‘Excuse me. It was very nice meeting you, scout. Enjoy your evening at Club Topaz.’
‘Thank you, Tasha.’ She rose and walked past the wiry guy, who turned to leave.
Whit said, ‘Excuse me.’
The guy turned back to him and gave him a smile cold as ice. ‘Yes?’
‘I’d paid for her to sit with me for a bit,’ Whit said. ‘I believe I’m due a partial refund since you’ve whisked her away.’
‘Whisked,’ Cold Smile said. His bad-mood scowl deepened. ‘Sorry. No refunds.’
‘How about a favor instead?’ Whit said. ‘Where could I find Eve Michaels?’
Cold Smile sat down across from him.
‘I understand she’s involved in the management of the club,’ Whit said.
‘Not really. Why were you looking for her?’ Cold Smile did not have the look of a club thug. Nice suit, conservative haircut, a rep tie over a pale blue shirt. But a freshly swelling lip, like he’d taken a punch in the past hour.
‘What are you, her receptionist?’ Whit asked.
Now Cold Smile didn’t smile. ‘What’s your name? I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.’
‘Never mind my name. My business with her is private.’
Cold Smile looked at Whit as though trying to fit him into an odd equation. ‘Well, come with me, buddy. I’ll take you to her.’
Whit glanced through the strobing lights over at Gooch. Desire O’Malley, the wild Irish rose, shimmied out a lap dance for Gooch.
‘You want to go or not?’ Cold Smile said.
This was happening too fast. Being taken before his mother. But he thought of his dad and he stood up. His stomach felt like it was left behind in the chair.
‘This way,’ Cold Smile said and Whit followed him, moving past the velvet rope and upstairs toward the suites. Whit glanced back at Gooch, couldn’t see his friend’s face, obscured by Desire’s smooth back.
The second floor had the reddest, richest carpet that Whit had ever seen, and they made no noise as they went along a row of doors with gold numbers gleaming on them. Cold Smile knocked on number five, opened it, peered in.
Here we go, Whit thought, Hi, Mom. He followed Cold Smile inside.
But the room was empty.
Cold Smile grabbed the back of Whit’s neck in a pincer hold, working the nerves and carotid like dough with his other hand. Whit gasped, the air in his lungs thickening into jelly. One arm went around his throat. Then he felt the unwelcome jab of a gun into the small of his back.
‘I pull the trigger,’ Cold Smile said, ‘and you’re riding a wheelchair for the rest of your life.’
Whit held his breath. Not hard; he barely had any air left.
‘It’s not been a good day at the office,’ Cold Smile said in a low growl. ‘I want to know why you’re looking for Eve, and I want to know in the next five seconds. Five. Four. Three-’
‘She owes me money,’ Whit said. It was the first thing that came to his mind, a blast of lightning through his brain.
The gun didn’t waver from nestling against his spine. ‘For what?’
Whit’s mouth dried. ‘I had money I needed moved offshore, cleaned up.’ Harry had said his mother worked in mob finance, this was a possibility. ‘But she didn’t return my money.’
‘That bitch is freelancing now?’ Cold Smile said. ‘Turn around.’
Whit did and Cold Smile socked him dead-on in the face and Whit staggered back. He closed his hand into a fist and lurched forward but the gun’s cool barrel abruptly pressed against his forehead.
‘How much money?’ Cold Smile said.
‘What does it matter to you?’ Whit said. The guy was being too artful, too fancy in his handling of the gun, in his stance right now, like he held a sword’s tip at Whit’s throat. Enjoying it now, not being brisk and businesslike.
The door eased open behind him.
‘Room’s taken,’ Cold Smile called, not glancing back. ‘Try one down, please.’ Spicing his voice with a little friendliness.
‘But I like this room.’ Gooch slammed the door behind him. Locked it. A knock immediately followed, a young woman’s voice barely audible on the other side of the door. ‘It’s the dorks-with-guns room.’
