“Where the hell is Chip?”

Chance had been waiting until the last moment to board the helicopter transport, growing more and more concerned at the absence of his brother.

He’d called Chip’s cell phone multiple times and left several texts, all with no response.

He was now questioning Trey, who was probably closest to Chip out of all the fellow returnees.

“No idea, but he better get his ass here soon,” Trey replied, shrugging.

Dammit!

Chance thought back to Chip’s casual suggestion from two weeks ago and his frustration settled in.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Chip?

Chance knew that Chip was fairly susceptible to an opportunistic scheme that might put a little money in his pocket. He also knew that Chip had very good reasons for not doing something that goddamned stupid.

Finally, it was boarding time. Chance looked back, hoping that Chip might be busting his ass to make it to the helicopter, after being caught in traffic or oversleeping or some other reason that wasn’t his worst fear.

“You comin’?” the last crew member asked as he boarded.

Chance looked back and forth between the helicopter and the area behind them.

Then he made his decision.

* * *

“What in the world are you doing here?” his mother asked as she stared at her oldest son standing on her porch. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and a hint of trepidation.

Even at 58 years old, Katherine cut a striking figure. She had been beautiful in her youth, modeling here and there before she met Jackson McCoy. Chance had seen enough of the pictures of her from before he was born to understand why, even if she was his own mother. Heaven knew he’d had to knock more than a few teeth out of his classmates when he was younger after they made an untoward remark about her.

Today, the platinum blonde hair came mostly from the bottle. The length that once met her lower back, now stopped at her shoulders in a chic bob. Her crystal clear, blue eyes had fine lines around the edges.

“Chip didn’t make it on to the chopper, Ma.”

She took a moment to process that, staring at Chance with unreadable eyes. He had inherited his ability to keep a level head from her. All the same, he could feel the mix of emotions running through her, mostly because he’d gone through the same emotional roller coaster.

“I suppose it would be stupid to ask if you’ve tried calling him?”

“And I interrogated all the guys heading back to the rig. I just wanted to check with you, to see if maybe….”

She just shook her head, and cast her eyes down to the ground to think.

“Did he at least visit you in the past two weeks?” Chance asked. They both made a point to drop in on her at some point during the two weeks they were off.

“He was here, right on schedule, as soon as he got off that chopper. After that I didn’t see him, but I didn’t really expect to.”

“He didn’t happen to,” Chance treaded very carefully here, “mention what he might be up to while he was out here, did he?”

Her eyes shot up quicker than lightning.

Chance tried to remain neutral: relaxed posture; lips turned slightly down at the edges in a mildly questioning frown; smooth brow; hands casually placed in the pockets of his jeans.

Unfortunately, Katherine McCoy had a mother’s instinct for sensing trouble.

“Okay, what’s going on?

“Nothing, Ma, I just—”

“I’m your mother, Chance. Do you think either of you two boys can hide anything from me? Now tell me what’s going on.”

Chance sighed. “He did mention something about us getting off the rig. I think he was taking advantage of Dmitri being dead and all. I thought it was just idle talk. You know how he is. Now maybe I’m thinkin’…he had something going on.”

“Ugh, that boy,” she sighed, bringing one fine hand up to her forehead in frustration. “I swear to God he will be the death of me. Too much like his father for his own good.”

Chance let that one simmer on very low heat.

He watched her quickly recover, transforming into the woman who took action instead of letting life tear her down: deep breath; straightened shoulders; firm set to the lips; a direct look into his eyes.

“You have a better idea of what he gets up to during his two weeks off than I do.”

“I’ll hit up all the usual suspects, see if they know anything,” he said, nodding. “You might want to check with hospitals and the police and such. For all we know he landed himself in jail, which might just be good news.”

“If he’s not in the hospital or jail,” there was a slight pause and a barely noticeable tremor in her voice before she continued on, “I’ll be the one putting him there my damn self!”

That was good. A sense of humor to ease the concern that was running through both of them.

As often as Chance himself was exasperated by his baby brother, he had no wish to see him hurt or locked up or worse.

“Mom, you’re going to probably have to ask around with…” he didn’t need to finish the sentence.

That sharp, icy-blue, look pierced him. Then, it quickly faded as she realized he was right.

“I’ll ask around with my family. If there is anything going on they’ll know about it. ”

He just nodded, knowing how much he was asking of her to tap into the world she was forced to leave behind. But she was Chip’s mother. The thought had no doubt already crossed her mind.

