounded the stage. The music playing over the speakers was loud enough, to make the floor and walls vibrate, as blue and yellow lights circled the dance floor and the woman.

Victor nudged Emalee’s elbow and nodded toward the bar behind them, then walked past several men who eyed Emalee up with interest. She felt suddenly very embarrassed and cursed her parents for giving her a natural beauty, that most women spent thousands of dollars trying to obtain.

“Natalie Banton?” Victor said over the sound of tribal drums that boomed from the many speakers, located around the room, as he flashed his badge.

The tall Hispanic male in a sleeveless black leather vest and tight pants nodded, then turned around and picked up a phone on the back counter behind him. He spoke through the receiver for a moment then returned to the counter.

“Go through that door,” he said pointing to a black door behind the stage. “Up the stairs and to the right, you can’t miss it.”

Emalee took the matchbook she had been fumbling with, and followed close beside Victor, as they made their way through the tables of men gathered around to watch the show. She was amazed that the place was this crowded when most jobs had just let out for the day.

They walked through the door as instructed and found a metal staircase leading to the top floor above. Once there, they walked a short distance down a narrow passage then turned right, stopping in front of a large black door, with a silver sign, that read Private. Victor knocked three times and waited for a moment until the door opened, revealing another half-naked man, this one Caucasian with shoulder-length blonde hair. His chest was bare of hair or markings of any kind, his arms and neck were thick with muscles, and he wore a pair of tight black leather pants, that left very little to the imagination. He was very attractive with eyes that blazed like emeralds as he looked seductively to Emalee and smiled.

“Natalie Banton?” Victor said again, then turned to see a short, rather stalky appearing woman, with short brown hair and wire-framed glasses, stand up from behind a black desk.

“I’m Natalie Banton,” she said sticking her hand out to shake his.

“I’m Detective Armstrong, this is my partner Emalee Peker. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“I just reapplied for my liquor license a week ago, so I doubt your visit has anything to do with that.”

“No ma’am, it doesn’t. We’re here about one of your dancers, Gotum Sevati. We understand he worked here on the weekends.”

“Yes, he does,” she said, indicating to two seats in front of the desk, then sat back down in the leather chair. “He hasn’t been here in nearly two weeks. He called and said he was going out of town and wouldn’t be back for a while. His sister works here as well, but she’s not in tonight either.”

“We’ve already spoken to his sister.”

“So, what can I do for you, detective? I hope Gotum isn’t in some kind of trouble. He’s a good kid and not the kind to cause problems.”

“He’s dead,” Victor said, watching the woman exchange shocked glances with the half-naked man, who had come around to sit on a sofa next to them.

“What? How?” she asked, sounding much like the Tongan at the front door.

“He appears to be the victim of a homicide. His body was discovered in the mission district last night.”

“Oh, dear God,” Natalie said, looking a bit ill.

“Are you sure it was Gotum?” the man asked, finally speaking up.

“He’s been positively identified,” Victor commented.

“I can’t believe it,” Natalie said as she stood up and paced toward a bar on the opposite side of the room. “Gotum was a good kid, who would want to kill him?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Do you know of any reason someone would have wanted him dead?”

“No, nothing. Gotum is very well-liked by the customers as well as the other dancers. He doesn’t drink anything stronger than soda and doesn’t mess around with anything illegal that I know of, hell he doesn’t even stay around to party after closing hours, like a lot of our employees do. He always has homework to do or a test to study for.”

Victor watched as the woman poured a glass of brandy from a bottle behind the bar. Tears formed in her eyes and her voice began to shake with emotion.

“Would you happen to know anything about his life outside of this bar?” Emalee asked, ignoring the shocked expression on Victor’s face as she spoke up.

“I know he lived with his grandmother and went to college,” Natalie said as she raised the bottle in the air for the two who shook their heads no. “Gotum never really talked much about his life outside of school. He and his sister are very private. I suppose it’s their heritage or upbringing, something like that. Jaheel told me once that her parents had been killed in a car accident a few years ago, and their grandmother came over from India to take care of them, but other than that they never spoke about their private lives. Gotum would bring his books and study between shows, he was very eager to graduate and move on with his life. He was a quiet boy for the most part, but once he was on stage, he was a true professional. The women loved him and paid handsomely for a private dance.”

“Was he involved with anyone particular customer that you know of?”

“No, but I don’t get downstairs very often. You can ask the other dancers. I’m sure they will know if he was involved with anyone. They may know more about his private life than I do.”

“Do you know if Gotum was active in any…events that involved the women he danced for?” Emalee continued as Natalie walked back to the desk and sat down, taking a drink from her glass.

“What do you mean?”

“Was he into any specific…sexual games or activities, perhaps something that involved some of your customers or employees?”

“You mean kink?” Natalie asked with wide eyes. “Gotum would never get involved in that. Hell, it took him a month before he was comfortable enough to give a lap dance. After that, all the women rented one of the private rooms for him.”

