Checkmate: Checkmate, #8

by Finn, Emilia

  “Jeans are fine. I just need you to show up, sit down for a minute and do that thing you do with the hairy eyeball.”

  “The hairy eyeball!” I laugh. “I do no such thing.”

  “You’re my most intimidating cop, Lib. You’re shorter than my armpits, but you’re scary like a rabid dog.”

  “You lie,” I huff. “I’m taller than your armpits. And I’m only scary to idiots.”

  “Which is why jeans are fine. Head over, settle the guy down, maybe get him out the door if you can manage it. If you can’t, just sit and watch for a minute, and as soon as I’m done here, I’ll head on over. An hour max, then you can go home to your cookies.”

  I pull my breath in on a dramatic gasp. “I don’t have cookies!”

  He chuckles. “You lie. I heard the wrapping crinkle a minute ago. I know cookies, Tate. A man doesn’t reach my age and not know his favorite brand of cookie.”

  “Whatever.” I shimmy into a pair of jeans and toss my sleep tank away. I cast a quick glance to the window, self-conscious, as though someone can see my half-naked body, but then I pull a bra on and replace my shirt. “I’m putting my shoes on now. I’ll check in when I get there.”

  “You’re the best. Thank you. I’ll be there in a bit to relieve you.”

  “No problem.” I hang up and plop down onto my bed to pull my sneakers on. I’ve showered for the night and was settled in my pyjamas, which means I’m heading to the bar with half-wet hair and no makeup. Maybe that’s the look Alex was going for. Tying my laces and snatching up my phone, I move through my apartment to grab my keys, bag, badge, and on the way past the mirror at the door, a ballcap. I shove it on and slam the door closed as I move into the hall.

  I guess I’m going clubbing.

  * * *

  The music isn’t loud like you’d expect of a club this close to the weekend, but it’s not quiet either. The main lights are out, so party lights on the ceiling slide through the crowd and illuminate people in reds and purples.

  Club 188 is eerily similar to the clubs I spent so much of my youth in; they were always warehouse-esque. Utilitarian, with concrete floors, second levels, and metal stairs to connect the two. The bars almost always run the length of the club, top and bottom, the staff are always beautiful, even the men. The stairs easily hosed, and the booths for privacy. The offices upstairs are always large and luxurious, and oftentimes contain windows to look out among the partygoers.

  This club was one of the clubs I walked through as a child, but it doesn’t belong to that world anymore. Dirty money ran this place for a little while, but it’s clean now, and has been for a long time.

  I walk through the front doors and pass the bouncer with a soft fist bump. I’m just a woman, a short one at that, but they know me around here, and they know the police are now on premises. I pass through a short hallway and emerge into a dance space three-quarters filled with people drinking and grinding on each other.

  The smell of alcohol permeates the air, so strong and thick in my nostrils, it’s almost like a living beast. As part of my participation in my Narcotics Anonymous meetings, I abstain from drinking. I’ve been clean from my cocaine addiction for more than a decade, and along with that, I’ve also avoided alcohol and nicotine, because if I start with one, the rest will follow.

  It’s like a set of dominoes standing in a row, just waiting for that first wobble. So I stay far away and avoid temptation.

  I slide through bodies and remove hands from my hips as I pass those on the dance floor. Perhaps I should have worn my uniform. I approach the bar, lean against the sticky countertop, and wait for one of the bar staff to notice me.

  “Hey!” A woman in a tiny skirt and platinum blonde hair with soft pink highlights makes her way toward me with a kind smile. She’s been working here for as long as I’ve lived here. Stopping right in front of me, she wipes her hands on a towel and lifts a small glass. “Water?”

  “Yup, thanks. And throw in some ice too. Makes it look like I’m drinking just like everyone else.”

  Laughing, she tosses a few cubes in and begins filling the glass.

  “I heard you’re having a little trouble?” I prompt.

