“I thought we were going to do yoga tonight?” Mallory pouts, wrapping her arms around Graham.
“When I get home,” Graham promises.
“But . . .”
“Hey, Mal?” I call, following Lincoln to the door. “This is what you get for your Ellie bullshit.”
“Ford!” she whines.
“I agree with Mallory,” Sienna chimes, a little panic in her tone. “Daddy! Make them stay here.”
“They’re grown men,” Dad notes. “What do you want me to do?”
I look at Mallory and wink, which only irritates her more. “Come on, G! Night out with the boys!”
Ford
“SIENNA IS BLOWING ME UP,” Lincoln laughs from the front seat of the SUV. “Should I reply or ignore her?”
“Ignore her,” we all say in unison.
“If she wants to be an accomplice in this, she can take a little of the heat,” Graham points out. “I’ve spent so much fucking time on Swink and her bullshit when all Sienna has to do is tell me what she’s doing.”
“It’s obviously a guy,” Lincoln points out.
“It’s obviously a guy she knows we’ll flip a lid about,” I say, catching Troy’s eye in the rearview.
“Am I going to need bail money?” he asks.
We chuckle as he takes the final right-hand turn towards the bar where Camilla’s car was towed from.
“I ask you one thing: don’t let Barrett get hemmed up,” Troy says, looking at me. “If shit is going to hit the fan, at least have the decency to let me get the Governor out of there first.”
He pulls the car in front of an old brick building with a series of letters partially lit across the top in a faded red lighting. It looks like the dump you’d figure would be on Davis Street. As we all climb out of the SUV, we take in the sight before us.
“What in the ever-loving hell is Camilla doing here?” Lincoln turns to Graham. “You sure you got the right place?”
G flashes him a look, chastising him for second-guessing his facts. Lincoln shrugs and enters. We all follow behind him.
The Gold Room, as we come to learn the fine establishment is called, isn’t aptly named. There’s nothing gold or expensive or even “room-y” about it.
A long bar extends down the center of the wall to the right, pillars hold up the ceiling up along the middle of the building. Tables with cheap plastic chairs dot most of the free space, save a little area in the back. That’s reserved for a couple of pool tables and what looks to be a makeshift dance floor that appears to have the same eighties-style paneling as the walls.
“You think Cam has turned to stripping?” Lincoln jokes, nodding at a semi-hidden stripper pole situated behind a partition.
I shove him in the back, causing him to propel forward a few feet.
“I was only kidding,” he laughs. “I’m sure Graham is gracious enough to give her enough money to keep her from that.”
We slowly make our way to the bar. There are only a couple of patrons in the place. They’re spread out, some at tables, a couple at the far end of the counter.
“Let’s have a drink, shall we, boys?” Barrett takes the lead and sits at a bar stool at the end. We file in to his left and wait for the bald-headed bartender to come our way. He sees us, that much is for sure. He also purposefully makes us wait.
“There goes his tip,” Lincoln mutters, earning another bump on the shoulder from me.
Troy stands discreetly by the front door, not missing a beat.
“What can I get you?”