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"Evening," he said. "We're looking for a man called Seth Armitage. Need to ask him some questions. Is he here now, or does he come here?"
"I've never seen Seth Armitage. Never heard of him," the barman said, and Cami could tell immediately from the disrespectful tone in his voice, and the way he seemed to shut down, that this was not the truth, and that “the Feds” were going to be stopped from getting what they came for at all costs.
"That's strange," Connor said conversationally. "He seems to know a lot of people here, and I believe he’s part of the Strykers Club. Perhaps he does have a few friends inside this place. Do you mind if we ask around?"
"Yes, I do mind." The barman folded his arms. "You are not welcome here. The Strykers Club is for members only. Right of admission reserved. Now, I'd recommend you leave. Or else, I’ll get a few guys to show you the way out."
The man was clearly getting angrier now, and other people were clearly listening in to the exchange. With faces turned in her direction, as more and more people became aware of the commotion playing out at the bar, Cami had the chance to scan the bar’s patrons. Was Seth here? She looked anxiously around as biker after biker turned toward her.
Outside the world was dark and quiet. Inside was noise, light, and people. And danger.
Cami did not like the direction this was going. She did not like the atmosphere in the bar or the belligerent and threatening nature of the bikers at this particular club.
Her heart was pounding in her chest now, but Cami clamped down on her fear and tried to keep her expression calm and neutral. She glanced around the room, desperately trying to spot Seth's distinctive features, when something splashed into the side of her face and then into her hair. It was beer.
Cami whirled around, feeling appalled, lifting her hand to wipe away the sticky, malty smelling liquid. Someone had actually thrown beer at her? It must have been one of the six men sitting at the closest table. They were all laughing openly at her, their eyes cold, their faces mocking.
"You're in over your head here, sweetheart," one of them called.
Cami bit her tongue, feeling tempted to hurl a string of abuse at this horrible man, but knowing that it would only escalate the situation. She was still deciding on the best course of action, when beyond that group, two tables further back, she saw the man that they were hunting.
Without a doubt, this was him. This was Seth Armitage. He'd been sitting at a table alone, with his back to the bar, but had now swung around to watch them. She recognized his features. That heavy face, those narrowed eyes, that shock of hair. He hadn't changed at all from the ID photo.
Quickly, she grabbed Connor's arm. "I've seen him," she muttered. "He's over there. To the left. About three tables away."
Connor swung around, but to Cami's dismay, this only attracted more attention from the closest table. This time, they weren't just raising a glass to toss beer in the FBI's direction, like they'd done with Cami. This time, one of the men was weighing an empty bottle in his hand, staring at Connor with a considering expression. Another had a glowing cigarette butt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raised it threateningly.
"Stay where you are," the man with the bottle said, standing up, holding the bottle as if ready for an overarm throw.
It was as if this gesture had opened the floodgates.
"We've got the feds here!" one of the men shouted across the room. "What are we going to do about it? Are we going to let them get away with it like last time? Are we?"
The atmosphere in the bar had changed from hostile to outright violent, and now, more and more of the bikers were scrambling to their feet, including Seth. He might know why the feds were here if he was guilty, and Cami feared that in all this commotion, he was simply going to head out and get away.
"We've got feds here," one of them repeated. "What are we going to do about it? I know what I'm going to do about it."
A beer bottle flew across the room, and Cami flinched, ducking as the missile sailed over her head and smashed against the wall behind her. A thick, glass bottle clattered to the ground at Connor's feet, splashing beer over them. Now, the man with the cigarette butt had thrown it. It glanced off Connor’s jacket, before falling down and sizzling into the spilled beer.
Panic now flared inside her. They needed to get out! She and Connor were going to get hurt. There were too many people here, and there was a lawless mindset among them in this bar, which was the club’s home turf. This was going to go so bad, so fast.
Unless there was anything she could do?
Knowing that she was almost out of time, that the ripples of antagonism were soon going to become a potentially deadly wave, Cami turned her back on the bikers and ducked down, seeking cover. Feeling as if she had a target painted on it and expecting at any moment that a bottle would explode into the back of her head, she searched frantically to see what her program had found.
With a start of surprise, she saw that she'd done it. Her coding had been flawless. She'd written this hack a week ago, and she'd actually been prompted to do so by some of the situations she and Connor had found themselves in.
And it had worked. She had access to the controls, such as they were. No door locks. But the old nightclub lighting menu was still there. Brights, Lasers, Strobe. And another one. Off.
Another bottle shattered behind her, spattering her with beer. There was no more time to delay. Praying her hack would work but not knowing what the result would be, she quickly swiped the control.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The lights went out. Immediately, silently, and totally. And, in a stroke of luck that Cami hadn’t expected, so did the sound system. She blinked as the Strykers Club was plunged into absolute darkness. The cries of anger in the sudden silence changed to shouts of consternation.
Pandemonium ensued as the group of angry bikers were suddenly derailed from their agenda and disoriented in the complete darkness. She could hear them shouting, cursing, and the clash of furniture being knocked over as they sought to find their way out of the confusion. She could hear the distinctive sound of a beer bottle being knocked over and another, louder crash as an entire table hit the floor.
The only light was the dim glow of the exit sign above the door where they'd come in.
