A thumping bass quickly morphed into a rhythmic horn riff.
“Es Bruno,” a girl said running by me to the dance floor, a lanky boy lagging behind her.
Bruno Mars, I guessed. Following the girl to the floor, I finally spotted Britney.
Damn.
All I could see were legs as long as a python, and twice as deadly. Making it very apparent she was a solo act, she put on a display that would have brought shivers to a blind man. Using a pole in the middle of the floor as a seductive prop, she coiled around the floor as if she was trying to ensnare the Pope. Considering how people treated Amador, somehow it seemed necessary…in the most inappropriate way I could have ever imagined Britney prior to her betrayal.
But after everything I’d witnessed, I wasn’t surprised she had it in her.
I ordered a drink, tonic water on ice, and joined dozens of others gawking at the sexy blonde, the men with their jaws hanging open and the women with their jaws clenched shut. Thankfully, a few brave souls ignored Britney’s antics and joined her on the floor, trying to out-slut the queen slut, if that was possible.
“What do you see, Booker?” Sean asked. “We only see a lot of movement.”
“It’s almost making me seasick,” Bolt added.
“Don’t think you’d say that if you were in here.”
“What? Tell me, Mr. Booker.”
I ignored his hormonal response. “She’s giving it her best effort, that much I’ll say. Amador and his core group are moving to the opposite corner. He glanced at her, but didn’t seem interested. Are you sure he’s not gay?”
“Dammit, I knew we should have used Valdez,” Bolt said.
“Bolt, you’ve got to let up on that poor guy.”
“Just kidding,” he said.
“According to the dossier, Amador is all about the women, and not in the most flattering way. Think about the story Julio told Bolt about that young girl. She killed two people just to show she was the biggest badass in the camp, and then that sonofabitch rapes her.”
The club tune hit the chorus.
“Isn’t that Uptown Funk?”
“Sure,” I said, not really hearing Bolt’s question. Britney reached straight down and pressed her head against her legs before popping back up and gyrating like she was dancing right alongside Bruno. I knew she was limber. My memory fought to tap the brakes on about twenty different visuals…and scents and textures. Back then, I never thought months later she’d be seducing a maniacal killer.
Out of nowhere, a girl at each arm started pulling me toward the dance floor. Each had huge smiles and wore body-hugging red-and-blue checkered miniskirts with white halter tops. Wait…they were twins.
My Dallas buddy, Justin, would be in hog heaven. Me, a curmudgeon at age thirty-two, saw beauty, but also annoyance.
Trying not to be forceful, I shifted my body weight back toward the bar.
“No gracias. No gracias.”
They kept tugging, and I started to feel eyes shift in my direction.
“Booker, what’s going on? Everything cool?” Sean asked.
The girl on the left quickly leaned in, resting her lips against my ear. “We noticed you staring at us when you were upstairs.”
She spoke English.
“Uh, well…that wasn’t me.” That was smooth. I didn’t even recall seeing them.
She giggled, her breath brushing against my neck.
“My sister and I are actually from the Bronx. We’re here as part of our post-doctoral studies in environmental science,” she said, her deep brown eyes catching mine for a second.
I couldn’t deny her beauty. And she had brains. And there were two of them. Justin would be egging me on, his bony shoulders jostling up and down from his incessant laughter. As for the reaction of the better half of Booker & Associates, Alisa, I couldn’t say. Perhaps I didn’t want to think about how she’d see this. Ever since we joined forces, we had interacted more like old friends. Now we were old friends who had crossed the line. Was there even a line anymore? With everything else going on, tiptoeing through that minefield of choices and expectations wasn’t something I wanted to do right now.
“We’ve been studying our asses off, and now we just want to have some fun. I’m Evita, and my younger sister by ten minutes is Marisol.”
Marisol winked in slow motion.
“Lo siento mucho.”
“Why are you speaking Spanish, Mr. Booker?” Bolt asked.
