by Myles Knapp
“I think we have a better chance of getting some answers at Enrico’s than we do surprising him at work. Too many distractions and too much noise at Centerfolds.”
“Wanna go tonight?”
“He’s scheduled to work, so we’re probably on. Enrico’s hostess said she’ll call me if he comes in.”
“You sure she’ll recognize him?”
“Guy goes there all the time. Plus, he’s a big, muscular, sort of tubby guy with his arm in a sling. Not many of those around.”
Pay picked up his cell and checked the caller ID. “Hi, Chase.”
“Duncan’s at Enrico’s. If we get there in about half-an-hour, he’ll be finishing his main course.”
“I’ll be across the street in twenty.”
Approaching Enrico’s, Pay waved at Chase and pointed to the left side of the café’s patio. Chase jogged across Broadway moving nimbly through the traffic. Limping, Pay moved in on the sidewalk from the right. It was an efficient pincer movement designed to convince a target that running was not an option.
Rock must have felt pretty safe. The fool had picked a chair that faced the rear wall. Chase slid around the small table, pulled out a chair and sat while Pay stood, just slightly behind and to Chase’s right, resting his weight on his good leg and wearing his most intimidating scowl. They’d done this routine countless times. Experience had proven that Chase’s ‘good guy,’ backed up by Pay’s smoldering, violence-barely-contained, ‘bad guy’ worked best.
“I’m Chase. I assume you know my angry friend.” Indicating Pay with his eyes.
Rock glanced up at Pay. “Don’t know him. Know his club. One of these days I’m gonna knock the crap out of him.”
“Shut the hell up.” Chase shook his head in dismay. “You should be happy I didn’t decide to meet you at home and let him spend twenty minutes pounding you like a tetherball.”
“I got friends.”
“Both of us are out of your league. And your friends’ league, too.” Chase reached out with a soft, almost languid touch. Half his giant right hand forced Duncan’s left hand flat on the table; the other half forced the bouncer’s thumb away from his palm, over the back of his hand toward his little finger. The maneuver was simple and effective. It was a move even a martial arts expert wouldn’t expect because it couldn’t be taught or done by anyone without giant hands and NBA strength.
Duncan went white. Sweat poured from his forehead and he stopped breathing.
Chase let up a bit, and Duncan gulped in a breath.
“Hurts like a mother, doesn’t it?” Chase nodded at Pay. “I’m every bit as sadistic as he is. But ever so much more subtle.”
Duncan sort of nodded; tried to pull his hand back. Smiling sadly, Chase twisted the thumb, almost gently. Duncan whimpered, sagging in the chair.
Pay watched him wilt. “You were right; you can see the manhood just leak out of them. Hard to believe all you have to do is grab his thumb and a tough guy completely collapses. I’d never have believed it if I didn’t see it for myself.”
Of course he’d seen it dozens of times, but the words cemented the deal. Guys were a lot more talkative when they believed they no longer had any control. “Works so much better than when I punch ‘em in the throat, jam my thumb in their eye, and squeeze their balls in my fist.”
“That’s because about half the time you kill them, and the other half they have trouble talking with destroyed vocal chords.”
Pay glared at Duncan. “Need to know everything you can tell me about Destiny.”
“Ho’ shorted me.”
“Let’s not speak ill of the nearly dead.” Chase gave Duncan’s thumb a gentle tweak.
“Nearly what?” The pained, shaken look on Duncan’s face would have been hard to fake.
Pay snorted. “Don’t worry about the cops. They’ve cleared you. That broken shoulder’s your alibi. Worry about us.”
Chase increased the pressure on Duncan’s thumb. Pay smiled when Duncan groaned.
“Somebody beat her real bad ‘bout an hour after I busted you up Friday night. Couldn’t have been you, but you guys were fighting about something. I need to know what.”
“I set her up with a big spender and she didn’t want to pay me my cut.”
“Who’s the big spender?”
