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There was a sound now, distinctly, he thought, from the rear of the place. His boss might be on the move. He quickly grabbed his wallet and withdrew into the shadows. He was suddenly fearful that if she happened upon him here, she might start asking uncomfortable questions. She could be that way, direct and blunt. What if she asked him to open his bag? He pushed farther back into the recess of the wall, his pulse knocking in his ears. He silently cursed his lack of nerve. Minutes passed. He finally found the courage to come back into the scant light. Thirty seconds later he was out of the building and driving down the road, the stolen prescription drugs safely in his bag.
When he reached the place, the parking lot was full. He wedged his Jeep between a pair of fat SUVs and went inside.
The Aphrodisiac was full of life and activity, with virtually every table and stool at the bars taken. Kyle showed his ID to a sleepy-looking bouncer at the entrance to the room where the dancers were and spent a few minutes admiring the ladies. The shapely, barely clothed women were performing acts so lewd against the metal dancing poles that it would have caused their poor mothers to die of humiliation—after they had strangled their shameless daughters, that is. Kyle loved every minute of it.
He checked his watch and then made his way up the stairs to the second floor and down a hallway toward a thick red curtain that hung across the passageway. Beyond the red curtain was a maze of small rooms. He went to the first door, rapped out an agreed-upon signal and immediately received permission to enter.
He closed the door behind him and stood nervously, unwilling to advance far into the darkened space. This was not the first time he’d done this, but each time held its own share of risk and uncertainty.
“Do you have them?” the woman asked in a voice so low he could barely hear it.
Kyle nodded. “Right here. All the stuff you like.” He dug his hand in his coat pocket and pulled out the Baggies. He held them up like a small boy proudly displaying a dead bird to his mother.
As always, the woman was clothed in a long flowing dress with a scarf wound around her head. Her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, even though the room was poorly lit. She obviously didn’t want to be recognized. Kyle had often wondered who she was but had never worked up the courage to ask. The voice seemed familiar but he couldn’t definitively place it.
There’d been a note left in his Jeep one evening saying that if he’d like to make some extra money, he could call the number written on the paper. Well, who didn’t want to score some extra cash? He answered affirmatively and was told that the small pharmacy Sylvia kept in her office could be a very lucrative source of income for him. Potent painkillers and other potentially mind-altering drugs were the items on the purchaser’s wish list.
With no scruples impeding him Kyle had agreed to look into it, had done some homework to see the best way to access this potential gold mine and had concluded that it was doable. Terms were agreed to, the deliveries commenced and Kyle had significantly increased his income.
The long dress did not totally obscure the comely figure of the woman facing him. The private surroundings, the bed in one corner of the room and the fact that they were in a strip club always made Kyle’s blood race. In a recurring fantasy he’d stride into the room, far bigger and more masculine than he actually was. He’d hold out the pills like he was doing now, but when she went to take them, he’d grab her, lift her up, laughing at her puny resistance, and throw her roughly on the bed. Then he’d fall on top of her and have his way far into the night. His sexual savagery would rise with the anguished pitch of her screams, until she finally shrieked in his ear that she wanted it; she wanted him, she wanted Big Kyle, so badly.
Even now he felt a rise in his pants as this wistful scenario played itself out once more in his head. He wondered if he would ever actually have the nerve to execute upon it. He doubted it. He was far too much of a chickenshit. She laid the cash down on the table and took the Baggies, then motioned with her hand for him to leave.
He immediately did so, folding the money over twice and sliding it into his pocket with a big smile.
Kyle wouldn’t realize until later that something he’d seen was of great significance, chiefly because it made no sense. And it would eventually cause him to wonder. And at some point that wonder would lead to action. For now all he wondered was what to do with the money he’d just earned. Kyle Montgomery wasn’t much of a saver; he was far more of a spendthrift. Instant gratification was very much a way of life for him. A new guitar, perhaps? Or a new TV and CD-DVD combo for his small apartment? By the time he’d made it back to his Jeep and driven off, the new guitar had won out. He’d order it tomorrow.
Back in the room the woman locked the door, unwound her scarf and took off her glasses. She slipped off her shoes and then removed her dress, revealing a silk camisole underneath. She examined the labels on the Baggies, took out one of the pills, crushed it and downed the powder with a glass of water followed by a chaser of straight Bombay Sapphire.
She put on some music, lay back on the bed, crossed her arms over her chest and allowed the power of the medication to send her to another place, one where she might, at least for a few brief moments, be happy. Until tomorrow, that is, when the reality of her life would come shrieking back.
She trembled, jerked, moaned and then lay still; the sweat was shooting through every pore in her body as she hit the highest high and then plunged to the lowest low. In one of the heat-charged spasms she tore off her sweat-drenched camisole and dropped to the floor in only her panties, her breath coming in huge bursts, her breasts slapping together as she rolled back and forth in a convulsion of manufactured ecstasy. Her nerves fired and misfired under the delicious stress of her potent concoction.
But she was happy. At least until tomorrow.
CHAPTER
27
KING FINISHED HIS DINNER
with friends around nine-thirty and decided to call Michelle to see if she was interested in a nightcap at the Sage Gentleman to discuss the case some more. She was there in about ten minutes. When his partner arrived, King watched in amusement as many male heads in the bar turned at the sight of the tall striking brunette striding confidently through the bar wearing jeans, a turtleneck sweater, boots and a Secret Service windbreaker. The fantasies they must have been playing wi
th, he thought. If they only knew she was armed and dangerous and independent as hell.
“How was the dinner?” she asked.
“Predictably boring. How about the kickboxing?”
“I need a new instructor.”
“What happened to the one you have?”
“He’s just not challenging enough.”
As they looked around for a table in the bar area, Michelle spotted a familiar face in the far corner. “Isn’t that Eddie Battle?”
At that instant, Eddie looked up, saw them and waved them over.