  This woman’s name is Lacey, and her smile is infectious as she points upwards. “Dude is on the top level, and I think he’s gonna fall asleep at the bar soon. I was rostered for top level tonight, but Tink shooed me down here, and she’s taking point up there. Mostly he’s crying a lot, wants his mommy or something. His wife is leaving him, his brother is fucking her or some shit. I don’t know the details, but he’s not happy, and now Tink is in momma bear mode, making sure the staff stay clear. Maybe take your drink.” She plops the glass in front of my arm and winks. “It looks like vodka on the rocks. Want an umbrella?”

  I scoff and snatch the glass up before she gets the chance. “Do I look like I want an umbrella in my drink?”

  She snickers. “Worth a try. Take your water and head on up. It’s not quite as noisy up there, so you can ask T what’s up. Maybe she already knocked him out and put him in a cab. I haven’t seen them pass through, though.”

  “It’s alright, I got it.” I tuck my clutch under my arm and adjust my hat to shield my eyes from the glaring lights above. I know wearing a hat makes me conspicuous in this dark place, but it’s too late now.

  I move along the length of the bar and find the stairs on the far wall. My shoes slap against the metal steps as I move past more servers, and when I get to the top and look back over the club below me, a sense of déjà vu and dread swirl in my stomach.

  As a child, I never went into any club during business hours. It would be bad business to have a child wandering among drunk people cruising on cocaine. But this still feels like déjà vu, still makes me remember standing at the top of a different set of stairs while men shouted and tears blinded me.

  That was a long time ago, and I need to move the hell on.

  Turning away on a heavy exhale of air, I face the bar on this level and zero in on the very person I need to talk to. Tink is the chick from the gym that I hate. Five feet two inches of perfect tits and sass, she’s every man’s wet dream, except maybe the height thing, though she knows how to wear heels like so few can. Her husband is co-owner of the gym and tries to force her to work out with the rest of them, but mostly she eats bad food and heckles those who have to train to stay skinny.

  It comes naturally to her, and the only satisfaction I can take from the genetics we were each given is that, should the zombie apocalypse arrive, or if a team of wild bears were to roam Main Street, she would be one of the first to go.

  Skinny doesn’t mean fit, and I know she abhors running.

  Yes, I’m an asshole.

  No, I’m not sorry.

  I walk toward the bar and take note of the people surrounding me. The wall to my left is lined with booths for privacy, as couples sit close and talk without having to shout. Those tables are for the VIPs, come with a minimum spend, and are booked months in advance.

  The man I’ve come in search of tonight is not in one of those booths, but sits with his head slumped at the bar.

  Tink’s eyes meet mine as I approach. I don’t actually hate the woman. She’s beautiful, witty, and kind. I’m just super jealous of the body she was born with, and possibly, just a tiny bit, of the man she married.

  This club can take about three hundred or so people before the regulators start sniffing around for fire violations, and right now, there’s only about a hundred and fifty total, on both levels. About thirty of those are up here, twenty or so in the booths, which leaves the remaining ten at the bar.

  I slide onto an empty stool beside the guy I’ve been sent to watch, and bring my glass of water up to sip.

  “Hey there, Tate.” Tink steps forward and slaps a napkin down by my hand so I can use it as a coaster. “Need a refill?”

  “Nah.” I set my glass down and take a look around. “How is everything?”

  She purses her lips and glances
to my right when the man sniffles and bumps my shoulder with his. “It’s going okay. We’ve had to eject a few too many people tonight. There might be a full moon or something. I dunno what kinda crazy is in the air, but it’s sending me insane. Aaron here is about ready to pull up stumps and head out. He’s had enough.”

  “Not finished,” he slurs. Swinging around with exaggerated movements, his head lolls on his shoulders until our eyes meet. “My divorce is going to court on Monday. My wife is a fuckin’ bitchhhhh.” He lets the word roll off his tongue as his eyes swivel. “She’s the one that cheated, right? She’s fucking my brother. But now she thinks she can take my kids and make me pay alimony? Nah…” He turns away and repeats on an obnoxious slur, “Nahhhhh. It’s not going down like that. Ya know they have online forums for this shit?” His eyes come back around to meet mine.

