Fade to Black

Saturday, I went to the club.

I didn't expect Violet to be there, but I hoped Sugar might.

When you look down on the stage from the railing near the upstairs bar, you can see where the glossy white surface has worn into a dull circle around the front pole—years of high heels tracing the same path.

I arrived around nine. The place wasn't busy. I'd been sitting at the upstairs bar for about ten minutes when the DJ announced Sugar would be on stage in five songs.

When she came up, I walked down to the rail.

"Hey, have you heard from Violet?"

"No. She's not here tonight." She grinned. "Does that mean I get to take you to the back?" Always the salesman, Sugar is.

I slipped a twenty into her G-string. "I guess. I got a story for you."

After she finished making her rounds on stage, she found me upstairs and sat beside me at the bar.

She told me she'd texted Violet a few days earlier but never got a reply.

I told her everything—what happened that night, my theory about the SUV, and showed her the text exchange.

"Now I'm worried," she said.

"Me too."

She said she'd try calling her the next day. Before she went back to work, we exchanged numbers.

"If you hear from her," I said, "just let me know."

She nodded.

It was obvious Sugar had heard more stories about Violet's boyfriend than I had, but she didn't elaborate.

For now, that seems to be the end of the story.

At least the part I know.