beat them, but that wasn’t the point. That would almost certainly invite a visit by the police. Rogers could not afford that. A simple background check would send him right back to prison.
He made a decision.
He walked over to Karl and sat down across from him.
The man turned to gaze at him. Though his eyes were hidden by the shades, his features evidenced surprise that Rogers had come over. Then he looked away, as though determined not to play whatever game Rogers was up to.
“I had an uncle who told me something one time,” Rogers began. “Always stuck with me for some reason.”
Karl swiveled his head around to look at him once more. “And what was that?” he said sharply.
“There’s not a man alive who hasn’t had his ass kicked at least once. And for most of them it was a woman who did the kicking.”
For a long moment Karl just stared at him. Then the big man burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he choked, coughing and gasping. Rogers rushed over to the bar, got him a glass of water, and helped him to drink it.
When Karl was sufficiently recovered he took off his sunglasses and eyed Rogers. “I’ve been married three times, so I can tell your uncle knew what the hell he was talking about,” he said, grinning.
“I’ve been down the aisle too,” lied Rogers. “It was like being hit by a freight train, and she never lifted a finger. It was all words. I would have taken Mike Tyson pounding me to a pulp over what that woman did to me.”
Rogers was not lying now. This was what Claire Jericho had done to him.
Karl slowly nodded. “As God is my witness, I hear you, man.”
Rogers eased back in his chair and assumed a contrite expression. “I really needed the job, Karl. I had nothing when I walked in here, just the clothes on my back and a couple bucks in my pocket. Desperate men, you know. They can do anything. I overplayed my hand. I went too far. I was trying to impress the boss. I lost control.” He paused and pretended he was seated in front of the parole board for the third time.
“And so I’m sorry for what I did,” he added, his expression one of deep embarrassment.
Karl slowly nodded. Then he turned and flicked a finger at the bartender and pointed to his glass. A minute later the man delivered another whiskey and quickly turned and left.
Karl slowly slid the glass over to Rogers.
“Apology accepted. Now let’s drink to it.”
Rogers picked up his drink and the two men clinked their glasses together and each took a sip.
“You ever do any of that cage fighting?” asked Karl.
Rogers cradled the drink and shook his head. “No, never did. Never really had the chance.”
“You might want to try it. I think you could beat any son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. I think you could beat all of them together. You are one strong dude, Paul. I’m no weakling, but I never felt a grip like yours before.”
“Good genes,” replied Rogers. “My old man was smaller than me, but he could break me in two. Almost did a couple of times when he was drunk.”
“Glad I never ran into him when he was drunk, then.”
The two men drained their glasses and set them back on the table.
Rogers wiped his mouth. “I met Josh Quentin last night. Guy rolls in in a stretch limo with a bunch of beauty queens. He paws over the ladies like he owns them. What’s all that about?”
In a low voice Karl said, “Guy’s a prick.”
“Ms. Myers said he’s really rich, got his own company, printing money. And he’s only like thirty. How can you not hate the dude? We’ll be working men till we drop, while that guy just drifts off into the sunset on his yacht before he’s forty.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth.” Karl looked pensive. “Now, what I heard was the jerk lucked into something.”
“Pretty lucky guy, then.”
“Hell, ain’t that the truth. I’ve never been lucky like that.”
“Me either. So what did he luck into?”
“Not sure. Some opportunity. Look, I’m not saying the guy’s stupid. I don’t think he’s as smart as he thinks he is, but he’s slick. He can grab the gold ring when it’s staring him in the face.”
Rogers nodded slowly. “I saw him walk into that room upstairs like he owned it.”
Karl leaned in a little closer and pointed a finger at Rogers. “You pretty much nailed it there, Paul.”
“Come again?”
“Josh Quentin is a good customer here, I mean a real good customer. He pays a monthly fee to the bar for that space upstairs. Comes and goes when he wants. Brings whoever he wants. Does whatever he wants up there. And that monthly fee? Pays for all of the bar’s expenses. All of them. The other customers—and there are a lot of them—that’s pure profit. So Helen is also printing money.”
