Hot Lights, Cold Steel

by D P Lyle

  “Stop it,” the doctor said. “Mr. Austin, why don’t you go? We can handle everything here.”

  “Fine. Give me a shout if you need anything.” Austin turned and left the room.

  “Sorry about all that,” the man said. His voice was soft, almost soothing. “Mr. Austin can be a bit rude at times.” He touched Alejandro’s ribs. “I don’t think he broke anything.”

  The man clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” He retreated to a corner of the room where he grabbed the handle of a cart. He maneuvered it up next to Alejandro.

  “What’s that?” Alejandro asked.

  The older man looked down at him and smiled.

  Alejandro felt panic swell in his chest. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Your surgeon.”

  CHAPTER 38

  SATURDAY 11:16 P.M.

  EARLIER T-TOMMY AND I SWUNG BY SAMMY’S FOR SOME Q AND THEN rolled toward High Rollers. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, and mist peppered the windshield. The storm was on its way in.

  “Time for a little carpet bombing,” T-Tommy said as we walked toward the entrance. “Give the locals a shake, and see what falls out.”

  Another twenty-dollar cover charge and we settled at a table near one wall. A thick haze of cigarette smoke and the pulse of rock music filled the room.

  Immediately a waitress appeared. Lean, blonde, and wearing the uniform: bikini-like shorts and a skimpy halter top. “I’m Kirsten. What can I get you?”

  We ordered a pair of Maker’s Marks, neat. I watched as she walked away. Great legs and a practiced strut.

  “My, my,” T-Tommy said.

  “How do you want to play it?” I asked.

  “Straight up. Let’s ask around, let the word get back to Rocco, and see what he does. I’ll hit up the bartender. The one we saw the other night. Believe his name was Sean.” He headed toward the bar.

  In five minutes, T-Tommy slid back into his chair just as Kirsten returned with our bourbons.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Not now,” T-Tommy said. “Don’t be a stranger, though.”

  I sipped my Maker’s and looked around the room. The patrons were almost exclusively male, only a handful of women, probably here for the men but maybe not. Everyone’s gaze seemed to be locked on the tight-bodied blonde on the main stage, bumping and writhing to the rhythm of the Stones’ “Honky Tonk Women.” Three rowdy suits, probably lawyers, stuffed bills beneath the elastic of her G-string. Fools and their money.

  The song ended, and the blonde stepped down from the stage, slipped into a thin jacket, hiding nothing, and snaked her way through the tables, collecting bills from the guys. She stopped at our table and smiled. “Want a private dance?”

  I shook my head. She headed to another table.

  Kirsten reappeared. “You guys doing okay?”

  “Got a question for you,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I went on. “We’re looking for a guy. Used to bounce here. Maybe a year ago. Name’s Alejandro Diaz.”

  “Don’t know him. I’ve only been here a few months. What’s he look like?”

  “Hispanic. Tall. Maybe six one.”

  She thought for a minute. “Not sure, but you could mean this guy that hangs with one of Carmelita’s regulars. A guy named Eddie. His buddy’s tall. Don’t remember his name, though.”

  “Alejandro, maybe?”

  She shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Where’s Carmelita?”

  Kirsten scanned the room. “I haven’t seen her. I don’t think she’s working tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  She started to turn away but stopped. “You might ask Madison. She’s Carmelita’s best friend. I’ll send her over when I see her.”

  “That would be great,” I said. “Another round?”

  “Sure.”

  As T-Tommy and I continued working on our drinks, a striking blonde walked up. She looked young. Maybe too young.

  “I’m Madison.” She smiled. “Kirsten said you wanted a dance.”

  “Maybe later,” I said. “Buy you a drink?”

  “That would be nice.” Translation: easy money. “A gin and tonic would be great.” Which meant tonic on the rocks for ten bucks. Talk didn’t come cheap at High Rollers. Not that anything did. “You guys from out of town? Never seen you in here before.”

  “We don’t get out much,” T-Tommy said.

  She gave us a knowing nod. “Married.”

