DARK (4 page)

12

Level one.

Level two.

Level three.

Jordan lost her breath as she finally spotted the limo on level four of the parking garage. She ducked behind a car, feeling a bit silly for spying on Zizi like this.

Zizi sat on the hood of the limo as a man approached. Jordan wondered if he was someone that had signed up for Dark. He wore black slacks and a long sleeve black shirt. Zizi remained on the hood and pulled something from the bag and showed the man. Whatever item she had purchased at Flavour seemed to impress the man.

He took the item and dropped it back into the bag, then leaned forward and kissed Zizi. At first, he just gave her a quick peck on lips and cheek, but she pulled him close and wrapped her legs around him.

Jordan moved closer, staying behind the parked cars. Zizi unzipped the man’s slacks, reached in, and pulled out his cock. The man lifted Zizi’s right leg to his shoulder, then shoved his cock inside of her. Apparently, Zizi was not wearing underwear.

A soft moan from Zizi echoed in the parking garage. A red SUV drove by Jordan and slowed as it reached the limo. Zizi and the man ignored the person. In fact, it seemed to arouse them that someone was watching.

It aroused Jordan as well.

The SUV beeped twice and continued forward. Zizi slid off the hood of the limo, bent over, and waited to be fucked from behind. He pushed up her skirt then shoved his cock inside of her, but it was Zizi doing the fucking. She braced her hands on the hood and thrust her hips back into his cock. The man grabbed her ass, groaning so loud it probably could be heard on the upper and lower floors.

He leaned forward with a deep grunt, then stumbled back a step. Zizi turned around, kneeled, then sucked on his cock until he was clean. She then stood as the man tucked his cock back inside his underwear and zipped his pants up. He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed the shopping bag, then walked away.

Zizi climbed into the limousine and fired up the engine. Jordan remained hidden behind the car as Zizi drove past.

13

In minutes, Jordan raced back down the parking garage, hurried to the sidewalk and made it to Flavour, knocking into a few people as she rushed into the door.

The store only had one customer; an older female dressed in red leather boots, tight jeans, white t-shirt, and straw cowboy hat. Vanessa had been sorting clothes, which were probably left behind from the dressing room. She carefully placed each one back on a hanger and returned the item to its original spot in the store.

“Vanessa,” Jordan said, attempting to catch her breath. “I need to ask you something.”

Vanessa finished hanging a dress. “You can ask me anything.”

Jordan lowered her voice. “I need the name of a customer you had earlier.”

“Sorry, you can’t ask me that.”

“Please…”

Vanessa glanced at the cowgirl to make sure she wasn’t listening. “No,” Vanessa whispered. “I could be sued.”

Jordan blew out a long sigh, not wanting to get her best friend in trouble. This store was all Vanessa cared about. It wouldn’t be fair to put her on the spot. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

The cowgirl strolled toward the front door, glanced at a pair of slim fit designer jeans, then left. Vanessa turned to Jordan. “You seemed stressed. What’s going on?”

Jordan was tempted to discuss being attacked last night, but she did not want to relive the event. She also wanted to talk about her experience at Dark, but held back. “It’s some woman…” Jordan scrambled for a lie. “I think she was one of the many flings that my ex-husband had.”

Vanessa laughed. “Which ex-husband?”

Jordan returned a smile. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m sorry. But you have to admit your taste in men has been a little off.”

“At least they were rich.”

“True.”

Jordan took in a deep breath. “Anyway, I think she may have been a waitress for Jeremy.” Immediately, Jordan felt bad for lying.

“So what? You knew he was fucking around on you.”

“Yeah…it’s just…”

“What?”

Once again, Jordan scrambled for an answer. “Don’t tell anyone, but Jeremy is selling the business.”

“Really?” Vanessa glanced at the door, then looked at Jordan. “He loves that restaurant just like I love this store.”

“I know. So I wanted to find out if that waitress knew anything. If she was fucking him, she might have some dirt.” Jordan felt like a dishonest scumbag.

“True.” Vanessa eyed the door again. She seemed to be considering her options. “What did that customer look like?”

