He chuckled. “Hey, what can I say? I know people.”
“I’m sure you do.” I rested my pen on the desk. “And truthfully, yeah, I’d love to have you along as back-up and another set of eyes when I head there later. But I think it would send the wrong message and raise too many suspicions. We need to keep this quiet for now.”
He nodded. “Okay. But just know I’ll have my cell phone on me, and if you need me, I can be there straight away. It’s no trouble. I can run right out of my condo and join you.”
“Yeah, if you’re not in my pool. Inmypool.”
“Even better.” He chuckled again. “I’ll be dressed about right to mingle at Bane’s Garden.”
“Not dressed?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Exactly.”
I waved him away. “Off you go. I’m sure you’ve still got work to do. I need to get changed and make my way to meet Owen Vulcan himself.”
He mock-grumbled as he left the room, but he knew I was right, even if he hadn’t really admitted it. And I knew he was ready to join me if I needed reinforcements. So everything was good.
I kept a small closet of spare clothes here for after-work events or functions, or in case I turned up at the office from a late night. I’d even been known to sleep here.
I dragged on some jeans and a plaid shirt, and mussed my hair a bit. I didn’t want to turn up looking exactly like a corporate CEO. I wanted to get the measure of the place before anyone recognized me, anyway. Or at least, that was my plan.
* * *
Bane’s Gardenwas a mess from the outside. It stood three stories high, but looked as though it was about to keel over.
It was mostly rundown, with rotting boards on its exterior, but as I walked closer, it became clear that appearance was all a clever façade, designed to appeal to their clientele. The boards weren’t really rotten; they just looked that way, when in fact they’d all been carefully distressed — and probably at great expense.
The strip club was on the bottom floor, and the door that creaked as I pushed my way inside was well-made and expensive, too.
It was all an act of artful deception.
Lights flashed inside, creating pockets of changing shadow, and music boomed from different speakers, each playing different tunes. The effect was an incongruous mix of beats as strippers worked on four separate stages, hanging onto poles or just writhing across the space in front of crowds with bulging eyes and fistfuls of crumpled money.
The guys who counted themselves as customers stood and cheered the women on, whooping and hollering their pleasure. Some waved bills of various denominations in their hands, occasionally stepping forward to tuck one in the G-string of a dancer, or just throwing the money on the floor if the woman was naked.
Other topless women walked around delivering trays of drinks, their tiny aprons doing little to cover them.
The bar at the back of the room was clearly well-stocked — rows and rows of bottles suggesting the wealth of the place. But something smelled bad here, and it wasn’t just the underlying odor of stale beer and piss.
Hell, it would be a pleasure to buy the whole fucking building just to shut it down.
I walked farther into the space, trying to avoid as many sweaty male bodies as I could.
“Well, hello, sweetheart,” a sultry voice drawled, and the woman it belonged to gave me a long look up and down. “You new here?” She stroked my cheek with the back of her forefinger and gave a throaty laugh. “Let Foxy show you a good time.” She lowered her lashes like she was demure, but the fact she was only wearing a silver sequin and diamante thong suggested the opposite.
Revulsion skittered through me, but I steeled myself against it as she took my hand and led me to cracked vinyl booth seating. She pressed me down and I looked up at her, ignoring the way her breasts swayed as she moved in a seductive rhythm to the closest beat.
“Lap dance, sugar?” She licked her lips. “For you, I’ll even go half my usual price.” She placed her hands on my shoulders and leaned forward. “Or would you like a drink first and to get to know a girl a little better?” Again, she flashed me that false demure look.
Around the room, other women were running through a similar routine, except some were partially shifted, their claws out or whiskers visible.
“Oh…you like the specialty girls?” Foxy laughed, the sound still husky. “Maybe it’s a lap dance you need, then.”
She turned around before I could stop her, grinding against me before an impressive auburn brush tail appeared between us, the soft tips of the fur tickling my face. I took hold of it to help maneuver her away and a shiver rippled through her, the scent of her desire suddenly evident.
She glanced over her shoulder. “No touching the merchandise,” she whispered. “The boss don’t like it.” But she had. That much was clear from the glimmer in her eyes.
I shook my head. “It’s your boss I’m here to see. Could you let him know I’m here?”