9:01 p.m.
Bent over, her bare bottom facing Jacob, Destiny finished taking an order at the next table and turned around. “Are you two still doing okay, or would you like something a little stronger?”
Recalling the aroma from the steaming plate another server had delivered to a nearby table, Jacob put his hand to his stomach before jutting his chin at her. “I think I’ll take your special. I like my breasts naked with ranch dres—” he grimaced and closed his eyes. Oh man, did I just…
Amber snickered.
He felt his cheeks flushing. Thank God for the dim lighting in here. “I’m sorry. I’ll have the wings—plain—with ranch dressing on the side.” He forced himself to face the giggling girl. “You want anything?”
Staring at her lap, crumpling a napkin under the table, her shoulders rocking, Amber shook her head.
He came back to Destiny. “Any luck on the guy in the brown jacket and jeans?”
“I made a pass,” she twirled a pen in the air, “around the whole place, but I didn’t see anyone, who looked like that.” She wagged the writing instrument at him. “Now that I think about it, he might be a part of the poker game,” she pointed the pen behind her, “in the back.”
Jacob motioned toward the archway he had seen three men enter; none had exited. “Is it through there?”
She nodded. “If your guy came in before you did, it’s possible he’s sitting in on the game.”
“Can anyone join this game?”
Destiny clipped the pen to one side of her thong and slid her small notepad under the string on the opposite side. “Not without an invitation.”
“How do I get one of those?”
“You don’t. Only a select few have a regular seat at the table. I’ve waited on them a few times.” She crinkled her nose. “I don’t like going back there. They’re pigs.” She lifted hands and flexed fingers. “They get some liquor in them and they get grabby.” She shook her head. “I almost lost my job one time. One of them crossed the line, and I had to put him down.”
Jacob arched eyebrows. “What happened?”
“Let’s just say he ordered a beer, but I gave him a grape punch instead.”
Amber chuckled.
Destiny glimpsed Jacob’s private area. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Jacob smiled and nodded. I do indeed. “Good for you.”
“I’ll be right back with those wings.”
He stared at the archway. So Mr. Phillips is a gambling man. Jacob took a drink of water. I wonder what other habits Mister Squeaky Clean has. And does he have any gambling debts? He sipped the water. Did Felicity know about—
“Hey,” Amber nudged his arm, “did you hear me?”
He faced her. “What?”
“I said, do you think Jackson’s in on that poker game?” She spied the patrons. “Or is he in here somewhere, and Destiny just hasn’t seen him?”
“Both very good questions,” he put a twenty on the table, “that I intend to get answers to.” Standing, he tapped the bill. “Give that to her when she comes back.”
“Where are you going?”
He glimpsed the archway on the other side of the room before motioning in the same direction. “To play some poker.”
Amber pivoted left and leaned forward.
He grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him. “You’re staying here.”
“Hey, I can go wherev—”
“No, you’re not.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t know what’s back there and I don’t need to be looking out for you. You understand me? Your presence will only hinder, not help.”
“I want to find my sister.”
“So do I,” he shot back. “Now stay,” he thumped the table “here, and let me do my job…please.”
Her chest rising and falling, Amber huffed. “Fine.”
“Thank you. I shouldn’t be long.” He flashed a smile. “So don’t eat all my wings, okay?”
She looked down at her drink and stabbed the floating ice cubes with a straw.
He frowned and left the table, inwardly sighing. Why do I have the feeling she’s not going to listen to a dang word I’ve said?
… … … … …
Drawing aside the archway curtain separating the main room from a hallway, Jacob stepped forward and came face to face with a short and stocky, black-suited man with a neatly trimmed full beard and mustache.
“This is a restricted area.” Beard jabbed a sausage finger beyond the newcomer’s shoulder. “Please turn around and make your way to the lounge.”
“I was told I could get in on a card game,” Jacob swayed right and jutted out his chin, “back here.”
“Do you have a pass?”
“A pass? Jackson never said anything about needing a pass. He said to just,” Jacob poked a thumb behind him, “slip by the curtain and find the game.”
“If you don’t have a pass, then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave this area, sir.”
Pursing his lips and leaning to see around the man’s wide body, Jacob let out a heavy sigh. “I was really hoping to be back before my wings got cold.”
The two caterpillars above Beard’s eyes turned into a thick length of rope.
Jacob drove a foot into the man’s kneecap and button hooked around him. Clamping an arm around the man’s neck and locking the hand in the crook of his other elbow, he flexed both arms.
Beard struggled, but his opponent’s height advantage made it impossible to break the chokehold. His oxygen-depleted brain saw his world closing to a small black circle.
