Chapter 18
Eighteen
The pounding of the music thunders through my entire body.
It’s a wonderful feeling, but it doesn’t make my ears happy.
This is exactly the reason I don’t come here often.
Club V is a typical dance club where sweaty bodies rub against each other on the dance floor under the overly hot disco lights and to the sound of a pounding bass.
The floors are dark wood and the walls are lined with something resembling the material of a black bubble envelope.
The walls hold a few soft, V-shaped lamps, softly illuminating the tables lining the room.
In the back is a flight of stairs to the VIP area.
Brooks and I weave through the crowd to get to a security guard.
I try my best not to touch anyone, but that’s quite a task with these crowds.
We come to a stop in front of a guy a couple of inches shorter than me, but twice as wide.
He pats us down, and once he’s done, we’re allowed up the stairs.
As soon as Vigo sees us, he gets up and walks over to Brooks. Arms wrap around each other and backs get slapped. “It’s been a long time,” he says with a smile on his face. He’s twice as wide as I remember and his hair’s all gone, too.
I walk over to Viktor and offer the man a hand. “We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us.”
The older Russian merely nods toward the chair on the other side of the coffee table from where he sits.
“Chetyre vodki,” he says to the waitress, walking by in her barely there skirt.
All I understand from that is vodki, which is obviously vodka.
“Okay, guys,” Viktor says as Vigo sits next to him and Brooks in the chair next to me.
“What are you guys want to talk about?” His Russian accent is very clear.
Somehow it doesn’t surprise me, but on the other hand it does because Vigo hardly speaks with an accent.
“Do you know Connor Hayes?” I slouch in the chair and watch as the server sets down four glasses of vodka. I was right after all.
“Connor? Yeah, he done my finances couple times. Good guy. What’s with ‘im?” Viktor gestures to the glasses and empties his into his throat.
I follow his lead and my entire face contorts as the stuff slides down my throat. Never been a fan of vodka. “He’s dead.”
“Ah, I heard something like that. A waste.”
The enormous man with a similar belly in the chair on the other side of Viktor nods.
“And what are you here for? Do you think I have done, bike mouse?”
I raise my eyebrow. Bike mouse? Really?
“No, we were wondering if you heard anything within the mob scene.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not mafia, Young. I’m businessman. I’ve heard nothing. How am I supposed to know? Businessmen don’t talk about killing.”
Brooks interferes. “Mr. Koslov, with all due respect, everyone here knows you have connections with the Bratva.” He leans toward the Russian.
“There’s nothing wrong with that and we have no intention of interfering with those connections, if you know what I mean.
We’re just asking if you’ve got some info. ”
“No. I don’t. Bratva doesn’t. Like I said, Connor good boy.” Viktor nods and strokes his hand over his beard.
“He worked for Nick Vanderberg?” I attempt.
The Russian bursts out laughing. “Vanderberg? Never any good. Too bad.” He shrugs. “Guys, I don’t have any information for you. Maybe Billy See Kid?”
Brooks folds his hands together. “Billy The Kid?”
Vigo nods. “At Onyx. Owner is Billy Reed. He’s in touch with Nick Vanderberg’s number-one guy.” He wiggles his glass back and forth. “Our hands are tied. We don’t monitor anyone without cause after contract termination.”
“I see.” I get up from the chair. “Thanks.” I extend my hand to Viktor again and nod. “If you’re ever looking for information, you’re more than welcome to ask.”
The man does shake my hand this time. “Sorry about your friend.”
Standing outside Club V, I look at the building next door.
There’s a neon sign on the facade of a dancing woman, with the word Onyx underneath.
Competition. Enough reason to go inside and see exactly what it is.
I nudge Brooks against his shoulder and nod at the sign. “Shall we check out the competition?”
“We can.” A goofy grin appears on his face. “Call me curious.”
Brooks takes a drag from his cigarette as I observe the customers entering.
About ten minutes later, we step into a dark club with round, black tables.
Two red velour chairs sit at each table.
The chairs face the stage, which has three different poles, and around the middle one a busty blond dances in a bright-red thong.
On the side of the room there are similar tables, but benches surround these.
The visitors are similar to our clubs. They range from bachelor parties to scruffy old men with big beer bellies.
I respect women who do this kind of work.
