“Probably not.”
His features clenched and he jerked a thumb toward that third-floor flat. “What if we went over there and just snuffed the son of a bitch? If he’s a solo player, so much the better. If he’s half of a team, the shooter either hears his backup guy has been killed, and never shows, or even stumbles onto the body himself. In which case, he books it out of Dodge.”
I frowned. “And possibly taking a run at Climer before he does.”
“No, Quarry, once the gig’s gone south, he’s gone.”
Boyd was probably right.
Still, I said, “We’re not hitting the one across the street. Not yet. Not now.”
“Okay, then tell Climer he may be in the crosshairs and to be extra damn cautious. You stick with him yourself, as much as possible. He’s brought in more ex-biker-boy bodyguards already, right?”
“Yes.”
Boyd shrugged. “Cool. Then we operate assuming that the activity across the way is the stakeout guy moving in, and we wait for the shooter to show. When he does, we take them both out. And earn our pay.”
I mulled it. Then: “That would give me a little more time to try to pinpoint whoever hired it.”
“Exactly. In which case we earn more pay. If we go across the street now, and make a mess, this thing is over, for us. Nothing left but a quick exit.”
“So instead...”
“...we sit tight. And watch. And wait.”
I thought about it some more.
Then I nodded slowly and said, “Sit and watch and wait.”
“Right. And Quarry?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s your turn.”
And Boyd, legs of his nylon jammies rubbing together like a cicada mating call, trundled back off to bed.
So for several hours I watched that third-floor apartment from the stakeout pad. Lights on in there had made the drawn shades glow somewhat and the edges around them were bright. Starting around eleven p.m., however, they gradually went off.
Then the whole place was dark.
It did feel like somebody had moved in, gotten a little settled, and was in for the night.
I watched for another half-hour, using the binoculars, then went down to see if any parked-car surveillance might be happening; but none seemed to be. Edgy, not knowing exactly what I should be doing, I went in the club to see if everything was under control there.
It was. A quarter till midnight found the place starting to thin. Brandi was on stage, bopping to Grand Funk Railroad’s “The Loco-Motion,” her blue bikini tossed aside like dirty clothes on a teenage girl’s bedroom floor. The seats lining the runway were all taken, though only maybe a third of the choreography lovers had sprung for miner’s helmets.
Over the past few days, security at the Climax Club building had been beefed up nicely. A locksmith had taken the various doors to college (Yale), a security firm had installed an alarm system with separate keypads on every floor, and half a dozen ex-bikers with permits-to-carry were now on staff. At the moment, some of the latter were acting as additional bouncers in bow ties and tuxedo shirts.
On the upper floors, other former Hells Angels types were at posts positioned to handle any invaders. Wearing big-and-tall men’s shop suits that could handle big chests and sizable bellies, the latter group tended to have ponytails and a general Sumo wrestler look, with revolvers clipped to their belts and slightly exploded features with a built-in glower.
I found a table easily and Sally, the friendly redhead waitress in her usual green bikini, came over and delivered a Coors, as usual without asking. I really liked her. Under normal circumstances I would have tried to get to know her better.
She sat next to me. She had the kind of lush mouth with an upper lip that curled back when she smiled. “Surprised to see you, honey,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
Her shrug lifted her full freckled breasts and set them down with a jiggle. Being a gentleman, I pretended not to notice. “Just figured you’d be with Maxie tonight,” she said.
“Why? Where is he?”
“On a little overnight with Mavis.” She frowned. “You didn’t know? Aren’t you his top security guy?”
I put a hand on her bare arm, did my best not to squeeze. “Is Vernon still here?”
“Yeah, of course. In his office in back.”
I started to get up and this time she gripped my arm, not worrying about whether it hurt or not. “No, honey, better not — he’s in conference. You let me get him for you.”
She went off to do that. Instead of enjoying the view, I was trying, unsuccessfully, to wrap my head around Climer running off somewhere without telling me. I told myself to cool it — what appeared to be the passive half of a two-man kill squad had only just tonight installed himself in that third-floor apartment across the way. That meant the hit was not imminent.
Right?
Brandi was off the stage and back out circulating on the club floor in her blue bikini and lingerie wrap, trolling for table dances. She spotted me, her features freezing for a moment as if trying to place me, then did her little-girl grin and waved with wiggling red-nailed fingers. I waved back with my flesh-colored ones and no wiggling.
Something was wiggling in my brain, though, threatening to become a thought.
I watched her walk over to where the same beady-eyed bouncer as on my first visit to the Climax Bar again stood watch, back against the wall by the restroom alcove, looking like a bored harem eunuch. She was whispering to him while he tried to think. Then he whispered to her while she tried to think.
The angle was wrong, damnit — I had picked up lip-reading over the years, taking my turns at surveillance, and while not an expert at the art, I could often make out enough to be helpful. But whispering in each other’s ears made these two really bad subjects.
Sally came over and said, “Vernon’s just wrapping up his meeting. He’ll be out soon.”
“What’s her name?”
She gave me the curled-upper-lip lip-glossed smile again. Her eyes were as green as her bikini. “You don’t know want to know.”
“Sally, how long has Brandi worked here?”
The waitress frowned a little. “Well, she doesn’t, honey.”
“What do you mean, she doesn’t?”
Her head bobbed back and forth, her big red hair going along for the ride. “Well, does and doesn’t. She’s on the circuit. She’s featured. We get her about four times a year, month at a shot. This is her last weekend, this time around.”
“Oh. Nobody told me.”
“Must be you never asked, honey.”
Sally got up, gave me a green-eye-shadowed wink, and hip-swung toward the bar, absurd and sublime in bikini with high-heel sandals.
If I’d gone all the way with Vernon’s daughter Corrie, earlier tonight, maybe I wouldn’t be thinking about how much I’d like to fuck Sally right now. Jesus Christ, I had to get out of this place. This was the kind of job where if a bullet didn’t get you, syphilis would.
Speaking of which, Brandi plopped her little bottom down in the chair next to mine and gave me her own lascivious lip-glossed smile. Her big brown eyes were glittering, but with what, I couldn’t be sure.
“What are you up to later?” she asked, and her eyes widened and half-closed, then widened again. Normal pupils tonight.
“Nothing planned,” I said.
“I got a couple table dances to do. Check in with me before you go — I’ll be done by one. I’m only here a few more days, you know.”
I knew that now.
“Might be our last chance to have a little fun, sugar,” she said, pushing up from the table, eyebrows doing the Groucho bit. “And it won’t cost you a diddly damn thing.”
Then she sashayed off to a waiting customer, leaving me to wonder if there might not be a hidden fee.