“Destiny called him Mikey. Good looking. Expensive clothes. Throwing Benjamins around for special treatment.”
Pay moved from his spot just behind Chase and sat in the chair beside Duncan, working hard not to grimace as he bent his knee. Extending his baton with a quiet click, he slid it discretely down his leg and under the table, where it gently stroked Duncan’s shin. “I’m sure there’s more. Lots more.”
Duncan swallowed. He looked around furtively, as if expecting his friends might magically appear out of the potted fern by the grand piano.
Chase leaned into Duncan’s thumb. Pay’s baton whacked his shin.
“Damn it. Ok.” Duncan muttered through clenched teeth, “I pay security to make videos of some of the customers. But that’s gonna cost you.”
Chase twisted.
Pay bounced the baton off Duncan’s shin.
Duncan blanched.
Pressing his free hand on Duncan’s broken shoulder, Pay squeezed gently. “Guy’s like us don’t pay assholes like you. When we’re done, all three of us will walk over and get copies.”
“We done then?” wheezed Duncan.
“We’re done when you’ve told us everything.”
“That is everything.” Duncan glanced at his thumb and jerked his shin backwards.
“That crap work with your normal marks, asshole?” Chase snorted.
Duncan shifted nervously in his seat, as Pay’s baton tapped gently as a reminder.
The server walked towards them and Pay nodded him off with a wave, mouthing, “Check please.” He looked Duncan directly in the eyes. “It’ll be over soon. As soon as we know why you’re having video made of the customers.”
Duncan eyes darted sideways. “I can’t tell you.”
Chase glanced at Duncan’s hand, sighed, and then looked at Pay. “Some guys never learn. Your turn or mine?”
Pay grinned. “Yours.”
“Wait. Wait. Please wait.”
Pay’s grin became an ear-to-ear smile. “Less than fifteen minutes and this guy’s whimpering like a hamster in a pit bull cage.”
“There’s a guy.”
“Describe him,” Pay demanded.
“Big guy. Goatee. I’ve only seen him once.”
“What’s he pay you?” asked Pay.
“Guy pays me two hundred bucks for video of any high roller I can get doin’ stuff with a girl. And a hundred for any Middle Eastern guys. That night all I had was the high roller with Destiny, but I never got that video to him because you busted me up. Don’t really remember much else. I was pretty high. That’s the only reason you could take me down.”
Pay and Chase both laughed.
“You high now?” asked Chase.
“No.”
“Listen, tough guy. I just took you down with my thumb. Broke you down like a little girl. Turned you into a stinky flop sweaty mess. Guess if you’d been high I could have done it with my pinky. Think about that before you decide to come after us looking to get even.”
Pay broke in, “We’re getting off track here. We need to find this big guy. Where’s he hang? What’s he look like? What’s his name? We know you know him.”
Rock’s head looked like one of those bobble-head dolls. It swiveled from Pay to Chase and back again. He wanted to know where the pain was going to come from and how to avoid it. “Big guy. Fat. Six-foot…maybe six-one. Weighs about 450.”
“He sends a delivery guy by. Only came himself once. And it’s not just Centerfolds. He’s offering cash and has video install
ed all over town. ”
“How’d you figure that out?”
“Nudie bar business is pretty small. Dancers, bouncers—everyone moves around.”
“Anybody else know him?”
“Navarro, but I ain’t seen him in weeks.”
“So what’s the head guy look like?”
“Shaved bald, mid-thirties, gray and black goatee. His flunky usually picks up the videos, drops off some cash. If the dude is a real roller and I can get a name, address, or a phone number, I get a bonus.”
Chase frowned. “Bad news. He could be part of our other thing.”
Pay slammed the baton down on Duncan’s instep, stopping just short of breaking bones. Simultaneously, Chase leaned over and pulled Duncan’s face into his shoulder. A well-rehearsed man-hug that prevented anyone from seeing the pain on Duncan’s face. It also smothered any screams.