“I should get started,” he said. “If you learn anything, anything at all, let me know. I’ll do the same.”

“I will, sweetheart.”

He brought her in for a fierce hug, both of them holding on to one another as a shield against the dread of the worst case scenario.

Then Chance pulled away and jogged down those front steps that he’d run down since he was a boy.

“Chance?” he heard her call out just as he reached the walkway back to his truck.

He turned back to look at her and saw that fiercely determined woman who’d raised both of her boys when it was only the three of them look more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her.

“I want my baby boy back to me.”

“We’ll find him, Ma.”

* * *

His first stop was to a strip club.

He waited until evening, when the quality of the dancers transitioned from the too-old or too-new parade of hopefuls to the performers who could give the average Playboy centerfold a run for her money.

Even though it was a Monday, any dancer with a head on her shoulders knew that it could potentially be a minor windfall when it came to earning money. Already, the club was sprinkled with the men who had just clocked out from a job they realized they had four more lousy days of. Girls like Crystal offered a tiny glimmer of joy to get them through the rest of the week.

Cherry Bonner, a.k.a “Crystal,” was probably the brightest ray of sunshine in the place.

Chance wasn’t a regular patron of strip clubs. Having grown up in a world that separated a man from his money in the slickest ways possible, he knew a con when he saw one. Strip clubs were right up there with politicians and televangelists when it came to taking advantage of marks.

He’d been there for almost an hour, nursing a glass of bourbon on ice. He was close enough to the stage to be noticed by the dancers, but not so close he was interfering with their income. By now, every woman working in the place figured him for a window shopper not a buyer, and avoided him like the plague. At most, he had thrown a few bucks on stage when it looked like some poor girl wasn’t getting her money’s worth. Chance had a soft spot for hustlers.

All the same, he wasn’t here to play Daddy Warbucks.

Finally, the night eased into prime time, and “Crystal” eventually made her appearance. Although Chance didn’t know too many strippers, he was pretty sure Cherry was one of the very few who had deliberately given herself a stage name that sounded less like a stripper name than her God-given name.

Chance took a moment to reflect on Chip’s taste in women as she worked her body around the pole. His brother definitely had a preference for the cheerleader-cum-Barbie type. “Crystal” was all big, blonde hair and big, fake tits and big, fake smile. Her outfit, prior to removal, was just a bit too reminiscent of a certain franchise out of Dallas. But hey, why not let the men surrounding that stage think they were being privy to a nice little peek at a bona fide cheerleader?

She had ignored Chance while on stage, just like a professional, focusing on the men waving dollar bills instead. When she finished her second set Chance perked up, waiting for his moment. He knew she’d be making the rounds soon enough, looking for $20 lap dances, maybe even a trip to the Champagne Room.

He had positioned himself right next to that stage exit so he’d be the first thing she saw, twenty dollar bill firmly in hand, when she made her appearance.

He saw the momentary bit of startled confusion before recognition set in. Chance and Chip looked remarkably similar in appearance. Same longish, dark-blondish, hair. Same objectively handsome face. When Chance threw on that aw-shucks smile that came so easily to his brother, they might as well have been twins, despite the 3-year age difference.

“Chance?” she asked cautiously as she approached the table.

“Indeed. Care for an easy twenty?” he asked, waving the Andrew Jackson at her.

She gave him a wary moment of consideration, as if debating the moral ramifications of giving a lap dance to the brother of the man she was a little more than friendly with. Then, she shrugged and plastered on a 100 megawatt smile before heading over to sit on his lap.

“The chair opposite me will be fine.” He had no interest in the true purpose of a lap dance, he was strictly here for information.

“The chair opposite you isn’t a lap dance.”

“All the same.”

“Listen,” she said, very matter-of-factly, “I make my living off tips. It isn’t exactly good for business if I’m not advertising what this body can do.”

Fair enough.

“Would an extra twenty dollars help?” he said, reaching for his wallet.

“An extra twenty would make me suspicious as hell. Especially with no lap dance. Does Chip know you’re here?”

He decided to play the trump card.

“Chip is missing. No one has been able to get in touch with him. That’s why I’m here.”

The human brain is fast and efficient, putting even the most powerful supercomputer to shame. Chance worked his at maximum speed, performing a visual autopsy as he processed her reaction to that information. Each tiny tic, twitch, blink, sigh, or other body movement, no matter how small, was analyzed.

