Grave Consequences (6 page)

“Not too dark to make out faces, that's a good sign,” Charlie commented, looking around but not seeing any Native Americans. “According to Nancy, Mike is supposed to be tall and slender, with yellow hair and a disarming, delicately handsome face, like an angel.”

“Maybe he's up there?” Gordon pointed toward the ceiling.

“With Jesus?”

“No, moron, in the private lounge.” Gordon laughed for the first time in a couple of days, and Charlie joined in. Humor had kept them sane more than once during the past decade.

“Just us uglies down here,” Charlie said just as the barmaid showed up with their drinks, nachos, and pungent salsa.

“Hey, I resent that,” the redhead said, grinning for real as they paid for the beers. Charlie looked at her closely for the first time and saw pale, blue eyes and a broad, attractive face. Unlike some redheads, who overused the makeup to hide their freckles, she accented her complexion with bright lipstick and a hint of color in her cheeks.

“I was talking about me and my wingman, Meg,” he said, glancing only briefly at the name tag on her chest.

“Just trying to liven up my day, boys,” she said, winking at Gordon. “Never seen you two in here before. You from out of town?”

“More like across town. We heard about this place and wanted to check it out,” Charlie answered.

“He means we're two bachelors on the prowl, Meg,” Gordon said. “Would you say this is a good place for guys to meet women?”

Meg shrugged. “I've only worked here for a few months, and I usually get off at eight, but the few times I've filled in for one of the girls on the late shift I've noticed there are a few ladies who come and go on pretty much an hourly basis. You guys aren't cops, are you?”

“Naw, we're ex-military. We have a business over in the north valley, and despite what Gordon here says, we aren't really looking for anything besides conversation and a few drinks,” Charlie added. “By the way, a friend of a friend recommended this place, but she gave us a wicked grin when she mentioned one of the owners. She had a thing for him,” he lied.

“The guy's first name is something like Mike—supposed to be a real ladies' man,” Gordon joined in.

“Mike Schultz,” Meg said, a trace of a scowl on her face. “He runs the place and shares ownership with a family up in Raton who inherited half from their grandfather. The old guy was a fireman for the county for a really long time.”

“So Mike must know about the girls working out of his establishment,” Charlie concluded.

Meg's expression changed quickly. “You never heard anything like that from me, guys. I need the job and the pay is good. At least with Mike around, the patrons don't give the staff any shit. I worked at a downtown bar for a while and every night I got propositioned a half-dozen times. Even when wearing a wedding ring.”

“Not wearing one now,” Gordon pointed out.

“Don't need one here. Mike's got a couple of heavy hitters that'll throw their sorry butts out to the curb.”

A cowboy at another table waved at Meg, and she looked over and smiled. “Be right there, sugar. Gotta go, guys. If you need anything, just give me a nod.”

“Don't forget your tip,” Gordon said, sliding over a twenty.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she said, crinkling up her nose with an even bigger smile. She whirled around and hurried over to the cowboy, who was raising an empty glass.

“So Mike is either still a pimp or he's being paid to look the other way,” Charlie commented, taking a swallow of his beer. He looked down at the nearly full glass and thought of Al, who'd been the drinker of the two back in high school despite their father's heavy hand.

Seeing how booze had turned his older brother into an ass had pretty much limited his own drinking, even later when Charlie enlisted. He'd been an Indian in a white world, then an American soldier in a Muslim world, and being drunk and out of control in either place was an idiotic thing to do. He'd never allowed alcohol to slow him down.

Gordon was much the same. Growing up in the inner city, he had been on the streets around drunks and derelicts and seen how they were treated. Gordon had explained that being the runt of the litter, he had enough trouble staying alive even when he was sober. Both of them were survivors, though their roots had grown in different soil.

Now they drank only to be social and to blend in, like tonight. If they needed to react quickly, alcohol wouldn't impair their skills.

“No sign of Lola. I'm thinking that if she's still hustling for Mike, she'll be sticking close for a few days. If he's got muscle here, she'll want the extra protection. Unless Mike is the real boyfriend—but that doesn't seem likely,” Charlie admitted.

