Chapter 9
Mateo stared down at his Scotch, resisting the urge to glance over at the VIP section of the club.
If he watched the people sitting there too closely, it would draw attention to him and Donovan.
Beside him, his partner sat nursing a rum and Coke, his gaze also averted.
Somewhere on the first floor, Smith kept his eyes peeled for any activity that might be construed as the sale of flesh.
In a club where known traffickers hung out, it wasn’t impossible, and he wanted to get a feel for how these guys operated.
Williams sat at the bar with a martini glass in hand, dressed like most of the other women in the club to blend in.
In a delivery van parked a few blocks away, Jones sat with a handful of agents from the New Orleans field office.
They were to listen in and record everything the wiretap picked up.
That afternoon, a technical surveillance unit had been deployed to install listening devices in each of the VIP booths of Solstice.
Judge Renaud had come through in record time, but had restricted their wiretaps to VIP, stating there wasn’t yet enough probable cause to access any of the back rooms. It was Mateo’s hope that it wouldn’t take long for them to find that probable cause.
All they needed to do now was wait for Suede and one or both of his accomplices to show up, a process that had him on edge.
They had no way of knowing if the men would show up tonight, but it was Friday, and the club was putting on an event.
The marquis outside declared it Saints and Sinners night, just as Melody had told him.
The interior of the club had been transformed for the night, the LED sun having gone black with tongues of fire licking up and around the sphere.
The two floors had been decked out with clashing themes—the lower floor representing Hell, with the upper floor signifying Heaven.
Blinding white light and fog assaulted them from above, the occasional neon green laser cutting through the glow.
Strobe lights pulsed in time with music that was a combination of Lo-fi, Pop, and Classical—harps and strings mingling with operatic vocals and drumbeats.
The employees on this floor wore white from head to toe, and most costumes had been fashioned to resemble angels.
Feathers and gold and silver jewelry flashed here and there, and glitter and confetti covered the floor half an inch thick.
The competing music from below them was only audible on the staircase—House music mixes interspersed with bursts of Rock and Hip-Hop.
The lighting in ‘Hell’ was dim and interrupted by slashes of red and purple.
Smoky fog was a sinister gray, drifting over the dance floor in a heavy blanket.
The workers in Hell wore all black with latex masks sporting devil horns.
The costumes were in theme—headwear sporting horns sticking up here and there, pentagrams and Baphomet symbols standing out in shades of white, silver, and red.
In the middle of the dance floor, next to the fiery sphere, a cage had been erected on a platform.
Inside the cage, a girl in a red latex bodysuit danced.
A devil-horned cowl covered her from the eyes up.
The occupants of the two floors mixed and mingled wherever they liked, angels and devils mingling on the dance floor and at the bar.
Waitresses dressed like angels circled the upper level, selling specialty shots and flirting for tips.
Melody had yet to make an appearance, but had told Mateo herself that she’d be here.
Getting into the spirit of the undercover operation, Donovan had decked himself out in all black, a half-mask making his eyes stand out like polished steel.
A set of goat horns sat perched on his head, and a studded belt buckle circled his hips.
Mateo had nearly gotten into a shouting match with Donovan and Darcy, who had eventually convinced him that he would stand out if he didn’t at least try to adhere to the theme.
He had grudgingly given in on his own terms, choosing a simple getup of black pants, button-up, and blazer, with only a pop of white at his throat offering relief.
The priest’s collar and silver crucifix hanging around his neck were enough to keep from marking himself as an outlier.
Mari would choke if she could see him, crossing herself and reprimanding him for mocking the church.
He liked to think he could have convinced her it was necessary for him to be effective undercover.
She would still probably have mumbled a few Hail Marys over him anyway.
Williams had encouraged him and Donovan to move about the club more, to keep anyone from noticing that they spent all their time eyeballing the VIP section.
Besides, they were more likely to spot shady activity if they studied the place from various vantage points.
They had been here only half an hour, so Mateo was content to sit and watch his surroundings.
The vibe of the night almost assured Suede would be here, if not his associates.
Business would be good; too good for Suede to sit on the sideline.
Mateo was growing restless, his leg bouncing beneath the table. Even the fiery burn of Scotch down his throat and belly weren’t enough to take the edge off. He felt like he would explode if something didn’t happen. Soon. Now. This case had worn him thin in more ways than one.
Movement caught his attention, and he swiveled his gaze to the cage just as the dancer in red traded places with a woman in white.
He barely registered the red devil disappearing from the cage when an angel stood in her spot.
Her dress was downright indecent—short and dipping almost to her navel in the front.
That shining dark skin was a sharp counterpoint to the pure white, and as beams of light illuminated her from below, Mateo noticed the shimmer of body glitter on her shoulders, arms, and legs.
She wore the same gold heels from the night before, but seemed to have no trouble balancing in them as she started to dance.
Mateo inched forward in his chair, his ears roaring as he watched, unable to blink in case he missed a millisecond.
The way she moved. It snared him from the first snap of her hips and toss of her head, those braids undulating behind her as if she’d choreographed it that way.
The flames in the sphere flashed red and orange light over the white of her dress, making her body glitter sparkle like pops of fireworks.
She held onto the bars of the cage and undulated her body, waist winding, hips swiveling and rolling.
She turned and grasped the pole running through its middle, rolling her body in hypnotizing waves.
The crowd beneath her roared, and male hands reached up through fog and shafts of light, reaching for her, coveting her.
Mateo clenched his teeth until they ached, a vein in his throat pulsing and throbbing in time with the music.
He watched Melody for what felt like hours, but must have only been the span of a few songs.
The longer it went on, the more Mateo began to feel that she didn’t dance for an audience.
She was clearly being watched, and a few people even filmed her from the upper level with their phones.
But she didn’t pay any of them the slightest bit of attention.
She moved around the cage, taking up the entire space, filling it with her presence.
Mateo couldn’t look away if he tried, and God how he tried.
His eyes went dry from how long he went without blinking, then grew exhausted and heavily lidded.
And still, he couldn’t stop thinking about coming up behind her and pulling that lithe body against his.
Couldn’t stop fantasizing about running his hands up those bare thighs, lifting the skirt of that dress and cupping her between her legs.
He blinked to find her sliding down the center pole and to the floor, as the devil in red climbed the ladder to resume her routine.
Mateo followed Melody with his eyes, a speck of white disappearing through the fog and then materializing on the staircase.
She vanished down a dark hallway and came back a few minutes later, wearing a headband that arched over her head in a halo, decked out with gold stars.
She stopped off at the bar and conferred with Rudy for a bit before accepting a tray and setting off.
Mateo held his breath as she navigated the crowded upper floor, smiling and laughing and accepting tips, which she tucked into one of the garters on each thigh.
It didn’t take long for her to notice him.
Her eyes seemed to suddenly snap up and lock with his from a few tables away.
She hesitated for a second before making her way toward them.
Her gaze flicked over Donovan for half a second before settling on Mateo again and holding.
“How’s it going, guys? Need anything?”
“I’m good for now,” Donovan replied. “Thanks.”
She held up her tray and grinned. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a specialty shot?
We’re serving them tonight only. This is the Archangel—it’s vodka with gold liqueur and an edible shimmer.
Sins of the Flesh is a tequila shot with a spicy chili infusion, and The Veil is a secret recipe … but my personal favorite.”