Chapter 29 - Harrison
HARRISON
“Welcome to MINOS,” an extremely thin, jittery man wearing a dark suit and sneakers with wings painted on the sides greets us after I pay him the cover. “Have you been with us before?”
“Can’t say that we have,” Bianca replies.
The thin man grins. “I am Herman. You’ll need one of our bracelets to traverse the labyrinth.”
Bianca gulps. “The labyrinth?”
“It isn’t too tricky to navigate, but we always recommend first-timers use the bracelet.
Here.” He crosses the room and removes two glowing golden bracelets off hooks on the wall.
“These will glow brighter the closer you get to the dance floor. The farther away you are, the dimmer. Pretty self-explanatory.”
I grab two bracelets, slip one around Bianca’s wrist, and then my own. I nod to Herman. “Thank you. Just down this hall?”
“Yes,” Herman says, gesturing. “And don’t be afraid to lose yourself…only to find yourself again!”
I suppress an eye roll as I grab Bianca’s hand and we head down the labyrinth.
Inside is a mix of flashing lights and mirrored walls.
There are no guardrails, of course, and the texture of the floor under us shifts quite a bit.
At first it’s regular floor tiles, and then soft foam, and then dirt, and finally sand that crunches underneath our feet.
We meet several dead ends, each one painted with a terrifying tapestry of some horrible beast—a lion, a boar, a three-headed dog.
Finally our bracelets glow vibrantly as we make our way to the dance floor where the DJ is wearing a black matte mask with two long horns and a wide snout. People around him are bumping and grinding to EDM beats while a strobe light flashes to the rhythm of the music.
I turn to Bianca. “Who’s our contact here?”
“Zebulon Minos. He’s the original owner of the club, and Rouge bought it from him a while back. But she kept him on as second-in-command.” Bianca looks around and her eyebrows twitch. “There he is now.”
I look over. Zebulon Minos is a middle-aged man with a mane of long silver hair framing a wide, chiseled face.
The strobe light bounces off a gold medallion etched with a lightning bolt, and he’s wearing an eggshell blazer with similar patterns running down the sleeves.
He’s a solid man with an extremely broad build.
We walk over, and his eyes widen as he sees Bianca. “Miss Montrose. I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of your presence here at MINOS.”
She extends her hand. “I thought it was time I checked out some of my sister’s other clubs. We just came from the Noir Parlor.”
“Wonderful.” Zebulon shakes her hand. “How is Lucie doing?”
“Just fine.” Bianca glances over her shoulders. “Is there somewhere we could speak privately? I have a matter of some urgency to discuss regarding my sister.”
Zebulon widens his eyes. “What about your sister?”
“We’d rather not discuss it here,” I interrupt. “It’s sensitive.”
“I assure you I know nothing about Rouge Montrose except that she owns the club and checks in weekly,” Zebulon says quickly, a vein bulging in his thick neck.
Yeah, he’s hiding something. He doesn’t want us to know what he knows.
“Please, Mr. Minos,” I say quietly. “I assure you we can make this worth your while.”
He blinks several times. “You mean money?”
“Not necessarily,” Bianca says. “But we believe that my sister may be engaging in some illegal activities. If she is removed from her position as head of this club, I have the power to ensure that the ownership will return to you.”
Zebulon strokes his beard. “That would be nice. I don’t hate what Rouge did to update this place, but I do miss overseeing everything.” He frowns. “But still, I don’t think I have any information that would be of any value to you.”
I nod. “Let’s just chat then. If nothing you say is helpful to us, then no harm done. My girlfriend and I will have simply had a wonderful night at your club.”
Bianca’s eyes widen at my use of the word “girlfriend.” I didn’t mean to use it. I referred to her as my friend at the Noir Parlor.
If she’s into it, we can make it official. If not, I can write it off as me just assigning her a part for the evening.
I hope it’s the former.
Zebulon takes us into his office, outfitted in a white marble desk—again with yellow lightning bolts flaring along it—across from two fluffy armchairs of the same color. We take a seat.
Zebulon clasps his hands on top of the desk. “What were you hoping to find out?”
I open my mouth, about to ask if he’s seen any suspicious activity from Rouge, when another thought occurs to me.
When we were at the Noir Parlor, Lucille mentioned that she rarely heard from former servers once their contracts with the club were up.
Some of them were actors, so at least a few of them would have been successful and checked in.
Even more would have likely begged for their job back after the film industry spat them back out.
