3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Tonight’s shift had started with a patron who insisted Kathleen couldn’t refuse him a dance and had escalated from there. Victor had taken care of that particular patron with a violent relish.
The bachelor party that had been getting drunker and rowdier for the past hour, though, was her present headache.
At last count, at least three different men had slapped her on the ass, two had called her ‘sugar,’ and one had drunkenly propositioned her. The last had been the greatest insult; he hadn’t even offered her money.
Kathleen was bringing the latest round of drinks to the table. The tray was heavy, full of tequila shots and a pitcher of beer. Fortunately, most of the table was distracted by the dance of Anna, the snake lady.
Truthfully, Anna was extremely flexible and exceptionally athletic; the first time Kathleen saw Anna do her routine on the main stage, even she had caught herself staring and admiring.
It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d timed the refresh of drinks to this moment. Kathleen slid the pitcher of beer onto the table as the rowdy bachelor’s party whooped with delight, whistled, and clapped for Anna as she twisted around the pole. The shots were next, and Kathleen quickly began piling empty glasses onto the tray.
She thought she was home free, but she hadn’t noticed one of the men—dressed in a Georgetown Law sweatshirt—watching her quietly. As she straightened from cleaning the table, he reached out and pulled her onto his lap.
Her first instinct—to drive her heel into his shin—was an urge she had to resist. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she said in a cheery tone. “I must have slipped. No, don’t help me, or Victor over there will think you’re touching me, and he tends to break fingers.”
Kathleen’s eyes flickered toward Victor, doing his usual glowering routine near the entrance to the VIP room.
Georgetown grimaced when he followed her gaze and saw the muscular, tattooed enforcer. “My bad,” he said, but his grin said he wasn’t sorry at all.
Kathleen gritted her teeth and tried her best to cover it up with a smile as she awkwardly stood and pulled her skirt straight before collecting the tray.
“Accidents happen!” she said in her most cheerful voice as she walked away.
She let the tray drop with a heavy exaggeration onto the bar.
Lisa was there with her gentle, genuine smile. She had taken Kathleen under her wing, providing deflection from some patrons with the air of an expert.
“Here,” Lisa said, handing Kathleen a tray full of drinks and taking her empty tray in exchange. “Why don’t you take this to the VIP room and give yourself a breather?”
Kathleen’s heart thudded, and she did her best not to display her excitement. “Are you sure? I know they’re the big tippers. I’ll give you all the tips just to spend the rest of the night there.”
Kathleen must have played her cards well because Lisa’s eyes widened, surprised and grateful.
“Deal,” she said quickly, as if afraid the offer would be rescinded.
Kathleen didn’t plan on it. It was generous on her part, but also not very altruistic. Getting into the VIP room was her whole reason for working at this strip joint. Besides, Lisa needed the tips—Kathleen didn’t. This wasn’t her actual job. She was just pretending.
Smiling at Lisa, Kathleen balanced the tray of drinks as she wove through the tables. Having learned her lesson, she took a side-step as she passed the rowdy bachelor’s celebration. They weren’t getting another shot at her garter—or getting her garter—something on their bucket list for the evening.
Gross.
In the last week, she had mastered the art of a deferent and demure expression. Kathleen employed it as she approached Victor. She was expecting him to open the door without a word, as she’d seen him do for Lisa, but he held fast.
Well, shit.
“I have the drinks? For the VIP room?” She turned everything into a question. It made men feel important when they had an answer.
Victor grunted. “Where’s Mei Ling?”
Kathleen was confused by the question until she realized Victor was using Lisa’s Chinese name. “She offered to give me a breather from the bachelor party. She’s still getting all the tips,” Kathleen added quickly as she saw something change in Victor’s face.
He was sweet on Lisa, Kathleen realized. She wondered if Lisa knew?
Her hasty amendment mollified the tattooed man. He grunted again and pushed open the door for her. Kathleen braced herself as she passed him, but he didn’t try to touch her, to her immense relief.
The VIP room was more upscale than the public space. Well-lit paintings lined the walls, and large decorative potted plants gave a more mature ambiance. Half a dozen blackjack tables, a pair of roulette wheels, and a craps table were spread out over the polished wooden floor, all staffed by dealers dressed crisply in black pants and white shirts.
Kathleen noted with jealousy that the women’s shirts were buttoned all the way up.
Most of the patrons were Asian-American, which wasn’t much of a surprise. The Imperial Silk Palace was, after all, owned by the Crimson Serpent Clan, one of Washington DC’s more prominent triad gangs. There were a handful of Caucasian men and a pair of African-Americans. All of them were decked out in fancy suits and adorned with expensive watches.
High-rollers looking for a quick gambling fix.
“Kat,” an annoyed voice snapped.
Jack, the man who had hired Kathleen, rushed toward her. She tempered the immediate reaction of frustration at his ill timing.
