He watched those lights for a second and then glanced around to make sure nobody else had noticed them. A car had pulled up to the curb in front of the parlor, thumping a bass line from a cheap set of speakers, so most of the attention inside the building was probably focused upon it.
Once Paige was through, the flickering stopped. There was a creak followed by the brief glow of interior light spilling into the alley before she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
“Well,” he muttered, “time to fly the flag.”
Chapter 6
The entrance to the Blood Parlor was just what anyone would expect after looking at the outside of the place. There was a bar covered in coasters representing different brands of beer, foreign and domestic. A couple dart boards hung on the far wall, music from some college band Cole had never heard of drifted from a large jukebox, and a couple televisions hung from brackets on either side of the room. He wasn’t allowed to take more than two steps inside before he was blocked by the slick guy he’d spotted earlier. Up close, Slick was a little taller and a lot beefier than Cole had expected.
Extending one arm to put his hand flat against Cole’s chest, Slick said, “If you’re with those jackasses, you might as well go home with them right now.”
The man had a dark, East Indian complexion and spoke with a cultured British accent. His straight black hair was primped to the far edge of masculinity without quite crossing over to the fairer side, and hung just over his ears. When Cole tried to push forward another step, he didn’t even move the man a fraction of an inch.
The jackasses in question were being herded from a staircase at the back of the room to the front door. A bunch of young guys and even younger girls were escorted outside by bouncers in suits that looked to be cheap knockoffs of Slick’s. After a whole lot of grunting and swearing, the jackasses piled into the car with the thumping bass and rolled down Rush Street.
“I’m not with them,” Cole said. “I’m here to see Stephanie.”
“No one here by that name. Come to think of it, we’re closing.”
“Closing?”
“Yeah,” Slick said. “So hit the bricks.”
Cole turned at the shoulders as he scoped the inside of the bar to make sure the doorman or one of the others could see the flag that was being flown.
The doorman with the borderline hair was on his game. “What’s on your back?”
“Ask Stephanie. She should know all about it.”
“Let me see your hands.”
Although Cole took half a step back, he wasn’t retreating. He just wanted some extra room in case things got interesting. He held both palms up and out so the doorman could have a look.
When Slick saw the scars on his palms, he took a full step back. “Where’s the other one?” he asked.
“Who should I say is asking?”
Just then, descending the back stairs as if she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make her entrance, Stephanie announced, “His name’s Astin. Forgive him if he’s being rude, but he’s new in town.”
Stephanie wore a black dress with red polka dots that cut straight across the top of her breasts and was held up by a single strap that looped around her neck. The strap was the same red as the polka dots, which was the same color as the ribbon that went around the middle of the dress and the narrow strip of lace along the hem. Her shoes were shiny, black, high-heeled numbers that brought her up to within an inch or two of Cole’s height. She walked through the bar with her chin held high and her dark red hair pulled into ponytails that dangled on either side of her head. She eased her shoulders back as if to display her chest every bit as much as the thick black markings that snaked up along her neck. Thinner black tendrils ran through her arms, and only a few reached down to one ankle.
“Hello, Cole,” Stephanie said as she grinned and extended an arm to him. “Last time I saw you, you were swinging a piece of wood at me. Ahh,” she purred as she glanced over his shoulder. “I see you’ve still got wood. Must be my new heels.”
Cole glanced down at the hand she offered and said, “If you’re waiting for me to kiss that, you’re going to be standing there a long time.”
“Maybe you can kiss something else,” Stephanie snapped as she turned on the balls of her feet and then clacked across the hardwood floor. “I suppose you came here to see my Blood Parlor?”
“That and to have a word with you.” When he tried to follow her to the stairs, he was stopped once more by Astin’s thickly muscled yet tendril-free arm. “Do you know what she is, Astin?”
“She’s the one that pays my salary,” the doorman replied.
Hanging onto the railing of the staircase, Stephanie turned to show thin, curved fangs extending from her upper gum line just enough to scrape against her bottom lip. “I’m also the one that hands out freebies to my employees when they do good. You did real good, Astin. Let the nice Skinner through.”
Astin lowered his arm and took a step back. Judging by the way he ordered the others in the bar around with a few clipped words and some hasty pointing, he was more than just a doorman. Cole fell into step behind Stephanie and swore he could feel more eyes upon him than there were faces in the room.
The farther up the stairs she got, the bouncier Steph’s movements became. “I didn’t think you’d ever get here. We were all ready for you and that little partner of yours to show up on opening day and you never did. Don’t tell me you two are losing touch with this town.”
“Not at all. We just thought we’d give you a chance to get things rolling before we paid a visit.”
“That’s cute. If you or that little bitch—”
“Watch your mouth,” Cole snapped in the most convincing growl he’d done all night. “She’s my partner.”
Stephanie arrived at the top of the stairs, kept her fingertips on the banister, and did a slow turn to clear a path while coming around to face him. “Sorry,” she said with an unconvincing pout. “Maybe I’m just jealous that she gets to spend so much time with you.”
Cole stepped away from the stairs and positioned himself so his back was to a wall. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s it.”
At first the upper floor seemed bigger than the one downstairs. That was mostly because the lower level was sectioned off into the bar and other rooms used for storage or office space. The top of the stairs opened to a room that was about the size of the bar and stretched from one side of the building to the other. Several windows were built into the walls of what looked like a newer addition that extended the main room out over the sidewalk. A hallway stretched all the way down the length of the second floor, with doors to private rooms on either side. At the far end of the hall was what looked like another, narrower staircase.
Stephanie strutted through the room as if she expected an entourage to appear and kiss her feet. The burgundy carpeting was thick enough to silence every step. Two sofas and several chairs were set up at the front of the room, each padded in colors that were only slightly different from the carpet. Lace curtains hung over the windows and candles were set upon little tables that also held magazines and several binders.
“This is the waiting room,” she said as she bent down to rub her hand along the cushion of the nearest sofa. A well-dressed man in his late forties sat there watching her as if silently praying her hand would come his way. “Our customers make their selections, settle their bills, and get all revved up for their sessions out here. It’s all very civil.”
“Looks that way so far.”
Stephanie answered the waiting guy’s prayers by lowering herself onto his lap. Kicking out one leg and smiling without showing any fang, she said, “Doesn’t this whole place just make you want to curl up with someone?”