  Tink still has to work, so she steps away when called, but her eyes remain on me and my man.

  Aaron is oblivious. “I looked online, since she was always doing that when we had the babies. She found moms to talk to about baby shit and room decorations. Well I found a forum for dads who are always getting fucked over in divorce. I know my rights!”

  I’m unsure if he knows I’m a cop yet, despite the fact we met when he was arrested for attempted assault on the very wife he loathes, and he’s so spaced out right now, I’m left wondering what drugs those dad forums encouraged him to take. Alex said Tink cut his alcohol off hours ago, which means there’s more at play, and something other than rum in his blood.

  I settle in for a bit, thinking he might literally go to sleep if he sits long enough. As I settle, I do the thing I do in every room I’m in – I let my eyes wander the space to scout out the exits and the people inside. More than a hundred people downstairs, thirty up. Many of the tall tables are occupied, and ten of the twelve booths are filled with couples. Every single booth shows a pair of sexy heels and long legs, but the bodies attached are hidden by whoever their date is. Broad backs, strong arms, some have ink, some have shirtsleeves all the way down to their wrists. The drinks around here are constantly replenished, as long as the customer isn’t messy.

  Each table is a mini paradise for the couples while they flirt or talk business, and they leave me with a feeling of loneliness. I never get to date guys that bring me to one of those booths. In fact, I never get to date guys that do much of anything except try to grab my body before the appetizers have been served. This town is pretty slim pickings when it comes to eligible non-fuckwits, and being in law enforcement makes it that much harder.

  Or easier, I guess.

  These people are on dating websites just like the rest of us thirty-somethings who want to meet someone. But where they have to trust the bio that each user puts up, I can skip through the bullshit and just run their names through the computers at work.

  Legal? Not really. But I’ve saved myself from having to eat a meal with men who’ve been charged for bad things in the past. I let many blips pass; speeding ticket, parking violations, even fighting in the street, I’ve been known to shrug about.

  But then you find the guys who’ve repeatedly sent other women to the emergency room. Men who’ve served short stints of time for violence. Men who’ve done time for drug-related charges.

  I’ve saved myself the effort of finding out once he’s already begun groping.

  But because this town is small, and the dating pool is shallow, I continue to end up in Drake’s bed as a way to feel something. And now I sit beside a man whose bio will pop up in those dating apps soon, he will have forgotten to mention the time he was arrested for nearly beating his wife’s brains open with a baseball bat, he’ll say how his life has gone to shit and it’s entirely her fault.

  Perhaps he’ll blame all women, the way some women hate all men because of the actions of their ex.

  Tink moves from one end of the bar to the other, doing her job and filling drinks, while the man beside me – Aaron – murmurs his hate for bitches. Other servers take orders from those in the booths, they come back to the bar and fill those orders, and then they deliver the drinks to each table.

  It’s on one of those laps that my eyes follow a beer and a tall glass of something bubbly all the way to a booth with long legs and insanely high heels. The man’s back has been shielding her since I walked in. He’s one of the men whose sleeves go all the way to his wrists, but when their drinks arrive, he pulls back and watches the server set the glasses down. Halfway through taking a sip of my water, I choke and sputter as my eyes focus on who owns that broad back.

  Theodore Griffin is on a date, and it’s insane how much that annoys me.

  He was so fucking insistent on taking me to bed, but so soon after my denials, he’s out with someone else? It shouldn’t bother me. It should almost be a relief to know he’s over that small infatuation and has moved on.

  Even if it annoys me that someone else’s legs are almost as long as my body. Even if it bothers me that her legs are thin and beautiful, and mine… are not. Mine are short and stocky, and despite the fact I’ve worked hard for a twelve-percent body fat ratio, I still don’t have the coveted thigh gap that other women do.

  Fuck his date and her thigh gap.

  I try to turn away from the couple, I beg myself to stop staring, but I toss a cube of ice into my mouth and crunch, and mere seconds later, his head comes up as though he knows he’s being watched. He studies the club outside his booth for a moment with furrowed brows, but he must feel the heat, because his eyes come to me as though he knew exactly where to find me.