“Damn. Sounds like Ms. Myers is lucky too.”
Karl shrugged. “Now, it made a living for her, sure. A good one. But when Quentin came along, that’s when things really took off.”
“How’d they meet?”
“Don’t know. But they did. This was, oh, a couple years back.”
“You been with Ms. Myers a long time, then?”
“Eight years this summer. She’s a good lady. Fair.”
“You two…?”
Karl pushed his whiskey glass away and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Like I said, I struck out with women. Three fastballs. I’m done batting. She wants more than a romp in the sheets with an old fat guy with bum knees. And I’m never getting hitched again.”
“Maybe her and Quentin, then?”
“Never happen. Two different walks of life. And he likes his ladies a lot younger.” He paused. “Although she usually goes up to the room when he’s here. But probably just to check on things and make sure her golden goose is happy.”
“I asked Ms. Myers about what went on up there, but she cut me off quick. I thought she was going to fire me for asking. And I was just curious. Didn’t know what they had the separate room for and all. Not that it matters to me.” He looked down at his empty glass, waiting for Karl to respond.
“Let’s put it this way, Paul, whatever goes on up there stays up there. Believe me, I’ve tried to figure it out, but when I broached it with Helen, well, I was afraid I might get fired too.”
* * *
Later, Rogers got his comm pack and received a report about a bachelor party coming into the bar. He was headed toward the door when Helen Myers stepped in front of him.
“I heard that you and Karl made peace. At least you were seen drinking together.”
“I only had the one and it was before I was on duty.”
“I’m not begrudging you two fingers of whiskey, Paul. And Karl doesn’t drink with anyone he wants to kill.”
She tacked on a smile to this.
Rogers didn’t answer right away. He ran his gaze over her from head to stiletto heels. She was in beige tonight. Jacket, blouse, short skirt, bare legs, strappy shoes. Her hair had bounced across her shoulders as she walked.
Rogers said, “We reached an understanding.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Will Mr. Quentin be coming tonight?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Last night I didn’t know who he was. Now I do. I know he’s an important customer. I just want to be ready to treat him right. Little extras, you know. Best foot forward for the bar. And I won’t lie to you, he’s a good tipper.”
Her suspicious look faded. “Well, that’s good you’re thinking that way. He is an important customer. But no, he won’t be coming tonight.”
“It would have helped to have known who the guy was before,” said Rogers. “Last night it was a little awkward, but it turned out okay. Won’t happen again, of course.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
Rogers said, “Well, I better get out there.”
“Good luck tonight.”
“It’s never really about luck, though, is it?
” said Rogers.
Chapter
31
THE LINES WERE long again, but this time there were no disruptions. What had happened the night before seemed to have reverberated among those who frequented the Grunt.
Rogers saw Karl leave at around one-thirty, followed by Helen Myers at two.
Karl had waved to him. Myers had not.
At three the bar was empty and clean enough for the staff to head home. Rogers offered to lock up and set the alarm.
Finally, he was the last person in the place.
He had earlier noted the CCTV cameras. They were all around the bar area, and also posted outside.
But they were not, he had also noted, stationed at the stairs leading up to the VIP room. Nor were there any cameras on that level.
Someone didn’t want a record of those heading up there, and he wondered why.
He took the stairs two at a time, jiggling the set of keys in his pocket. He arrived on the upstairs landing and looked around. There was only one door, although the room it accessed seemed to run the length of the corridor.
He assumed that this might have been the living quarters of whoever had owned this building before it had become a bar.
He tried the door. It was locked.
He tried the keys in his pocket. The third one did the charm.
He opened the door and stepped into the room, closing it behind him. He didn’t have a flashlight and didn’t need one. His eyes were capable of seeing amazingly well in the darkness. He moved around the room, which was comfortably furnished.
It was actually more than one room. There was another room leading off it, separated by another doorway.
He opened this door and stared at the large bed. It was neatly made now. He figured it would not be so neat when Quentin and his ladies were here.