And Cherry’s, a.k.a Crystal’s, reaction threw him.

The woman actually cared about Chip, quite a bit as it turned out.

In the five seconds it took him to return to his original purpose—finding Chip—his heart softened her. A stripper with a heart of gold. Chance would have laughed at the cliché quality to it under other circumstances.

Cherry fell into the seat across from him. He slid the two twenties across the table toward her for good measure. No sense in her not earning her way.

“I know he always comes here. I just have to ask, do you recall if he met with anyone? Or maybe he discussed his plans with you or someone he was with?”

He didn’t want to come right out and ask if she’d eavesdropped on any conversation. After all, every swindler needs at least the appearance of propriety. All the same, he was a desperate man. “Cherry—”

“Crystal,” she said, momentarily breaking out of her shock. “Here, you need to say Crystal.”

“Okay, Crystal. Was he here with anyone? Better yet, did you two do any talking?”

She just shook her head in a kind of haze. “No talking.”

Chance waited, letting her memory go to work.

“He had his friend, the big, black guy with him. They’ve come in before together, not as much as they used to. I never caught his name. That one prefers the redheads.”

Ronnie Johnson.

Dammit, Chip!

If Chip had been on probation, Ronnie Johnson would have been a definite violation. The two were thick as thieves, in every sense of the word.

Now he knew Chip was up to no good. Based on that conversation back on the rig, Chance felt legitimately concerned about his brother’s welfare.

“Thanks, Crystal,” he said. That was a strong enough lead to work with.

Something in his face must have set her off. “What the hell is going on here, Chance?”

“I have no idea, but it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Judging by the look on your face, that’s a load of horse shit.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that a stripper might be almost as good at reading people as a poker player.

“Listen, Cherry,” this time she didn’t bother to correct him, “I honestly have no idea what’s up with Chip, but whatever it is, it’s probably with people who aren’t very nice. I doubt it will trickle down to you, but watch your back all the same, especially if they have Russian accents. If it makes you feel any better, you’ve been a great help in figuring this whole thing out.”

As the song transitioned into Scream by Timbaland, he could see that it didn’t make her feel that much better.

Chance slid her another two twenties for her time. After all, she had paid for it tenfold.

“Do you think Chip is okay?” she asked, just staring at the money.

“I hope so,” he responded, “I hope so.”

* * *

“Chance, my man.”

Big and black didn’t even begin to describe Ronnie. He not only had a few inches on Chance’s 6’3” height, he was all muscle and the darkest man he’d ever laid eyes on. Perfect for playing Big Scary Dude in a hustle or serving as protection.

It hadn’t taken Chance long to find him. If Chip spent most of his time at Cherry’s playground, Ronnie spent most of his in the gym. Chance had caught him the next day as he was leaving.

“Ronnie,” Chance responded, giving him a look that told him that the jig was up.

Ronnie just looked at him then gave a laugh. “Don’t even, man. He said you knew about the whole deal in the first place.”

“What deal would that be?”

Now Ronnie looked at him with surprise. “You honestly don’t know?”

Chance just waited, letting him fill in the blanks.

“Well shit, man. He didn’t tell me nothin’ either. Just said he needed me to back him up in something he had going down with someone.”

“But you don’t know who?”

Ronnie just shrugged.

Chance felt his frustration growing. “Okay, word for word. What did he say?”

Ronnie gave him an exasperated sigh. “Word for word: Ronnie, I’ve got a thing going down and I think I might need some protection.”

“That’s it?”

“He said it was probably legit but he wanted me there all the same. He said worst case scenario it may just be someone tryin’ to make sure he knew who was in charge.”

That last earned Ronnie a sharp look. “That’s what he said? Make sure he knew who was in charge?”

“Yep,” Ronnie said, “But then I didn’t hear from him so I guess it was off?”

“He didn’t show up to the rig yesterday,” Chance explained.

Now it was Ronnie’s turn to give Chance a sharp look. “Shit.”

“Exactly. I think I know who it is.”

“Man, who is it? I’m more than happy to deal with them,” Ronnie said. Once again, Chance realized that Chip had a knack for getting people to actually give two shits about him.

“You’ve heard about who has stepped up to take Dmitri’s place?”

They both said the name at the same time: “Leo Petrov.”