Gug stopped the music with the remote and raised his eyebrow as if interested to see what was about to happen.
“I athked you a quethchon?” Nikka said, wiping the spit from her mouth with the sleeve of her robe.
“A new dancer?” Gug said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at Bowen. It killed the deputy inside to think that this slob believed they were on the same team.
Nikka leaned in, glaring. “Well, she can’t come into our plathe and danth with clothe on. Itth. Not. Right.”
“This is tryout,” Gug said. “She’ll get there soon enough.” His eyes went back to Garcia, and Bowen went back to wanting to knock the guy out.
Garcia stopped dancing and leaned against the center pole, rolling her eyes at the woman.
“She ith too clean,” Nikka stammered. “I thay she thmellth like a cop.”
“You are jealous of my new kitten, dear,” Gug said. “I’ve never seen a cop dance like this.”
Thibodaux took the opportunity to walk up and ask Gug where the toilet was.
“Saba,” Gug said to the muscleman behind him, flicking his fat fingers. He was more interested in the women on stage than some customer who needed the john.
Saba frowned, put out at having his attention drawn away from the women, but stepped forward to point out the small neon sign in the back corner that led to the restrooms. He shot a quick glance at the big Cajun but waved him past, a hyper-inflated ego binding his mind like his bulging muscles tied up his body.
Bowen made his way up on stage as if to escort Ronnie off, but turned midstride to face the lisping stripper.
“Turns out you’re right,” he said. “U.S. Marshals, Nikka. We need to talk to—”
Minchkhi’s face screwed up like a red raisin. She clenched her fists like a child throwing a tantrum.
On the floor, Saba took a half step forward but stopped in his tracks when the twin barbs from Thibodaux’s Taser caught him, one in between the shoulder blades and one at the fold where his butt cheek met his right thigh. His muscles knotted and he fell like a stiff pine board, bouncing off the filthy carpet nose-first.
Gug raised his fat hands. “I not move,” he said. Thibodaux drove the contact points at the end of the Taser into the man’s neck, shocking him on general principle. The barbed prongs, still buried in Saba’s tender parts, conducted the second shock as well, keeping both men compliant.
The two drunks sipped their beers, blinking sleepily as if this was all part of the show. The Asian waitress smiled at Thibodaux, looking like she wanted to kiss him.
Nikka’s entire body shook so badly that Bowen thought she might be having a seizure. She shot a glare down at her boss, before turning back to the deputy. “I cut your heart!” she screeched. Slinging spittle, she launched herself toward him.
Bowen moved to one side, preparing to snag her as she came by but Garcia swooped in out of nowhere, catching the screaming woman with a devastating palm heel to the chin that slammed her teeth together with a loud crack. Nikka had obviously been hit many times before, and the blow dazed her but didn’t stop her. Stunned but still furious, she ramped up her attack, bright red fingernails clawing the air. Using the woman’s own momentum against her, Ronnie grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, pulling Nikka face first into the nearest stripper pole with a sickening metallic thud. Nikka slid down it to land in a heap of red silk and blotchy flesh, finished fighting, but still muttering lispy threats.
“That’s the trouble with you good guys,” Ronnie said, winking at Bowen. “It’s hard for you to really hit a girl like you mean it. Even if she’s trying to gouge your eyes out. Me, I’m an equal-opportunity ass kicker.”
“That was pretty damn smooth, Cheri.” Thibodaux grinned, still holding the Taser above Gug’s neck. He used his free hand to take a flat toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at Garcia, wagging his head as he spoke. “But mercy! The next time I gotta watch you dance like that, I’m puttin’ in for danger pay.”
Chapter 25
Gug and his goon, Saba, slouched on the grimy carpet with their hands cuffed behind their backs. It took two pair of cuffs linked together to get Gug’s arms behind him. Three would have been better, but Bowen didn’t really care if the fat slob was uncomfortable or not. The two drunks had been shown the door, and the Asian waitress and skinny dancer now sat together in one of the booths, wearing thick terrycloth robes while they wolfed down bowls of stew Gug had been preparing in the kitchen for his lunch.
Nikka Minchkhi sat in the center stage where she’d fallen when Ronnie decked her, knees up, legs splayed, her red lace robe blossoming like a trodden red thistle flower. Garcia had secured the spitting dancer’s hands behind her around the stripper pole to keep her from flying off the handle again. One of her red princess slippers had come off during her rant, revealing a hole in her pink stocking through which poked a stubby big toe, pedicured, but blackened on the bottom from dancing barefoot.
Thibodaux stayed down by the two male prisoners while Bowen and Garcia stood on the stage around the sullen dancer, arms folded, waiting for her to answer their questions.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” she said, refusing to look either of them in the eye.
“Are you saying you don’t know Petyr Volodin?” Bowen said, shaking his head in disgust. “Everybody we talk to says you two are an item.”
“Then everybody you talk to ith misthtaken.” She tried to throw her head back in a scoff, but accidentally banged it against the stripper pole in the process. The blotches on her chest flushed to a bright crimson.
“We’re not the regular cops, you know,” Bowen said. “It’s against the law for you to lie to us.”
“Tell us where he is and we’re outta here,” Ronnie said. “You get on with your life or whatever it is you call what you do.”
“I do not know where he ith,” she said.
“Lithen thweety!” Thibodaux raised the brow over his good eye. “Get your stories straight. You don’t know him or you don’t know where he is?”
“You are not copth.” Nikka glared back at him. “You will only try to kill my Petyr, but you will never find him.”
Gug craned his fat neck as best he could. “Hey,” he said, getting Thibodaux’s attention. “Why you not tell me you are looking for Petyr. She’s one of his girlfriends.”
Nikka screamed. “His only girlfriend, you piece of—”
“Shut up!” Garcia stepped closer to cut her off. “I’m sure your man is completely faithful, chica.”
“Seriously,” Gug said, putting on a somber bargaining face. “I have information on my computer to help you find Petyr. Maybe you could do a little to help me.”
“I cut you for thith,” Nikka spat. The red blotches on her chest began to move up her neck.
Bowen hopped off the stage and moved to the booth where Gug’s computer sat on the table by the smoldering stub of his cigar.
Bowen snapped his fingers at Gug. “Give me the password.”
“Petyr isth not an idiot,” Nikka screeched through clenched teeth. “He knowth anyone would come here to look for—”
In the back of the club, the kitchen door swung open to the sound of someone whistling, loud and off-key.
“Hey, Zaychik moy,” a young and muscular man said as he rounded the far booth. He wore a white wife-beater shirt under a maroon velvet tracksuit. A large yellow duffle bag hung from a beefy hand. Earbud wires trailed from both ears, rendering him oblivious to the fact that he’d stumbled into his girlfriend’s interrogation. It had to be Petyr Volodin.
Apparently used to seeing his girlfriend tied to a stripper pole in the middle of the day, he hardly gave her a second look. His eyes instead fell to Ronnie as a lascivious grin spread across his face. “Lucky I got here in time,” he said. “Let’s see some of that ass, sweet—!”