“Well, if you're going to talk yourself in circles, at least we arrived at the same place, Charles. If Mike knows anything about Lola, he's got to be our next contact tonight,” Gordon said, sliding his half-empty beer away. “Shall we take a climb?”

“Why not?”

 

Chapter Five

They stood, pushed their chairs in, then walked toward the stairs against the far wall. “No security?” Gordon asked as they neared the steps.

“Probably at the top. Uninvited guests are easier to control when they have so far to fall,” Charlie commented.

“Makes sense.” Gordon nodded. “So I'll go first—lower center of gravity.”

There was a chest-high wall instead of a railing on the outside of the stairs, which meant anyone below would hear, but not necessarily see anyone falling down the flight.

Charlie was several steps behind Gordon. When Gordon reached the top, a buzz-cut goon in a tropical guayabera and tan slacks saw the little guy. The goon yawned and strolled over. Gordon was forever underestimated, which gave him the advantage in a hand-to-hand situation.

The guy looked at Charlie coming up behind Gordon and stopped, realizing he'd not only lost the height advantage, but the numerical one as well.

“Gentlemen,” came a surprisingly soft voice, “this is a private lounge. Who is your host tonight?”

Charlie could see into the room, illuminated by recessed ceiling lights and a large-screen TV playing what looked like soft porn. Seated on comfortable looking leather-look sofas were a half-dozen or so men and women, paired up and snuggling seriously.

“At least they still have their clothes on,” Gordon commented matter-of-factly, a big grin on his face. “Hi, Guido, we're here to talk to Mike about a mutual client.”

Charlie, who'd been watching three people clustered together across the room, saw two of them stand up—one of them a tall blond that fit Mike Schultz's description.

“Mike, can we have a word? Up here, or maybe outside, if you prefer?” Charlie asked, loud enough to be heard above the gasps and groans coming from the video.

If it came to a fight he didn't want any hookers or horndogs injured, and by giving Mike a choice it was a concession, of sorts. It also reduced the number of potential witnesses or participants.

“Keep your voice down, please?” Guido's expression making it clear he wasn't really asking. He moved his hand to his front pants pocket, where the outline of a big folding knife bulged.

“Like anyone else up here is interested in the dialogue,” Gordon muttered.

Mike was tall, lean, and clearly fit, with an overly pretty face, but he had the eyes and expression of a predator. The goon who'd accompanied him was a little shorter, about Charlie's height of six one, but outweighing him by maybe fifty pounds. His low forehead suggested the guy was all muscle and no brains, but Charlie knew that believing in stereotypes could be dangerous. The worst ass-kicking could come from the least likely direction, and, at the moment, Charlie was grateful for his own training and experience. Then there was Gordon, who was worth two superheros, maybe two and a half.

“What can I do you for, friends? If you think we might have business to discuss, the parking lot is just fine with me. More privacy,” Mike offered, sounding amused.

The two goons exchanged glances, something Charlie knew Gordon had caught as well. There was going to be trouble, and Mike was going to watch. He'd probably already seen the movie.

Charlie gestured toward the stairs. “After you,” he said to Mike, thinking there was no way the guy would put his back to them. He and Gordo would have to precede him.

“Fernando—” Mike glanced over at the guy who'd first greeted them—the one in the Cuban shirt. “The back lot, please.
M
á
talos afuera.
”

Fernando took a step down, turned, and motioned toward them. “
Bueno.
Follow me, gentlemen.”

Charlie spoke three languages, Navajo, English, and Pashto from his years in 'stan, so he couldn't understand what Mike was telling the goons. Gordon, however, despite his blue eyes and Irish blood, had grown up in a Denver neighborhood full of Latino families.

“Charles, this reminds me of our first night in Honolulu. Those three lady Marines?” Gordon added, following right behind Fernando, who'd reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Yeah, it took us an hour to get them down to the beach,” Charlie replied. “Then there was that awkward moment when one of the girls realized she was the fifth wheel.”

“You ever have one woman too many on a date?” Charlie turned to look at Mike's bodyguard. The Neanderthal guy packed fists the size of boxing gloves.

