The trio of black SUVs were ahead of us, my app verifying Brett’s location in the car.
“Very James Bond,” the driver called out cheerfully, lifting his chin and meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Uh-huh.” I gripped the front passenger headrest and stared at the cars. Watched as we wound through downtown. Brett’s ‘friends’, the men from the house, now here, with two extra SUVs, headed into the heart of the city. Not going on a boat sales call, that was for certain. They must work for him, be part of the drug operation. I wondered at his house, at all of the rooms that we had passed through, made love in. How many of those rooms had closets full of drugs? Or guns? Or both? How many nights had I sat in a hotel room while he had destroyed lives? Broken a hundred laws? Empowered terrorist and drug organizations?
I had seen enough. I should go back to the hotel. Book a flight home and be halfway to the airport by the time Brett returned.
“You getting out now?”
I raised my head, looked around, scrambling into action when I realized that the brigade before us had stopped, doors opening on all three vehicles, two men I didn’t recognize joining Brett’s foursome. I glanced at the meter and pulled out a twenty, holding it out. “Keep the change. What is this place?”
He twisted in his seat, taking the cash with an appreciative nod. “A salsa club. Real popular with the tourists. But it’s early, won’t be too crazy right now. It’ll heat up in an hour or so, be really crazy then. Want me to wait for you?”
I glanced around, Brett’s entourage entering through the front, the street quiet and relatively clean. “No, I think I’m okay. Taxis come through here often?”
“Oh yes, every few minutes. But here’s my card. If you can’t find one, just give me a call.” He smiled, half his grin void of teeth.
I took the card. “Thanks.”
I was slow to exit, a group of girls approaching the club, and I waited for them to pass before stepping out. I followed them closely, an attempt to hide, a barrage of Spanish bouncing between them as they pulled open the doors and shouted a chorus of welcomes to the doorman.
They were my shield, camouflaging my entrance, and my eyes darted around the dim interior quickly, worried that I would turn around and bump into Brett’s chest.
I had nothing and everything to worry about. The group of men wasn’t there.
I paid the doorman, and hugged the shadows, checking the room once, twice, three times. I visited the restrooms, put my ear to the men’s room door, wandered behind the bandstand and out to the patio. The cabby was right, the place wasn’t busy, nothing like the moshpit of the Jamaican club.
“Looking for someone?” The man’s voice made me jump, my nerves fried, and I spun around, gripping my elbow with a wince when it connected solidly with the edge of a table.
“No, not really.” I tried to smile, shook out the arm.
“You just look lost.” He stepped back, giving me space, and I relaxed a bit. Took in his dark polo and khakis.
“You work here?”
He shrugged. “You could call it that. I own the club. My name’s Mitchell.” He extended a hand.
“Riley.” I smiled. “Is there more to it? It seems bigger from the outside.”
He glanced left, in the direction of a door marked Private. “There’s an upstairs, but it’s closed to a private party.”
Closed to a private party. I rubbed my elbow, my arm tingling from the hit. “You know what kind of party it is?” I should give up. Take a seat in the corner and wait for them to leave, or get out of here.
He grinned. “I could get you in if you are interested.”
Am I interested? No. Probably not. Chances are he’ll open the door and it’ll be a flashback to my experience at Brett’s home office, staring blankly at a group of men with no logical purpose for my presence. “No. I was just curious.”
“Why don’t you come up to VIP? It has a view of the upstairs, plus one of the city.”
VIP? I hadn’t seen a VIP in my cruise of the club. Then again, I hadn’t seen the stairway upstairs but Brett and his cronies had gone somewhere. “Are there other people in VIP?”
He laughed. “Where do you think everyone is? There’s a reason it’s a ghost town down here.”
I watched him laugh, the easy tilt of his head, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, the nod he gave to a waitress when she passed.
He was nice. Helpful. A little flirtatious, but that was fine. Trustworthy. Connected. And he could give me a glimpse of the upstairs party.
I smiled. “Sounds good.”