  I sit at the bar beside an asshole, sipping what appears to be vodka on the rocks, and my eyes lock with Theo Griffin’s while he’s on a date with someone else.

  Why the hell does this scenario annoy me?

  “Hey there, stranger.”

  I swing my gaze around, which seems to annoy Griffin more than my sitting beside Aaron does, and smile at Drake’s cheerful voice. He stands behind me, effectively placing his body between me and Aaron, and presses a noisy – dare I say, juicy – kiss on my cheek. “You look… thoughtful,” he chuckles. He’s in full uniform and makes Aaron sit taller just by being here.

  I turn on my stool completely so my back presses against the bar and my elbows rest on top. “Hey there, handsome. You here to arrest me?”

  He snorts. “I mean, technically this is my jurisdiction right now. I’m in uniform and you most certainly are not.” He moves in closer, and despite the fact this kind of arrogance in any other man would annoy me, his only makes me laugh as he runs a fingertip along my thigh. “I’m off shift in an hour. Wanna get married?”

  I bark out a laugh and pull him in for a fast side hug. “I swear, I hate men like you.”

  He presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

  “And yet, you’re still here, and you’re smiling.”

  “It’s because you’re so pretty,” he counters.

  “Don’t get married,” Aaron slurs. “Don’t do it, man. She’ll fuck your brother and you’ll lose your job.”

  Drake’s lips twitch with laughter as he pulls back to catch sight of the drunk man. “I don’t have a brother. But I have father; do you think that’ll work?”

  “She’ll fuck anyone with a cock. They alllllll do.”

  “You’re offering me your father now, Drake? Geez Louise, I’ve met your old man, and I’m just saying, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  He snorts. “Don’t say it, Tate. Don’t you fucking s–”

  I shrug. “I’d fuck him.”

  “No!” He throws his head back on a dramatic howl, but his chest jumps with laughter. “You’re sick! I’d never fuck a girl in the same room as my father. I’d especially never fuck the same girl my father is fucking.”

  “You become redundant,” Aaron slurs. “You won’t be in the same room, man. You’ll be too busy in divorce court, fighting to keep your house, and she’ll be fucking your daddy, hoping to keep your inheritance when the old
fart dies.”

  Scrunching his nose, Drake lifts a thumb and pokes it in Aaron’s direction. “I feel like maybe he’s trying to tell us something.”

  This is why I love Drake. This is why I want to keep him around forever; because he’s funny, and he never makes things weird.

  “Drake, honey, this is Aaron, and he’s a pal of mine. I think it’s time for him to go home now.” Standing, I leave my clutch on the bar for a moment and move into the space Drake was in as he backs up. “Mr. Scanlon, it’s time for you to go home.”

  He tries to swat me away.

  “Mr. Scanlon?” I guess Drake is Alex’s intended backup, and since he’s here, I figure it’s time to go. “Mr. Scanlon.” I grab his car keys and plop them in Drake’s hand as I take Aaron’s arm. “You were cut off hours ago. It’s time for bed.”

  “I said no!” He swats me away and accidentally smacks my arm hard enough to have Drake’s brows lifting. “Leave me be, woman. I am done letting females,” he says the word as though it’s a swear, “boss me around. Go sit somewhere else. I was here first.”

  13

  Theo

  Switzerland

  I don’t know if Sophia Solomon is the dumbest chick on the planet, or the smartest. I don’t know if she’s taken classes on how to evade questions and play them off as something else, or if she really doesn’t have two brain cells between her ears to rub together.

  I just know that I’ve been in this booth with this woman for ninety minutes already, and not once has she slipped and given me information on Checkmate and its side entities, no matter how I phrase the question. And I’ve tried. I’ve run the same question through her sieve-like brain thirty times in thirty different ways, but she has no clue about her accounts. She has no clue about her world or the filthy money that is washed through her business.

  But somehow, despite this being the center of my entire existence and the very reason I’m here, it doesn’t matter to me anymore as I watch Libby stand between two men. One is the cop, and the other is drunk and belligerent.