For a quick second, I’d forgotten about the device placed in my ear.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not up for…whatever you have planned,” I said, still trying to use my leverage to touch home base, the bar. “No offense. You’re both very pretty and apparently very smart.”
I attempted to look beyond the Wonder Twins. I spotted a streak of blond hair, and I knew Britney was still in the middle of her routine. I just hoped Amador was taking notice.
“You sure we can’t convince you? We’ve been known to…” Then, she whispered something in my ear that I couldn’t understand.
“What?” Bolt exclaimed.
Apparently it was undecipherable through the mic.
Without warning, I was attacked by ten fingers, tickling at my rib cage.
Bullseye. Marisol pinched the exact spot that Julio’s pal had used as a battering ram. My elbow clinched my side, and I flinched.
“Oh, did we hurt Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?”
The hand invasion continued, but was much softer. I still felt like a piece of meat. I was starting to wonder if Evita and Marisol had been home-schooled and never seen a grown man.
“Ladies.”
Their intensity increased, and they rubbed me like they were kneading frozen dough.
“Laaadiessss.” I attempted to pry their hands off my body.
“Mr. Booker, are you a crazy man?”
“Shut up, Bolt.”
“I’m sorry?” Marisol said.
Good, I pissed off the Wonder Twins. But it didn’t last long.
A shove from behind, and I practically fell into their arms. I turned over my shoulder. The bartender was smiling so wide I couldn’t see his eyes.
“Thanks for the help,” I said, and his facial expression didn’t budge.
But I did.
“Okay, okay,” I said, finally relenting. “One dance.”
The girls grabbed my arms and pulled me faster than I wanted to move. We finally stepped up to the dance floor, and I felt the whole thing shaking. With all the drinking going on, I was shocked as hell not to see everyone tumbling over.
Marisol and Evita did their thing and I did mine, as subtly as I could, the Bruno Mars song now in about its eighth minute. Just as I thought they’d lost interest, they redirected their hip swivels my way, and I found myself stuck between two gyrating women.
“You go, Mr. Booker. You go, man,” Bolt said.
How did he know what was going on?
A firm hand gripped my bicep and spun me out of the twin blender and into the waiting arms of Britney.
“Bitch!” I heard one of the twins say.
Before I’d taken a breath, Britney had placed my hands at her hips and locked her arms around my neck, and we were swaying slowly back and forth.
Something else had changed. The music, a slow song from John Legend.
“And the legend grows,” she said, shifting her sights between my lips and eyes.
“Nice pun, but you’re seducing the wrong person,” I said, suddenly conspicuous of my hands.
“Am I?”
I noticed a twinkle.
“What if we could just get on a plane, shove all the lies and betrayal away, and just start over?”
I wouldn’t have been more surprised if she had revealed she was actually a man. I did a quick scan of the most beautiful woman I’d ever known. Well, that sure as hell couldn’t happen. But still.
“Can’t happen, Britney. You screwed that up months ago. A little thing called murder. Three times. That I kno
w of.” I shifted my eyes slightly. “Have you forgotten about poor little Esteban, the innocent one in this sordid mess? He’s going to die a disgusting death unless we, as in you, figure out where he is.”
“I know. Why do you think I’m slow dancing with you?”
“Mr. Booker, Mr. Booker!” Bolt exclaimed.
I must have flinched.
“They can see you through the camera on my chest. Are they asking you what’s going on?”
I nodded.
“Look, I know Amador noticed me. He tried to act like it was nothing, but I didn’t get where I am by not noticing every subtle expression by a man.”
I couldn’t dispute that.
“And?’
“I’m guessing that he’ll get jealous watching me turn my solo dance into a date, and then one of his brainless goons will come retrieve me like I’m a prostitute.”
“You sure about that?” I asked.
“Believe me, no one can buy my body,” she said defiantly.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said.
A beefy finger tapped Britney’s shoulder. She shot me a wink and mouthed “Wish me luck.” She then turned and strutted away with the goon watching her backside.
