My Sister's Keeper

Chapter 46

"He's lucky to have a sister like you. Thank you. And again I apologize for interrupting your stroll."

"Not a problem. Thanks for stopping by."

"Anytime you have anything you think might be of importance to his case, feel free to call."

"Thank you. I will."

Scott nodded. "Well, good night, Miss Baimbridge."

Martha rolled the chair back. "Good night, Mr. McGillikin."

She watched him step off the porch and waited to see which way he went before closing the door. Knowing that he might be a murderer gave her the creeps. She waited fifteen minutes before opening the door again and looked carefully as she rolled out onto the porch. Seeing no sign of him, she closed the door, took the ramp down, and checked the street before heading toward the abandoned warehouse.

MY EYES ADJUSTED SLOWLY to the low light as I penetrated deeper into the interior of the club. I could make out couples in booths kissing and pawing at one another—men with men, men with women, and women with women. With every step I searched for a bottle or other weapon to grab should chaos suddenly break out. There was a commotion at the front doors and I knew from the shouting and groans that the police had arrived. Beams of light circled into the smoky darkness lighting patrons that hid their faces and cursed.

I crouched, feeling my way along a pathway when a hand hooked the back of my belt and flipped me up into a booth. A woman, nude from the waist up, ripped the front of my shirt open, flipped it off my shoulders, and whispered, "I hate pigs." She thrust her tongue into my mouth, pressed her chest against mine, unzipped my fly, and forced her hand inside my trousers.

With my face against hers, I watched the cops as they shined their lights into every nook and corner and saw that some of the nude statues weren't statues at all, and some of the women weren't women. As one of their lights fell upon me, I closed my eyes and held my breath, the hammering in my chest drowning out the beat of the music. When the light moved away from me, I pulled back and examined the woman fondling me. Her breasts were high and well-formed, and her face certainly looked female. But if she wasn't, I sure as hell didn't want to know it. As the cops approached, I shoved her against the rear of the booth and kissed her passionately. She arched her back, moaned, and gyrated against me.

As the police moved past our booth, someone in the next stall screamed and a scuffle broke out. One cop leaped into our booth, his large shoes kicking and stomping me while he grappled with the suspect in the next booth until they managed to get him to the floor and cuff him. My chest was clinched so tightly, I could hardly breathe. Sweat poured off me.

A moment later, they stomped out a back door dragging the naked man kicking and screaming with them. When they'd gone, I exhaled and waited for my nerves to calm before flipping my shirt back onto my shoulders and thanking the woman for her help.

"My pleasure," she trilled, her voice deep and throaty blowing smoke from a long slender cigarette into my face.

I zigzagged back to the front of the building, tucked my shirttail into my pants, zipped my fly, and stumbled out into the crowd on the street—and the cool, refreshing night air.

ACROSS TOWN, MARTHA INCHED back into the recesses of a row of bushes and switched the safety off on a can of pepper spray as two teenage youths headed up the sidewalk toward her. Laying her index finger on the trigger, she sat motionless in the shadows as they passed within inches of her, then waited for them to get well down the block before resuming her trek. Several blocks farther, she turned toward the river.