“Short blond hair. White blouse. Black skirt. Black stockings. Black sneakers.”

“You’re talking about Zizi.”

Jordan shook her head. “You know her?”

“It’s the name on her credit card.”

“What’s her last name?”

Vanessa hesitated. “If she finds out I told you-”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“You better not.” Vanessa looked at the door, then at Jordan. “Her name is Zizi Fain. I know she isn’t a waitress; at least, she hasn’t been one for the last two months that she has been coming into the store. Zizi is a limo driver for some company that caters to rich people.”

Jordan’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you know what the company is called?”

“No idea. Zizi mentioned it briefly a few weeks ago when she purchased a new skirt and blouse. In fact, it was the same outfit she had been wearing today.”

“Speaking of today, what did she buy?”

“Does it matter?” Vanessa snapped. “You sure are asking a lot from me.”

Jordan felt a pang of guilt. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Vanessa rubbed Jordan on the arm. “Please do not tell Zizi we spoke about her.”

“There is no way I would do that to you.”

The door opened. A young couple walked in, browsing through the designer jeans. Vanessa waved to them. “I’ll be right with you.” She turned and whispered to Jordan. “Zizi bought a pair of black stockings that have a silk black bow. She also purchased a lace black thong.”

Jordan watched as Vanessa greeted the young couple. Jordan thought about Zizi fucking that guy in the parking lot, then giving him the shopping bag with the stockings and thong. Who was the gift for?

Maybe it was for the guy’s wife…

Jordan waited for Vanessa to return, then bought the black dress she tried on earlier.

14

The phone rang as Jordan arrived back at the condo. “Hello?”

“This is Detective Tracy Daane of the Nashville Police Department.”

“Who?” Jordan fumbled with her keys and opened the door.

“The detective that is investigating your unlawful entry from last night.”

Jordan felt like an ass. She did not remember the name of the female detective asking her questions. “I’m an idiot.”

Detective Daane chuckled. “It’s not a problem. Are you busy?”

“No.” Jordan shut the door and walked through the condo to make sure no one was there. “What’s going on?”

“We spoke to Clayton Trudell and did not find any reason to believe he was the one that attacked you.”

“Yes, well, he chewed me out.”

“That’s unfortunate, but you still did the right thing by telling me, although, you did not tell me that you had a second ex-husband named Jeremy Baggart who owns that southern restaurant downtown.”

Jordan cringed. She really did not what him being questioned. “I didn’t think of him while you were questioning me.”

“Mr. Baggart does not have an alibi for the time when you were attacked.”

“It’s not him. Jeremy can be an asshole, but he would not hurt me.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

Jordan’s skin flushed. She envisioned Jeremy eating her out this morning. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it, but I’m pretty sure.”

“We need to pursue every lead…do you agree?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve also questioned some other gentlemen that live in your building.”

Jordan plopped down on the couch. “Really? How many?”

“Seven.”

“Everyone is going to hate me!”

“I need to find out who did this.”

“I understand, but…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Is there anything else?”

“One more thing. When was the last time you checked your mail?”

Jordan had to think about that. Today was Tuesday. She did not check it yesterday. “I think Saturday.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s just that we found something hanging from the ceiling of the condo mailroom.”

For some reason, Jordan had an image of a dead body. “What was hanging in the mailroom?”

“The two-faced clown mask that you described the attacker had been wearing.”

15

Was it still only Tuesday?

Jordan once again began counting the hours and minutes to early Monday afternoon when she would return to Dark. She had become so sexually aroused as if the hormones in her body had been injected with a mixture of B-12 and a porn flick.

Detective Daane had called back to give Jordan the bad news that they found no traces of hair, sweat, or fingerprints on the mask. Daane went on to say that she believed the attacker purchased two of the same mask; one to wear and one to leave behind.

Jordan whipped up some grilled chicken, snow peas, and brown rice. She debated on going to the pool, or maybe she could take a long walk around Nashville. Perhaps she would go to a club. She hadn’t been to a club since…well…it’s been a few years.

Were clubs even open on Tuesday night?

