Chapter Six

 

Before tonight, the closest Tori had come to a striptease club was on TV, where pretty women danced with bouncing body parts on a sparkling stage.

At the Sip ‘N Strip on Cherry Avenue, the mirror ball had missing mirrors. A pole dancer looked tired and bored on a sagging stage.

Grady turned his back to the noisy room and kept his face in the shadows. “See the guy with the side-parted, salt-and-pepper hair? That’s Gary Guhleman, FBI agent. Finn brought us together. We’re partnering on the Winter project.”

“Who’s the heavy-set guy?” Tori watched him stuff a bill in the stripper’s G-string.

“Gordon the Greaser Montgomery. One of our Long Beach finest. He arrested my client.”

“Gordon the Greaser,” she said. “I assume he received the nickname from his hairstyle, slicked back like in the fifties. In his case, he doesn’t have a James Dean look.”

In the next second, the cop leaned back in his chair and kept his eyes glued on the FBI agent.

“My guess,” Grady said, “Greaser doesn’t know him from Adam.”

“Cops know you, though,” she said. “You’re the lawyer who overturns their cases.” Besides that, Grady had the kind of face that stood out in a crowd. He obviously didn’t want Montgomery to see him.

Tori followed him back toward the bar, away from the table where Guhleman met with the cop.

She bumped into someone. “Excuse me.” Oh my. The waitress wasn’t wearing a shirt. The Sip ‘N Strip wasn’t just a strip club. It was also a topless bar.

He took her hand and dragged her down the passageway that led to the pay phone and the restrooms. It was dark back there, with the added bonus of no half-naked women.

He pinned her against the wall and nuzzled her neck, his arms braced on both sides of her. She was stunned for three seconds before she realized two men came from the men’s room. This was a way Grady could conceal his face.

She pretended she was only pretending to melt as he kissed his way up her throat until the drunks pushed past them. His breath warmed her ear before he spoke.

“I spotted these two when we walked across the parking lot. They’re Irish, and they’re packing.”

“Easy to recognize,” she said. “Jacket matches the pant. Fabric almost sparkles.” Irish mobsters wore match-match suits. Minutes before, in the murky light in the parking lot, her concentration had alternated between her attempt not to trip in a pothole and fall on her face and two bikers having a pissing contest, not to mention the thrill of being with Grady.

Alone in the hallway, Grady hadn’t moved from whispering range. So close, her nose was inches from the starched collar of his shirt, he smelled as delicious as a cookie. “Why is Gordon Montgomery meeting the agent?”

“He’s an informant.” The muscle in the side of his perfect jaw jumped. “He’s a cop working part-time for the FBI. Lately I’ve been wondering—”

“—wondering bad things about the cop? Bad things like he works both sides?”

He nodded. “I warned Guhleman to watch his back.” The look he gave her was grim.

“How do you know?”

“Guhleman’s cover was blown. Maeve overheard some talk of an ambush to kill him. She informed the FBI nightshift. They left a voice message on my phone, but—”

“—you already knew from Maeve.”

Grady’s emerald eyes held a glint of excitement but also warned her of the dangers of falling for him. She heeded that warning and would never take him seriously. At the moment, she was in his world, and she took him extremely seriously.

His eyes turned cold and flat, as if part of him were a million miles away.

“What do we do?”

“We do nothing,” Grady told her. “You go home. I’ll phone Uber.”

“I can help.”

“You’ll help more by leaving.”

“Sorry, partner.” She blocked his route back to the bar and felt for her holstered gun. “I can get a message to Guhleman. No one in the bar has seen me before.”

Grady laughed. “What? You’re going to walk over to him in your picnic clothes?”

“These are my serving-food-from-my-truck clothes. T-shirt. Capris. Sneakers.”

T-shirt. Tori looked back down the hall toward the bar, and then toward the ordering station where the waitresses came to pick up drinks and drop off empty glasses.

“You stand out in this shithole as much as I do in a sports jacket and khakis.” Grady scowled. “More in fact, if you walk up to Guhleman the way you’re looking.”

There was a stack of small serving trays, right there, by the bartender’s cash register. Tori said, “He needs to be warned.”

She pulled off her T-shirt, unsnapped her bra, and handed them to him. “What should I tell him?”

