by LK Shaw
After that, I couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I’d laid there for the rest of the night trying to figure out what the dream had meant. I hadn’t seen the man’s face, but I’d smelled the long-remembered cologne and seen the tattoos on the arms he’d held me safely in. Even without the ink, I would have known it was him. No one before in my life had ever made me feel protected like Preston had.
Hours later, I still had no idea what the dream meant. My alarm went off at six, and I dragged myself out of bed. That had been four hours ago. I’d made it to work, checked in with Brickman and Crawford, and I was on my way over to Wacker Street to follow a lead.
Club Delight had popped up during a search where several drug busts had taken place over the last six months. During the most recent ones, the narcotic confiscated had been Rapture. The only information the local cops had been able to get from the seller was a first name: Felipe. Which wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. Which was why I was here.
The door closed behind me, blocking out most of the sunlight. I stood in a dim room with only a scant amount of light coming through the painted over windows and artificial, fluorescent lighting from the ceiling. As I moved through the open area, the stench nearly overwhelmed me. It smelled like yeast and vomit. I stepped over an unidentified substance on the floor with my fingers under my nose trying not to gag.
People actually enjoyed coming to this lovely den of disgust? Elliott King clearly had a twisted sense of humor naming this place Club Delight, because it was anything but delightful. It was nasty. I wasn’t normally a germaphobe, but Jesus, I was afraid to touch anything.
Closed until tonight, the club was empty of the sweaty mass of gyrating bodies that were normally packed in here. The shelves behind the bar were fully stocked with bottle after bottle of nearly every liquor imaginable; well along the bottom row to top shelf that, even on tip toe, I probably couldn’t reach.
“Can I help you?” A bald man carrying a crate full of bottles had stepped through an open doorway to the left of the bar. Given his narrow-eyed glare, he didn’t appear too happy to see me, especially after his gaze landed on the badge clipped to the waist of my jeans. “Agent…?”
“Roberts,” I finished his question.
After setting down his load, he crossed his arms and leaned against the bar. “Again, what can I do for you Agent Roberts?”
“I’m looking for Elliott King.”
“Not here.”
“Do you know when he will be here or where I might be able to find him?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. I’m not his secretary.”
Wiseass. I pasted on my most pleasant smile. “I see. Well maybe you can help me then, Mr…?”
“Doubtful.” His stern expression didn’t shift. He merely continued staring me down, ignoring my question. I took my time studying him. He wasn’t threatening, just not forthcoming.
“Well, since you aren’t a secretary, are you the manager, then?”
“Nope, just the bartender.”
“I’ve been to enough bars to know there’s no such thing as ’just the bartender’.” My smile became a little more genuine. “You’re a confidante. Someone they can trust. You’re also the one who knows more than everyone else in this place.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” He smirked, one side of his mouth pulling up in a half smile. “Sorry I was being a dick. Grant Marsden.”
He shifted away from the wall and began putting away the bottles of beer he’d brought out from the back room.
“Mr. Mars—”
“Just Grant.” He shook his head, cutting me off. “Mr. Marsden is my father.”
“Grant, then. Like I said, you’re probably the person I should be directing my questions to anyway. If anyone has the answers, I’m sure it’s you.”
He was still wary. “Like I said, doubtful.”
“Let’s try anyway. Have you ever heard of something called Rapture?”
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes before it disappeared. “Afraid not.”
“What about the name Felipe? Does that sound familiar?”
Another flicker. “There are a lot of people who come in and out of this place. I don’t know the names of even half of them.”
“And what about the other half?”
He stacked rocks glasses upside down on top of each other. “Agent Roberts, I come to work, serve drinks, get my pay, and walk out the door. I keep my questions and my curiosity to myself.”
“I see.”
Grant opened and closed his mouth like he wanted to say something. I didn’t push. Just let him decide what he was going to do. He must have made a decision, because he opened his mouth again. “Unlike one of the other bartenders.”
“What do you mean?”
“He started acting weird the last few days he was here. Lots of secretive phone calls. Jumpy and on edge. I’d caught him a few times trying to listen in on conversations between Mr. King and a couple of guys in the back room. Then, about two weeks ago, he didn’t show up for work one night. Haven’t seen him since.”
“Do you know what happened to him? Or who the two other guys were?”
Grant shook his head. “No. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.”
“Does this bartender have a name?” I pulled out a notebook. “No one will know you’re the one who told me. But I’m trying to save people’s lives, Grant. It’s possible Mr. King has information regarding the sale of this Rapture.”
He shrugged. “No offense, Agent Roberts, but I’m sorry I can’t help you. If you want answers to your questions, I recommend you get a warrant.”
Beneath his bravado, there was also fear. If what he said about the other bartender was true, then it was possible he had reason to be afraid.
The front door opened behind me, and I spun on my heel, my hand instinctively going for my gun. Sun blinded me briefly.