“Private rooms?” Victor asked as he took the note pad out of his pocket and flipped to a clean sheet of paper.

“We have four rooms where our dancers give solo performances. I can assure you, there is no sexual activity that occurs while in the rooms. We videotape each session to make certain our dancers and our customers are both safe and enjoying what was paid for.”

“How much would the rental for one of these rooms cost?” Emalee asked, glancing from Natalie to the man reclining silently on the sofa.

“Depends on the amount of time the customer wants. It ranges from a hundred dollars up.”

“And how many times do your dancers use these rooms?” Victor asked, looking up at the woman and noting the lone tear that slid down the side of her nose.

“Again, it depends on the customer and the dancer,” she said, removing her glasses and brushing her hand across her eyes. “Gotum would spend two or three hours a night in the rooms. The women loved his dances and paid handsomely for the privilege of being alone with him.”

“You said you videotape these sessions,” Victor asked before Emalee could butt in. “Do you watch them at the time the dancers are in there?”

“We will from time to time, especially if the dancer is worried or asks us to guard them.”

“Do the female dancers use these rooms as well?”

“Yes, but when they are in there we have security watching to make certain they remain safe. We had a young dancer a couple of years ago who was assaulted during a session. The customer was arrested, and the dancer ended up in the hospital. Since then, we keep a close eye on the girls.”

“But not the male dancers?” Emalee asked.

“We haven’t had a need. The customers are always happy, and the dancers are handsomely paid for their time. Besides, our boys are well defined and strong enough to ward off any unwanted attention.”

“Do the dancers keep the money they make for the private dances?” Victor asked, watching the woman’s small smile creep across her thin lips.

“They keep half and the club keeps the other half.”

“What about the tips they make? Do they split those as well?” Emalee continued.

“No, those are for the dancers to keep. We pay a little more than minimum wage, which isn’t enough to keep the dancers coming back, so the tips belong to them. And they can make a nice haul depending on their talent.”

“How much would a stripper make in a night?” Victor asked, glancing briefly to the man on the sofa as Natalie shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“We do not hire strippers, Detective Armstrong. We hire dancers. The fact that they remove their clothes is no different than a ballerina changing costumes. That being said, the dancers can make anywhere from a few hundred to a couple of thousand dollars depending on the size of the crowd.”

“Is that typical for all the dancers?” asked Emalee, feeling like she should be taking notes of her own.

“For the most part, there are some dancers, like Gotum, who made a lot more than the others. He was young, handsome, and had a very nice body. Women pay to see that.”

“Could another dancer have been jealous or upset that he was getting more attention, angry that he was taking home the breadbasket, so to speak?”

“Never. Gotum was liked by everyone. He was a good kid. I remember a night not long ago, one of our dancers hurt his leg during a performance and had to sit out the night. Gotum split his tips with him, just so he had enough money to hold him until he was able to work again. That’s the kind of kid Gotum is…was. He would do anything for anyone, no questions asked.”

“It’s been suggested, that Gotum would meet up with some of the customers after hours, and continue the entertainment,” Victor said, taking up the questioning, impressed that Emalee was asking logical questions.

“If he did, then I didn’t know about it, nor would I have anything to say if I did. What my dancers do on their private time is up to them, detective, I only dictate their behavior while they are on the clock.”

“Alright, thank you, Ms. Banton,” Victor said, standing up and returning his note pad to his pocket. “I don’t think we have any more questions right now.”

“Anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

“You keep saying we. It was our understanding that you owned this club?” Emalee asked with a slight frown, as Natalie stood from the chair.

“I do, along with my husband, Brad.”

The half-naked man stood up from the sofa and walked up behind Natalie, wrapping his arm around her waist and smiled seductively once again at Emalee.

“Well, thank you again, Ms. Banton. We’ll be in touch if anything else should come up. In the meantime, please contact us if you can think of anything that might be of help in the investigation.”

“I will. I want you to find the bastard that killed Gotum.” Natalie’s voice began to shake again as she reached for the door Victor pulled open. “He was a good kid. He didn’t deserve to die alone.”

“What makes you think it was a male who killed him?” Emalee asked with a slight frown causing Natalie to chuckle softly.

“Take a look at the pictures of our dancers as you leave, Miss Peker. Gotum was not only handsome, but he was also extremely well built. It would have to take someone with a lot of muscle to subdue him.”

Emalee nodded as she followed beside Victor down the hallway and out the black door. They walked around the back of the stage and out to the main entrance, noticing the pictures Natalie indicated.

There was a picture of Jaheel, along with a number of other photos of both men and women in very scanty costumes, and then there was Gotum. He was indeed a handsome young man, nothing like the picture Victor carried from the coroner. He was smiling cheerfully, revealing a small dimple in his left cheek. His eyes were dark brown, and his matching hair shone in the light of the camera. It was hard to imagine anyone wanting, or being able, to harm someone who appeared so innocent. And yet, as the past had dictated time and time again, you couldn’t judge a book by its cover.