The new girl at Aces. Dudley’s eyes flashed to her momentarily when I was asking around. The Eight of Spades. She must have replaced someone in her section.
Is there a connection?
I lean forward, my voice hushed even though we’re in a private space. “Your servers here. Are they on five-year contracts?”
Zebulon furrows his brow. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“It seems to be the case for all the workers at Rouge’s clubs. Does she bring them in herself?”
Zebulon nods. “She does, from Greece and Italy primarily. Brings back some people to work for the club, gets them set up and housed in the States.”
“And when their contracts are up, do you ever hear from them again?”
Zebulon’s eye twitches, and he takes a deep breath in. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. People move on in their lives. Do you check in with your first employer very often?”
“We’re not talking about a job flipping burgers at the local fast-food joint, Mr. Minos.”
“Zebulon, please. Or Zeb.”
“Fine, Zeb. But it’s hardly comparable. This is a job connected to one of the most powerful women in the city of Chicago, if not the country at large. There’s a reason Rouge Montrose refers to herself as a queen. She has more influence and authority than actual queens.”
Bianca holds up a finger. “What my…boyfriend is trying to ask, Zeb, is if the people employed at MINOS ever check back in. It might be uncommon, but does it ever happen?”
Zeb taps his fingers on the bleached marble. A small bead of sweat trickles down his forehead as he leans in, his voice in a harsh whisper. “Honestly, never.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Never ever?”
“Never ever.” He glances around the room as if expecting a silent assassin to come out of some hidden corner.
“And if I’m being honest, I’ve always wondered why.
I pride myself on how I run this club in Rouge’s absence, and I treat my staff here with the utmost respect while they’re on the clock.
Of course, there is no shortage of great places to work in the city, but even so, whenever a server leaves, I never hear from them again. ”
“Do you think they go back home to Greece, or wherever?” I ask.
Zeb shrugs. “Maybe. But even then, in the day and age of social media, it wouldn’t be difficult for one of them to connect with me. It just doesn’t add up. And also…” The color drains from his face and he pulls on the collar of his button-down, his eyes darting toward the office door.
“Also what, Zeb?” Bianca asks.
Zeb’s voice grows even softer. “It’s not just the servers. Sometimes it’s a patron.”
I drop my jaw. “What?”
He nods slowly. “And they really have no reason to disappear, unless they’re getting involved in something shifty.
There’s always some excuse—a big vacation or a family emergency or something—but I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the feeling of my skin crawling when something isn’t quite right. ”
I stroke my chin. This sounds eerily like what might have happened to Maddox and Alissa.
“Do you have any specific examples?” Bianca asks.
Zeb scratches the back of his head. “Sure. There was a woman named Dishari who used to come here all the time with her boyfriend, Orin. He was a guitar player in a local band and she had no job, so I have no idea how they could even afford to pay the cover, but they were here almost every night. Then one night I overheard her having some tiff with Rouge, and…” He swallows, looks at Bianca.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know if I should discuss this in front of you. ”
“It’s fine, sir.” Bianca crosses her legs. “I’m already aware of what people think of my sister. We’re just trying to help our friends.”
Zeb cocks his head. “Your friends?”
I raise a hand. “One crisis at a time. You were telling us about this woman who used to come here.”
Zeb blinks a few times. “Yeah. Sorry. She and Rouge had some argument. I think over how much she compensates the waitstaff—one of them must have let her know how much they’re paid.”
“How much are they paid?” I ask.
“Beats me,” Zeb says. “That’s Rouge’s department, and they are expressly forbidden to discuss that with me or with the patrons. But one of them must have blabbed to Dishari, and she was discussing it with Rouge.”
“Was the boyfriend not around?” Bianca asks.
Zeb shakes his head. “He was on a gig out of town. Dishari was here herself that night. And then a few days later”—he snaps his fingers—“she dies of a snakebite.”
I widen my eyes. “A snakebite?”
“Yeah. A goddamned snakebite. In the middle of Chicago.”
Bianca widens her eyes. “How did that happen?”
“I guess a snake got out of the reptile house at the Lincoln Park Zoo. Made its way all the way to where Dishari lived. Bit her in the dead of night. It was a garden-level apartment, and she left her window open. Orin discovered her when he got back from his gig.”
“My God,” Bianca whispers.
“You’re telling me,” Zeb says. “Orin was completely devastated. He’d have gone to hell and back to save her, but she was gone.”