Chase whispered in Duncan’s ear, “Idiot. Guy isn’t going to drop around a strip club hoping the right victim has shown up and maybe you can get his phone number. Fat guy gave you some way to get in touch with him. You give me that, and any videos from the club. If you’re lucky, neither one of us sees you again.”
Duncan moaned the number.
To keep the waiter from getting in the way, Pay pulled a wad of cash from Duncan’s shirt pocket and carried it up to the bar where their server was waiting on a drink order. “It’s all yours. Keep the change.”
Bill paid, the three of them walked down Broadway toward Centerfolds. Pay limping on Duncan’s right side; Chase supporting the left. Duncan moved like he couldn’t walk without their help. After the crushing blow to the top of his foot, he was probably right.
Pay and Chase had carefully crafted their system. When they needed to take an uncooperative person out of a bar or a party, the baton to the foot worked perfectly. If the baton was used discretely, most bystanders assumed they were just a couple of good guys helping a friend who’d had too much to drink.
The trio stumbled in the front entrance of Centerfolds. Duncan waved at the hostess. “These guys are with me. They’ll only be here a minute.”
Pay pushed aside the entry curtain and they walked down a short, dark entry hall.
“See that window up there?” Duncan pointed to a square-mirrored glass sliding window on the second floor. “That’s security. If the regular night guy is here, he’ll toss down an envelope.”
The music wound down slightly between songs. Duncan hissed, “Tommy, you up there?”
“Course I am. Who’d you expect? Charlie Sheen? He’s in the shower room.”
“Need my stuff.”
“Been waiting for you to come by. You owe me fifty.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll hit you at the end of shift.”
A tatted hand slid out the window, the butt of a cigarette wedged between the second and third fingers, a sealed white envelope pinched between thumb and forefinger. “Catch.”
Chase snatched it out of the air and ripped it open. “More flash drives.”
Pay turned to Duncan. “That’s it for now. We find out you didn’t tell us something, I’m going to visit you at home without my friend. You don’t want that. Trust me. He’s the one who controls my leash.”
They left Duncan teetering on his bad foot and headed back to HQ.
Total time in club, less than sixty seconds.
CHAPTER 40
After their visit with Duncan, Pay headed to SFO and took an evening flight to LAX. A past client wanted to open a Revenge School branch in SoCal. Pay wasn’t sure how he felt about expanding, but he was interested in hearing about any ways the Revenge Team could help more people.
Brooke, Chase and Jon D, spent that night and all the next day going through Mary Ellen’s stuff, and the thumb drives from Centerfolds.
That evening, Pay called Brooke from LAX. “Got anything new on Richard’s case?”
“Phone number Duncan gave us is a prepaid burner, so there’s no lead there. We did find out she’s only been dancing for a few months and hates it. Everything points to her dancing career being a financial necessity, nothing more. Her father died about six months ago in a car wreck. Her mother’s been dead for years. Jon D dug into her financials: Dad was sending her about $4000 every month. When he died, her cash flow dried up. There doesn’t appear to have been any life insurance, because for the last couple of months her bank statements show an average daily balance of about $200.”
“She into something worse than dancing?”
“It’s hard to tell. There’s no evidence she’s working as a call girl or for an escort service.”
“Any of the thumb drives have anything?” Pay asked.
“We’re only part way through. I’ll put together an edited version of the highlights for you when you get back.”
“Ok.”
“Most are of girls dancing for a series of guys wearing high-end watches, titanium rings and designer clothes. All the men were flashing lots of cash.”
“Men like that typical for a place like Centerfolds?” asked Pay.
“Like I’d know? You think I’m pole dancing when I’m not here?”
Pay knew he’d stepped in it. “Thought there was, maybe…a possibility that you’d know someone who was a dancer. Or, maybe Chase or Amy had voiced an opinion.”
