Tasered.
Xavier is standing by my side with Betty in hand.
The downed man’s friends help him to his feet and gather around him, but the bikers form a tight-knit cluster around Xavier.
“I think we should go,” Xav tells me. He begins to ease toward the door. I take Charlene’s arm and follow closely behind.
I hear threats and shouts behind me, and even though I’d been geared up for a fight, I’m glad to get out of there before things explode.
“Why did you have to Taser him?” I ask Xavier. We’re almost to the exit. “I was about to take him down. I’ve spent three years studying TaeKwonDo.”
“Yeah.” He holds Betty up. “And I watched a five-minute YouTube video on how to use these suckers. Who’s the king of time management?”
I hate it when he’s right.
“Next time, at least let me hit him once.”
Outside the bar, we’re getting into Charlene’s car when I hear someone yell. “Hey!”
I spin, expecting a man — or men — from the bar to rush me. But it’s not someone looking for a fight, it’s the man the bartender had told me could take us to Solomon.
“I hear you’re looking for Solomon.”
“We are.”
“How did you hear about him?”
Charlene answers for me. “A friend of one of his colleagues.”
I doubt that’ll be enough, and I debate what to tell him to convince him to help us, but surprisingly he accepts what Charlene said and heads toward a blue sedan parked nearby. “Follow me.”
With the fight erupting in the bar, Fred didn’t have an easy time getting to the door, and by the time he made it outside, Wray and the two people with him were climbing into the Ford Focus.
Okay, he was running out of time here.
They took off after a sedan and, trying not to be too conspicuous, he followed after them.
Calista found Dr. Jeremy Turnisen at one of the blackjack tables.
Everyone who plays blackjack uses some sort of counting system. If you don’t, you’re just letting the odds get the best of you, and you’re throwing your money away.
Most systems are based on keeping track of the number of cards that count ten. When the tens are rich in the deck, you want to increase your bet. The dealer has to hit on a soft seventeen, but typically, depending on what cards have been laid, players will want to hold at a sixteen, maybe at a seventeen, almost always at an eighteen.
Whatever Jeremy had, he was increasing his bet when she approached.
He was focused on the table and didn’t see her at first, so she eased in beside him, close enough for him to smell her perfume, to feel her presence.
She brushed a hand ever so slightly against his arm and indicated toward his pile of chips. “It looks like luck is on your side tonight.”
He put his hand on hers. “It looks like it is.”
She wanted to get him alone, back to the room, to Derek, who was waiting in the closet with the Dalpotol and the cloth to cover Jeremy’s mouth, but she also didn’t want to press Jeremy too much or make him suspicious.
Before she could think of what exactly to tell him, he said, “I’m on a streak.”
She kissed his cheek. “Well then, play for keeps. Remember, tonight, winner takes all.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Down the Rabbit Hole
We follow the man in the blue car through a winding series of backstreets until we come to a deserted alley on the east side of town.
As Charlene is parking, she asks Xavier how he connected so quickly with the motorcyclists. “They sure warmed up to you fast.”
“I’m an expert at winning friends and influencing people.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That, and we share mutual feelings toward the intrusiveness of the federal government.”
Now that, I believe.
“And respect for vets.”
“Gotcha.”
Charlene turns off the car, and we all step into the cool night.
A dumpster rests nearby, and the stench of filth and rot fills the alley.
The man we’d followed shambles toward us and introduces himself simply as Martin. “Solomon doesn’t like it when people waste his time. You better have a good reason to be here.”
“We do.”
“And that is? I need something to tell him.”
I decide it might help us get an audience if I tell Martin the truth. “I’m looking for information that might lead us to a man who murdered my friend. I’m willing to negotiate for the information. I have resources at my disposal.”
“Resources.”
“Yes.”
After spending a moment mulling that over, he indicates toward a rusted door on the other side of the alley. “This way.”
Of course I’m curious about Martin’s connection with Solomon — if he works for him, if he’s just a stooge who brings people here, if we should be afraid of him despite his mild demeanor. Or if, possibly, he’s actually Solomon himself.
I’m also wondering why he tracked us down outside the Hideaway in the first place.
Together, the four of us stand outside the door. Martin raps on it. I’m expecting it to open slightly, or for a small panel to open and for him to whisper a password or something along those lines, but the door swings wide and an African American man who looks the size of an NFL lineman blocks the entrance. His head is shaven, and the occasional light from the streetlights at the end of the alley reflects dully off it.
Martin speaks first. “I have some people who want to see Solomon.”
The guy assesses us and then leans down and whispers something incomprehensible to Martin, who whispers something back. Then the bodyguard or bouncer, or whoever he is, disappears into the building, closing the door with a thick metallic clang behind him.
Martin turns to us. “He’s checking. He’ll be right back.”
It doesn’t take long before the man returns and points to me and then Charlene. “You two can come in.” His voice reminds me of the sound a sledgehammer might make smacking against concrete. He points a thick finger at Xavier. “You stay here.”
I glance at my friends, and both seem to accept the terms. While I like the idea of Charlene being close to me where I can keep a protective eye on her, I’m committed to shielding her from a potentially dangerous situation, and I sense she’d be safer out here with Xavier and Betty.
“She stays here,” I tell the sentry. “I come in alone.”
He folds his massive arms. “I’d advise you to accept this gracious offer.”
Martin looks at me urgently. “Go on in. Both of you.” His tone makes it clear that he thinks it would be safer to follow the instructions than to upset Solomon.
Charlene puts a hand on my arm. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
“No. This is—”
“I don’t think that we want to make him angry.”
“Listen, I’ve already had a friend murdered. I can’t take the—”
“I trust you. That you won’t let anything happen to me.”
I process that. “I won’t.”
“I know.”
I mentally prepare to do whatever’s necessary to protect her, if it comes down to that.
The guard pats me down to make sure I’m not carrying any weapon. All I have with me is my car keys, my Morgan Dollar, and the deck of cards I typically carry after my shows in case I run into fans in the lobby.
I’m not comfortable with the idea of this guy frisking Charlene, but he doesn’t even attempt to. He just scans her detachedly and must find no reason to suspect that she’s armed, because he nods. “Alright.”