Chapter 14
MIA
The minute I was exiled to the bar, I wasn’t interested in sticking around.
Hell, the second that snake pulled me into his lap, I was ready to make a run for it.
But I had to wait for the perfect moment, and he handed it to me on a silver platter.
Part of me debated listening in on their conversation, but I had a murder to solve and the perfect opening.
It takes the taxi around twenty minutes to reach my destination. I have him drop me a block up the street so I can scope out the place. As soon as I get close, my eyes are assaulted with a tacky neon red sign that displays the words Velvet Room loud and proud.
Thankfully, most of the clientele are already inside, drinking themselves blind and grabbing onto whatever poor soul found herself working there tonight.
I spot a few men standing outside who are presumably security, but they’re easy to evade as I clutch my jacket and pull up my collar.
Music vibrates the walls of the club as I skirt my way around the building to the back alley. If Leo was telling the truth, this is where Vince was killed.
Unease takes over as I peek around the corner. Just as I suspected, there are no security cameras. If this alley is being used for extracurricular activities, they wouldn’t want any video evidence of it. Plus, who’s dumb enough to go sneaking around a known mafia headquarters?
Apparently me.
I swallow hard. A few more minutes pass by before I’m brave enough to step out into the open, but I keep close to the edge of the shadows just in case someone comes busting out that back door.
A small floodlight is the only source of visibility in the pitch back.
Originally, I wrestled with the idea of coming here in the daylight, but that was even more reckless.
At least during peak hours, I knew Caruso’s men were busy inside.
A shiver runs down my back thinking of the depraved bullshit those men get up to in the middle of the night.
It will be impossible to know exactly where Vince was shot, and even if I do find blood, it might not be his. This seems like a fruitless task, but I do know one thing—I can’t leave without trying.
Every minute that passes by makes my heart pump faster and faster inside my chest. Every time I hear the music inside fade or a car door shut in the distance, I slink back to the shadows.
I’m close to giving up when the toe of my boot kicks something across the gravel. The object blends in perfectly amongst the charcoal-colored gravel, but a reflective glint under the moonlight gives it away.
I crouch down, making sure to carefully check my surroundings before picking it up. The weight alone is enough to know exactly what’s in my hand, but when I rub away the dirt, I can see it more clearly.
Brass.
For a second, I let it sit in the crevice of my palm. My pulse dips with excitement, but I quickly tamp it down and reach for my phone to double-check something.
I pull up the medical examiner’s report, confirming my suspicion. Sure enough, the tiny cylinder fits the caliber she estimated.
Quickly, I drop the object in my pocket and turn on my phone’s flashlight to look underneath the dumpster a few feet away. Again—another long shot, but maybe my luck is turning around.
A putrid smell hits my nose as I examine the tight area. If the killer wasn’t smart enough to pick up the bullet, then I’m not dealing with a professional. And maybe just maybe they were dumb enough to leave behind another clue.
My light catches on something metallic this time, gleaming from the other side of the trash can. I take another deep breath and thrust myself into the wide open, hoping this is another clue.
I bend down again, and this time I dig up a thin, damp cardboard rectangle.
The object is tattered and stained, but it’s still intact enough for me to see the vintage art and thin metallic line framing the front.
When I open it up, there are still some matches, but most of them are soggy and wouldn’t light a thing.
I’m about to toss it back on the ground when I hear footsteps. “Shit,” I whisper, sliding the matchbook right next to the bullet nestled in my pocket.
“Who’s there?” the gruff voice asks.
My heart pounds against my chest as I weigh my options. I have no clue who’s on the other side of this dumpster, so making a run for it would be stupid. Plus, I’d automatically cause suspicion.
The second idea that pops into my head is reckless and by far the most idiotic thing I’ve come up with in the last few weeks.
Well, maybe not the most.
When the footsteps creep closer, I know my time is up. I quickly ruffle up my hair and wrinkle my clothes to make myself look more disheveled than I already am. And then I put on the performance of a lifetime.
“Found it!” I exclaim, standing straight up and holding my phone like a prized possession.
I wobble to the light, adding a lazy smile on my lips.
“I should’ve known better than to take that last shot.
Now I’m lost and my phone just died. My fucking boyfriend was supposed to meet me somewhere nearby and the dumbass never showed. ”
The man’s eyes wash over me and gleam with the prospect of easy prey. Bile rises in my throat.
