I rolled my eyes. “Oh shit. Why don’t I just take it out?”
He wagged his brows. “What’s the fun in that? You’ll be fine. Just flash them your tit.”
“Ha, ha.” I seriously hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Hey,” he said, growing serious and running his thumb over my lips. I held back the urge to nibble on it. “You’re a con artist. You built a whole career on lying, on pretending to be different people. This is nothing. You walk around the corner to the square and you’ll see the club, it’s a small building. There will be a line-up already. Get in line. Wait your turn. Show them your passport, they’ll scan it, they’ll run the detector over you. You’ll show your tit. You’ll go through and head to the large circular bar in the middle of the room, near the dance floor. Travis’s room is up the stairs but you won’t even look there. You’ll get your drink, watch the dancers, and, I am assuming, fend off porte?os looking to take you home. Sit there for at least three drinks. When you’re done, if nothing has happened, tell the bartender ‘thanks for the service, have a good night.’ I’ll hear that and come back for you. I’ll pull up to here, the same spot. You get in. I take you home and fuck you senseless. That’s how the evening will go.”
I nodded. He was right. I was a con artist. Travis had made me one. I was born to do this.
I kissed him quickly on the lips as my skin fuzzed and shimmied with all the energy in the car. What we were doing. Who he was. Who I was.
“I’ll see you,” I told him, stepping out of the car. I stared at Javier for a good long moment, taking in his elegantly dangerous face, wondering how much trust there really was between us. Then I shut the door and walked off toward the nightclub.
I got more than my fair share of catcalls and whistles as I rounded the corner and came across the colorful plaza. It was alive with mariachi bands in the middle, tourists standing around and watching, with open-air restaurants filled to the brim with chatting patrons. I spotted the low mission-style house across the square with its cheesy zebra-striped sign that said The Zoo. Javier was right, there was already a line about twenty people deep.
I took in a deep breath and sashayed my way over to it, getting behind a young white couple with New Jersey accents. That calmed me down a bit, knowing that I could blend in with the other tourists. Despite the New Jersey couple in their jeans, everyone else in line was dressed up. I both blended in and stood out, which was exactly what we were hoping.
I did everything I could to stay calm and focused while I stood there, waiting for at least a half hour before I finally got to the door.
“ID,” the bouncer said. I handed him my passport and tried to take in his features without looking at him too deeply. I wondered if he worked for the club, for Travis, or both. I wondered if I’d be seeing this man, with his big fat head and coal-black eyes again, in other circumstances.
He scanned my passport and handed it back to me. He nodded his fat head at the door. “You pay cover there, 250 pesos.”
Ouch, that was steep. I didn’t say anything, just nodded politely while he looked over my head at the people next in line.
I paid the girl at the door and when I stepped into the club, I was met with a wall of smoke and a blast from the past. The club was blaring a bumping remix of the Nine Inch Nails song “Wish.” The very song tattooed on Javier’s wrist. The song I picked out for him, the one, Trent Reznor sings, without a soul.
“Miss?” one of the security guards was waving me over to him. I shook myself out of my daydream.
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I need to be screened?”
“It will only take a second,” the man said and started waving the metal detector over my arms and legs while another man went through my purse. As predicted, the detector beeped when he scanned my chest.
The guard looked a bit embarrassed. “Uh, are you wearing a metal bra?”
“Does it look like I’m wearing a bra?” I said, pushing my chest out, making him notice that the dress was cut down to my navel. “It’s my nipple ring.”
The guards exchanged a look while the other gave me back my purse.
“Do I need to show you?” I asked. Even in the dark blue lights of the club, I could tell his face was darkening. “I mean, if you look close enough, you can see through the fabric.” I stretched it across my breast so he could see the shape of the ring poking through. That was enough for him.