Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) by Harry Hoge, Bill Walls

man in the chair was dressed in an expensive suit, and
had shocking long white hair, combed in an elegant style—no part, swept back
and blocked. The man looked familiar, but Frank couldn't place it. A
once-robust face, sagging with age. Frank decided that exercise and cosmetics
were losing the battle with Father Time. Wrinkles, bags under wide brown eyes,
and heavy jowls gave the appearance of cookie dough that had been slapped
against the wall.
    Behind the chair, leaning on the handles, ready to push on,
was a tall man with close-set green eyes and salt and pepper hair drawn into a
ponytail. He wore a plain gray suit with a red tie that was meant to downplay
the massive shoulders of one familiar with working out at the gym. Both men
gave Frank more study than was normal under such circumstances. The man in the
chair then broke out into a broad smile, nodded and offered, "Good
day." The disguised gorilla pushed the chair around the corner and out of
sight.
    Frank pondered the odd encounter for a moment, shrugged and
pushed into the heavy glass door of the Ha Ha House. Bright lights met him. He
glanced at his watch -
    5:30; not yet ready for prime time. On either side of the
entrance were posters similar to the one he'd seen in Nguyen's apartment: two
men and two women. Below each poster was the time of their nightly appearance.
Frank did a quick assessment and decided each act ran thirty minutes. Allowing
time for breaks, the headliner came on at 11:00, and after that was an
innocuous ad for '"Dips and Dolts— first time tyros bidding for
recognition."
    Frank stood on a floor that surrounded a pit, like one meant
for an orchestra in front of a stage, except this pit was much larger and was
filled with various forms of seating and imbibing. A padded bench swept around
the back of the pit with a counter in front, and two aisles for access to the
pit's floor. Here were tables and chairs spread around designed to be united or
separated to occupy various numbers of people — two, four, six, eight and so
on. He recognized the arrangement from Nguyen's demo video.
    The upper floor where Frank stood was wide enough in the
middle for additional tables if they were needed for a large crowd. At the
moment, it was bare and tapered both to the right and the left. Two closed
doors were at both ends. In each case, one door had a smiling drama mask, one
with long hair and the other with a crew cut - obviously restrooms. Beside each
restroom door, was another with "PRIVATE" on a brass plaque. At the
widest part of the floor was a well stocked bar. On either side of the bar, platforms
were suspended from the ceiling to provide for spotlights, cameras, or whatever
might be needed to enhance or film the workers on the stage. The only people
apparently in the place besides Frank, were two women working behind the bar.
One, a blonde, was washing and stacking glasses, the other, current hair color
unknown, was bent over deep into a stainless steel beer case loading it with
brown bottles. Frank headed for the bar.
    "We really aren't open yet," the blonde smiled.
"But for you, good looking, I'll let you sit on a stool and wait."
    "How long of a wait?" Frank asked. The blonde
checked her watch. "We open at six, but nothing starts happening until
seven or seven thirty."
    "I need to ask a couple of questions," Frank
replied as pulled one of Nguyen's photos from his pocket and held it out to the
barmaid. "Do you recognize this man?"
    The blonde's face turned sad. Not the bereft sad, Frank
realized, that she would have used had she known that Nguyen was dead, more of
a happy sad used by people who knew a friend had left them and would not be
coming back.
    "Oh, yes. Monkey. I miss him already."
    The second bartender straightened from the cooler. She was
taller than Frank had guessed. Her expression told him she'd made him for a
cop, but probably thought, because of her guilty look and the way she fussed
with her long, unfurled, auburn hair, that he was