Blood Feud (42 page)

They were standing together, legs apart, arms crossed in front of them, eyes roaming over the crowd with belligerent anticipation, almost hoping that someone would step out of line. Two young girls in tight, lowcut tops and tiny skirts were giggling smugly in front of them. One of them looked familiar and I racked my brain trying to remember her name. They’d obviously just been accelerated in their position in the queue and held out IDs for inspection.

Trog One took the cards and gave them a cursory glance before returning his creepy attention back to the girls. He launched into a lengthy and intimate inquisition about what they planned to do tonight and who they planned to do it to. I barged into the conversation, my police ID out.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Can you take a look at my ID please?”

“Get to the back of the queue, sweetheart,” said Trog One with an arrogant sneer that set my hackles rising instantly. He hadn’t even looked in my direction, too busy staring down the tops of the young girls.

“Hey,” I said, clicking my fingers at him. “I was talking to you.”

“You’re not dressed for it, love,” Trog Two felt inclined to contribute, in what he probably considered a kind tone, not sparing me a glance, his eyes fixed on the queue. “Piss off and pretty yourself up, then come back and have a chat to us. We’re busy for now with these sweet little things.”

The girls giggled again, thrilled and flattered at being singled out for notice.

“You might want to take a peek at my identification,” I said, patiently enunciating every word, trying to be discreet for both their sakes and mine.

“Wait your fucking turn, sweetheart,” snapped Trog One, tearing his eyes away from the girls’ boobs to me. His attitude altered so rapidly then that I nearly laughed had I felt in the slightest way inclined. His tone became smarmy. “Hello there, sweetheart. You’re a bit of all right, aren’t you?” He elbowed his mate.

Trog Two turned bored eyes towards me, letting them sweep over me, lingering on my boobs before returning to my face. “Unfortunately, you’re not dressed for it tonight, sweetheart, but in a tight little short dress. Whoa, mamma! You’d have to hold me back.” He gave a low whistle of appreciation.

“You’ll have to hold
me
back in a minute if you two lunkheads don’t get your eyes above my chest and start listening to me,” I said between clenched teeth. I thrust my ID in their faces. “I need to get inside urgently. Do you want me to talk about it here in front of everyone or are you going to cooperate?”

One glance at my badge sobered them both up. They didn’t mind a bit of biffo outside the club, but any hint of the police messing with their clientele hit the panic buttons. However, they weren’t at the front door for nothing and they muscled up together, forgetting about the two girls who still giggled at the side.

“There’s nothing inside you need to see,
Officer
,” said Trog One with latent antagonism. Trog Two nodded in agreement, barely able to fold his arms, his muscles bulged so much.

Okay
, I thought,
if they wanted to play that way, I could do that
. I turned to the young girls and flashed my ID at them. “I’m Senior Constable Tess Fuller of the district police. Let’s see that ID again please, ladies.”

They stopped giggling and grew nervous, unsure what to do. They glanced up uncertainly at the Trogs before turning their eyes to me and my outstretched hand. They passed over their IDs. I scrutinised their individual driver’s licences carefully before waving them in front of the two men.

“So gentlemen, you honestly believe that these two girls here are twenty-six and twenty-seven, do you? Because I personally think that’s a load of horseshit.”

“They’re over eighteen,” blustered Trog Two, glaring at the girls.

“Really? And that’s why this one here,” and I nodded at the furiously blushing dark-haired girl who was now tugging at her clothes trying to desperately cover herself, “still goes to high school.” I turned to her. “Don’t you, Amy?”

She burst into tears. “Don’t tell my parents please, Officer Tess. They’ll go ballistic. They think I’m at Georgia’s house studying tonight.”

I barely remembered her, but I did recall seeing her once or twice in the company of Romi, who also attended the high school here in Big Town. She was only sixteen or seventeen at best – definitely not legal for entering a licensed premise.

The queue grew increasingly interested in the goings-on at the door. Some of them checked over the road at Carouzel as if weighing up the option of cutting their losses with Industrie and joining the end of the queue there. The Trogs might represent the Missing Link in person, but they were finely tuned to the punters’ needs, not to mention their boss’ desire to make buckets of money.

“Like I said before, there’s nothing inside that would interest you,
Officer
,” repeated Trog One, stepping too close to me. My hand flew down to my knife and I caressed it, which calmed me down.

“Okey dokey. I’ll just check the IDs of everyone in the queue, will I? I can call for backup,” I threatened. Trog One and I duelled with our eyes. His were cold and soul-less. “I have nothing better to do tonight than to stay here doing a routine check of all patrons’ identification.”

“Bitch,” he muttered.

“What did you say?” I demanded.

He gave me the fakest smile I’d ever seen outside an election campaign and waved me forward, bowing slightly. “I said, you’re very welcome, Senior Constable. Let us know if we can provide any further assistance. We’re great fans of the fine work of Wattling Bay’s constabulary.”

As if
. But I didn’t disabuse him of the idea that I belonged to the Big Town police force. It might save me some grief later on.

I turned to the girls. “Get on home now, ladies. I’m still thinking about whether or not to ring your parents. Do you have enough money for a taxi home?”

They both nodded miserably, their evening ruined. If only they knew that I might have just saved them from the horrific attention of Red Bycraft, they wouldn’t be so glum.

“I don’t want to see or hear about either of you trying to sneak into a nightclub again. You can just wait until you’re eighteen. Understand?” They nodded again, neither of them making eye contact with me. I turned to the Trogs. “You blokes ring them a taxi now and make sure they get in it safely. What are your names? And while you’re at it, show me your security licences.”