“Preston?” My voice rose in shock. “What are you doing here?”
I shoved back the part of me that reared to life at seeing him.
“I’m here following a lead. I assume you’re here for the same reason.”
“Yes, but no luck.”
His chin jerked in Grant’s direction. “He not talking?”
I turned back to the bartender. “I’ll be back with a warrant.” It wouldn’t be easy securing one without probable cause, but I’d do my best. “Thank you for the information. Here’s my card. If the name of that other bartender comes to you, give me a call, will you?”
He took my card with a nod. I made my way to the door, taking care with my footsteps, unable to avoid walking past Preston.
“Agent Roberts.”
We both turned back at my name.
“I believe Mr. King spends a lot of time at Monteverde over on Madison.”
I nodded in appreciation and stepped out into the cold, ignoring the man hot on my heels.
“So, is that where we’re going next?”
Turning on my heel, I glared at Preston, who stood grinning like he was having a great time. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Why not?”
“Because. This is official federal agency business, and you’re a civilian. That’s why.”
He scoffed. “I’m a private investigator who’s…investigating. I came here looking for information on Rapture, which, I’m pretty sure, is why you came here. Now we get to take a field trip.”
“For god’s sake, Preston,” I snapped. “This isn’t some joke. People are fucking dying from this shit, and you’re not even taking it seriously.”
An instant shift came over him, and I unconsciously took a step back at the anger on his face.
“Don’t you think I know people are dying? I could have been one of them. I nearly have been. More than once. So believe me, I’m very much taking this seriously, Landon.”
The slight heat of shame stung me. I’d overreacted and had been shitty, but I couldn’t think clearly when he was this close. “I
’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
His expression relaxed, and he rubbed a hand down his face. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”
An awkward silence hung between us. I shifted nervously on my feet. “What were you doing here anyway? I mean at Club Delight? You said to investigate, but what made you come here, specifically?”
“I asked around for where I might be able to find information on Rapture.”
My arms crossed over my chest. “And just who happened to give you this information?”
Preston avoided my gaze. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you didn’t get the information either of us needed. So, we’ll keep looking.”
I sighed. He wasn’t getting it. “There is no ’we’. I keep telling you this, but you’re not listening.”
He stepped right into my personal space, his chest nearly brushing mine. Instant heat spread through me. My breath caught as he reached up and cupped my cheek. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but there is most definitely a we, Landon. You’re just fighting it.”
Damn him. Why did he keep doing this to me? Why did I keep letting him? “Can we not have this conversation right now?” I sighed. “Please?”
Preston’s lips tightened and his jaw clenched, but his hand dropped, and cold air hit my cheek that was quickly losing the warmth from his touch. “Fine, but we will have it.”
I nodded, grudgingly accepting the fact. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to give up easily. I might as well resign myself to it.
“Let me do my job. I already told Brody I would share what I could with you guys.”
“Which I’m sure you will. But I need to do my job too. I have a personal stake in this case.”
I understood where Preston was coming from, but we, I, needed distance. “You and Brody can run your investigation however you’d like. Unless you get in my team’s way, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But I can’t just have you tagging along with me wherever I go. It doesn’t work that way.”
Finally, he nodded, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“While I appreciate your concern, I’ve been doing this a long time.”
“That may be, but I just found you. I don’t want to lose you again.”
My heart ached. I couldn’t do this right now. “I need to get back to work.”
I turned and walked away, praying he wouldn’t stop me, yet there was a small part of me that wanted him to ask me not to go. He cursed, but didn’t follow.
Chapter 10
I’d been shocked as hell to walk into the club this morning and see Landon in there. I’d missed her discussion with the bartender, but I’d enjoyed watching how confidently she stood there. She was so different from the woman I’d met at that hotel bar. I was trying to reconcile the two.
I hadn’t lied when I said we were going to talk, but in the meantime, I was back inside Club Delight. Landon may need a warrant, but I didn’t. The bartender knew something. I’d shown up a little early, around ten, and stood in line out in the cold for far too fucking long before finally being allowed inside.
I strolled around the edge of the dance floor, the flashing lights exposing and then hiding a myriad of sins going on. The music was making my ears bleed. Whatever kind of techno-shit they were playing in this place was awful. Was this really what people were listening to these days? Jesus.
It had been about six years since I’d been in a club like this. Not that I remembered much about my time spent in one. I’d been too busy in the bathroom sticking a needle in my arm.
There were three bartenders behind the bar, including the guy from this morning. I wasn’t sure if he’d recognize me or not. I hoped he’d been paying more attention to Landon than he had been to me. I was about to find out.
Squeezing my way between bodies, I made my way up to the bar.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” He had to lean forward and raise his voice to be heard over the trash coming from the DJ booth.
“I’m just here for a drink, man,” I shouted back. “Can I get a Johnny Walker Black?”