Jordan sucked down a glass of Fontanafredda wine then changed into her new black dress. The next decision was her underwear. Did she expect to get laid tonight?

Cotton underwear?

A thong?

Lace?

Silk?

Jordan decided on no underwear, which may help the risky mood she had been in since entering Dark. She slipped on a pair of tan leather cowboy boots that she purchased from the Nashville Boot Company for $200. There was only an inch and three quarter heel, which made them comfortable for walking. She put on a fairly small amount of makeup, gave her hair a quick brush, tucked her credit card in her bra, then walked out the door carrying only her cell phone.

On the way down the elevator, she Googled the local clubs. The top three ranked nightclubs in Nashville were Mai, Lucy Blue, and Karma, but none of them were open during the week. The fourth ranked nightclub, Fuel, only had two stars, but at least it was open.

The club was within walking distance, but Jordan called a cab. She felt vulnerable for some reason. Perhaps it was the no-panties decision. But even so, the temperature had dipped into the upper forties.

It was only eight o’clock when the cab dropped her off in front of Fuel. She took her place at the end of the line, eyeing the people.

Two women dressed in identical midnight blue dresses and matching six inch heels.

Two guys gawked at the women from behind, both wearing flannel shirts, jeans, boots, and cowboy hats. Behind them were two more guys. One had on a flashy purple silk shirt, the other had on a red silk shirt. Both wore tight slacks.

Just in front of Jordan were a group of six women, all dressed completely different. It was obvious which women were dragged out by their friends to go drinking and which were doing the dragging.

Two men stood in line behind Jordan, both looking like they were ready to go bull riding. They tipped their hats and said “Hello, ma’am,” to Jordan. She smiled and prayed that the line would start moving.

Exactly fourteen minutes later, she was inside. The club had a gas station theme, but not much thought had been put into it. Women danced on the bar and around poles. The music was techno, sounding like a wrench and screwdriver were being rubbed together. Six large flat screens showed MTV Road Rules with no sound. The only male bar tender was an exact replica of Bret Michaels. The women bartenders were pleasant enough, wearing tiny jean shorts, half-shirts, and for some reason they decided to paint little bunny rabbits on their cheeks.

A fight broke out between two rednecks that had been competing over the same woman. They probably did not have a chance in hell to get her in the first place, which made the fight useless. It wasn’t as if the woman had been expectantly waiting for the man who would survive as the victor. In fact, she had already slipped away while attempting to hide her embarrassment.

Each fighter landed one solid punch, but five bouncers came charging through the crowd and used Tasers and pepper spray as if they were kids playing with their new Christmas toys.

“Hello, ma’am,” someone said next to her.

Jordan rolled her eyes over to see a skinny redneck that smelled like cheap beer. “Hey,” Jordan said, attempting to push her way to the bar.

“Can I buy you a beer, or are you more of a wine type lady?”

Jordan was going to pretend she did not hear him over the blaring techno music, but she did not want to prolong the conversation. The man inched closer and touched Jordan’s ass. She smiled and said to him, “I have to tell you that I’m a polygamist and I’m here with my husband and four sister-wives. They would not be too happy about your hand on my ass.”

The guy shook his head, eyes wide with confusion. “What is a polyg…ployga...”

“Exactly,” Jordan said, then pushed her way to the bar, regretting the decision to go out. This was probably the reason why she never went to clubs in the first place.

She ordered a double rum and Coke, then slammed it down and ordered another one to sip on.

When she turned around, a different man had been standing right behind her. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to get by him.

Suddenly, a tear spilt from his eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…” He turned, staring at someone across the bar. “I’m such a moron.”

Jordan noticed that this guy dressed like a normal person. No cowboy hat, no flashy silk shirt. Instead, he had on a collarless tan long sleeve shirt and brown slacks. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving away from the bar.

He barely acknowledged her. “It’s just…damn, I can’t believe this.”

Jordan attempted to follow his line of sight. “What are you looking at?”

The guy quickly wiped away another tear. “My wife.” He swallowed, then wiped away another tear. “She’s with another guy.”