14. Chapter 14 #2
Her frown deepened into a scowl before she stood straight.
“Just a moment.” She disappeared into the back for a few minutes, and I continued to take in my surroundings.
Several cocktail waitresses were circling the different high-top tables, each of them clothed similarly to the bartender.
Clothed was a very generous way to describe what they were wearing, but who was I to judge?
The sudden image of what Lucy would look like in one of those outfits flashed through my mind, and I pushed it away.
Heat stirred in my groin as I chastised myself.
A few minutes later, the bartender returned. She walked down to the other side of the bar and lifted the top, meeting me on the other side.
“I’ll take you to him.” She gestured for me to follow and I did.
She led me along the side of the dance floor and behind the DJ booth to a velvet staircase that led to the second level.
Poles were stationed everywhere with starved-looking dancers swaying in a trance.
When we reached a pair of black painted double doors, she pointed with a long acrylic nail. “He’s in there.”
I nodded my thanks to her and then pushed through the doors.
Marty was sitting on a chaise lounge with a long-legged black-haired woman spread naked across it.
His eyes darted to mine as he took the cigarette from her mouth and took a long drag from it.
The room was dark and reeked of sweat, tobacco, and something putrid I couldn’t put my finger on.
He let out a billow of smoke as I approached them.
“Who the fuck are you?” he coughed out mid-puff.
“As I told your employee, I’m a friend.” I came to a still in front of him, his beady eyes taking me in.
He let out a harsh laugh. “You ain’t no fucking friend of anyone.
” He abruptly brushed the woman off him and stood up as she scuttered across the room to put on a slinky green dress and exited through the double doors.
He walked to the doors and clicked the lock before pacing to a cluttered desk and shuffled through a drawer, keeping his eyes on me.
He slipped something into his back pocket and walked back toward me, sizing me up.
It was laughable considering I was at least a foot and a half taller than him, not to mention a lot heavier.
Marty Sanchez was a skinny, greasy-haired weasel of a man with a swath of pockmarks covering his face.
His eyes shifted around in a way that told me he was either on drugs or coming off them.
I remained relaxed as he approached. If this sleaze thought he was a threat to me, he had another thing coming. He stood about five feet away from me.
“You have five fucking seconds”—he reached into his back pocket and whipped out a pistol, aiming it at my forehead—“to tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re in my office.”
I lifted my hands in surrender. “Hey, man, there’s no need for all of that. I’m here because we share a common interest. If you give me a couple minutes, I think you’ll find I am someone that could be very beneficial to your…operations.” Smooth as butter, just like old times.
Marty’s eyebrow lifted. “Who…the fuck…are—”
“Apologies, sir. My name is Dax. I got your name through a mutual acquaintance. He told me you specialize in certain services.” I jerked my head in the direction of the door where the woman exited a few moments ago.
“And I have access to some inventory that might be of ample use to your business.” I kept one hand in the air and reached into the pocket of my leather jacket slowly.
I plucked out a little bag full of white powder.
It was crushed up Tylenol, but he didn’t need to know that. I held the bag between us, shaking it.
“Are you a fucking cop?” His voice was venom, but the gun in his hand was trembling slightly.
“Fuck no.” I kept my composure. “I’m here with a sample, and the hopes to have a civil conversation.” I continued wiggling the bag for a moment.
Marty’s eyes locked on it, and he lowered his gun before reaching out to snag it.
He inspected it through the plastic, and I took the moment to knee him in the ribs and snatch the gun from his fingers before his jerky reflexes had time to pull the trigger.
I held the gun straight up to his forehead, the hard metal already bruising his thin, pasty skin.
“Fucking dick!” Marty yelped as I reached down and grabbed the hand holding the bag, twisting his index finger until it cracked with a satisfying pop and I released it.
“What the fuck!” he screamed and knelt, holding his broken finger with his other hand.
The bag dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
“Get up, Marty.” I pressed the gun against his forehead, and he let out another high-pitched shriek.
What a fucking pussy. “Now, Marty. You have five fucking seconds.” He started to gag, but he complied.
I guided him backward until he was next to the chaise lounge again.
“Sit.” He did, squealing in pain as he clenched his finger.
“What do you want from me, man?” His words were barely audible between gritted teeth.
“You have some information I want, and you are going to give it to me. Every time you refuse to answer one of my questions, I will break another finger. After that, we will start on your toes. And god forbid, if it gets past that, we will move on to other appendages.” My gaze swept over his scrawny body with disgust. His eyes were darting back and forth between me and the doors, “And if you even think of trying to run out of this room, a bullet will plunge right through that fragile little skull of yours before you even know what happened. Do you understand?” I thrusted the gun under his chin, dug into my own waistband to clutch on to mine, and swapped them out without removing contact with his throat.
If it came to the point where I had to use one, the silencer on my piece would get me out of here quietly before anyone noticed something was wrong.
“Wha–what do you want to know?” His teeth were chattering. Pathetic.
“What do you know about these men?” I kept the gun pointed at his Adam's apple, pulling a screenshot I’d printed from the augmented footage I’d watched with Lucy. It showed Chad and Gabe’s faces, along with the figure hidden by the cowboy hat.
“I don’t know shit, man! You’re the one coming in here talking some crazy shit—”
I reached down and snapped another one of his fingers. He let out a wail of agony. “Wrong answer,” I told him stiffly. “Try again.”
“Agh! They have some investments here in the club.” His eyes bulged from their squinting sockets. “They come in here once in a while. They like the girls.”
“What else?” I took his hand in a death grip and he screamed.
“I don’t fucking know! They come in, they drink, and they check out the girls. Sometimes they take them home or something. I don’t fucking know or care what happens after that—Agh!” I twisted his middle finger, and it cracked until it was flush across the top of his hand at an unnatural angle.
“What’s the name of this guy?” I thrust the gun against his temple again and used my thumb to indicate the person in the cowboy hat.