“Or?” I question, my interest piqued.
She pops her lips, as if weighing how much she should share. “Or I could use the place for something other than stripping.”
“Like?” I coax, not liking the sound of this.
“A customer who I’ve come to know well is looking for a place to run his…business out of. He needs it to be discreet because well—” Her pause gives her away, but I don’t adlib. I merely wait for her to spit it out.
“Because…it’s an underground fighting ring.”
Well, fuck me, I was not expecting her to say that. Underground fighting may introduce me to some shady characters. Perfect.
“He wouldn’t need to use the club often. He said maybe twice a month because he moves around to remain undetected. But the money he’s offered to pay me, Bull, it would dig me out of debt in a few months. I said no. It’s too risky. But now, I might not have a choice.
“Tonight was a trial,” she reveals, tonguing her upper lip. “I wanted to see what would happen if I closed the club for a ‘private event.’ I decided to test drive it and see what happened when we turned patrons away. It went better than expected. They all wanted to know what was so important inside. You know what happens when you tell someone not to touch something?”
I lean back in my seat. “They want to touch it,” I reply, realizing she hasn’t made this decision on a whim. Lotus has thought this through.
“Exactly,” she says animatedly. “I could offer the club to him, closing it a couple of times a month. The mystery would excite the customers. Maybe it’ll breathe new life into the place. I don’t know. I need to do something.”
I understand her rationale, but this isn’t Hollywood. A local fight club here in Detroit is asking for trouble. She said it’s underground, and the fact her friend moves from place to place is smart on their behalf, but if they get caught here in Lotus’s club, it’s her ass on the line.
She’ll get shut down.
“I don’t need to tell you this is a fucking stupid idea,” I say bluntly. “But if you’re doing this, I can’t be here. My PO will have my balls, and I’ll go back to prison.”
Lotus frowns, as if just remembering the reality that I’m neutered to the state. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
But I wave her off. “It’s fine. I just need you to know that I’m out.” And I will be. But that doesn’t mean I can’t observe from afar.
“Nothing is set in stone, but if I go ahead, I will let you know,” she says quickly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
I nod in gratitude but am pissed off it’s come to this. The corporate, greedy shitheads of America strike again. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. Where’s the justice in that?
“Go out there and have a drink for me. I only turn forty once,” she says, attempting to lighten the mood.
Standing, I don’t see the point in dragging this out, so I decide to leave. “I’ll be in tomorrow.”
Lotus quickly leaps from her chair and opens the desk drawer. She pushes aside some papers and retrieves a black phone. “Here, take it.”
I eye it, shaking my head.
Before I have a chance to refuse again, she grips my hand and places it into my palm. “I insist.”
This place is on the brink of foreclosure, and this woman is giving me a phone. Her kindness confuses me because it’s been a long time since I’ve experienced anything like it.
Suddenly leery of this “warm” feeling in the pit of my stomach, I nod and shove the phone into my pocket. “Thanks.”
I don’t wait around for any other sentimental crap as I head to the door and open it. But then I stop in my tracks when Lotus says, “Carlos is out there. You can’t miss him.”
Her comment has me casually asking, “You don’t know if some dude by the name of Jaws has come in here, do you?”
She seems to ponder the question, before replying, “Doesn’t ring any bells.”
Not wanting to rouse any suspicion, I nod. Just because she doesn’t know him doesn’t mean he doesn’t come here. I have to stick it out. It’s the best chance I have.
When I walk out into the hallway, I push past the masses loitering in the corridor, desperate to get the fuck out of here before I suffocate. The club is filled to the brim as partygoers use the stage as their dance floor. The strobe lights flash in time with the dance music blaring over the speakers, making it hard to see.
Just as I’m about to push past a couple making out in front of me because they’re blocking my exit, something from the corner of the room catches my eye. Every part of my body is telling me to ignore it, but I can’t because that something is Tiger and some slimeball who is way too close to her.
They’re sitting in a booth, which is harmless enough, but when he leans in even closer to whisper into her ear, I have the urge to rip out his tongue. I watch with interest as she pulls back, mouth parted, stunned.
Her beau grins a shit-eating smile, while I clench my fists. The urge to hit something overcomes me.
Tiger suddenly bursts into laughter, reaching for her drink, but the straw misses her mouth. After three attempts, she finally maneuvers it. Taking a closer look at her clumsy demeanor, there is no doubt that she’s drunk, drunk with some asshole who looks like the date rape king.
Eyeing his posse, he has two men flanking his front while another man stands behind the booth. They are definitely packing heat under their jackets. When the date rapist places his arm across the back of the leather, lounging like he’s royalty, I take a stab that this is Carlos.
Lotus did say I can’t miss him. Besides the fact he looks like an utter tool in his unbuttoned white shirt, revealing his gold chains and black nest on his chest, and the band of merry men surrounding him, how he is basically drooling all over Tiger confirms my thoughts.
He’s looking at her like she’s his next meal, and what Lotus said about him being a shark seems to sum this asshole up perfectly. He’s not interested in her merely working for him. He’s interested in her period, which just put him on my shit list.
I don’t know why this bothers me, but it does. And before I know what I’m doing, I’m strolling toward the duo with my eyes on the prize. Tiger is too busy slurping down her drink to notice my arrival, but Carlos’s monkeys instantly jump to attention.
One of them stops me from advancing any farther when he slaps his palm against my chest. With zero fucks given, I peer down at his fingers then back up at him. It seems a look can convey a thousand words as he slowly removes himself from my personal space.
Carlos is aware of my presence, but like any predator, he watches and learns.
“You got any business being here?” one trained lap dog asks me.
In response, I smile. However, it’s anything but welcoming. “I should be the one asking you that. You’re not welcome here. Get out.”
The moron looks at his lackey, clearly confused by my bluntness. So I decide to clarify any misunderstanding. “You can walk out the door on your own accord,” I calmly explain, leveling them both with a look as I point over my shoulder toward the exit, “or I can break both your legs.”