In addition to working on the iPad, Feng scribbled notes in a spiral notebook on the table in front of him. Ryan didn’t know exactly what this guy was up to, but he knew he wanted to get a look at that spiral notebook as well as the iPad.
Ryan nursed his beer, casting enough looks at the dark-eyed dancing girls so as not to appear out of place. He leaned sideways toward Chavez and spoke under his breath, hoping the mic on his neck loop would pick up his whisper and broadcast it to the rest of the team.
“Our friend has a tablet computer I’d like to get my hands on.”
“Due time,” Clark said. “Does it seem like he’s being protected? Guarded by the cartel or triad?”
Ryan fought the urge to shake his head at the question coming from his earpiece. “No,” he said, still gawking at the stage and tilting his head as if speaking to Chavez. “There’s a Hispanic guy at his table chatting him up, but everyone appears to be guarding the girls.”
“He’s right,” Chavez mumbled. “I’d lay odds that there’s enough firepower in here to hold off a small army.”
“Good enough,” Clark said. “Keep eyes-on for another half-hour. Sing out if it looks like you’re starting to get stale.”
Adara’s voice came across the radio, calm but direct. “That small army you mentioned,” she said. “I’ve got eight plainclothes officers coming your way from a half a block south. I’m betting they’re Feds, and not trained counterintel types, either. They’re too overt-covert.”
Jack nodded to himself, as if in time with the bass beat from the speakers. He knew exactly what Adara meant. Men and women who’d spent long careers carrying large and heavy firearms on their belts often tended to walk holding their arms slightly away from their bodies—even when they transitioned to a smaller, more concealable weapon for different duty. It took practice and concentration to overcome the effect of being a beat cop or even a suit-wearing detective. Simply wearing plain clothes did not make one covert.
Dom broke squelch on the radio. “Six more of the same moving in from the north. There’s a redhead leading the pack. She’s Bureau, no doubt about it. I saw her belt badge when she got out of her car. I’m guessing this is some kind of task force.”
Clark’s voice was tight, agitated. “Ding, Ryan, haul ass out the back. I don’t want you caught up in some whorehouse raid.”
“Copy that,” Chavez said, nodding toward the dark hallway at the rear of the building. “You lead the way, ’mano,” he said to Ryan. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Jack was already on his feet, slouching between the row of tables and the stage toward the back door, as if he was looking for the restroom. He wasn’t the sort to run from a fight, but his getting caught in a place like this would cost his father a great deal of political capital. Not to mention the fact that the resulting media attention would severely damage Jack’s ability to continue working in a covert capacity.
Even so, he turned to Chavez as they reached the end of the stage, stopping in his tracks. “What about Fee Fi Fo Fum?”
Chavez groaned, having already reached the same conclusion. “He’s gonna hurt somebody.”
The two men had worked together long enough that they generally knew what the other was thinking in any tactical situation. Neither wanted to leave approaching law enforcement to stumble into the strip club blind and come face-to-face with the armed behemoth. The task force agents would eventually gain the upper hand, but one of them was bound to get injured—and possibly even killed—in the process.
Ryan and Chavez each took a twenty-dollar bill from their pockets and stepped up to the stage. The two tired-looking girls turned, lowering their gyrating bodies to allow the men to stuff the money into their G-strings. The girl nearest Jack looked even younger up close. She had to be in her teens, probably the reason the cops were here. Throwing a quick look over his shoulder to make sure the giant by the door was watching, Jack gave an exuberant catcalling whistle, then put both hands flat on the stage as if to climb up and dance with the girl. Though not unheard-of behavior in a titty bar, it was exactly what Fee Fi Fo Fum had warned them not to do. They had not paid for the privilege.
The giant sprang from his stool by the door with surprising dexterity. “?Pendejo!” he roared above the throbbing music, lumbering toward Ryan. His bullish neck was arched and his head down, as if he intended to bowl Ryan over.
Extremely big men may have doled out countless beat-downs, but they rarely had much real experience with anyone fighting back. Unfortunately for the bouncer, both Chavez and Ryan had plenty.
Ryan yanked a wad of assorted bills from his pocket and pitched them onto the stage, hoping the investment would keep the girls busy doing something besides kicking him in the head. Chavez stepped deftly aside as the giant chugged by, giving him a stout two-handed shove from behind and causing him to go faster than his legs could carry him. Jack caught the man mid-stumble, grabbing him by the shaggy hair with both hands and directing his forehead toward the lip of the stage. Inertia and gravity did the rest. The resulting collision of bone against wood cracked like a rifle shot. Fee Fi Fo Fum piled up on the filthy carpet at the base of the stage, moaning, both hands on his gashed forehead, trying to stanch the flow of blood.
Chavez gave Ryan’s arm a tug. “Haul ass!” he said, without looking back.
The nearest cartel guys sat at their table and blinked. It was inconceivable that anyone could knock out the big bouncer. Everything had happened so fast, it took them a moment to process what this white kid with the frosted hair and dark beard had done.
Ryan turned to run but came face-to-face with Eddie Feng, who was now on his feet, clutching his tablet computer in crossed arms. A commotion at the front drew the Taiwanese man’s attention toward the door. Ryan took that moment to dip into his pocket and then reach under the edge of Feng’s table. A strong adhesive held the GSM slap mic in place—leaving Ryan free to run down the hallway and out the back door, joining Chavez in the alley at the same moment law enforcement poured in the front door.