I left the floor and found a stool at a table between two larger columns off behind the bar, positioned diagonally from Amador’s crew. Britney and her escort approached the main table. She gave him a stiff shake of the hand, as if it was a business introduction. Not very seductive.
“¿Me puedo dar algo de beber, señor?”
A woman in spandex startled me. She must have entered from the swivel door at my right.
“Um…” It was difficult to take my eyes off the scene across the club.
“You’re asking me if I want something to drink.” I said while realizing I’d left my tonic water at the bar. Glancing over her shoulder, I could see the bartender had already trashed it.
“Another tonic water and ice, por favor.”
“Sí, un momento.” She batted her eyelashes and padded away, which made me feel exposed. I surveyed my surroundings, on the lookout for Evita and Marisol, the twenty-something sisters who’d apparently just been introduced to the male species. I felt like I’d been the focus of a test based upon one of their environmental science theories.
Wonder if I passed.
Thankfully, the Wonder Twins had disappeared or hitched their ménage wagon to one of the charming goons picking up Amador’s trash.
It didn’t take long to spot Britney again, her long legs crossed as she sat along a curved wall in a blue leather booth. There must have been ten guys standing or sitting within twenty feet of my ex. Even if their job was to keep an eye open for possible enemies invading their space, I found every head turned toward Britney. The school owner was positioned a couple of feet away from Amador, her arm draped on the side of the seat extending to the drug smuggler’s shoulder. He seemed interested, but had yet to hit the smitten threshold.
“Haven’t heard anything from the motley crew lately,” I said while lowering my chin to my chest.
“Busy,” Sean said.
“It’s good to see that Amador didn’t recognize Britney. At least that’s how it appears from a distance,” I said. “Have you guys heard anything yet to think otherwise?”
“Nothing. Just a lot of small talk about the beach, the history of the island. Bolt, take out your earbud and cover your ears,” Sean said.
“That just means I’m going to miss something juicy.”
“Bolt,” I said.
“All right.”
I heard the mic rustling against a shirt or something similar.
“I was going to say that up to this point, Amador seems rather calm and collected, as if Britney is just another groupie who would do anything to get in his pants. But he’s given some subtle signals that he’s the aggressor, like bragging about all his money and gadgets.” Sean said, then to Bolt. “It’s okay, you can listen in again.”
“Mr. Booker, what did I miss? All I can see are a bunch of hairy men staring at the camera on Britney’s chest. But we all know they’re not really staring at the camera.” He giggled, finishing with a snort.
“Glad to see you act your age some of the time, Bolt.”
My drink arrived, and I sipped from the tall, thin glass.
“We’re hungry and thirsty, and we have to listen to you have all the luxuries,” Bolt said with an extra flare.
Just then, someone handed Amador a phone. Holding a finger, he smiled toward Britney as he stepped off to the side.
“What do you guys hear? Anything?” I leaned forward, but kept my shoes anchored to the crossbar of the stool. I couldn’t read his lips.
“He apologized for the interruption in their conversation,” Bolt said.
“Almost sounded too nice,” Sean added. “But he’s too far away from Britney. Maybe you could do a drive-by, and we can try to pick up a few words?”
Drink in hand, I lifted from the chair and strolled by the bar, seemingly with no place to go. The thickening haze in the rafters bent through the whirling lightshow that appeared to never end. I could hardly walk a straight line. The crowd must have doubled in the last thirty minutes.
Rounding my way to the other side, I lifted my glass just as I reached the perimeter of the goon patrol. “Oye, Paco, mucho tiempo sin verte.” I repeated a phrase I’d heard my old DPD partner utter on many occasions, showing off his exaggerated Spanish. Essentially, I’d called out for an imaginary friend at the other end of the dance floor, allowing me to scoot past guard number one with only a brief glance.
“Almost there,” I said through a toothy smile, as if I was anticipating a joyous reunion with my old buddy just up ahead.
