paperwork.”
“Better for taxes.”
Salawa blinked. Reaching into his jacket, he slipped on a pair of Maui Jim aviator shades. “He told me it was legal, sir. Whole deal was supposed to be turnkey. Later I found out he was in trouble—my uncle Moussa. Owed a lot of money to a lot of banks, going back to Dubai was an escape. My mom was ready to—she’s totally pissed off, he’s her brother, there’s supposed to be family honor. I ended up with the club and three other parcels but everything had liens Moussa didn’t tell me about.”
I said, “Did Kimby know Moussa?”
“Maybe but he’s not even in Dubai anymore, maybe Abu Dhabi, who knows? And to be honest, sirs, he’s not the killer type, just a sneak. I only remember her because she was one of the better-looking girls. The situation Moussa put me in, I wasn’t exactly getting supermodels.”
Milo said, “Did you ever socialize with the girls?”
Salawa drew himself up. “I’m a married man.” Small smile. “Not exactly a champ at it, this one’s Number Three, but I don’t play those games anymore. You ask anyone about me, they’ll tell you the same.”
I said, “Those problem customers, did any of them hassle Kimby?”
“Not that I heard. You’d have to ask the bouncers.”
“Nothing you noticed yourself.”
“I wasn’t around much,” said Salawa. “Less time I spent there, the better.”
I said, “What can you tell us about Kimby’s personality?”
Salawa let out an exasperated sigh. “These questions, sir. I didn’t know her. Okay, it’s a murder, I get it, you got to ask. But personality? I didn’t give them psychiatric tests. What I can tell you is that when I interviewed her she seemed okay.”
“Okay…”
“Quiet, polite, nothing weird. Not likely to be a pain.” Salawa adjusted a lapel. “If they looked half decent I put some music on and tried them out.”
“Kimby was a good dancer.”
“Actually, sir, not really. She’d move back and forth.” Illustrating with his hands. “Like she was bored. But by that time I just wanted to fill the stage.”
I said, “Did she hang out with any of the other girls?”
Salawa flicked the bottom of his beard. “Maybe I’m not getting it across: I wasn’t involved with any of them.”
Milo and I remained silent.
Salawa said, “I’m not trying to give you attitude, just telling you the truth. Can’t believe she’d go back there. Why would she do that?”
Milo said, “That, Ron, is the question. So no stalkers you’re aware of.”
“No.”
“What about a boyfriend?”
“For all I know,” said Salawa, “she could’ve had a girlfriend. You’d be surprised how many of them swing that way. Wish I could tell you more, she seemed like a nice girl—oh, yeah, here’s something. A couple of times I saw her doing a crossword. Or with a book. Does that help?”
“Everything helps, Ron.”
“Then okay, I helped you. She’s in her costume, waiting to go on, concentrating. Doing this.” Salawa’s upper teeth took hold of his lower lip.
“What was her costume?”
“What was available and fit. I wasn’t exactly running a studio with a huge wardrobe allowance. So what was going on at the place when it happened?”
Milo said, “Wedding.”
“Wow.” Salawa grinned. “Should’ve happened at my first wedding. Bad omen to warn me off.”
Out came Milo’s pad. “The bouncers’ names, please.”
Salawa inhaled. “You guys are going to think I’m hiding something but I’m not. Like with the girls, they were independent, all I remember is first names.”
“Then we’ll take those.”
“Okay…let me try to remember.” Fingers tapped a temple. “The ones back then I think were James and Del…something. DelMar? DelMonte? Del something. You know how they get with their names.”
“They?”
“Black guys. Okay, yeah, here’s something: James had a common last name. Smith, Jones, Brown, whatever.” Salawa shook his head. “Sorry—hey, I can tell you what they looked like. You want that?”
Milo gave him a thumbs-up.
“Okay,” said Salawa. “James was totally bald, Del-whatever had the long stuff—dreds. Big black guys. I think one of them maybe played football. I think Del. Maybe both of them, not sure.”
“Where’d they play?”
Shrug. “I can’t even tell you why the football thing is in my head, maybe he mentioned it. Or someone did. Or I’m wrong. I must sound like an idiot.”
I said, “How old are these guys?”
“Del was in his forties, James was younger—thirties. Huge—arms like a normal guy’s legs. I think he might’ve been gay.”
“Why’s that?” said Milo.
“You know queers,” said Salawa. “No matter how tough they are, sooner or later the way they move, the way they talk. I’m