Grady looked at her, looked down at the shirt and lacy bra dangling in his hand. “Jeez, Tori.”

She felt the heat in her cheeks as much as the coolness from the air-conditioning against her bare back and shoulders. “What message do I give him?” she asked again.

“Damn. Okay.” He laughed just a little and stuffed her clothing in his jacket pocket. “You still look like you’re going on a picnic.”

“Don’t think so. Not half naked.”

He reached for her, unfastened the top button of her capris and unzipped them. “Now they’re hip-huggers.” His fingers warmed her skin.

Her belly button showed above them.

“You could use some lipstick.”

“I didn’t bring any.”

Grady stepped back and looked at her. He reached out with a hand and messed up her short hair. He stepped back, appraised her again. “Better, much better.”

“Wonderful, jackass.”

“I can’t argue with the jackass part.”

“Message for Guhleman?” she asked.

“Tell him to stay put,” he ordered. “They won’t hit him inside. Well, don’t tell him that. He knows.”

She nodded.

“I’ll walk the perimeter. Meet you here. In the ladies’ room. Ten minutes.”

“Fine.”

“Give Guhleman the message. Be brief. Don’t blow it by saying too much. Then get yourself to the ladies’ room. Stay there. Wait for me. Clear?”

“Clear.” She’d never seen this side of Grady before. Order-barking and decisive, but Ebony had described him like this.

She recalled the moment Grady spotted Guhleman in the bar. Still alive and breathing. For a second, Tori had been sure Grady was going to faint from relief.

“Good to go?”

She nodded and headed down the hall toward the little trays at the bar. Great, she was about to walk into a room filled with sozzled men, her breasts bare and capris halfway down her butt. This wasn’t any worse than Grady’s supercritical once-over.

“Tori.” He caught her upper arm, and she looked back at him. “Be careful.”

“You, too.” She stepped to the bar, grabbed a tray, and pushed her way into the crowd. Tori couldn’t read lips, but the cop’s body language let her know. Something was rotten at the Sip ‘N Strip. Montgomery began the process of pushing his pudgy frame up and off the seat. Grady had told her Guhleman needed to stay put, but this left him open for a hit.

She asked, “You boys aren’t leaving, are you?”

Guhleman looked up directly into her eyes.

Okay, no. Truth be told, the first place was not into her eyes.

“Why do you ask?”

“The lady over there wants to buy your next round.” She gestured toward the bar. The only person at the bar was Grady. He’d walked the perimeter and was back. Change of plans. He didn’t head to the ladies’ room.

Guhleman glanced at Montgomery who had his back to the bar. Was the cop waiting for the go-ahead? Nervous energy surrounded the big cop. Son of a bitch.

Tori shouted at Guhleman, “The lady said you were cute,” and hoped for eye contact. Mostly he gave it to her. “She’s right over there.” She pointed with an elbow, using the other to hold up the tray against her chest. This made it easier for him to concentrate on what she was saying. Who was there? Grady, naturally. “So, what can I get you?” she asked, all cheery with bare breasts beneath the tray.

“We’re on our way out,” Montgomery said. “I got the bar wrong. The other guys are down the street.”

“Free drinks. Sit back. Stay awhile.” Tori looked pointedly at Guhleman who looked at his pinging phone. Message from Grady.

“Know what? I’ll have another beer.” Guhleman nodded with confirmation. He smiled at the cop who’d set him up to be killed. “They can wait.” He looked at Tori. “Make it imported. IPA.”

The cop looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Guhleman said, “He’ll have another beer, too.”

“What’s hiding under the tray, honey?”

“I’ll get the beers.” She was a bit late. Montgomery grabbed her tray to keep her from leaving. He tugged it away. She didn’t want to let him, but he managed it.

The volume of music dropped as the routine ended on stage. The stripper left for a five-minute break.

* * *

Enough was enough. Searing anger engulfed Grady. Tori had subjected herself to this shirtless humiliation for him.

Guhleman understood after his message came in. The way the agent smiled at Tori was like an apology for the entire male population.

Grady stepped toward their table, placed his jacket over Tori’s shoulders, and said, “I’m going to send you flowers.”

Montgomery said, “Looks like the do-good lawyer’s humping her.” He turned to Tori. “Honey, do women actually go for sentimental bullshit?”