Usually they’re treated like trash, but to stand there on a stage with these men in front of you, all with lust-filled eyes…
that shit takes confidence and willpower.
I walk to the bar, and Brooks follows me steadily. He looks at the guests, and I sense his disapproval. I poke his side. “Knock it off,” I spit.
“I know we make money from clubs like this as well, but look at these guys.” With his thumb and forefinger, he rubs the stubble on his chin.
I raise two fingers at the bartender, who nods. “I don’t know about this place, but at ours all the women work and can quit whenever they want.”
“I know. But look at the customers.” He nods to a guy with greasy hair and a thick cigar in his mouth who’s almost drooling at what he sees.
Grinning, I accept the beers from the bartender and hand him a twenty-dollar bill. “Ah, the charm of a strip club.” The grin remains on my face until two burly men approach us.
Brooks stiffens slightly. You’d never guess it if you didn’t know him, but he’s on high alert right now. Guns will be drawn at the slightest provocation.
I look up from my beer into the first man’s face. “Good day, gentlemen. Can I help you?” I hand Brooks’ glass to him and bring my own to my lips to take a sip.
“Mr. Reed wants to see you.” The security guard’s voice is surprisingly high for such a bear of a man.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Mr. Reed? I suppose it’s quite the honor?”
Brooks rolls his eyes, giving me a dirty look.
“This way.” With a nod toward a back table, I follow the man. I slide onto the couch with my beer and Brooks does the same.
“Gentlemen." A man who looks eerily like Leo from the Lethal Weapon movies nods at us.
“Good evening.” I nod back with a big smile, while Brooks next to me just stares. With a nod toward the stage, I add, “Looks good.”
A sort of hum comes from of the back of Billy’s throat. “Are you guys here to check out the competition?” He leans slightly forward and squints.
I take a sip and shake my head. “Nope. Actually, Koslov sent us.”
“That damn Russian,” he mutters.
Shaking my head, I place my beer on the table. “It’s not like that. Someone murdered Hayes. We learned he worked for Vanderberg and understood that you were supposedly in contact with his organization. We just want to know if it’s true before we ask him some questions.”
My palms are wet with sweat, because I don’t know if we’re offending him with this question. Koslov said he was in touch, but if he’s loyal to Vanderberg, we could get in a lot of shit. I plaster a smile on my face to appear nonchalant.
“The accountant?” He rubs his chin with his index finger.
Fuck, this guy immediately knows who Connor is. Why was Layne’s husband involved with so many shady people?
Billy raises his eyebrow and reaches for his whiskey glass. “Are you suggesting Vanderberg had something to do with it?”
The smile falls from my face. “No. No, not that.”
“So you’re not keeping all the options open. That’s not wise, Young.” He chuckles.
Fuck, I’m just bullshitting and it’s not working, but we’re still in the fucking dark. I take a deep breath. “You think I should keep that option open?”
“With a guy like Vanderberg?” He takes a sip of his whiskey and a grin appears on his face. “You’d be stupid not to. Hayes did Vanderberg’s finances. Oh, the shit he must have known…” The Kid wiggles his eyebrows.
“Vanderberg is a real estate businessman?” I act dumb.
A deep laugh rises from his lower abdomen. “Of course. And you only own a few nightclubs.” He winks at me. “You can start asking questions if you want, Young, but remember you’re waking a sleeping dog. It’s your club, your life. But consider whether you’re willing to take that risk.”
“Are you saying…?”
“I’m not saying shit. Your reputation precedes you. I just want you to think things through before acting.” Nonchalantly, he shrugs and brings his glass back to his lips.
I frown. “Are you trying to protect me, or are you trying to protect him?”
“I’m not protecting anyone at all. I’m just saying, checking out the docks is always worth your while.” He takes a sip and then continues, “Those containers can be more interesting than you think. Glad to have had a talk with you.” With a nod to his security guard, our conversation ends.
Brooks and I get up and walk toward the exit of the club. We’re done here.
Outside, Brooks lights another cigarette and I gesture to him.
This is the kind of situation where I need one.
Thank God my best friend is a chain smoker, because in situations like this I’m on the verge of becoming one myself.
“What the fuck was that conversation about?” I raise my eyebrow at Brooks.
“No idea.” He just shrugs.
We smoke the cigarettes in silence, both lost to our thoughts. Then we start our engines and drive home.