Jerry's banging brought instant results and the young woman who ran the coat check cringed slightly as the two detectives barged into the club without the ritual of identification.

"Where's the rake that usually guards the door?' He growled, any attempt at charm ignored.

"He's not here. Neither is Cropmaster." She tugged at the bottom of her mini skirt as if suddenly realizing how exposed it made her in a serious situation.

"We have a warrant to search the club," Bettmeir said, a little more kindly. "Is the owner about?"

"The owner?" She looked legitimately confused.

"Yeah. Greenbaum." Jerry said.

"Mister Greenbaum's the owner?" Her surprise showed in the tone of her voice.

"Don't you know who you work for...? What's your name anyway?"

"Carree Holmes, double e."

Bettmeir smirked at Jerry's reaction.

"Well Carree, with a double e, don't you know who employs you?"

"I just get a check from a numbered company, Jared is my boss."

"So you don't know a Greenbaum?"

"Oh sure, but I didn't know he owned the place. He comes here quite often to have drinks with the members."

He doesn't...?" Jerry swirled a hand in the air.

"Oh no. Never. Not his bag I guess."

"What's upstairs here?" Bettmeir.

"I'm not sure. Just storage I think."

"You've never been up there?"

"No." She moved to the side of her counter, her outfit feeling more and more ridiculous as the questions continued.

"How do we get up there?"

Carree pointed to a door at the end of the hall opposite the Power Paddock.

"Stay away from the telephone, darlin'"

The stairs ended at a small, tastefully decorated landing with a padded bench on one wall. Artistically framed prints of watercolours depicting the fashion style of twenties flappers decorated the surrounding walls. A large paneled door was the only exit from the landing and Bettmeir knocked firmly.

"Who's there?" The voice ground out like a millstone.

"Police, Mister Greenbaum. We have a warrant to search the premises." Silence. "Sir, we have a warrant and if you don't open this door it will be a shame to see it smashed."

A moment passed and then the door opened and the detectives moved in quickly.

"Show me this warrant." Greenbaum held out a stubby hand.

"It's all yours, sir."

Greenbaum moved slowly toward the door as he read the warrant, watching the detectives prowl the room. Jerry handled everything he came across, muttering a private critique as he went. Bettmeir concentrated on the desk and the mahogany file cabinet.

"Where's the key for this?"

Greenbaum paused and looked at him. Decision time. Obviously sending Jared out hadn't squelched the problem and now he was a public face with his name. He folded the warrant and slipped it into his jacket pocket, removing a small gun as he did.

"Please don't do anything foolish, gentlemen. I'm afraid I can't stay for the party. Turn around and face the wall and no funny moves."

"This is a big mistake, sir." Bettmeir warned.

"Don't you make one too, detective. Turn around." Greenbaum went out the door and locked it behind him from the outside. He stepped across the hall to the picture of the woman walking her Afghan dog and tilted the frame. A panel slid silent back and he stepped over the frame and through the opening. Down a narrow set of stairs and out into the gallery alongside the dungeon set.

A few of the Shawns were servicing clients and he stole a glance as he hurried along to the door at the far end. The lawyer, Stoneman was shackled to a revolving water wheel that a leather-clad Shawn rotated slowly, dunking Stoneman in a pond of shallow water and spanking him each time he surfaced. Greenbaum hissed with disgust at the empire he'd ruled and the despicable clients that peopled it. No more, however. The women would have to fend for themselves and the clients would be scrambling for cover pretty soon.

He exited the door at the bottom of the long staircase and crossed the private drive to his car. He popped the trunk and checked under the spare to make sure he had enough stash to make some deals and then he climbed inside the car and drove rapidly out into the sunlight and away.

Jerry threw a shoulder against the door and cursed as he bounced back, gripping his arm in pain. "Jesus! That must be made of steel."

"I'll call the fire department, save your manly frame there, hulk. Meanwhile, throw some of that super power at the file cabinet."

************

Vin couldn't believe his good luck. The two women practically begged to be allowed to stay at his place. Rita was actually bringing him business after he took advantage of her and he wondered if he'd been missing a bet with her. The woman with her was a knockout and she seemed agreeable to all his suggestions. Rita, now Jean he was reminded, helped her with a choice of hair colour and they proceeded to make the change. Vin hung around stealing glances through the bathroom door as he pretended to mess with his camera equipment.

