7. Roman
SEVEN
ROMAN
WHEN I ARRIVE TO THE WORN metal door of Club Lotus, I double check the streets, making sure that Henson doesn’t have anyone watching the front of the club. This negotiation will only work if I catch him off guard. I make sure that my sidearm is securely concealed under my jacket, that I have the contract in my hands, and my phone is on vibrate. The door is open and so I immediately walk straight into the big jelly belly of security.
“What do you want?”
“Where’s Henson?” I ask the four hundred-pound, bald-headed man giving me the screw face.
“He wasn’t expecting you.”
“He’ll want to talk to me. I’ll be at the bar pouring myself a shot of something.”
Club Lotus looks like a bomb was set off inside. That’s what happens when hundreds of people panic in a closed area. Expensive sound equipment is ruined. Chairs are broken. Tables are on their sides. The floor is littered with glass, napkins, and random things like shoes and lighters.
Doesn’t anybody clean up in here? It’s been over seven damn days.
I’m reminded of last week when I was sitting in this same corner and spotted Elizabeth as she entered the club. I’d been watching the door all night, because I was waiting for the women I hired to take their positions and begin our very much-orchestrated disruption. I’m not easily distracted from work, especially when it comes to tits and ass, but this was no normal woman.
She didn’t belong here.
She didn’t seem polished or pretentious, as most of the women here, although she was definitely classy. It was also obvious that she wasn’t on the hunt for some dick for the night, like many of the overworked and high-strung young career women who frequented the club.
She was new. It was clearly her first time, and it irked me a little that her friend left her by herself. Men have radar when it comes to that type of shit. I could already see a half-dozen men plotting on her spectacular ass by the time she took the dance floor. Did I mention that I am an ass man?
And then when she closed her eyes and started swaying those hips of hers to the rhythm of the music, I nearly lost my shit. I thought to myself, that if I wasn’t on a job, how I’d walk up behind her and slide my hand down the front of her jeans inside her panties. Or maybe she wasn’t wearing any panties? Hell, that would be even better.
I’d rub her out right on the dance floor and just wish a motherfucker would say something about it. She’d moan out a plea for me to stop or to not stop right as she climaxed, but that’s when I’d turn her around and put my mouth over hers to swallow that orgasm for her and keep it only between us.
I had been way deep inside my fantasy when I noticed some punk kid come up behind her on the dance floor. Dancing behind her ass, a little too close for my taste. It was almost as if he was in my head and was acting out all the things I wanted to do to her myself.
I swallowed another shot of Jack and gritted my teeth when he placed his palm on the side of her waist. The deep-seated anger that I’ve been able to carefully keep in check and bring forward only on command was threatening to rise up. That new thing snaking in my chest was constricting my airway. Challenging me to do something about the kid. I tightened my fists as I silently dared the little man-child to touch her just one more time. If he did, I was going to have to come out of the shadows and wring his fucking neck.
It wasn’t part of the night’s plan though, so I forced myself to calm down. I gave things another minute to play out and relaxed a little when I noticed that the object of my fantasies had it handled. She whispered something in the kid’s ear, and he left with his tail between his legs; and fuck if she didn’t look sexy as hell when she did it. I had to keep reminding myself that I was there for business, while I silently gawked at the first woman to ever hold my rapt attention.
Ever.
* * *
“Masterson.”
“Henson.”
Henson was a man in his late forties who had probably spent every dime he had on purchasing and promoting Club Lotus into what it is today. We already knew of each other somewhat because of my presence in other events around the city, and we didn’t exactly like each other.
Unfortunately for him, my father had his eyes set on acquiring Club Lotus and there wasn’t much a man like Henson could do about it. He didn’t have enough money, and he didn’t have enough clout to deal with the likes of Joseph Masterson.
“What do you need?” he asks me stiffly. “As you can see, the club is closed until I can clean this shit up.”
“With three women in the hospital due to injuries they sustained here last week, I’d assume you were closed indefinitely. Don’t you have Philly PD and every other agency in this city breathing down your neck right now?” I ask smugly.
“You seem to know a lot about my business. Matter of fact, I heard you were in the club that night. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you who set off the goddamn pepper spray.”
“Watch your mouth, asshole.”
“Then what the hell do you want?”
“I want to help you solve your problem.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I have a buyer for the Lotus.”
“A buyer?” he asks, as if he’s insulted. “I’m not selling.”
“You are selling and you know why?”
He’s glaring at me, but lets me continue without interruption.
“Because you have no choice. You’re going to get sued for what happened in here last week, and I know you don’t have the money to pay those women. Your liability insurance has lapsed, and you are barely paying the mortgage on this place as it is. You’re also about to lose your liquor license, which as you know will kill your bottom line faster than anything else. My buyer is willing to take on all your debts and all the risk. All you need to do is walk away.”
“Walk away with WHAT cocksucker!”
Masterson
“Debt free. Lawsuit free.”
Henson sneers. “I need more than my debt cleared to give someone all of this.”
“All of what? Look around. Really look Henson. What do you actually have now? Bills. Expenses. Headaches.”
Henson looks around the club that he’s built over the last five years with sad eyes. In my work there’s no room for compassion or pity, so even though his eyes are getting glassy, I don’t feel even the smallest pang of guilt for basically robbing him blind. We’d be getting a prime piece of center city real estate for essentially nothing, which is good business 101. Of course we’d have to deal with the inevitable lawsuits headed our way, but Joseph can handle all of that with a phone call. Politicians in this town are notoriously crooked and can easily be bought.
“Who’s the buyer?” he asks me what’s basically a rhetorical question.
He already knows who my father is and what he’s been up to in the real estate scene around the city, but I’ll play his game. I down the rest of my shot and slam the shot glass on the counter.
“I’m the buyer’s proxy and the offer is up in twenty-four hours. Call me when you’re ready. By the way, who was working the door that night?”
Before he answers, he stares at me for a moment, and gives me a look that seems to imply how dare I ask him anything after the shit I just pulled.
“Puma.”
He points to the big dude that let me in tonight.
“Remember, twenty-four hours.” I say.
“I heard you, asshole.”
That’s when I know I’ve got him. He’s definitely going to call within the hour.
Puma watches me with great disinterest as I walk towards his direction, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve decided. If I can’t get Elizabeth off my mind, then I need to find her. I made a mistake by letting her get in that cab without tasting her at least once. I need to remedy that shit right now.
“What do you want?” Puma asks in an extra deep voice.
Fat dudes always have to act tough. It’s amusing to me. “Last Saturday. I need someone’s info.”
“A member or a guest?” He looks over to Henson for some sort of sign that it’s okay to give me the information I’m asking for.
“A guest.”
“I don’t have that.”
“Why?”
“The members are in a database on the computer in the office. The guests that night were all written in the red book. That book has been long gone. It’s missing or destroyed. Can’t find it in this mess.”
“Wait–she came with a member.”
“You know the member’s name?”
Damn ... what did she call the skinny chick that night?
“No.”
“Then you’re shit out of luck, homie.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.