“Sorry, I, uh,” she stumbled. She was staring too much, but it was in character, at least.
“Where’s Lisa?” Jack asked. “Never mind. Are those the drinks? There, the back couches. Go!” He waved his hands at her, visibly aggrieved.
Balancing on the uncomfortable heels, she headed in the direction Jack had indicated, passing the various card tables. They weren’t bothering to use chips here; people were throwing down stacks of hundred-dollar bills. In this room alone tonight, there was more than she made on her paltry detective’s salary in a year.
The gambling wasn’t why she was here, though. She focused on the couches at the back, plastering on a convincing smile.
Kathleen recognized most of the men. Daniel Liang, the leader of the Crimson Serpent, sat in the middle. His knees were spread wide, and his hands were settled around a pair of pretty, half-clothed female dancers on either side of him. On the far side of the couch, his second-in-command, Michael Wang, leaned forward to do a line of coke. Three others in the gang she recognized, and one she didn’t, but he looked young enough to be new.
Her goal was to get close to them, establish trust if she could, and plant a bug if it wasn’t too risky. The Metropolitan Police Department of the District of Columbia suspected this gang was responsible for brutally killing Lachlan Hayden, a political rival of Washington Governor Wyatt Wilson.
The problem was proving the Crimson Serpent had done the hit.
Even though it was going to strain her back later, Kathleen bent forward to place the drinks on the table. It gave the men an eyeful down her shirt and to the black bra she wore beneath. Not a single one of them hesitated to look.
It was good to know she could distract them; she might use that later. She smiled at the group. “I’m Kat. Just helping Lisa out for tonight. I hope you’re all having a great time!”
Liang grinned, his eyes still plastered down her shirt as she straightened. He said something in Mandarin, and the rest of the group laughed.
Her Mandarin wasn’t fantastic. She could understand well enough as long as the talk wasn’t too rapid. Speaking the Chinese dialect was a bit of a crapshoot—she hadn’t mastered the tonal intonations.
Still, Kathleen got the gist: he was talking about her assets and comparing them to… cantaloupes? It took every ounce of willpower she had not to roll her eyes. How original.
Kathleen smiled her sweetest smile. “Is that all I can help you with?”
Liang leered. “For now, honey. Don’t forget to walk away slowly.”
As she turned away, balancing the tray, she felt a sudden sting over her backside. With effort, she kept walking away. It was one thing to challenge a drunk bachelor slapping her ass, but she needed to appear invisible to Daniel Liang for now. She couldn’t wait to shove his smug, sexist face against the sticky floor of this joint, then slap the cuffs on him. And not in a sexy way. In the I’m going to ruin your life, asshole, way.
“Hey.”
Kathleen kept mincing away on the high heels.
“Hey, honey. I changed my mind. Come back here.”
Don’t punch the asshole. Kathleen turned, keeping a smile plastered on her face as she returned to the group. The men watched with amusement, the women with a bit of jealousy. They probably thought she was going to steal their tips.
The second Kathleen got near, she felt Liang’s hand grip painfully on her wrist as he pulled. In her heels, she was instantly off balance, falling forward. Daniel laughed as he tugged her onto his lap, her legs landing over the thighs of one of the dancers next to him. The dancer huffed in annoyance while several of Liang’s fellows laughed and made unflattering comments in Mandarin.
“Keep me company for a little while, honey,” Daniel said.
Kathleen felt his hand snake around her waist, then under her shirt.
Do not punch the asshole.
With effort, she tittered a laugh. “Oh, but I have to get to work, or Jack will yell at me.”
“Don’t worry. Jack reports to me. You’re right where you should be.” Liang leaned forward, roughly tugging at her shirt and popping open another button.
“I- I don’t think you should…” Kathleen said.
Liang froze, nostrils flaring, eyes widening. A strange silence engulfed the entire group of rowdy, joking figures. She wondered if Vincent had finally decided to step in and turned to follow where they were looking.
Kathleen froze, just like them.
The tall man standing at the entrance had broad shoulders and the watchful bearing of someone trained in combat. His head tilted so his long, messy brown hair covered features that weren’t already concealed by the mask over the lower half of his face. He sported a black jacket with sharp lines resembling a uniform, along with dark pants and black boots. It was the other adornments that had pulled the triad members’ eyes—and hers.
In his right hand, the man held a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun. Strapped across the front of his body in holsters were pistols, ammo, and knives. This was a man loaded for a fight.
A man preparing to kill a lot of people.
His head jerked up. He was looking directly at Kathleen, his cold blue eyes pinning her in place. For a moment, they stared at each other, and she felt an unpleasant stirring in her gut.
Then his left hand lifted, drawing Kathleen’s attention to the pair of grenades he held.
Well, shit.