She parked her Porsche outside an all-women nightclub called “The Siren’s Cave.” She hadn’t been there in over a year, but she was sure the same couple owned and ran the place. When Shannon got out, she appeared to recognize the place. “Been here before?” asked Sandra. “On a date maybe?” she added with a smile.
Shannon’s smile was much softer. “Nuh-… no. On a cuh-… case,” the woman corrected.
The two of them walked up to the door. There was a hulking, almost mannish female at the door. She had to be almost six-feet, four-inches tall and looked to way close to two hundred pounds of solid muscle. Sandra recognized her right away. That was Ruby, and she had been working the door at the club for at least five years. If you weren’t supposed to come in, Ruby stopped you. Apparently, Ruby wasn’t her real name. It was short for Rubicon, and it meant that she was someone you just didn’t cross.
“May I . . .” the woman started in a husky sounding voice. “Ms. Lopez?”
“Hi Ruby. It’s been a while.”
The mountain of a woman picked up Sandra and gave her a big hug. The woman apparently didn’t cling to uptown etiquette. “Tara and Mia were just saying the other day that it’d been too long since we saw you in these parts,” she said, referring to the club’s owners. Sandra had been in their bed once or twice on her way up the corporate ladder, and she had always enjoyed their company and had been a valuable patron in times of need.
“I’d love to talk to them if they’re here tonight.” It was a silly question. Those two were always here. They literally lived here.
“I’ll let ’em know you’re here. And I see you’ve got a guest.” Ruby noticed that there was someone standing close behind Sandra, and that whoever it was had a cap with a police insignia on it. “And a cop? Who . . .” Sandra stepped aside to reveal Shannon, and Ruby had stopped in mid-objection. Did the huge woman recognize the officer, or was she just sizing her up? “I’ll have to ask that you remove the cap ma’am,” Ruby said at last. “We don’t have much of a dress code, but nothin’ that screams gang member or cop. Those tend to make folks a bit nervous.”
Shannon removed her cap, letting her red hair flow. It was then that Sandra noticed a small scar just below the hairline that was usually covered when the cap was on. Shannon actually brushed her hair down in front of that spot as soon as she realized it was exposed. Then she borrowed the keys and went to put the cap back in the car.
Ruby watched her go. “Not someone I’d expect you to be showin’ up with, but what do I know?”
“You know her?”
“Oh yeah. She showed up here a year ago to investigate a robbery that went bad.”
“I remember that,” Sandra said.
“Well, I wasn’t keen on cops, but Mia had told me to make sure to make myself available to her. She wandered around and looked at stuff . . . took a damn long time,” Ruby said. Sandra smiled. She remembered what that felt like. “Meanwhile, a couple bulls decided they wanted to leave even though they’d been told to stick around until the police talked to ’em. They bum-rushed the girl at the door . . . they were going to jack her up something bad . . .”
Sandra interrupted her. “But Shannon stopped them?”
“Is that her name? If it is, then yeah, she stopped them. Never saw anyone move like that in my life.” They stopped talking about the officer as she returned to the door. “So, where you want to sit? Top tier?”
“If you’ve got space available.”
“For you . . . always. Not many people get allowed up there these days. Tara and Mia have gotten picky.” Ruby called another woman over who would escort them to their table.
The inside of “The Siren’s Cave” was an architectural marvel. There was a round stage in the middle of a round dance floor, and there was always a live band performing. There was a single, long bar that encircled almost half of the bottom floor. There was also a spiral walkway that wound its way around the walls. Periodically it would level itself off for a bit and widen, leaving room for tables. A clear, tough-plastic mesh kept drunk people from wandering off the edge. There were about ten leveled-off points or “tiers” on their way up, each tier a little smaller than the last. And the more important you were or the more the owners liked you, the farther up you got to sit. The top tier was actually a platform of clear, thick plastic that protruded into the air about fifty feet over the stage. It was also surrounded by a clear plastic cage, and was generally reserved for preferred guests. Sandra apparently still qualified. They made there way up the long winding road to their table. The club actually had a golf cart that would drive you up, but Sandra wanted to take in the view. They finally arrived, and took a seat at one of only four tables on the tier.
