“It’s an honor to have you here, Miss Vegas,” he said. “I’m sort of a fan, I guess.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping over onto the dock. “That’s great. Are you the manager?”
“Um, no,” he replied. “Rafferty’s doesn’t have a manager anymore, just the owner. The bar’s open and there are a couple of customers inside, but the entertainment hasn’t started. So, if you want, you can wait in the VIP lounge. My name’s Kenny. I tend the bar. The owner will be here in a few minutes.”
The owner? I thought. Rusty said he was an old man in a retirement home in Homestead. One of the sons? Or maybe the old man sold it?
“Yeah,” Travis grunted. “The VIP lounge will be fine, but don’t keep Miss Vegas waiting.”
“Right this way,” Kenny said, walking toward the gate and the nearly empty parking lot beyond it.
We went in the back door and Kenny showed us down a hallway. There was music coming from ahead. My senses were on full alert, cognitive skills working overtime. The hall had two restrooms and a walk-in cooler on the left and two doors on the right, probably an office and dressing room for the dancers.
Coming out of the hall into the main part of the club, Kenny turned left, toward a long L-shaped bar. The main floor area took up the whole front of the building, with a ceiling around twelve feet. A few down-and-out looking characters sat at the bar to my left, nursing beers. I couldn’t tell which of the three were the two cops.
An elevated area in the corner to my right held a single table, with a small couch and two chairs. Next to it and slightly lower was an array of electronic equipment, the DJ’s booth. Next to the booth was a half-circle stage, twenty feet across, with a floor-to-ceiling pole in the middle. Around the stage were a dozen or so chairs pushed up under a narrow drink bar attached to the stage.
Twenty or thirty tables were scattered around the open room. None of the tables had a chair on the side facing the stage. The back wall had two doors, one of them in the corner behind the bar. A liquor stockroom, no doubt.
Kenny opened the door next to the bar, which took up the whole back and side wall. It was easy to see that this had been quite a place at one time. The bars, both for drinking and ogling the dancers, looked like solid mahogany. But the place was suffering from decades of wear and neglect.
A sweep of the room, and I took it all in. Possible choke points, areas of egress, possible hidden dangers, and places that would provide cover. I could see Travis making mental judgments and observations, probably right along the same lines.
“Mister Rafferty will be here in just a couple minutes,” Kenny said, holding the door open. “Sorry for the wait. Can I get you anything?”
Mister Rafferty? I thought. Must be one of the sons.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’re good.”
Kenny closed the door, but not all the way, and went back to his bar. Island music wafted through the door opening, a guy singing about Gary’s Island. I wondered if his was anything like mine.
Travis led the way to the center of the room, held a chair out for Devon and we all sat down at a table.
“Rafferty must be one of the sons,” Travis said in a low voice, just loud enough to be heard over the music.
“The sons are Harlan and Marion Rafferty,” Devon said. “All that came up on them were a few minor disturbances up in Jersey and a couple of arrests for possession.”
“When he said VIP lounge,” I whispered, looking around, “I thought he meant like a star’s dressing room or something. What the hell is this place?”
“You’ve never been in a VIP room?” Devon asked with a grin.
Before I could answer, the door opened and another man stepped into the room. “Company,” Travis whispered.
The guy had curly, dark hair. My eyes focused like lasers on his every movement, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. About my age, wearing jeans, a black tee-shirt, and leather jacket, he came into the room with the air about him of a man used to getting his own way. He was slightly shorter than my six-three, and maybe the same weight, I guessed. If he’d ever been in shape it had turned to flab, now. Still, a big guy. With dark, curly hair.
“Miss Vegas,” he said, walking toward us, motorcycle boots clopping on the hardwood floor. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Travis and I both stood up, chairs scraping on the floor, and walked toward the approaching man. He stopped in his tracks and took a half-step back, right hand hovering above his pocket. “What the hell?”
“Miss Vegas has had trouble recently with overzealous fans,” Travis said.
“You’re the owner?” I asked.