“Nah,” she said. “We do need to keep our jobs. Here, I’ve got an incredible health plan and retirement benefits.” His jacket draped her shoulders.

Grady watched her go, aware of the attention she was getting from the bar crowd. She wasn’t very tall but carried herself as if she stood head and shoulders above everyone. The last time he’d sent a woman flowers was after a disagreement with Susanne. Flowers didn’t do the trick.

A drum roll drew Montgomery’s attention to the new pole dancer, and Grady took the opportunity to come up behind Guhleman and text him. “I’m standing behind you. Serious shit here. Irish mob outside. Shooters in position around the building.”

Wearing her clothing, Tori returned and handed him his jacket. “A Dunbar truck pulled up. We’ll leave with them.”

Guhleman jumped to attention. “Coming, Grady? Or will she have to slap you with a bar rag?”

Something inside Grady’s chest protested like a rusty gate. He opened his mouth but no words presented themselves.

There was intensity about her expression. “The Dunbar guys are leaving. Let’s go.”

“Not yet.” Grady looked around the bar, trying to get a read on who was shit-faced and who would best serve as a catalyst for part two of tonight’s extraction. “If I can get two drunks to fight each other—”

“—it will work out for everyone.” Tori was back to folding her arms across her chest.

Grady asked her, “Ever been in a bar fight?”

“I’ve been in a prison yard fight,” she said.

“If we get separated, keep to the edge of the room, back to the wall. When I went outside, I cleared the roof. An FBI chopper will pick us up.”

“First, we need a diversion.” Guhleman was all-in. “See the exit sign?” He pointed. “Behind that door are stairs. Miss, if you get there first, wait for me or Grady. Don’t open it without one of us.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Tori,” Grady said, “one more thing. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Bringing flowers?” Guhleman joked.

“Well, I—”

“—Heads up,” Grady interrupted. “I’m about to knock over the guy in the black T-shirt that says, ‘Talk is cheap’.”

“Got it.” Guhleman came behind him. The only good guy in the den of bottom-feeders reacted by pulling out a cellphone or weapon. It didn’t matter which. “On your mark, get set—”

“—go.” Grady was on top of the black T-shirt.

Fifteen feet away, Montgomery looked cross-eyed at cute little Tori.

She side-kicked, brought him to his knees, and then to the floor. This was a damn good thing. If Grady had taken him down, he’d have snapped the fuck’s neck. That’d be bad. Guhleman might use him as a dirty informant.

Guhleman rolled Montgomery over. “Gosh, Gordon. Did a waitress take you down?”

“I’m lodging a complaint,” Gordon hissed and struggled to stand.

The agent ignored the cop. He knew the drill and said, “Red shirt, three o’clock.”

Grady bumped him hard, and red shirt looked at black shirt. Both were drunk, easily confused. Knock them both at the same time, and they’ll come up swinging.

A fight between them escalated into something the bouncers couldn’t control. Tables were knocked over, chairs hefted, and the pole dancer dashed from the stage.

More graceful than a pole dancer, Tori headed for the exit. As she, Guhleman, and Grady took the stairs, he pushed her in front of him.

Midway, at the second-floor level, she said, “There used to be a door here.”

“I see that. Dry-walled over a frame.”

“We need to come back, get in there.” She dashed up the next flight of stairs, but he stopped her from going through the door to the roof. “Get behind me.” He heard loud thrumming approach.

“The helo arrived,” Guhleman said.

Screeching sirens pierced the air below. Local police approached, called to break up the bar fight. Cops downstairs served as an additional diversion and added protection. With Long Beach PD down in the parking lot, only the craziest mobsters would attempt to shoot down an FBI helo ready to scrape them off the roof.

“Keep your eyes peeled. It’s been a half hour since I’ve been up here,” Grady told him.

Guhleman nodded, his weapon drawn. He kicked open the door.

“Here we go.” Grady held Tori’s hand. “Stay close.”

There was no one up there, no resistance. They made it to the helo, and in a matter of seconds headed out of the area. It was impossible to talk over the noise of the blades.

She glanced at Grady, and he shrugged, made a sheepish face back at her and wanted to say he had no idea how this night would go down.