"Don't worry, partner," Mike said. "We'll be watching you every step of the way."
Yeah, I thought, hefting my bag as the door slammed shut.
That was precisely the problem.
I stared at the establishment in question, the so-called club. The steel shutters. The lightless doorway between them like a vertical open grave.
What in the name of everything holy could happen to me next?
Code red was the least of my problems.
Chapter 50
IN THE SMALL ALCOVE just inside the crummy front door was a crimson velvet rope and behind it, an ink-black stairwell leading down.
The bouncer standing next to it was wearing champagne-colored sunglasses and a three-piece suit that could have been made of red Mylar. I silently debated what made me more uneasy as I approached him, the fact that he was six and a half feet tall or the fact that he was morbidly obese.
A steady thumping rose from the raw concrete stairwell at his side, as if blasting were going on in the depths of the earth.
"Lewis spinning tonight?" I asked.
The bouncer shook his huge head almost imperceptibly.
Did he understand English? Did he automatically know I was a cop? I felt suddenly very glad Mike and the other guys were just a yell away.
"Is it a private party, or can I get in?" I said.
Private party, I prayed, glancing down into the black of the stairwell. I had no problem with going back to the van a failure. We could figure something else out. I was leaning toward a nap at that point. Or maybe a three-week vacation out of the country.
"Depends," the bouncer finally spoke.
"On what?" I said.
The bouncer lowered his shades and adjusted himself in a way that made me glad I hadn't eaten any breakfast.
"On how bad you want in," he said.
"That's really romantic," I said as I turned on my heel. "But there's nothing on this earth I want that bad."
"Come back, come back," the unsavory bouncer said, booming nasty laughter as he unclipped the velvet rope. "Don't get so testy, white girl. Just a little joke. Bouncer humor. Welcome to Wonderground."
Chapter 51
I WAS ALMOST READY to draw Scott's gun for protection by the time I made it to the bottom of the treacherously dark stairwell. Instead, I took a deep breath. Then I stepped toward the amplified throbbing, passing through a doorway curtained with crystal beads.
On the other side, I stared, amazed, at the flat-screen TVs, the expensive lighting, the packed center bar that looked like it was made of black glass.
The female bartenders behind it wore black rubber cat suits and fake breasts. Heck, they might have been transvestites. The Bronx really was back.
I had to admit, I was kind of impressed. This could have been Manhattan. The Ordonez brothers had done their degradation research.
Among the predominantly Hispanic crowd was a well-represented contingent of upscale white people. They were sweating on the dance floor, faces rapt with foolish smiles as they spun neon-colored glow sticks in both hands.
Above gyrating dancers, in a steel cage suspended from the ceiling, a naked dwarf wearing angel wings was banging on the bars with a white nightstick. Who thinks this shit up? I wondered.
"I can feel your energy," a bloated, middle-aged bond-trader type said as he spilled off the dance floor and tried to embrace me.
I tried to stiff-arm him away, and when that didn't work, I lightly kneed him between the legs.
"Now you can – maybe," I said as he backed off in a hurry. I fled toward the bar.
"Twelve dollars," the bartender said after I ordered a Heineken.
Look at that, I thought, coughing up the money, they even had Manhattan prices.
Maybe thirty seconds later, a short, pudgy Hispanic man with a goatee smiled and wedged himself in beside me.
"I'm the candy man," he said.
I stared at him. The candy man? Was that a new pickup line? I'd been out of it for a while. Actually, to tell the truth, nice Catholic girl that I was, I'd never actually been in it.
He placed an ivory-colored pill in my hand. I didn't think it was a Sweet Tart.
"Twenty," he said.
I gave it back to him and watched him shrug his shoulders and leave. The Ecstasy dealer had to be working for the Ordonezes, right? But I lost him when he stepped into the laser-light kaleidoscope of the dance floor.
I looked around for either Ordonez. I scanned the A-list booths at the rear of the dance floor behind the DJ. The strobes and violent waves of bass weren't exactly helping my concentration. Like it or not, I had to get closer.
I was skirting the far edge of the dance floor to avoid any more unwanted advances, when one of the doors in the concrete wall beside me opened.
Victor Ordonez stepped out, staring right into my eyes. Before I could move, an iron hand was wrapped around the back of my neck.
I turned and saw my buddy from upstairs, the bouncer in dire need of Jenny Craig. "It's only me, lady," he said and grinned.
"Why don't you come into the VIP room?" Victor yelled over the music as I was pushed inside. "Private party. But you can be my guest."
Chapter 52
THE BACK VIP ROOM was actually a tenement basement. Raw concrete walls and floors, cinder-block window frames, the rusted hull of an old boiler. Nice décor. A naked bulb hung above an old grease-caked kitchen table that held a stainless steel electronic scale.
Beyond the table, through a dark doorway, was a corridor with something lying on the floor.
I swallowed hard.
It was a crud-stained mattress.
"Get your filthy hands off me right now," I said, struggling to break the bouncer's grip.
"Calm down, please," Victor said pleasantly as he stepped in front of me. He was wearing a three-piece white suit, white shirt, and a black tie. I wondered if Mickey Rourke knew one of his suits was missing.
"This is a routine security matter," Victor explained. "My employee, Ignacio, forgot to search you upstairs. An oversight on his part."
An alarm bell went off in my head. I wondered what else was routine for the violent drug dealer standing in front of me.
"Hey," I said. "Go ahead and kick me out for breaking your rules. I was thinking about hitting a diner for some breakfast, anyway."
Victor sighed. Then he nodded at the bouncer.
My handbag was ripped away. I heard its contents being dumped onto the table as I scanned the room for another exit.
I couldn't stop staring at the mattress. Or remembering the attempted rape arrest on Victor's rap sheet.
Should I just grab for Scott's gun? I wondered. How many rounds were left? Four? Double-tap Victor, go for a head shot on the behemoth, then get out the same door I came in.
"What's this?" Victor said, picking up Scott's.38 before I could.
I almost panicked. I had an open mike, and I couldn't let the team hear about the gun. I thought quickly. "That looks like a code red," I said casually.
"What do you mean, 'code red'?" he asked.
"That. The gun you pulled and have pointed at me. That looks like a code red!" I said in a loud voice, hoping my mike had picked me up.
My knees stung as Victor suddenly threw me to the floor.
"Shut up, you bitch! Who are you to come into my place, shouting your head off at me?" he yelled.
"Coño! Don't you see?" the bouncer behind me said. "That's a cop gun. She's a fucking lady cop. And Pedro already sold to her!"
"Shut up, you useless hump, and let me think!" Victor screamed.
My face went numb as the younger Ordonez suddenly pointed the gun at me. I stared into the black barrel. Instead of seeing my entire life, everything that had happened since I'd decided to be with Scott flashed before my eyes. In high-definition clarity, I saw every misstep that had led me from two nights before to here and now.
Wait a second, I thought. Where are the troops? I looked at the thick walls. These damn basements! I must have been in a radio blind spot.