They glanced at each other, but then answered me sullenly and fished out their licences. I quickly wrote down their details, aware of the growing impatience of the queue, and handed the licences back before heading to the entrance.

“You can’t take that knife in with you.”

“Yes, I can. Don’t even think of trying to take it off me.”

We battled with our eyes again and I was glad I wasn’t telepathic as I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to know what he was currently thinking about me. He stepped aside and let me enter.

“Thanks guys. Have a great night,” I called out cheerfully as I headed to the door, only to be met with two death stares in return.

Across the road the Sarge leant against a storefront, arms and ankles crossed, watching everything intently. I gave him two thumbs-up and he gave me a mock salute in return before sauntering to the door at Carouzel. He gained entry as soon as he presented his ID, throwing me a superior smile over his shoulder as he did.
Smug bastard
, I thought
.

I stepped through the doorway of Industrie and disappeared inside, down the stairs.

Chapter 28

The thumping music engulfed me in a deafening wave so thick you could almost touch it, even in the small entry where the cashier sat processing the cover charge. Both she and the sharply-suited man standing behind her looked up when I clattered down the stairs and both frowned when they saw what I was wearing.

“Hey, no runners allowed in here,” scowled the man. “How’d you get past those two gorillas outside dressed like that anyway? They know the dress rules.”

The nametag pinned to his suit jacket identified him as Scott, the club manager. His hand lingered on the bare, tanned shoulder of the young but hard-faced platinum-haired woman at the till. I guessed I’d interrupted him during a spot of sexual harassment. She didn’t seem too distressed or unhappy about it though, judging by the self-satisfied expression on her face, and the way she reached her fingers up to brush his fingertips.

“I got past them by flashing my main asset,” I said, straight-faced. “This.”

I showed my badge again.

“Aw, shit. What is it this time?” he asked wearily, letting go of the cashier’s shoulder and running his hands through his carefully spiked hair. “I keep telling you coppers that we
do
check their IDs. It’s not our fault if they’re faked. Those kids are getting sneakier every year.”

“Can we talk in private for a minute . . . Scott?” I asked politely.

He rolled his eyes, gently squeezed the back of the cashier’s neck and whispered in her ear, making her giggle and playfully swat at his arm. Smirking to himself, he indicated a door off to the side of the foyer. We entered his office and he closed the door behind us, walking around to fling himself in his chair, dropping his smile.

“Well? Who or what are you after tonight?”

“You ever heard of a man called Red Bycraft?”

He stared at me with malevolent disbelief. “You are fucking kidding me, right?” He shook his head. “This is complete crap.”

“What do you mean?”

He blew out air angrily and thumped the table with his fist. “You coppers were here the other night about him. And you know what? He didn’t fucking show up, but that didn’t stop you from mooching free drinks from the bar all night.”

“I wasn’t part of that team and I won’t be drinking anything. I’ll just be hanging in a dark corner watching out for him. If he turns up, I’ll call my partner over, but we won’t make any move until he leaves the club.”

“Do I have any say in this?”

Sure
, I thought,
you could ring the Super who’d have my tits on toast for breakfast if she knew what I was doing
. But of course I didn’t say that to him.

“I’m afraid not, Scott, but I appreciate your cooperation. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this man is a dangerous fugitive and the sooner he’s recaptured, the better for all of us.”

Especially me.

“Is there going to be any trouble? Will the patrons notice either you or him?”

“No,” I replied firmly, with more confidence than I felt. God only knew what was going to happen tonight. If anything.

“Why are you by yourself? There was a flock of cops here the other night. You couldn’t turn around without tripping over one of the ugly bastards. And they didn’t even try to
not
look like cops. I had people leaving in droves.”

I smiled briefly. “Bycraft’s no-show the other night stretched my boss’ patience and she’s no longer considering this to be a priority resourcing matter. My partner’s over at Carouzel. We’ll join up if either of us spots Bycraft tonight.”

He stood up and I took that as a sign our chat was over. I stood up too and preceded him to the door.

“Should I ask my men at the door to keep an eye out for him?”

“No!” I snapped. “Don’t let anyone else know about him, especially the Tro . . . your men. I don’t want him frightened off and I don’t want him causing any trouble here because some macho idiot decides to be a hero. Understand?”

“Yes,” he said resentfully and virtually pushed me out the doorway back into the entry. “You can’t take that knife in with you.”

“Yes, I can. Don’t try to stop me,” I warned.

Even more annoyed, he flicked his head towards the club doorway indicating I was free to enter. “Keep me informed about every detail. I don’t want anything going on here that I don’t know about. It’s my arse on the line if there’s some kind of fuckup tonight. My boss is a difficult prick at the best of times and will have no hesitation taking it out on my hide.”

“Sure,” I lied. I’d decide exactly what he needed to know and when he needed to know it. And he’d obviously never met the Super before if he thought
his
boss was difficult.

I was about to walk into the club when a fluorescent lime-taloned hand grasped my arm. I turned in surprise to find the cashier holding onto me, her made-up pale blue eyes regarding me with outrage, her green nails biting into my skin.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going? That’s twenty bucks to get in, thank you very much,” she squeaked, bright magenta lipstick smeared on her teeth. Unsure, I glanced over at Scott. I wasn’t paying a cent to go inside.

“It’s okay, Tyffannie. She can go in without paying,” he said with tired patience, rubbing his eyes.

Suspicion making her almost ugly, Tyffannie roughly inked my inner wrist with the Industrie stamp which would allow me to re-enter the club if I needed to duck outside for something important, like a phone call, a drug pickup or a quick shag. She’d somehow managed to completely miss the fact that I was a cop and I wondered anew at the ability of someone so oblivious to their surroundings to lead a seemingly normal life amongst the rest of us.