For just a second, I thought about how seamlessly Paco and I had worked together. We complimented each other’s skills and, at times, finished each other’s thoughts, occasionally in two languages. But he was the professional talker. I had been the closer. I missed that little guy, one of many people I looked forward to seeing when I got back to my home turf in Dallas.
A hand in my pocket, I pulled out my phone. Wadded up cash dropped just to the side of an animated Miguel Amador. Only a few feet from the dance floor, I leaned down to pick up the loose bills, straining to hear anything from the drug lord.
“Tiempo…” he said in a string of words. And then a “mundo.”
Time and world. His world? I struggled to understand what he was saying. I just prayed Sean or Bolt could hear and interpret what was being said through the noise pollution.
I spotted a boot sidling up next to Amador. Without looking that way, I scooped up the bills, stuffed them in my front pocket, and reengaged with my distant, make-believe friend.
“¿Cómo estás grandote?” I yelled, weaving through bodyguards and regular folks coming off the dance floor.
I withheld the urge to turn my head and glance at Britney for two reasons. Most importantly, I didn’t want to blow her cover. Secondly, she reminded me of Medusa. Beautiful, almost irresistible on the outside, but seemingly poised at any moment to use her mystical blue eyes to put me in a lifelong curse, a granite statue notwithstanding.
Once safely past, I found another base, this time in the opposite corner, anchored near a group of folks busy playing drinking games. They didn’t know that I was pretending to be part of their faction.
I took a quick sip of my drink. “So, did you guys catch any of that? I only heard a couple of words.”
A few seconds ticked by.
“Sean, Bolt, you there?” My pulse jumped up a notch, and I couldn’t help but bring a hand to my ear.
“Sean, Bolt, do—”
A shrill shot through my ear. I winced, as much as I tried not to show it.
“What the hell, guys?”
“Sorry, had to drop your connection for a second,” Sean said. “I switched over to my audio analyzer application and replayed the little bit we picked up from Amador.”
“Damn, you’re d
efinitely not the guy I thought you were when I woke up and saw you messing with that ancient phone.”
“I was able to parse out most of the extraneous sound from Amador’s voice.”
“So, what did he say?”
Bolt responded with, “No hay tiempo para jugar estos pequeños juegos tontos. En mi mundo, o estás conmigo o contra mí. Y todos sabemos que optan por jugar para el otro lado. ¿Estoy en lo cierto?”
“That’s a mouthful. I need some help in the translation, Bolt.”
“You need to learn better Spanish, Mr. Booker.”
“I’ll add it to my priority list. What did he say?”
“No time to play these silly little games. In my world, you're either with me or against me. And we all know who chooses to play for the other side. Am I right?” Bolt said as if he actually was the legendary drug kingpin.
“Disturbing, but no surprise there,” Sean said.
“No mention of Esteban or even of a generic kidnapping.”
“It was a shot in the dark,” Sean added.
“There is smog, Mr. Sean, but I can still see,” Bolt said.
Sean chuckled. “It’s another one of those American terms. Just means we took a chance and hoped to learn something about Esteban. But it wasn’t likely to work. And it didn’t.”
“I don’t recall you having that kind of patience,” I said without thinking.
A pause on the other end. “We’ve all grown up over the years.”
“I am confused. How do you two know each other?” Bolt asked.
The earpiece went silent.
“Hey, Amador just handed the cell phone back to his lackey and is now extending his hand to help Britney up to her feet.”
“We got the visual here. They’re going to the dance floor?” Sean’s voiced pitched higher.
“Yep. It’s time for another Britney tease show,” I said.
“I hear jealousy in your voice, Mr. Booker. No?”
Nothing better than being outed by a teenager. “Hardly. That left when she whacked the side of my head with my own gun, after, of course, she’d already beaten up my mom and killed three innocent people.”
It was a little easier to think like a PI hired to bring home a killer when I wasn’t ensnared by Britney’s legs or her web of guilt.
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 41