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Finn refused to be the first one to break their stare-off.
Finally, Saint, wearing a deep scowl, gave him a slight chin-lift. A second later, he turned and walked away.
As soon as Mutt brought over his next drink, Finn took it and went to find an empty seat to wait and watch.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a pattern, but not one anyone not paying attention might notice. He’d have to tell Mel so she could keep an eye out for that same behavior when he wasn’t at the club.
Whoever stood guard at the velvet rope would look at their phone, disappear for less than five minutes, then reappear in their assigned spot.
No one inside the club directly approached either Popeye or Ringo tonight, but both, whosever turn it was to keep people out of the employee area, disappeared several times. Most likely if confronted, they’d simply use the excuse of going out back to smoke. But smoking a cigarette usually took longer than the time they were gone.
No, they were doing quick exchanges most likely. They’d get a notification, like a text once the buyer was out back waiting, then the prospect would go out to the parking lot and complete the money-for-meth swap.
When Ringo disappeared again, Finn rose from where he sat in a back corner—where it gave him the best view of most of the club’s main area—and headed to the restroom. Both the women’s and men’s rooms were just outside the entrance to the back hallway, so he could snoop around with the excuse of having to “break the seal.”
But when he got there, the only person in the hallway was Dazzle rushing toward him since she was up next on stage.
The bright pink-haired woman covered in body glitter shot him a blinding smile as she hurried past him in her sky-high platform heels. “Hey, Danny!”
“What’s up, Razzle Dazzle?”
She laughed at his teasing and threw over her shoulder, “Just so you know, you look damn good with clothes on, too.”
“So do you,” he yelled back, but kept his eyes glued to the exit at the end of the hallway.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.
The door cracked open and Ringo slipped inside. Since the prospect’s eyes were focused on his phone, Finn had no problem popping around the corner and into the restroom without being detected.
He waited a few seconds to make sure he was alone, then pulled out his own phone. Keeping his eye on the closed door, he dialed Crew.
“Yeah?” came the short, gruff answer.
“What’s up your ass?”
“Nothing. Watching Thursday Night Football and you’re interrupting the damn game.”
“All right. Fuck you then.” Finn hung up and leaned back against the sink, waiting.
His phone lit up not even two seconds later. As expected.
Wearing a wide grin, he put the phone to his ear and answered, “Helllllloooo?” in a sing-song voice.
“Fuck off. What do you want? Hurry up, you have until the end of half-time.”
“The Steelers aren’t even playing tonight.”
“So? Some of us watch football because we like the damn sport, not just one team, Pippi. Time’s a-ticking, so spill whatever you need to tell me.”
“We need surveillance set up on the back parking lot of the club.”
“You see something?” Crew asked.
“Only what I expected. One of the prospects gets a message on his phone, I’m assuming by text. Right now my guess is the buyer is already out back waiting before sending the message and once received, the prospect steps outside with the plausible excuse of needing to smoke and the exchange takes place. Almost like a damn druggy drive-through. It reminds me of the old pager system dealers used, just more modern.”
“The messages are likely in code, too,” Crew murmured.
“I’m sure. I mean, the Demons are probably short on brain cells but still have enough to know that cell phone records and texts can be subpoenaed.”
“Codes can be easy to crack,” Crew stated.
“Like I said, they’re short on brain cells, but what other options do they have? Customers can’t just walk in and order drugs at the bar. I mean, they could, but that would be totally stupid. Another problem with dealing inside is the person would need to go through the metal detector and pay a cover charge. Not many drug users want to pay a fee to get their fix. They’d rather spend that money on getting high.”
“True. But there could be club regulars who are buying, too.”
“Could be. That’s probably why Saint replaced the bartenders with prospects. It wouldn’t be difficult to have a patron approach the bar to get a drink and a baggy of meth. Slip it under the napkin and slide it across the bar. They’d need to be slick about it since the cameras out on the floor do work. For now, anyway.”
Crew chuckled. “No shit. Thanks for all that footage.”
“You whack off to some of it?”