Shannon was able to look straight down on the band through the clear plastic floor. She wondered if that might be a good time to mention that heights made her uncomfortable. She tried to concentrate on the music, which was all right, and on trying to have a pleasant . . . outing.
Sandra ordered a martini and Shannon got a Long Island iced tea. She was wondering if they should both be drinking. She might be forced to arrest both of them if they attempted to drive home.
“Don’t worry. We can call a cab,” said Sandra, reading her “date’s” thoughts. They sat in an awkward silence for a moment. Sandra didn’t want to “thank” Shannon again, as that would sound repetitive. ‘This used to be so much easier,’ she thought. ‘Well, I guess we can try doing this the old fashioned way.’
“So,” she continued. “Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? Tell me about your family. Tell me . . .” Sandra stopped. So far, each statement or question she had made had fallen almost like physical blows on Shannon’s face. Apparently, there were some wounds there. She didn’t know then how many wounds there actually were. “Sorry. Well, let me tell you about . . . me.” Sandra talked about her parents, their business and her life growing up. She talked about her brothers, sisters and cousins. She talked about her schooling, her climb up the ladder of success and her work. Sandra even made reference to the fact that she had used an escort service. Shannon seemed to be listening intently, almost as if she expected to be quizzed on this later. The admission about the escort service got a brief reaction from Shannon, but she quickly regained composure.
The redhead’s face had softened a bit. It had been a really long time since she had done this . . . just sitting with someone and getting to know them. She liked it. And Sandra seemed to be being very open and honest with her. She wondered how much she should share.
“And so I had just gotten back from Texas when I found some guy murdered on my floor,” Sandra was saying. Then a new voice broke through the din.
“We had heard about that and had planned on calling you,” the voice said. Sandra and Shannon turned and saw the owners of the club. The speaker was Mia, a short woman (only five feet tall) with short, spiked black hair, a decent set of curves and piercings all over her stern face. Tara was a foot taller than her counterpart, thin and flat, but with a beautiful face and long black hair. They didn’t make sense as a couple, at least not until you actually met them.
The two of them seemed intimately familiar with Sandra, and both greeted her warmly and briefly discussed her recent tragedy. Shannon just pushed herself into what shadows she could and hoped they didn’t notice her. She was just beginning to think up polite excuses to leave when the owners had to go and greet some other patrons. Sandra kissed both women on the cheek before they left. Then she and Shannon were alone again.
“Planning on going somewhere?”
“Luh-… listen, if you’d rather vuh-… visit . . .”
“Don’t be silly. I came here to get to know you, and that’s what I’d like to do. I understand if you’re not ready to tell me everything, but tell me something. Anything. Just as long as it’s about you.”
Shannon sipped at her drink again. “I . . . I’ve used that escort suh-… service too.” She waited for some kind of “oh my god” reaction, but none came. That gave her some confidence. “I’ve got a tuh-… turtle. His nuh-. . . name is muh-. . . Mr. Ages.” Sandra looked puzzled for a moment, then started to laugh. Shannon started laughing right along. It had sounded rather silly. Then she slowly talked about her job, which university she had attended, her job, stupid criminals she had helped catch or had heard about, her workout routine (which got Sandra tired while just thinking about it), and her hobbies, which included collecting stamps, playing solitaire and fishing.
Sandra noticed that all the things that Shannon did were generally done alone. And she had also picked up on the fact that her companion didn’t talk about anything from before the age of eighteen. Nothing about her family or where she had come from . . . just nothing. But the girl was obviously not used to being open, and Sandra decided not to push the issue. She would have time for that later. Sandra scooted over until she was sitting right next to Shannon. That seemed to make the girl nervous again. Finally, Sandra asked about the article she had read in the police station, and she got a good glimpse into the soul of the woman sitting next to her.
Shannon told her about her first year in CSI. She had been struggling to fit in and earn the respect of her peers. A number of the cops were from the Good-Old-Boy club. Some resented her for being a woman or for getting such a “cushy” position at such a young age. But when people figured out that she was gay, partially due to her complete lack of interest in their slimy advances, things got ugly. Notes were left on her locker with repulsive pictures or comments on them.