Hard Play Read Online Free PDF Page B

capped the scotch and placed it back on the bottom shelf, answering, “He’s in the back, interviewing the new dancers.” He ran one of his oversized hands across his bald scalp. “A few lookers this time. He might even find something other than more for the Tuesday afternoon shift.”
    “Good,” Frank said. “Make sure he keeps his hands to himself this time, will you?”
    Frank tipped his glass and turned to the stage.
    “How’s the old man?” Ted asked into the black wool of Frank's back.
    Frank didn’t turn around.
    “Sick,” he said with a shrug, then pushed his way through the crowd to his booth in the corner.
    Plopping down in his seat, he watched. He didn’t speak. He didn’t talk. You weren’t meant to talk in places like this, you were meant to stare. That’s why they play the music so loud. That’s why the lights are on the stage and not at the tables. The patrons all probably know him. They most likely recognize him—hell, he’s there enough—but Frank wouldn’t know. He didn’t care. This may have been his spot, but few of them were his people.
    His furrowed brow and tight jaw evidenced his inability to shake the face of Judge Johnson. He kept getting lost in his scotch instead of drinking it. Usually he’d be up there with the rest of the old men and perverts, tossing crumpled bills at the passably beautiful girls he employed. Instead, he just swirled the amber liquid around and around, ignoring the bare chest and perfect nipples of the tight young blonde biting dollar bills off his stage.
    As the blonde finished cleaning up her tips with her teeth, the DJ announced the next dancer. “All the gentlemen in the club, get your wallets out and welcome the newest addition to the Eazy’s line-up. The delectable, the delicious, the heavenly, sweet Candy!”
    Swallowing the scotch down, Frank slammed the glass on the table and turned his attention to the new girl, a slender redhead coming out on stage. She was already half naked before she’d even started. Not much of a striptease if all the skin’s already showing. Frank stood anyhow, deciding to get a closer look at his newest bare doll grinding against the pole. The men seemed to like her. Bills were already raining on the stage. Maybe starting out in the buff wasn’t such a bad idea. As Frank stood, his cell buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and held it up to his ear.
    “Black,” he tried to say over the music.
    He shouted, “Hold on.”
    He squeezed his way out of the club. Once on the street, he held the phone back to his ear.
    “Yeah?”
    A familiar voice came through from the other end, “Mr. Black, this is Amy Van. We spoke this afternoon.”
    Frank’s voice smoothed. “Good evening, Mrs. Van.”
    “It’s Doctor Van, Mr. Black,” she huffed. “And I never married.”
    “My mistake,” Frank feigned.
    “Enough with the small talk, Mr. Black. I didn’t call to have a conversation.” Her voice was bitter, cold and stern, and Frank loved it.
    He smiled as she continued through the earpiece.
    “We visited Ms. Johnson’s home in Calabasas this afternoon.”
    She waited and when Frank said nothing, she continued, “There was a break-in. Someone threw a rock through the back door. It’s funny, Mr. Black, finger prints everywhere but on that rock. Just the rock was wiped clean.”
    She paused then asked, “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
    “No ma’am, wouldn’t know a thing about that,” Frank said as he took a cigarette out and lit it.
    Amy Van went on, “Nothing was missing except a stack of papers from the desk in her office and a small black day-planner.”
    Frank interrupted, smoke following the words through his teeth, “How do you know those things are missing?”
    He pulled the black book from his coat and inspected it, turning it over in his hand. He opened the front cover, revealing the words, The Schedule of Mary-Beth Johnson , scrawled across the front page.
    “We just do,