Cresta came out with a towel around her head and her blouse in her hand. Vin gawked at the dimensions of her chest as she moved about the room with little regard for his attention. Jean opened a small box that contained different coloured contacts and they sat in front of a mirror trying different pairs until Cresta opted for the grayish yellow that she felt went well with the new hair.

"Have you got any personal documents on you?" Vin asked when they were finished and Cresta had slipped her top back on.

"Driver's license. Birth certificate. Health card." She removed them from her purse and handed them over.

"Perfect. I can do a set of credit cards for you and a couple of extras like library or club membership."

The two women shared a glance. "What's this going to cost?" Cresta asked in a crisp businesslike manner.

Vin smiled and looked down at the cards. "We can work something out." He purposely looked at Jean and grinned. "What name do you want on these?"

"Let's establish the payment first."

"Hey, look, I can be very easy about this. Let's see if you like the work and then we can discuss payment."

Jean nodded at her and gave Vin the okay. "It'll be fine. Time is important here."

"Leana Winslow."

"Huh?"

"The name. Leana Winslow."

"I kinda like Torchy, or Zelda." He laughed and took the cards to his workbench. "Make yourselves comfy, this'll take a couple of hours, I've got another client who is in a mighty rush and I promised him today for sure."

****************

By the time Bettmeir and Asper got back to the station empty handed after hearing it from the firemen that opened the door, their Captain, demanding their location from everyone, had ordered them into his office and slammed the door angrily.

"Explain."

"Sir?"

"This warrant you got for Bootheel."

"It's central to the investigation of the Cullen murder, sir. We also believe that the Gates woman's death is also connected."

"Based on."

Bettmeir clasped his hands and began relating the theory he and Jerry had cobbled together. The Captain's expression slid from interest to concern to anger and finally to complete frustration.

"Do you know how many calls I've had about your Keystone Kop performance down there?" Silence. "One from almost every member's lawyer, that's how bloody many!"

"Not just Stoneman?" Jerry blurted innocently.

The Captain trained a hostile look at the big man, his stubby finger coming up in a warning.

"But, sir, Greenbaum. What about Greenbaum? He pulled a gun on us and fled."

"That, Bettmeir is the only thing keeping me from canning your ass!" He dropped the finger, ignoring Asper. "Since you found nothing in the club and nobody other than Chester Hargrave, who by the way had a relapse this morning and is only a step or two from crossing over, has given you anything that backs up this cut and paste theory of yours, the fact that Greenbaum ran out leaves you both a very thin lifeline."

"We can't even put out an APB, Greenbaum doesn't exist on any database.' Jerry moaned. "The only person left that could help was some woman called, Cropmaster and we don't know any more about her. Even the people that work at the club don't know her name."

"There's that doorman, Jared something. The woman that let us in doesn't know his last name. The place is a secret society, boss." Bettmeir whined.

The Captain seemed to be ignoring them as he sorted through a pile of reports on his desk.

"Did you say Jared?"

"Yes, sir."

"Describe him."

"Forty-five or so. Five, ten or eleven. Dark slicked back hair, blue eyes. Pale skin. Ultra thin."

"And he weighs about ten pounds." Jerry added.

The Captain slid a slow look at him. "Ten pounds."

"He was very thin, boss." Bettmeir offered.

The Captain tossed a sheet across the desk and the two men huddled over the sheet. "That sound familiar?"

"Well yeah, it does but what the hell...?"

"He was discovered trussed up in a stall in a women's washroom at the Skyway mall. His name is Jared Weiss. When they cut him down he could barely stand, apparently someone had battered his plumbing pretty badly."

"That's a long way from here, sir."

"And you mention that because?"

Bettmeir shrugged his ignorance. "Just seems funny he'd be way down there."

"Funny or not I'd suggest you get over to the three-five and get some answers."

"Jesus! Think he was peepin' at the wrong person?"

"I wouldn't know but if this is your guy I expect some useful results—remember both your asses are on the line on this one."