I threaded around the small cocktail table and chairs. Sat down next to him.
“See? Just like he said.” Michael nodded up at the camera bubbles on the ceiling.
“Impossible to tell if we’re on it or not,” I yelled over the music.
Michael shook his head. “We’re clear.” He checked his watch. “Just don’t get comfortable.”
“I never do.”
I glanced around again. Apart from the girl onstage and her paltry audience, there was a burly bartender and a waitress. Two doors in the opposite corner. One hung with beaded fringe, the other painted black like the walls.
The beaded one led backstage, no doubt. Private dance room, maybe, or a row of cheap mirrors and a bathroom. The black door led to the office. Where the safe was. And the security computer.
The bartender was another security type. Thickset with blunt fingers. The kind of guy you imagined would start panting after climbing a flight of stairs.
So all we had to worry about was everything we couldn’t see. How many girls in the back? How many workers in the kitchen? Who sat in the office? How many guns under the bar or tucked into waistbands?
Who was it, exactly, we were about to fuck with?
The waitress sauntered over to us. One of the guys at the stage tried to flag her down, but she’d already made us as the better tippers.
“What can I get you?” She licked her teeth at Michael.
Cyndra tracked her body in one glance. Dismissed her just as quickly.
The waitress’s eyes narrowed.
“We want a bottle of Jack.” Michael dug more bills out of his pocket. “And some shot glasses.”
“I can pour the shots, honey. You don’t need the bottle.”
“We want the bottle.” Michael’s voice hardened. “You can carry a shot to my friend at the stage, if that makes you happy.” He pointed at Beast, still slack-jawed and sitting near the pole.
“We’re not allowed to sell the bottle.”
Michael waved at her in a run-along gesture. “Go get the bartender. Let me talk to someone in charge.”
The bartender came over. Michael murmured in his ear and slapped bills in his palm.
The waitress came back, laid out some shot glasses and the unopened bottle of whiskey.
Everyone did shots.
I left mine on the table.
The waitress touched my bicep. “You want a dance, handsome?”
Something in Cyndra’s face made the waitress smile and move closer to me. “I’ll give you a dance if you want.”
Another person for sale.
“No thanks.” I picked up my shot glass.
The waitress pouted and turned to T-Man.
The music crescendoed. The girl onstage picked up her clothes and sway-walked off. Fog blew down from the ceiling as a new song started. A redhead, maroon-dark hair almost black in the dim light, stalked out.
The burst-balloon scent of chemical fog wafted over the tables.
The redhead attacked the pole like it could fight back. She looped around it, swung upside down.
“I want a dance!” Michael yelled over the music. “It’s my birthday!”
The waitress smiled at him and edged away from T-Man.
“Not you.” Michael tipped his head at the stage. “Her.”
The redhead righted herself, slid around the pole.
“She’s dancing,” the waitress said.
Michael snapped his fingers, an intentionally rude dismissal. “Go get her.”
The waitress stalked away and spoke to the bartender. He waved the bouncer over. Michael smiled at them when they looked at us. Waved another bill in the air.
The bouncer nodded and spoke to the waitress. She slammed her tray down on the bar. Stomped onto the stage, where the redhead froze in surprise.
The waitress spoke, gesturing to our corner.
Michael held up a bill for the redhead to see. She smiled, collected her dollars slowly, and came over. The waitress stayed on the stage and started to dance.
“I’m Blaze.” The redhead tossed burgundy hair over a shoulder.
“Michael,” he said. “It’s my birthday.”
Blaze nodded. “You want a special present?”
“Indeed I do.” Michael held out the money. Then leaned back, legs splayed, holding the whiskey bottle by the neck. A drunken grin spread across his face.
Blaze tucked the money away and stepped into the space between Michael’s legs. She started undulating, slow-twitching her hips and shoulders in time with the music.
Michael reached his free hand out.
Blaze leaned back, took his hand away. “No touching, Birthday Boy.”
Michael just smiled. Reached out and caressed her again.
“No touching,” Blaze began, moving to stand away from him. Michael’s hand shot out and fisted her long hair. Yanked her down. She fell across his lap, jostling into Dwight.
“Hey!” I stood and took one of Blaze’s arms to help her up.
“Let go!” Blaze screamed. The thumping music didn’t come close to covering it. She kicked out, foot connecting with Cyndra’s leg.
Cyndra yelled and grabbed her calf. The bouncer rushed over from his place by the door.
Michael shoved Blaze away as I pulled her up. She fell against me, knocking me back against the side of the bar.
“What the—” she yelled, pulling her arm away and shoving me hard. I held my hands up. The bouncer barreled in, grabbed Michael’s collar.
“You’re out, kid.”
Michael didn’t fight, just sat there, laughing. A dead weight as the bouncer hauled on him.
“She kicked me,” Cyndra yelled.
“Let go of him!” Dwight pressed in between Michael and the bouncer. They shoved each other.
“Cole!” the bouncer shouted. The bartender came around the bar, closing in on Dwight.
“You dick!” Blaze yelled at Michael. She picked a glass off the bar to hurl at his head. I pushed her arm up and back, twisting the glass out of her hand. Corralled her back with the force of the block. Opened my hands out at my sides.