Sandra Hill - [Jinx 03] Read Free

impossible to obtain without careful vetting. How Bruce had obtained hers she didn’t want to know.
    The big bruiser studied the card, then stepped aside and held the door open for her. She could hear soft music up ahead . . . no bump and grind sordid business here. A hostess, who could have passed for a runway model in a trendy culottes outfit, inquired, “Black, white, or blue?”
    “Huh?”
    A light smile tugged at the hostess’s lips. “First time here?”
    Celine nodded.
    “The black room is for men wanting to hook up with a woman. The white room is for women wanting to hook up with a man. And the blue room is for men and women, together, wanting to hook up with . . . whatever.”
    At Celine’s confused look, she elaborated, “
Ménage à trois,
honey.”
    Oh, good grief!
Celine hoped she wasn’t blushing. “White, please.”
    She wondered with a suppressed giggle how another reporter, Dane Jessup, was going to handle this situation when he did his part of the story tomorrow night. The gay male angle. Besides that, if Celine was a geek, Dane was dweeb to the max.
    Soon she was seated at a small round table in the back of the room with an empty chair across from her. An in-house phone sat in the center. There was subtle lighting and the atmosphere of an upscale bar, that image heightened by the soft rock being played by a two-piece band. No Chippendale style dancers here or bare-chested waiters. A female waitress in a perfectly respectable black uniform asked if she wanted a beverage. They only cost ten dollars a pop . . . and that was for pop.
    The ratio of men to women in the room was about five to one, with about two dozen women sitting at the various tables. Several were on the small dance floor with attractive men. Most of the men wore suits, or sport coats over khakis, or golf shirts tucked into pleated slacks. A few wore jeans, but they were combined with tucked-in, button-down dress shirts. No cowboys or construction workers. Subtlety again. Those men not partnered on the dance floor or at tables leaned against the two bars, nursing drinks. Or leaned against a far wall. A few glanced her way with interest.
    It looked like a singles club. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
    But then she opened the “menu” in front of her . . . and felt like crawling under the table.
    Welcome to the Playpen. We are here for your enjoyment. Please study the menu below. Then look around the room. If you see anyone you like, pick up the phone and indicate your choice. Only then will you be approached. If after talking to one of our men you change your mind, you can make another choice. Accommodations are upstairs, or off-site arrangements can be made. Good luck!
    This was followed by a menu of services that were available . . . very detailed descriptions . . . with prices. She wasn’t sure she even knew what some of these things were, and for sure there were some she’d never done or had any desire to do. Eeew!
    After the waitress plopped her whiskey sour down on the table, and Celine had taken a big gulp, she braced herself. It was only pretend on her part. It was just a story. She’d done worse things to get a scoop. Well, no, she hadn’t, but it was important that these outrageous activities be exposed. Especially since the Dixie Mafia was rumored to be involved.
    Morphing into professional mode, she made mental notes of what she’d seen so far and decided she would “interview” three different men before making her escape following a trip to the ladies’ room. Bruce might want her to take one of them upstairs, to see how it was done, but no way was she going that far. Pressing one of the roses in her brooch to launch the zoom lenses, she began a slow scan of the men from right to left.
    Some of the prostitutes looked downright dangerous. Way too blatantly sexual for her tastes.
    Okay, the young blond man would be her first. Extra long hair in a low ponytail. Clean cut. Wearing a light blue Oxford-collared shirt,