Jacob dragged the limp body halfway down the hall and laid him on the floor. “Think of me in your dreams, big boy.” He spun around and noted two doors on opposite sides of the hall. Putting an ear to the left one, he heard nothing. Boisterous conversation came from the other door. He straightened his suit coat and entered the room.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” In two seconds, Jacob took in every detail—octagon, green-felted table, four men, pool table lamp overhead, a column of smoke hanging in the air. The far side of the small room had a black leather couch, television and a queen-size bed. He frowned. That’s odd. “I’m sorry I’m late. So what are we playing tonight?”
“Who the,” cursing, “are you?” said one of the men.
Jacob spotted a man fitting Jackson Phillips’s description at the table’s three o’clock position. He looked at him and showed palms. “You didn’t tell them I was coming, Jack?” The other three men turned to stare at the one Jacob had addressed. Thanks for the confirmation, guys. He took a couple steps forward and stood next to Jackson. “We need to have a talk about your girlfriend, Felicity.”
The man at six o’clock made ready to stand. “I don’t know who the hell you are—”
Jacob pushed the man back down and glared at the ones at nine and twelve o’clock. “Stay seated, shut up and keep your hands on the table…and you won’t get hurt.”
“Get your hand off—”
Jacob grabbed a handful of hair and slammed the side of Six O’clock’s face into the table. The others reared back in their seats. Holding the man’s head against the felt, he came back to Jackson. “As I said,” Jacob’s voice was calm and steady, “we need to talk about your role in your girlfriend’s disappearance. Will you accompany me peacefully, or do I have to—”
“Jacob, behind you.”
He spun around to find himself staring down the wrong end of a gun, inches away from his nose. Beard was the weapon’s owner. After a quick peek at the woman covering her mouth in the hallway—Amber—Jacob’s hands rocketed upward, pushing the muzzle in the same direction. The Glock 22 discharged and sent a bullet into the ceiling.
The poker players scattered.
Jacob drove Beard backward, kneed him in the gut and repeatedly rammed the man’s gun hand into the wall. The pistol fell to the floor. The Homeland agent landed an elbow and a fist to Beard’s jaw. Acquiring a reverse headlock on the man, Jacob spun and flipped Beard onto the table; poker chips scattered and drinks spilled, as the man rolled and landed on the floor.
Amber backed out of the room, covering her face and head, as four men forced their way by her.
Seeing Jackson escape, Jacob drew his 1911 and leveled the gun at Beard.
Using the table for support, the man got to one knee before standing. He saw the gun and raised hands.
Jacob circled the table and, “I don’t have time for this.” connected with a hard left elbow to Beard’s right temple. The man teetered, and Jacob caught him. It seems we’ve done this dance already. After lowering the heavy man to the floor, he rushed to the door and eyed the young girl. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and pointed. “Jackson went out the back.”
“I told you to stay put.” Jacob bolted down the hallway.
Amber bobbed her head. “You’re welcome for the heads up.”
He crashed through the back door, entering an alley, and looked right, then left.
“I saw him,” Amber threw out an arm in the same direction he was staring, “take off that way.”
Jacob glimpsed her signaling finger and sprinted away. Seconds later, coming to the first street—to the side of the club—he skidded to a halt. Hearing shoes slapping the pavement behind him, he scanned right. Whipping his head back to the left, he spotted a brown jacket. Whirling around, Jacob tossed keys at Amber and, “He’s heading back to his car,” bolted away. “Follow us in the Challenger.”
… … … … …
Breathing heavily, Jackson stopped running. He staggered a few steps, bent over and put hands on knees. A few gasps later, he gaped the way he had come, righted himself and stumbled across Main Street. Shoving a hand into his pants, he produced a key ring, pushed a button and opened the door of his sedan. He climbed inside, slammed the door, let out a big breath and started the engine. The passenger door opened, and a gun was put to his forehead.
“Drive.”
“Don’t kill me,” Jackson cried. “Don’t—”
Jacob pushed the Coonan harder against the man’s skull. “Shut up and drive.” A distant siren was getting louder.
“Please, man—”
Jacob bopped the man’s nose with the muzzle.
“Ow!”
“I won’t tell you again. The next time I’ll just break it.”
“Okay, okay.” The driver pulled down on the gearshift and pulled away from the curb, holding the bleeding nose in one hand and speaking into his palm. “Where are we going?”
“Just drive…and keep to the speed limit.” Jacob pivoted in his seat and saw the headlights of the Challenger following the sedan.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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