“One can never have too many women,” the guy answered with a grin.

“Amen,” Mike added, following at the rear of the column.

Charlie focused on his first move, trying not to tense up. Gordon had just reminded him of a night they'd both been set up for a beat down.

Fernando turned left instead of right, then stepped behind the bar and led the way through the kitchen area, which was empty at the moment except for Meg and another waitress. They were ladling salsa into serving bowls.

Charlie winked at her as they passed by, and he heard a faint “oh, shit” escape from her lips. “Out front, ladies,” Mike instructed firmly as Fernando reached the exit.

Fernando unlocked the door with the turn of a lever and stepped out, Gordon right behind him. Charlie followed, watching Fernando's hands. His fists clenched and he whirled around, throwing a punch at Gordon, who blocked it effortlessly.

Charlie had noted the move out of the corner of his eye. He was already into his own turn, halfway around and sweeping his right leg into the door. The heavy metal door slammed into the side of Neanderthal's skull as the guy lunged at him.

Ignoring the thuds and grunts coming from behind him, Charlie grabbed the door handle and slammed the door into Neanderthal's shoulder as the stunned goon tried to block the blow with his forearm. Then Charlie jumped back, careful not to bump into Gordon, who was hammering Fernando with left and right body punches.

Blocked by his own man, Mike pushed the guy forward, slamming the door behind him. “Take that Indian down, Cesar,” Mike urged. The guy rushed Charlie like a blitzing linebacker, arms extended to make the tackle.

It only took a couple of seconds. Charlie faked a knee kick, then pulled his right leg back, letting Cesar grab his left knee. Extending both arms, Charlie brought his hands together and slapped the heels of both hands against the man's head, pivoting sideways as the man brushed past him. They both fell to the pavement, Charlie's attacker still clinging to him.

Cesar tried to wrap his arms around Charlie and save himself, but Charlie struck him on the right clavicle with a shuto strike, a chop with the edge of his hand.

The man groaned, let go, then rolled away, trying to sit up. Charlie stood, noting in his peripheral vision that Gordon had his opponent on the asphalt facedown with an arm-shoulder pin that suggested aikido.

“Enough!” Mike yelled, pulling back his silk jacket to reveal a small Ruger pistol at his belt. “Stop with this shit, guys. Clearly, you have some skills. You want to talk to me, okay, you've earned it. Let's all cool down, I don't want anyone calling the cops.”

“You okay with this?” Charlie asked Gordon, who didn't appear to even be breathing hard.

“Sure, as long as everyone keeps their knives in their pockets and their guns away,” he replied, nodding at Mike's weapon. Gordon released Fernando's arm, but watched him carefully as the man struggled to stand. It took a few seconds because the guy was still wobbly and doubled over slightly.

Charlie held his palms up, showing the fight had ended, then took a step back, now nearly shoulder to chin with Gordon.

“Go inside and clean yourselves up,” Mike ordered, and the two damaged bouncers both reached for the handle. It was locked.

Mike chuckled, reached into his pocket, then brought out a ring of keys. “Leave it unlocked for me,” he said, tossing the keys. Fernando made the grab, and a few seconds later, Mike, Charlie, and Gordon were alone, facing the alley.

“Something tells me you two aren't here looking for a job, and I've never run into you before, I'd have remembered. What do you want?” Mike asked, keeping his hand near the butt of his pistol.

“We're looking for a young woman you'd worked with in the past, a gal in the same profession as the ladies getting your upstairs clients in the mood.”

“A good-looking Indian girl, maybe?” Mike asked, looking at Charlie closely. “Hey, the girls who work here come and go on their own. If your sister or girlfriend…”

“Naw, I'm not here to rescue anyone from their sinful ways, I'm just trying to locate Lola Tso. Have you seen her lately?”

“Ah, Lola, good-looking, young, and a hard worker. We parted company about two and a half years ago, maybe three. Said she had enough money saved up to enroll in community college. Hated to see her go, but I had a big enough stable at the time to keep the money coming in. Why are you looking for her?”