I pat him on the shoulder. “Well, at least you impress someone,” I say, laughing.
“Piss off… Right, looking at this, the place actually looks open for business…”
“Really? It’s not even noon! Who goes to a strip club before lunch?”
“I imagine it’s not a very diverse group of people,” he offers, smiling. “This does pose a small problem though.”
“Yeah…witnesses. Not counting the customers, how many targets am I looking at?”
He taps away at the laptop and enhances one section of the feed.
“Well, ignoring everyone in the main area, you’ve got two in the office, four in the changing rooms and one behind the bar. And what I can’t see are any security cameras, so I can’t jam the signal I’m afraid.”
“It doesn’t matter. What’s out the back?”
“As you approach the office, there’s a fire exit on the right hand wall. That leads to a sheltered area, then the parking lot.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
I pick up Josh’s baseball cap from the counter and put it on, pulling it low over my forehead. Without another word, I open the back door and jump down to the sidewalk. The cool wind hits me, and the gray skies still threaten a downpour. I turn the collar of my jacket up, dig my hands in my pockets, and set off across the street.
I casually walk through the doors, entering a short corridor with a ticket booth on the left, for people to pay their entrance fee at night. Posters advertising special events in the club cover the walls. I carry on and, at the end, I descend down a small staircase. At the bottom is an un-manned hole-in-the-wall counter on the right for your coats. I walk past it to another set of doors and go through to the main club and bar area. I stand just inside the doors, looking out at the club. There’s a faint smell of stale sweat — presumably the remnants of the previous nights’ activities. There are a couple of steps down, then the club floor spreads out in front of me and away to both sides.
I haven’t had much experience of strip clubs, but inside it looks exactly like I imagined it would. It’s dark, with a pale red glow coming from lights fitted around the walls, enhanced in places by a bright spotlight in the ceiling. I rub my eyes a little to focus, as it’s so gloomy compared to the light outside — it’s taking a moment for them to adjust. To the left is a semi-circular bar, with one very tired looking waiter behind it.
Several low, square tables are scattered all around, each with a number of cheap-looking armchairs around them. On the right is a stage with a pole in the center. There’s a young woman, dressed in quite possibly the smallest bikini I’ve ever seen, spinning herself around, much to the general indifference of the four or five men who are sitting and watching. They look miserable, all approaching sixty and all nursing a glass of spirits. Another woman, also wearing next-to-nothing is strolling around, trying to attract attention. Our eyes meet briefly as I look around and she immediately heads straight for me.
“Hey there, handsome,” she says as she approaches — her New York accent being made to sound as seductive as possible. “I’m Tammy. Are you looking for some company?”
She flashes me a practiced smile and steps in close, stroking my left arm. She has almost-white blonde hair — I’m guessing it’s from a bottle, as her roots are dark — and light blue eyes accentuated by, in my opinion, far too much dark eyeliner. Her lips are glowing red, and her well-looked-after toned body is sun-bed brown. In addition to her bikini…or lingerie or whatever — I’m not sure what you’d call it — she has black heels on, which make her a good three or four inches taller than she actually is. Even so, she barely comes up to my shoulder, so I figure her for five-two or five-three.
I raise an eyebrow slightly as I look at her. There’s no denying she’s attractive. I very much doubt she’s over twenty-one, which makes her less appealing to me, given I’m forty-three in a few months.
“I’m here to see your boss,” I say. “His name’s Tommy Blunt, I believe.”
I know he isn’t here, because I know Trent killed him a couple of days ago, but it’s interesting to see her reaction. To her credit, she never misses a beat, but I see the momentary flash of alarm in her eyes.
“Mr. Blunt isn’t here today, sugar,” she says. Her hand moves from my arm to my chest. “Maybe… I can help you?”
Again with the practiced smile… I’m starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
“What about his right hand man, Jonas Pike? Is he here?”
She takes a step away from me, her entire demeanor suddenly changing — her charms giving way to a defensiveness only seen in the perpetually afraid.
“Okay, who the fuck are you?” she asks, her seductive accent replaced by a very broad Yankee drawl.
“I wouldn’t worry about minor details like that,” I reply. “I just wanna have a word with the man in charge.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that our little exchange has caught the attention of the bartender. I also notice his right hand disappearing briefly underneath the counter. A few moments later, the door Josh mentioned at the far end opens and two guys purposefully walk out, heading straight for me.
The bartender must’ve hit a panic button of some kind…
“Tammy, right?” I say to the woman. “You might wanna take yourself someplace else for a minute.”
She looks over her shoulder at the two brutes approaching, then looks back at me.
“Whatever,” she says with a casual shrug. “It’s your funeral.”
She strides off with an over-emphasized shake of her hips as the two men stop in front of me. Both are dressed the same — a fitted black t-shirt over a steroid-induced muscular torso, with arms covered in bad tattoos. They’re wearing light-blue jeans and black boots, completing the look of a career bouncer.
The one on the left is standing with his arms folded across his chest. He’s about my height, and has a long beard, like a biker. He has a shaved head, with a flame tattoo along the right hand side.
His friend on the right is shorter and more relaxed. I figure he’s the brains; the other guy was the brawn. He isn’t as well built as the first guy, but he’s still by no means small. He’s clean-shaven and looks the younger of the two. He has a baseball cap on, which he’s wearing backward, so I immediately take him as being a massive prick… He’s the one who speaks first.
“Are you harassing one of our girls?” he asks, more professional than confrontational.
“Technically, she was harassing me,” I reply, shrugging casually. “Although I wasn’t about to complain about it.” I look over at her and wink, to give them the impression I’m naïve and more mouth than anything else.
“Looked to us like you were causing problems,” he says.
“I was just asking to speak to the boss, that’s all. I was given the names of either Tommy Blunt or Jonas Pike. They around?”
Both men exchange a concerned glance. Everyone obviously knows about Blunt, but they’re not about to say anything.
“Mr. Blunt’s not here,” he says after a moment.
“I know, Tammy’s already said that. You know when he’ll be back?”
He shakes his head.
“What about Jonas, is he here?”
“Not seen him since last night, actually,” he replies, sounding surprisingly helpful.
“So, who’s in charge right this second?”
The guy on my right shrugs. “Me. Who’s asking?”
“It’s not important who I am. I’m just after some information. You help me out, I’ll leave you all in peace.”
“And if I don’t?” he asks, smirking.
“Then I’ll leave you all in pieces.”
He smiles and looks around. His friend on the left starts laughing.