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Chicago snowmobile boys were laying down some big bucks, it might get pretty raunchy. That’s when we step in.”
    Osborne watched the woman open her legs and semi-straddle one of the customers, her breasts deliberately sweeping his face. “That’s not raunchy?”
    Again Lew studied the action. “A little raunchy but that’s table-dancing. She’s wearing her G-string.” Lew turned away, but Osborne watched for another few beats of the music.
    “What would you say if one of
your
daughters did that?” asked Osborne, looking for a chatty way to fill the time and relieve his anxiety. He didn’t really care if young women he didn’t know danced naked or not.
    Lew let his question hang in the air for a few seconds. She set her glass of water down on the counter quite precisely and crossed her arms. “One did, Doc. Suzanne.”
    “Oh.” Osborne felt a slow flush move from his neck, up past his ears to his cheeks.
Now, why on earth did you have to say that, you dumkof!
he cursed himself silently.
    “That’s okay,” said Lew, spotting his embarrassment and reaching over to give his hand with a friendly, forgiving tap. She had a brisk way about her, and it was clear she was ready to resolve this little issue and put it behind them as quick as possible. She slipped a small napkin under her water glass and leaned forward, her arms folded on the bar.
    “Yep, Suzanne had a rough streak for a while there.” Her tone was very chatty. Apparently, she didn’t mind talking about it, which made Osborne feel a little better. “I don’t know if you remember, but she married one of those Walker boys right out of high school, had twins four months later, a divorce six months after that and no money. Nineteen years old, no money, two kids, no future, right?”
    Osborne nodded. “Those Walker boys” were three wiry little toughs who’d terrorized high school shop teachers, brandishing hammers when informed they weren’t allowed to work on their cars during class time, and grew up to be weekly regulars in bar brawls. They were the kind of guys for whom he did full-mouth bridge work, including removing seriously decayed teeth and all paid for by welfare, only to have them die in drunk driving accidents—or brawls—a few months later. All that good dentistry right down the drain. Marriage to one of those jerks was worse than no future.
    “The mill offered her a job, but she couldn’t make enough to cover day care. Then, she heard what the Thunder Bay girls were making and ended up getting an offer she couldn’t refuse. She worked the six to eleven shift, I watched the kids, and the money she made she saved. And she made
good
money. But she was a dancer, she was
only
a dancer,” Lew said pointedly.
    She lowered her voice, “I know people think the women who dance here are all hookers, but if they are, it’s strictly on their own. The management does not allow it on the premises. That’s what keeps Thunder Bay from becoming a real dive. The minute you let that other stuff happen, you’ve got problems with the mob, with law enforcement, with hysterical wives. You get an element you can’t control. I’ve been doing this job for seven years now. I know what goes on.
    “Suzanne worked here about a year, and the money made it possible for her get out of town and back to school. She met a nice guy down in Milwaukee, and she’s married and doing just great now. She’s a CPA—makes fifty-two thousand a year.” Lew beamed.
    Then she paused, took a slow sip from her can, and chuckled. “You never know, you know. Suzanne was my little one who played the Madonna in the Christmas play in third grade.”
    “I remember,” said Osborne—and he sure did. “She got the part instead of my daughter Mallory—we certainly had the weeping and gnashing of teeth in our house over that. But Suzanne did a very nice job.” Truth was, he knew Mallory never did understand how she’d lost out to Suzanne. Nor did her mother.
    Osborne took