“Yeah, Harley Rafferty.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Rafferty,” Devon said, stepping between us. She spoke with just a trace of a German accent, extending her hand. “I am Dona Vegas.”
Rafferty smiled, looking Devon over from head to foot. “We don’t get many stars of your notoriety,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”
As Devon and Rafferty passed between us, Travis and I stepped around behind her and to the sides. Rafferty noticed our movements.
“Before we discuss anything,” Devon said, sitting down and addressing Rafferty seriously, “I must insist this be a cash deal. My agent, publicist, and above all the IAEU, can never know.”
“The IAEU?” Rafferty asked.
“I’m a member of the “International Adult Entertainment Union,” Devon said. “Normally, all money I earn would go through the union’s paymaster, but…”
“Oh, I understand completely,” Rafferty said, holding up both hands. “Not a big fan of unions, anyway. Would you mind stepping up onto the stage, so I can see how you look under stage lights?”
“Certainly,” Devon said, standing and walking slowly toward the stage. Her heels were at least four inches tall, perching her at nearly my own height as she strutted past me. Her walk in those heels and shorts would have put many a runway model to shame.
Either someone was watching, or the lights were motion activated, because they came on when Devon stepped up onto the stage. There were two shiny, floor-to-ceiling poles on the stage. She grabbed the pole on the left and twirled around the left side of the stage, stopping at center stage, by grabbing the other pole. She planted her left foot at the other pole’s base in a spread eagle, slinging her head forward, hair falling over her face and shadowing her body from the bright spotlights. How she didn’t break an ankle in those heels, I’ll never know.
Devon stood there a moment with her head down, long blond hair spilling over her shoulders and chest, then she flung her head and hair back, looking up at the bright lights. The effect was like a car salesman yanking the cover off a shiny new sports car. If anything, the lights made her look even more beautiful.
Rafferty stood and clapped his hands. “I’m sold!” he shouted. “Now it’s just a matter of how much and what you’re offering.”
Chyrel had been explaining in our ears what a VIP room was and what went on in one, though I think Devon already knew. It wasn’t at all what I’d thought. Chyrel also dropped a few keywords in our ears.
“No advertising, other than a single sign, inside the club,” I said. “She’ll dance tomorrow night and maybe take one or two clients for a PSE. No more than two at a time. And we’ll be in the room. Anyone gets too physical, they’re gone.”
“My brother handles security,” Rafferty said as the door opened. “Here he is now. We never have any trouble when Duke’s around.”
Another man came into the room. Rafferty didn’t catch it, since his back was to her, but Devon started for just a second when she saw the guy. She slowly twirled around the pole again, turning away from us. I heard her whisper over the comm. “That’s the guy on the boat with the shotgun.”
To say the guy walking toward us was big would have been an understatement. He was freakishly large across the shoulders, chest, and arms, with powerful-looking legs. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said he tipped the livestock sc
ales at somewhere close to three hundred pounds—and not an ounce of it was fat. This guy was miles past dangerous size.
“Duke, this is Dona Vegas,” Rafferty said. “Miss Vegas, my brother, Duke Rafferty.”
Devon had no choice but to let him see her face. No telling how the guy would react if he recognized her. I sensed Travis tensing, ready to draw the handgun from the holster tucked into the back of his jeans. I was also armed and ready. Devon’s weapon was in her purse, slung on the back of her chair.
She quickly stepped down off the stage and the bright lights went off. I hadn’t been looking toward them, as the Rafferty brothers had been, but my vision was still diminished in the sudden darkness.
Devon walked toward the muscle-bound man, extending her hand. The giant didn’t seem to recognize her and reached for her hand. She suddenly stumbled in the heels and fell into him. Travis and I moved quickly toward them, but he caught her easily, her right arm snaking around his waist, trying to hold herself up by his belt.
He stood her back on her heels and held her at arm’s length until she steadied. His eyes never even came close to looking at her face, as they were fixed on her body. The expression on his face was quite obvious. It was a look of animal lust.