  I laughed. “No. Just heard this place was fun.”

  “If you want fun, you’re definitely at the right place.”

  “Packed like this every night?” I asked.

  “Sometimes more,” Madison said.

  “How long you worked here?”

  “I came on at six.”

  I smiled. “I meant, how many years?”

  She laughed. “Oh. Couple of years. Before that I worked at a bank.”

  “You like this better?”

  Madison looked at me. “That must be it.”

  I waited.

  “It’s a money thing,” she said. “A girl can do real well here. If you can tolerate the grind.”

  “We’re looking for someone.”

  She cocked her head but said nothing.

  “Guy named Alejandro Diaz. You know him?”

  I noticed Madison’s posture stiffen. A slight squint to her eyes and a barely noticeable pursing of her lips. She looked at the floor and then back at me. “I remember faces, but I’m not very good with names.”

  Quick under pressure, her answer nearly perfect. No admission, no denial. Would have been perfect had her gaze not dropped again, avoiding me, giving her away.

  “Used to bounce here. Still might sometimes,” I said.

  She glanced around as if hoping someone would rescue her before she had to answer. She got lucky. Kirsten walked over.

  “I see Madison found you,” Kirsten said. She smiled at Madison. “Anything?”

  “Gin and tonic.”

  I noticed Sean the bartender go up the stairs and into Rocco’s office. The gorilla beside the office door didn’t move. Looked to be half asleep, boredom on his face.

  Rocco looked up when he heard a knock on the door. Lefty and Austin, sitting in the chairs across from his desk, didn’t move. “Yeah?” Rocco said.

  Sean pushed the door open and walked inside. “Those two guys? The cop types? They’re back. They asked about Alejandro, and now they’re huddled at a table with Madison.”

  Rocco nodded. “Thanks. I’ll handle it.”

  Sean closed the door when he left.

  Rocco retrieved a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray near his left elbow and stared at Lefty and Austin. “These guys are becoming a pain in the ass.” He relit the cigar stub and clamped it between his teeth. “Asking about Alejandro. Chatting up Carmelita’s friend Madison. Nothing good can come from that. Get down there. See what the hell they’re up to.”

  They stood.

  “Make sure Madison keeps her fucking mouth shut.”

  “How far can we go?”

  Rocco blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “As far as it takes.”

  CHAPTER 39

  SATURDAY 11:19 P.M.

  MADISON TOOK A QUICK SIP OF HER DRINK. “SURE YOU GUYS DON’T WANT a dance?”

  I scooted my chair close, leaned forward, elbows on knees. “We’re just looking for Alejandro, and I think you know who he is.” I scanned the room. “I’d bet most of the girls in here know him, too.”

  “Then why don’t you ask one of them?”

  “You’re the prettiest.”

  She gave me a half smile. “You guys cops?”

  “Him yes, me no.”

  “You look like a cop.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  Again a half smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  “We know Alejandro works here. Off and on. We know he has a sidekick named Eddie.”

  Madison glanced at Rocco’s office,
then the bar. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “I promise we’re not trying to bring any down on you, but you do know Alejandro and Eddie, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “When did you see them last?”

  “A few nights ago. Wednesday.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. They left about eleven.”

  “Where were they going?”

  Her gaze bounced up at Rocco’s office again. “I have to go.” She pushed her chair back.

  Looking up, I saw the gorilla staring at us. So were the two guys who came out of Rocco’s office. I grabbed Madison’s arm. “Relax. Nobody’s going to do anything to you.”

  Madison jerked her arm away and stood. “Don’t touch me. I’ve already told you too much. Leave me alone.” She moved through the tables, ignoring several guys who waved bills at her, before disappearing through a door that I suspected led to the dancers’ dressing area.

  The two guys came down the stairs, watching us.

  “We got company,” I said.

  They pushed through the crowd, taking the direct route. One was tall, lean, maybe midthirties, the other younger, with iron-pumped muscles. Each had dark, close-cropped hair, and there wasn’t a hint of a smile between them. They wore black T-shirts beneath sports coats, one tan, one gray. Probably some unwritten tough guy dress code.