He hesitated before finally grabbing a rocks glass. A few minutes later I dropped a twenty on the bar, sipped my scotch, and tried not to gag. Nasty stuff. I leaned back against the curved edge of wood and stared out at the gyrating bodies.
I could read body language. I noticed the furtive glances of twitchy cokeheads sniffing and wiping their noses. I watched everyone, looking for tells. Bingo.
My eyes landed on a scrawny kid in his early twenties, standing against the wall near the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He was antsy and bouncing back and forth on his toes. His gaze was frantic, like he was desperately searching for someone. I eased off the bar and made my way toward him.
“How’s it going, man?”
He glared at me. “Fuck off. I’m waiting for someone, and you’re going to scare him off.”
“Maybe you’re waiting for me.”
“You’re not Felipe. Now get the hell away from me.”
I slowly sipped my drink, feeling the burn of an alcohol I hadn’t touched in two years. “Oh, I’ve heard of him. Do you think maybe you could hook me up? I hear he’s got this new shit that gives you a high like no other.”
The coker eyed me up and down and jerked his chin in my direction. “You a cop?”
I discreetly showed him my arm. “Do I look like a cop to you?”
He took in my scars before meeting my eyes again. Then he glanced away, his gaze darting around the room. Without looking at me, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. “What you looking for?”
“I keep hearing about this shit Rapture. Can your friend get me some?”
“Are you kidding? He’s the main man for that.”
I took another sip of my scotch. “How much can I get for $25?”
Sniff. “Shit, I can get you a dime bag for that.”
“The fuck? A dime bag is like ten bucks, man.”
“Shhh,” he waved his hand at me. “Keep your goddamn voice down. You said you wanted the good shit. Well, that’s how much it costs.”
I didn’t know who was playing who, but if this Felipe was charging that much for a fucking dime bag, he was making bank. Especially for bad shit.
“Fine, whatever. Now, where is this friend of yours anyway?”
The kid looked around, wiping his nose, his gaze back to scanning the room. “Fuck, dude, you probably scared him off thinking you were a goddamn pig.”
There was no way this Felipe guy thought I was a cop. And even if he did, he’d send one of his men to approach and ask a few pointed questions.
But the kid was right. He may not be scared, but until he actually figured out who I was, he was being cautious. Which was fine. I wasn’t going anywhere yet.
“Well, I’ll leave you alone. But if you see your friend. Let him know I’m interested in a business transaction.”
I didn’t really expect him to even remember half of our conversation. But this club had eyes and ears, and if I were lucky, the message would find its way to Felipe. In the meantime, I was going to head back over to the bar and wait. It may not be tonight, but eventually I’d make contact.
Two hours later I took the last swallow of the same watered-down scotch I’d ordered upon my arrival. It would seem I’d be making an appearance at the lovely Club Delight another night since this one was a bust. I plunked down my empty glass on the bar top and headed toward the door. Before I got halfway there, someone ran into me, knocking my shoulder backward. I held up my hands even though I hadn’t been at fault. “Hey, man, sorry about that.”
“I hear you’re looking for Felipe?”
“Maybe. Who’s asking?”
“Don’t worry about what my name is.”
“Then don’t worry about who I was or wasn’t looking for.” I started moving toward the door again, blowing off the guy who most definitely knew my soo
n-to-be new friend, Felipe.
“Do you want to meet him or not?”
Keeping my smile to myself, I slowly pivoted back around. “I don’t follow people whose names I don’t know.”
He grunted. “Name’s Cruz. And you are?”
“Preston.”
“This way, then, Preston.”
I followed the Latinx man, maneuvering between bodies until we reached the far side of the club. A horseshoe-shaped booth surrounded a circular table. Seated on the booth were several women, all wearing skin-tight dresses with their tits popping out the top and that barely covered their ass. Their heavy makeup was unattractive. Sitting in the gaggle of women was an equally unattractive man. Oily, slicked back hair and wearing a pin-striped suit. He was smoking a cigar and had a woman tucked under his arm. He gestured toward the single open chair across from him. I took a seat, leaned back, and crossed my ankle over my knee.
“I understand you were asking about me.” His accent was pure Chicagoan.
“Depends on whether or not you’re Felipe.”
He chuckled low as though I’d said something funny. A plume of smoke exited his mouth. “And if I am?”
I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “Then I guess you’re who I’m looking for.”
A slap came to the back of my head, hard enough to make it snap forward. I jumped out of my chair, nearly knocking it over, and with one smooth motion I spun with a left hook and clocked the bastard on the jaw. Feminine cries echoed around me despite the volume of the music from the speakers. “You fucking touch me again, and next time it’ll be a knife you feel. You understand me?”
The sound of a fake golf clap came from behind me. “Bravo. Not many people would dare hit Cruz, here.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit who he is. No one lays a hand on me.”
Felipe inclined his head, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge my command. “Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, how about introductions? You know who I am, but why don’t you tell me who you are?”