Both brothers had dark, curly hair. This one could crush a beer keg.
Paul Bender’s voice came over the comm. “You need to get out of there now. That man’s a bomb about ready to blow.”
“It’s stuffy in here,” Devon said. “Will the air conditioner be on tomorrow night?”
“Yeah,” Harley said. “We can make it cold enough in here, your nipples will poke right out of your shirt. We can go in my office to talk money, if you like.”
“Yes, I would,” Devon said, already headed to the door.
Travis and I waited outside the door to Rafferty’s office, listening to everything going on inside through our comms. The other Rafferty, Duke or Marion, came down the hall and stopped in front of us.
“I have to talk to my brother,” the big man said.
“After they negotiate a price,” I said sternly. The guy seemed a little slow-witted. “You’re a competitive body-builder, I bet.”
“Not anymore,” he replied, his chest muscles flexing a little. “I got into power-lifting a couple years ago.”
“Power-lifting?” Travis asked, also seeing the need to keep the guy talking about himself. In the open, this guy wouldn’t have had much chance against the two of us, probably not even one of us. But, in close quarters, like this hallway, if he could get a hand on either of us, I had no doubt he could break our spines and tie us up like pretzels.
“Yeah,” Duke said. “Building muscle for mass and strength, instead of form. It’s the big thing in gyms these days.”
In my ear, I heard Devon wrapping up a deal with Harley. She’d agreed to work one night for five hundred dollars and fifty percent of any tricks in the VIP room. She even demanded a minimum of four hundred bucks a trick. The bone mic on our earwigs could only pick up other sounds if they were very close. So, it had been a one-sided conversation. But, as they ended their discussion, I clearly heard Rafferty ask to be first. I was learning way more than I wanted to.
As Duke went on about bench pressing over three-hundred pounds, the office door opened and Devon stepped out. “I think we’re done here,” she said to me and Travis, then turned to shake hands with Rafferty. “I will see you tomorrow night at seven, Mister Rafferty. Get some rest.”
We left the way we came in, the steel door clanging behind us. “Did you get the bugs planted?” Deuce asked.
“One in the office,” Devon said, when we were halfway across the parking lot. “I put one under his desk and I also got one on the muscle head’s belt, and another on Rafferty’s leather jacket. Something tells me he only takes it off for one thing.”
“One on the wall by the back door,” Travis said.
“That stumble was intentional?” I asked, opening the gate to the dock.
“Of course,” Devon said. “I was walking in heels when I was six.”
“Chyrel, are you getting anything on those bugs?” I asked.
“Sure am,” Chyrel replied as I stepped aboard and fired up the twin Mercury Racing eleven-hundreds. “Recording for playback, when you want it. But make it quick. Something’s going down.”
“I feel like I need a shower,” Devon said, pulling off the ridiculous heels and stepping into the boat.
Travis let loose the bow line and tossed it in the cockpit, as he stepped aboard. “Let’s go.”
“McDermitt,” Morgan said. “Do you know Garrison Bight?”
“Yeah. Want to meet us there?”
“Evans knows the place,” he said.
The bight was just a few minutes away, but the canal was so narrow I had to back up to clear the dock before turning around. In minutes, we were out of the canal and I tapped on the hatch. “You guys can come out now. I think Miss Vegas wants to get out of her stripper clothes.”
Tony and Andrew came out of the cabin and sat down in back while Devon went below to change. I slowly brought the boat up to planing speed, then left the channel and headed across the five-foot-deep flats. I kept it up on the step as we passed Sigsbee Park and only slowed just before we got to the sharp turns in the narrow channel into the bight.
Devon came out of the cabin, still wearing the flannel shirt, but with jeans and sneakers now. I found it a lot more appealing.
“There,” she said, pointing toward Houseboat Row, as we entered the small cove. “The little blue houseboat with the covered porch.”
As I came alongside the porch, Morgan opened a glass sliding door and stepped out. We quickly tied off and followed him inside. He had his laptop open on a table in the little kitchen and I could see Chyrel’s face on the screen.