  I was wearing the same outfit. Except my jacket was black. Maybe they’d think I was part of their club. Probably not, based on their scowls.

  I sensed T-Tommy slide to the front of his chair, ready to react.

  “Can we help you guys?” the muscular one asked when they reached our table.

  “Maybe two more bourbons,” I said.

  “Funny. Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

  I grinned. “We love naked women. Don’t you?”

  “Drink up,” he said. “That was last call.”

  Me: “Really? This early?”

  T-Tommy: “Does seem early, don’t it? Not even midnight yet.”

  Me: “How do they stay in business closing so early?”

  T-Tommy: “Beats me.”

  Me: “Maybe it’s a tax write-off.”

  The taller man’s jaw tightened. “Listen up, assholes. Mr. Scarcella says you go, you go. Now get the fuck out.”

  Me: “Where’d you guys train for this job?”

  T-Tommy: “Must have been a correspondence course.”

  Me: “They do seem a little short on people skills.”

  T-Tommy: “Were you guys close to your mothers?”

  Me: “Didn’t teach them any manners.”

  T-Tommy: “None at all.”

  “Are you guys deaf?” Muscles asked.

  “You could ask nicely,” I said.

  He smirked. “Okay. Please. Pretty please with sugar on top. Get the fuck out of here.”

  “Soon as we finish our drinks.”

  “And she finishes her act.” T-Tommy motioned to the slim redhead on the main stage. “Kinda hate to miss her.”

  “Want us to drag you outside?” the older guy said.

  I shook my head. “Don’t see much wisdom in following that path.”

  The man opened his jacket, exposing the butt of a gun stuffed beneath his belt.

  “Would you look at that?” T-Tommy said. “He’s got one, too.”

  “Kind of small, though,” I said.

  The man’s face hardened. “This town’s full of clowns. You assholes better take your act somewhere else. Or I might have to use this.” He patted the gun.

  T-Tommy smiled. “Be hard to use all stuffed down in your pants like that.”

  “Might shoot your own balls off trying to get it out of there,” I said.

  The muscular one tugged a handheld stun gun from his jacket pocket. I recognized it as a Raptor 100,000 volt job. He pressed the button, and a blue electrical arc sizzled between the two contact probes.

  “My, my,” T-Tommy said. “He brought his garage door opener with him.”

  The man closed in on T-Tommy, the Raptor extended in front of him. Bad idea. T-Tommy clamped his thick fingers around the guy’s wrist and cranked his forearm outward. The man went to one knee, and the stun gun dropped to the floor.

  T-Tommy leaned forward and dug his fingers into the guy’s neck, squeezing his face purple. “Play nice, or I’ll fuck you up.”

  The other man hesitated, apparently unable to believe that T-Tommy could move that quickly.

  That gave me time to stand, step to the other man’s side, and yank his weapon from beneath his belt. “Be cool,” I said. I examined the gun, a SIG P226, 9mm, stainless steel finish. “Nice piece.” I slipped the clip out and worked the slide, popping the chambered cartridge out. It spun across the table and fell to the floor. I handed the nine back to him. “Relax. Enjoy the show.”

  T-Tommy let go of Muscles’s neck but maintained control by twisting his wrist into an awkward position. The man held his breath. Sweat popped out on his forehead. T-Tommy jerked the man’s gun free and handed it to me.

  I removed the clip and ejected the chambered shell from it, too. I laid it on the table. “That’s better. Now, who are you guys?”

  “None of your fucking business,” the smaller guy said.

  “Actually it is.” T-Tommy pulled his badge from his pocket and flipped it open. “Threatening a police officer is serious stuff. You can answer the questions here or downtown. Your call.”

  Neither said anything for a moment, and then the man beside me said, “I’m Lefty. This is Austin.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” T-Tommy released Austin’s wrist and stood.

  Austin rose and backed up a couple of steps.