‘Get out, man.’ Cold Smile darted a glance back at Gooch but pushed the barrel’s point deeper into Whit’s forehead.
‘I will. And I’m gonna go straight back to Detroit and have a little talk with Joe Vasco. You know him. The guy who ran the Bellinis out of Detroit.’
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Your better half,’ Gooch said. ‘You shoot my friend, Vasco’s guys fly down from Detroit, take your stringy ass out to the bayous, and feed you to the gators a pound at a time. Shouldn’t take more than three or four days for you to die.’
‘Vasco,’ Cold Smile repeated.
‘Yeah,’ Gooch said. Cold Smile lowered the gun. Whit didn’t move. The gun wasn’t screwed into his skull now. He started breathing again.
‘What’s your name?’ Cold Smile asked.
‘What’s yours?’ Gooch said.
‘They call me Bucks,’ the guy said.
‘Bucks?’ Gooch asked, a smile on his face for the first time. ‘As in money, or as in rhymes with fucks and sucks, like you’re a prison bitch?’
‘As in money,’ Bucks said in a dead cold voice.
‘I’m Leonard.’ It was Gooch’s real first name, rarely used. ‘The guy you’re threatening is Michael.’ It was Whit’s middle name, never used.
‘And you’re from Vasco?’
‘You’re catching on quick. Is calculus your hobby?’ Gooch asked.
‘I’ll go get Paul.’
Gooch shook his head. ‘No need to rush to Paul and tell him we’re here.’
‘He doesn’t know?’
‘That’s the way Mr Vasco wants it. Ever since Tommy’s in the hospital, Vasco’s wanting to see what Paul does. Wants to make sure he’s sticking by the agreement. Staying out of Detroit. Staying out of the business. No drug dealing, no money cleaning, no illegal activities.’
Bucks frowned. ‘Whatever we’re doing in Houston is frankly none of Mr Vasco’s concern.’
‘Pull your head out of your Brooks Brothers ass, son. If we tell Mr Vasco that Paul is stepping out of bounds, getting into lines of work that aren’t his to go into, then he’ll send a few ill-tempered gentlemen to straighten you dinks out and you’ll be one unhappy, mostly dead wanna-be,’ Gooch said.
‘That’s assuming you get back to Detroit,’ Bucks said, and Whit saw the momentary fear leave the man’s face, replaced by brittle anger. Gooch had gone too far.
‘Man, cool it,’ Whit said. He glanced at Gooch. ‘You cool it, too. Let’s talk, all right?’ His face ached and the skin under his eye was already beginning to throb. He was going to have a shiner, and a sudden rage boiled at him. This guy knew his mother, saw her, knew her business. He wanted to pound his fist into Bucks’ mouth.
‘Why’d you lie about the money? Why didn’t you say you were from Vasco?’ This thought, moments late, made Bucks’ voice rise and he turned back to face Whit. Gooch’s fist slammed into the back of Bucks’ head, drove him down to the floor.
‘Because you’re nothing but an ass wiper.’ Gooch made his voice more growl than talk. ‘Because we don’t owe you an explanation. You understand me?’
Whit knelt, took Bucks’ gun from him. Now pounding rocked the door, a key fumbled in the lock. Whit placed the gun on the table, his hand near it.
Two thick-necked guys came into the room, staring at Gooch, at Whit with his clearly just-punched face, at Bucks now sitting on the floor.
‘What’s going on, Bucks?’ one asked.
‘Friends of mine,’ Bucks said, ‘playing a joke on me. Everything’s fine.’ He gave a nervous little laugh.
The two muscles looked at Gooch and Whit again.
‘Sorry I had to keep Miss O’Malley out of the room after she brought me up,’ Gooch said. ‘Part of the joke.’
The two muscles looked at Bucks.
‘Nicky, it’s fine. It’s cool. Tell Desire we’ll give her a big tip for her trouble,’ Bucks said, standing.
‘Yeah, I got a big tip for her,’ Gooch said, and now the men laughed.