He’s a typical Long Island sleazebag with a sad comb-over and physique that tells me the only lifting he’s done today is some type of alcoholic drink to those pale pink lips of his.
“No worries, sweetheart.” He grins with ill intentions leaking from his pores. I need to get out of this alley without drawing more unwanted attention. “My phone is inside if you want to use it to call a ride?”
I would consider it an honest gesture if I wasn’t certain that the moment I walk through that door, there’s no way in hell he’s letting me leave.
“That’s alright,” I answer calmly, using a handrail to prop myself up to sell the act. “I just need to get back to the main street. I should be fine from there.”
I try to sidestep him, but then a hairy, ape-like arm shoots out and blocks me. I ignore my instinct to knee him in the groin.
“Come on,” he says. “It will take five minutes. Besides, I can’t let a pretty little thing like you wander out into the streets of New York by yourself. I’m a gentleman.”
I have to bite down on my lip before accidentally telling him to fuck off. His eyes dip to my mouth and he mistakes the gesture for something else. Something I’d never give him in a million years.
In fact, the only thing I want to give him is a black eye.
When his hand slithers around my upper arm, I know it’s over. I’ll have to go inside with him and find an opportunity to slip away.
“Fine.” I smile. “Is there a restroom inside?”
“Sure thing, doll face,” he quips, sliding his arm to my back. Thankfully, it doesn’t dip low enough to feel the top of the gun tucked in my jeans. But sweat still pebbles on my forehead as he guides me toward the backdoor.
The first thing I notice when we walk in is the smell. One, because it smells really damn good. It’s a mix of sweet perfume and floral body lotion. And two, because anything beats the smell of that dumpster I was digging around.
The hallway he leads me through is dimly lit, lined with doors leading to lord knows where. I get a peek in one of the rooms we pass. One flash of bare ass is enough to quicken my pace.
When I spot a restroom sign, cold relief pools inside my stomach. But then we pass it, and my hair stands up straight at the nape of my neck.
It’s hard to keep my voice even, so I count to three before I speak up. “Wasn’t that the restroom?” I ask innocently.
“That’s the dancers’ bathroom,” he announces, his tone less sweet and more authoritative now that he has me trapped. “The one up front is nicer.”
Fucking sure.
And suddenly, my fear and anxiety are swallowed up by irritation. But I don’t let it show. I need him relaxed and cocky.
Which is why I take the shot one of the waitresses offers me when we walk into the main room. Another reckless decision, but his pleased smile is enough to let me know I have the upper hand.
“The restroom is right over there,” he says, pointing at a door that leads to another hallway. “I’ll be waiting right here when you’re done.”
I bat my eyelashes and nod slowly before walking away. I keep my gaze locked on the light grey door and ignore the writhing bodies stuffed into every corner of this place.
I make eye contact with one of the girls working the floor, and she offers me a polite smile, but her eyes are heavy with a warning glare telling me to get the hell out of here while I still can.
Trust me. That’s exactly what I plan to do.
When I walk into the three-stall bathroom, I’m shocked to see it actually is clean.
I’m less shocked to see it’s completely empty, which works in my favor as I bolt for the lone window that’s barely two feet wide. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but it’s already cracked open, which is a good sign.
I grab the trash can sitting in the corner and yank out the barely filled trash bag before flipping it upside down. And then I hoist myself up and pray that it’s not that far of a drop.
But when I become eye-level with the tease of a window, I’m not greeted with the street. All I see is an ugly brick wall that couldn’t be more than an inch away.
Fucking New York City.
Dread weighs me down, pulling me back toward the cracked tile floor. I throw my body weight toward the porcelain sink and grip both sides tightly.
When I look in the mirror, dark circles hang from my eyes staring back at me like an old friend. I glare back at a hollowed-out version of myself and wonder how shit could’ve gotten so fucked up so fast.
Before I can focus on that thought anymore, I splash some cold water on my face and force myself to face my demons.
There’s a good chance Sleazebag McGee is standing right outside the door right now, but there’s also a chance he’s distracted enough for me to make a clean exit.
Either way, I cautiously make my way toward the exit and pray for some good luck.
It never does me much good, but a girl can dream, right?
My stomach drops when I push open the door that last bit and the coast is clear. I’m so happy that I practically skip out of the short hallway.
Then again, I should know better than to get too cocky.
Because right when I think I’m home free, I smack right into a familiar brick wall. And he’s just as grabby as my last captor.
“Fancy running into you here, Cara.”