“Start playback from the slamming of the door,” I heard Deuce’s voice say over both the laptop and my earwig at the same time.
A window opened on the screen, resembling the controls on a tape player. We heard a door slam, and Morgan reached over and turned the volume all the way up on the computer. We heard another door opening and closing, and then Rafferty said, “What’d ya think?”
“She’s smokin’,” Duke Rafferty replied. “She only gonna work one night?”
Rafferty replied, but it wasn’t audible, due to a loud whooshing sound, probably one of them sitting down in a chair next to the bug. “For five hundred?” Duke asked.
“Yeah, little brother,” Harley said. “Having a real live porn star in the VIP will bring in thousands. That is, if she has the same endurance in real life that she shows on film.”
“You’re real smart, Harley.”
“You hear anything from Waldo?” Harley asked.
Morgan took a pad and pen out of his pocket and wrote on it.
“No,” Duke said. “But he’ll bring the money on Monday. She’s important to him.”
“How you figure?” Harley asked. “Just another split-tail.”
“Know that hearse he drives? It has the same fish and birds on it that she does.”
“Waldo did those tats?” Harley asked.
“Pause it,” Morgan said. The playback stopped and Morgan took his phone out. He scrolled through his contact list and tapped one, putting the phone to his ear. “Morgan here. I want you to research a local by the name Waldo. Don’t know if it’s his first name or last. Drives a hearse with fish and birds painted on it.”
Morgan ended the call and told Chyrel to continue the playback. Duke’s voice came over the speakers. “I think so, Harley. He’s gonna want her back, so he’ll bring the money on Monday to get her. Just like he said.”
“A kidnapping?” Andrew asked.
A chair squeaked and the whooshing sound came over the speakers again. Either Duke or Harley said something, but it was drowned out by the background noise.
“No,” Harley said. “I’ll go to the warehouse. I gotta meet Delgado. But I got a tip on the guy that found that
French chick.”
Devon and Morgan exchanged glances, and Morgan scribbled on his pad again.
“What French chick?” Duke asked.
“The tiny little girl who danced here the other night and left about the same time you did.” Harley said. “My source tells me she turned up stuffed into some mangrove roots not far from where you keep your boat.”
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of paper tearing.
“Here,” Harley said. “This is the old guy’s name. You can find him fishing the old bridge on Bahia Honda. I know you did it, Duke. So go take care of this. I’ll go to the warehouse and take her some food. Delgado’s meeting me there in an hour. One of his guys is bringing in another load, and he needs a place to store it.”
“You’re taking her food?” Duke asked. “But I thought you said fuck her and let her starve.”
“Waldo’s not very likely to bring the money if she’s dead,” Harley said. “Wait. When I said fuck her, did you think I meant…” There was silence for a second, then Harley erupted. “Dammit, Duke! You gotta stop taking shit so literally!”
More silence, then the sound of a door opening. Harley asked, “Is she alive?”
The closing door covered up any answer. “Did you get his answer on the bug by the back door?” Travis asked.
“No,” Chyrel replied. “It’s too far from the office door. It only recorded footsteps approaching, and a steel door opening and then slamming shut. This was recorded ten minutes ago. Both devices are now moving, turning north on US-1.”
“Jesse,” Deuce said, his face appearing on the screen. “I just got a call from Rusty on the sat-phone. He said he got a call from Robin over at Dockside about an hour ago.”
Two images of Duke Rafferty appeared on the screen, on either side of Deuce. One was taken from the video, just after Devon stumbled. In the freeze-frame, Duke was staring right at the camera on Devon’s bra. Or more precisely, he was staring at her breasts, practically salivating. The other was taken of Duke, again looking toward the camera, but he seemed to be looking at something slightly above it. I instantly recognized the boat on the right side of the picture. It was in the slip right next to Angie and Jimmy’s houseboat.
Fallen Hero: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 10) Page 27