The woman pulled a couple of beers from a refrigerator and then reached for a bottle of Scotch on a glass shelf. Glenlivet. Speyside single malt, aged eighteen years. Just like half the girls employed by the Tahiti Club. The whiskey was better than decent. The bartender poured a double, added a splash of water.

Holliday winced. “You take American Express?”

The woman smiled. “Plastic or paper is fine by me, honey.”

Johnny Blue was around the same age as Ace Freeman and Hopper but fitter and sharper than both. He was small and wiry and alert, like he’d been a bantamweight boxer or at least a decent street brawler in his youth. Silver hair and matching mustache. A chunky gold necklace and a big Rolex watch. The Rolex might have been the real deal, or it might have been purchased from a Venice Beach hawker. Jessica’s money was on the former. The lapels on his blue satin shirt were too big, the hems on his cream slacks a little too wide. If he had wheels parked in the lot outside, her best guess would be a Mustang or a Pontiac Firebird.

Johnny Blue was clearly a man with a taste for all things retro, except when it came to women, judging by the way he was eyeballing the young blonde onstage.

Jessica and Holliday each took one of the seats facing him, blocking his view of the girl.

“Mind if we join you?” Holliday asked.

Johnny Blue kept his expression poker-face neutral. No hint of surprise or worry or even curiosity.

Holliday pushed the whiskey toward him. “Glenlivet.”

Johnny Blue picked up the glass, sniffed it, and nodded like he approved.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Holliday produced the photo of Eleanor Lavelle from the back pocket of his jeans. Placed it on the table. “You recognize this girl?”

“You cops?”

“No,” Holliday said.

“Private?”

“Yes,” Jessica said.

Johnny Blue paused for a beat. Then said, “Yeah, I recognize her. She was a dancer here a long time ago. Eleanor something. I don’t remember her surname.”

Holliday and Jessica exchanged glances.

“You mind if we ask you a few questions about her?” she said.

Johnny Blue picked up the whiskey Holliday had placed in front of him. He took a small sip, closed his eyes, licked his lips, and sighed with satisfaction.

“The thing that makes this Scotch so unique is the mix of casks,” he said. “American and European oak, first and second fill.” He opened his eyes. “A rich fruity aroma with toffee notes and a burst of sweet oranges with a spicy finish.” He smiled, exposing a gold tooth. No doubt also the real deal. “The thing is when I do a lot of talking, it makes me thirsty.”

Holliday sighed, withdrew a ten from his wallet, dropped it on the table.

Johnny Blue glanced at the dollar bill and looked at Holliday. “I mean real thirsty.”