“Chase said, and I quote: ‘I’ve never been to a regular strip club. The NBA guys went to very high end places with private rooms, special security, and very expensive women.’”
“I’ve got some experience with places like Centerfolds.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Pay decided to ignore her sarcasm. “Doesn’t look like a place that should be that flush. My guess is, it’s a twenty-buck lap dance joint. Any ‘Joe six-pack’ guys on the video?”
“Yes. There’s a bunch of short two to three minutes videos of normal guys.”
“Anything else?”
“One of the drives is only Middle Eastern-looking men.”
“Does Mary Ellen dance in any of those?”
“Not so far.”
“Probably not related then.”
“Likely not. But Chase and I both think there’s something hinky going on there. We just can’t tell what from the video.”
“Maybe I should visit Duncan again? I might enjoy that. I’m not real fond of guys who beat women.”
CHAPTER 41
Early Friday morning, Pay and Chase met to go over the videos and discuss any potential expansion into Los Angeles, as well as potential publicity from Pay’s return flight which had gone seriously sideways. So sideways, in fact, it had made the 11 PM news; a grainy video called “Fight on the Flight” was featured on YouTube’s homepage. Pay, and the rest of the passengers, had been at the airport answering questions until nearly 4 AM.
“What happened?” Chase asked.
“Was taking a nap in business class.”
Chase interrupted, “How’d you find a business class seat on a short hop like that?” He was always looking for ways to get an airline seat that came close to fitting him.
“Caught the last leg of a Cathay Pacific—747 started in Hong Kong, stopped at LAX, finished in San Francisco. Had business and first. First was sold out, so I took business. It was still too small.”
The ticket had cost more than a standard commuter flight, but the last time Pay flew coach, nobody was happy.
On that flight, he’d paid for a second seat but the flight had been over-booked and he’d voluntarily given it up. The lady who got the middle seat next to him was glad she got on the flight but not so happy about being squished by his shoulder, which was halfway into her seat. And the guy in front of him was upset when his seat wouldn’t recline because Pay’s knees were in the way. Even the flight attendants were peeved because they couldn’t push the food and beverage carts down t
he aisle without running into his shoulder.
“So what got you in trouble?”
“Boarding was ok. Nobody was sitting next to me so I got a little extra room. Guy in the aisle seat across from me was a little strange. Chubby, mid-twenties, 49er’s shirt, white iPod ear buds, backpack, bad case of five o’clock shadow—he had that nervous-exhausted-spacey-Where-Am-I?-look, people get when they start their day on the other side of the world.
“Flight attendant offered pre-takeoff drinks. Guy on the aisle took OJ. I got bourbon and water. Was in the middle of a really good dream when all hell broke loose; everybody near me was screaming.”
“That’s not the kind of thing you want to wake up to.”
“Nope. Flight attendant really got my attention. She was bloodless-white, trembling and staring at the guy next to me.”
“The guy in the 49er’s jersey?”
“Yeah. Only now the guy’s screaming, ‘Die American dogs, die!’”
“What’d you do?”
“Nearly crapped myself, is what I did. Jerk was waving around one of those new plastic and ceramic military grenades.”
“Put that carbon fiber stiletto in your boot to good use, did ya?”
Pay laughed. “Completely forgot about it. Grabbed the hand holding the grenade, though—then rammed my stainless steel Montblanc pen into his throat and ripped it through.”
“That must have pretty much ended the fight.”
“Put a big hole in his carotid. Blood everywhere.”
“What happened to the guy?”
“Dead. Hard to repair damage like that.”
“Weren’t you scared he’d drop the grenade?”
“Hoped if I disabled him fast enough, I could control the grenade. Or at least throw him on top of it. Didn’t figure out until later the stupid SOB hadn’t pulled the pin.”
“So, then you spent the rest of the night explaining yourself to airport security.”
“Yeah. And the FBI and Homeland Security.”
“Any chance your name is going to wind up in the news?”