So was that what this was all about?
Just a place for Quentin to bed his entourage?
Yet he had been here with other men that night. So did the boys get equal turns between the sheets? Was that how Quentin paid his bonuses to executives at his company?
And why here? Quentin had the beach house not even two hours from here. And he must have a place in town somewhere. So why come to a room above a bar and spend a big sum each month for the privilege?
He made a search of the room and turned up exactly nothing. And Rogers knew how to search.
He closed the door behind him and locked it. Then he left the bar after setting the alarm and locking the exterior door securely behind him.
He had taken three steps down the alley leading to where he had parked his van when he saw them up ahead.
The players from the night before.
He turned around and looked behind him.
More big bodies had filled his rear flank.
The big black guy stepped forward, a malicious grin on his face.
“Told you we’d be back, asshole. And I keep my word.”
Rogers looked to the man’s left and saw the fellow whose wrist he’d broken. Next to him were the other two men he’d kicked the shit out of. One of them looked like he’d had his jaw wired.
Rogers looked back at the black guy, who had taken another long step forward. “Do you really want to do this?” he asked calmly.
“You got somewhere to go?” snarled the man.
“Actually, I do. So why don’t you and I go one-on-one? I win. I walk. It’ll save a lot of time.”
The black guy stiffened and looked around at the men he’d brought with him. “I saw you were some kind of ninja, fuckface. That’s why I brought reinforcements.”
Rogers looked at the man with the broken wrist and the guy with the wired jaw. “If you come at me again, I will kill both of you.”
The two men looked amused until they caught the expression on Rogers’s face.
The black guy, perhaps sensing they were losing the upper hand, pulled something from his pocket. It was a knife.
“That’s not going to change the outcome,” said Rogers. “You just brought the weapon that I’ll use to kill you.”
“You really think a lot of yourself, dude. There’s six of us. Count ’em.”
“There’s really only four, because these two”—he pointed at the two injured men—“aren’t going to be part of it.”
“You think you know ’em.”
“I can read a face,” replied Rogers.
“Still four to one. And we all came ready.”
Rogers watched as one man took out a knife, one a chain, and another a baseball bat from behind his back.
Rogers sized up the situation. One of them might get a lucky strike in and put him down. It was fortunate none had brought a gun. He might lose. But he was probably going to win. The one thing he knew, though, was that he was going to fight.
“Trust me,” he said to the black guy. “It won’t feel like four to one in a couple of minutes. And I’ll save you for last.”
“Right. In case you didn’t notice, we’re all big and a lot younger than you.”
“Well, you were bigger and younger than me last night too. How did that work out for you?”
“Your ass got lucky.”
“Nobody’s that lucky.”
“Hell, we live for violence.”
“Not the kind of violence you’re going to see from me.”
“You’re full of shit!”
“Then let’s get this started.”
Rogers rubbed his head. He knew that once the fighting really started, he was not going to be able to control himself. The muscles in his arms, legs, and shoulders knotted. He was ready to strike. He would have to leave his job at the bar after this. He had no other choice.
He took a breath, let it out evenly. His nerves calmed, his heartbeat slowed, his blood flow grew steady. He popped his neck and was just about to deliver his first kill stroke of the night when a car’s beams cut through the darkness.
They all watched as a police cruiser rolled to a stop. A moment later they got hit with a spotlight mounted on the side of the car.
A voice on a PA said, “What the hell is going on here?”
The black guy called out, “Nothing, Officer, we were just hanging out. But now we’re heading on.”
“Then move on. Now!”
The cruiser waited while the others hustled out the far end of the alley. The black guy looked back menacingly at Rogers.
Rogers was walking past the cruiser when the passenger window came down.
“What was all that about?” asked the police officer.
“I’m the bouncer at the Grunt. That was about some punks not getting to drink beer and wanting someone to take it out on. Namely me.”
“Okay, I get that. Well, lucky for you we came along.”
Lucky for them, thought Rogers.
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