  “Maybe you guys can help us,” I said. “We’re looking for someone. Works here so I’m sure you know him. Alejandro Diaz.”

  Austin smirked. “Never heard of him.”

  “Me neither,” Lefty added.

  “Didn’t think so.” I looked at T-Tommy and nodded toward the door. “Been a real pleasure chatting with you gentlemen, but it’s past our bedtime.”

  The two men glared at us as we pushed past them and headed toward the door.

  I stopped and turned around. “When you hear from Alejandro, tell him we’re looking for him.”

  “Didn’t get your names,” Austin said.

  “I’m sure you know,” I said.

  As we walked out of High Rollers, T-Tommy clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “That ought to shake the tree.”

  CHAPTER 40

  SATURDAY 11:52 P.M.

  ALEJANDRO SLIPPED FROM A STRANGE DREAM INTO AN EVEN stranger reality. He felt smothered, as if something had lodged in his throat. He tried to cough, met resistance, and then felt air forcibly rush into his lungs. He bucked and struggled to grab a single breath. Didn’t happen. Another rush of air. He opened his eyes. His vision, fuzzy and distorted at first, cleared with a few blinks. A tube protruded from his mouth and joined a coiled hose that fell away to his left.

  “Relax.” The voice was female.

  He turned his head, but the tube tugged at his throat, causing him to cough. Or something like coughing. It was more a spasm. He tried to reach for the tube, but his arms were bound to his sides. Pain ripped through his belly with each cough.

  The woman came into view above him, smiling. Her face looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “Relax. Everything’s okay.”

  Again a coughing spasm hit him, and he gagged against the tube. More belly pain. What the hell was happening to him?

  “Don’t fight it. Take slow, deep breaths.”

  Alejandro did, but his lungs fought back. More gagging.

  “That’s the ventilator tube. Let me check a couple of things, and we’ll get it out. Okay?”

  He nodded, still unsure what was happening, fighting the impulse to cough, trying to remain calm. Not easy to do. Strapped down, unable to breathe, he felt a wave of panic rise. He took a slow breath. Then two more. That w
as better. Everything seemed to fall into rhythm once more.

  The woman clipped something on his finger, waited a few seconds, and then said, “Perfect. O2 sat’s up to ninety-eight.” She unclipped the gadget. “I was waiting for you to wake up. Now I can get that tube out.” She smiled again.

  It was coming back. He was strapped to a bed just as he had been earlier. Those two doctors, or so they said, were there. He remembered the woman looking down at him. Same smile. She had been there, too.

  The woman disconnected the coiled hose from the tube in his throat. “Take a couple of deep breaths. Slow and easy.” He did. She loosened the tape that wound around the tube and bound it to his cheeks. “This will only take a second. Now, don’t breathe.”

  She held a thin plastic tube that whistled slightly as it sucked in air and quickly threaded it into the larger one in his throat. The suction tube gurgled, and he gagged and sputtered as it snaked into his lungs. Then with one smooth movement, she pulled both tubes from his throat. He coughed and gasped for air.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Take a few breaths, and you’ll be fine.”

  She was right. The smothering feeling evaporated, and he could breathe. After a couple of minutes, he had hacked his lungs clear, each cough sending shots of pain through his belly. The woman wiped his face clean.

  Alejandro now noticed that an IV tube fed into his arm. Above his head a monitor emitted a steady beep. Floor-to-ceiling curtains blocked his view to either side. Beyond the one to his right he heard the rhythmic churning of another ventilator. The wall toward the foot of his bed was a bank of windows interrupted by a single door.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “Our little ICU,” the woman said. “I’m Darlene. Your nurse.”

  “What happened?”

  “Your surgery went well. Other than being absent a gallbladder and an appendix, you’re as good as new.”

  He looked at the curtain.

  Following his gaze, Darlene said, “Your girlfriend had the same procedures. She just got back a half hour ago, so she’ll be out for a while yet.” She peeled back the sheet that covered him to his waist. “You have a little bleeding from one of your wounds.”