The nightclub was dim and yellow. The singer wore a bronze dress made of bangles, her hoarse voice crackling through the microphone. Behind her, the jazz band wore tuxedos shining as bright as their instruments.
Round tables with white tablecloths dotted the club. In the center of the sea of tables, there was a dance floor. The men wore suits like the members of the jazz band. The women wore dresses similar to the singer's which shimmied and clanked as they danced. Waiters poured champagne into towers of glasses and patrolled the room with trays.
A woman that looked around eighteen sat at a table with a champagne glass in her hand. Her dress was tan and covered in white and gold beads. A circular silver pendant with a red gem at the head hung on a chain from her neck. Her fingers, which were gloved in white silk, drummed against the table as she sipped her drink with the other hand.
"May I join you?"
The woman looked up at the man who had approached her and nodded after a moment. Her face remained blank. He slipped into the seat beside her, and his shoes squeaked against the wood of the floor. The woman was silent.
"She's good, isn't she?" The man inclined his head toward the stage. "Gloria has quite the voice."
The woman sipped her champagne.
"Do you like her?"
"Gloria is talented," the woman said. She had a British accent.
The man watched the woman's fingers drum. "Name's Stefan Salvatore. What's yours?"
"Polly Richards."
"That's a pretty name."
She shrugged and raised her eyes to the singer on the stage. A waiter with a tray came by the table. Stefan wrapped his fingers around a glass and thanked the waiter. "Would you like one?" he asked his companion. She shook her head, tilting her own glass in explanation. The waiter left.
"I know about you, Miss Richards," Stefan said after he tasted his drink.
She inclined her head at him. "You do?"
"Oh, yes. I've heard of your business. It's very popular among the men of Chicago."
"This line of work always is." She gave the ghost of a smirk, but it vanished so quickly it was almost unnoticeable.
There was a pause. "Good champagne, wouldn't you say?" Stefan asked.
"Not the best drink I've had," she said.
Stefan raised his eyebrows. He leaned slightly toward her. "What is the best drink you've had?"
The smirk flitted back onto her lips, lingering for a moment longer than it had before. "I couldn't say."
Stefan stroked his glass. "Then it isn't certain that you've had a better drink, is it?"
"I didn't say that." Her thumb and forefinger rubbed a tassel of her dress. She looked at Stefan from under hooded eyes before turning to him with a sudden movement. "You came over here for a reason, Mr. Salvatore. What do you want?"
"I sat with you due to courtesy, my dear. I did not want that pretty face to drink alone." Stefan inclined his glass toward her. "And curiosity. I was merely wondering if your services would perhaps be available to a gentleman such as myself."
She tossed her head back and laughed. It was an odd gesture, shattering the placid demeanor that had weighed down her skin. "It's always about that, isn't it."
Stefan cracked a smile and drank. The woman next to him raised her own glass to her lips for just a moment before answering his unasked question. "Two hundred. Not a dollar less."
He raised his eyebrows. "A bit expensive, isn't it?"
"I always stick to my prices. If you want to find a woman who asks for less, you are welcome to do so."
"Now why would I do that?" Stefan tilted his head. "I am aware that you are good in this line of work."
"You have heard correctly," she said, but her face was still impassive.
Stefan reached into the inside pocket of his coat, retrieved a wad of cash, and laid it on the table."There's two hundred in that pile. You can trust me."
She touched the money so gently it was almost not a touch at all, but rather an exchange of air. "I do not trust anyone, Mr. Salvatore. I'll have to count it."
"As you wish."
She took the money and shuffled through the bills on her palm. When she was satisfied, she turned back to Stefan. "Well, Mr. Salvatore? What would you like to do?"
"I'd like for us to dance," Stefan said, "and then I think we should go to my apartment."
The singer's voice escalated in volume behind them. A couple spun around and around their table, the female's dress flying out like a fan. Stefan extended a hand to his companion. Her face was aflame in the glow of the nightclub's lights. She let her hand fall in his and the two of them stood.
Stefan led her away. The woman did not know that Stefan was planning to lead her to her death, and likewise Stefan did not know that his companion was intending the same for him: Two predators mistaking each other for prey.