Micah
I took a turn at the corner about a block away from the bar and started back in the direction of the apartments. I made a point of checking in with all my girls once a night—finding out if they had any problems, if any of the clients were trying to do things that should get them in trouble, shit like that. Of course, Rob and Manny checked in with them throughout the night, but I liked to make sure that there was a personal touch from me—something to remind the girls that I was their boss’ boss, that I was in charge.
I’d checked up on the girls a few times, had a few drinks, but I hadn’t seen Manny all night. He was supposed to be working the rooms and the street while Rob held things down in the bar, but they normally switched of hourly; and at that, I hadn’t seen him in any of the rooms when I did my check-in.
Lisa had pulled the businessman, and I’d seen her take him back to the call rooms; she’d been with him at least an hour, and I was sure she was going to make the most of her evening—and make a killing. Not all the girls were working; the ones who had the night off would be partying it up at one of my other clubs, or—in a few cases—staying in, resting up. A lot of my girls were customers as well as employees.
I’d wanted to tell Manny about the shit with Bamber’s sister—not the sex, but definitely about her harebrained notion to work off his debt. I grinned a bit to myself. She might not take that long to pay it off that way if she’d wanted to, actually. I shook the thought out of my head; as far as I was concerned, Sadie Bamber was going to fail, her brother was going to become an example, and that would be that. Everything back to normal in my world.
I headed back to Flat Tire and spotted Manny out back; he must have just gotten back from wherever he’d been. It’d be Rob’s turn to watch over the girls on the street and in the call house for a few hours, while Manny hung out at the bar, watching the girls getting new clients. “Yo—Manny!” I walked across the parking lot, and saw the big, broad guy putting something in the seat compartment of his bike.
Manny straightened up and turned to grin at me. “Hey Boss!” Manny patted his hands on his black shirt and started in my direction. “Great night.”
“Where’ve you been?” Rob had spent about twenty minutes bitching to me about the way Manny had changed up their watch rotations; it was originally an hourly deal, to give both of the guys enough to do, and a change of scenery. But for the past few weeks, apparently, Manny had insisted on changing it up. It didn’t bother me too much; after all, as long as the system worked for them it wasn’t a big deal. But I wanted to know what one of my employees was doing when he was supposed to be going back and forth through the different call houses, watching the street. I hadn’t seen him at all when I’d been doing my rounds, though I knew I could have—in theory, at least—just missed him.
But before Manny could answer, a car screamed past through the alley behind the bar. I was right under a streetlamp, and the car went right under it, only a few feet away from me, plowing toward the city’s main drag. In the driver’s seat, I saw Chris Bamber—the man of the fucking evening himself—white-knuckling the steering wheel, eyes forward.
“Fuck!”
“What? What’s up?” Manny was at my side in an instant.
“Chris fucking Bamber just drove right the hell past us,” I told him. “Go after him.” Manny nodded and ran to his bike, faster than you’d think a guy his size could move. I went into the bar, my heart pounding and my head going a thousand miles an hour. Chris fucking Bamber—the little shit—had just hauled ass right past one of my clubs, going who the hell knew where. Manny was on his bike and out of the parking lot in a matter of seconds, and I got into the club to find Rob. I’d seen Chris’ car turn at the next corner down; I didn’t know where he was going, but Manny could follow him, and I could follow Manny.
I found Rob in a matter of seconds and pulled him aside; he’d been on his way to the front door. “We’ve got a motherfucking incident going down,” I told him. “You’re going to have to sit fucking tight for the rest of the night.” Rob looked at me, confused. “Chris,” I said. Rob’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Keep it together.”
Rob nodded again and let him go, turning back to the exit of the club.
I got on my bike and started it up, headed in the direction I’d watched Manny follow Chris’ car in.
Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch.
# # #
Manny
When Micah told me to follow the car, I’d gotten on that shit like white on rice. I felt the bike roaring between my legs as I caught up to Chris and hung back a bit, following that slick asshole as he plowed through the back streets. I didn’t even pay too much attention to where Chris was going; Micah had said to follow the guy—and I definitely didn’t need any extra prompting there—so I did. It didn’t matter where Chris was going, at the end of the day.
But even though I wasn’t trying to pay attention, hanging back just enough so that Chris might not really be sure that I was following him, I noticed that we were headed in the direction of Vagabond; I knew Chris lived not that far from the club, but I was pretty doubtful that he would go home with the word out on the street about him.
Right on cue, Chris turned into the parking lot behind Vagabond, and I shook my head, grinning to myself. What a fucking idiot. Of all the places the guy could go, Micah’s home base was a stupid choice. But at least it would make my job easy as shit. The car pulled up to the back door of the club and stopped there; Chris didn’t even use one of the spaces, just drove right up. I pulled in behind, but before I could even think of shutting the motor off on the bike, I saw some chick come out of the passenger side of the car. “What the fuck?”
She was wearing some kind of business getup: skirt, heels, jacket, purse. She looked like someone from my bank, or my lawyer’s office. A secretary or something. I watched her run for the back door to the club and start pounding on it; I had no fucking clue who the hell she was, but she wasn’t going to get anything from that door—Vagabond was closed for the night already. The chick pounded on the door again just as I was shutting my bike down; and to my surprise it actually opened. They must be in there counting money or something.
It didn’t matter. I was there for Chris, not whoever that chick was. She disappeared into the club and I walked up to Chris’ car. Even without Micah spotting the guy in the driver’s seat, I would’ve known the car—I’d seen it regularly in the weeks before. Chris was staring at the back door of the club and I knocked on his window.
He turned his head and looked out, saw me, and nearly strangled himself on the seat belt. I almost laughed, but I was determined. Micah was on his way—he’d want Chris to be properly receptive and available.
Chris fumbled with his own keys and tried to start the car, and I tested the outside handle. It was unlocked. Fucking idiot. I opened the car door and reached in, unbuckling the seat belt while Chris flailed and struggled. It was pointless—Chris was a good kid, mostly, but not up for being the muscle; not trained or even all that big. I hauled him out of the car and threw him against it.
“Look, Bamber,” I said, pinning him on the driver’s side door after it swung shut behind him. “You think you can just let some shit like this blow over? The fuck is wrong with you? And what kind of dumb-shit jackass goes right up to Micah Rintley’s home base when he should be making for the farthest city he can get to?” I cocked a fist. Micah would probably be there soon, but I wanted to get a couple of hits in before the boss took over.
“What the fuck! Get off of him!” I looked up and saw the chick from before running out of the club toward me and Chris.
“Who the hell are you?” The chick came around the car and looked like she wanted to kill me with her eyes or some shit.
“I work for Micah,” she said, sounding calmer—too calm.
“What the fuck?” I knew everyone who worked for Micah; I was—or so I’d thought—one of the guys he trusted the most in the whole org. Who the hell was this bitch and what was she doing for Micah that I didn’t know about it?
“Let him go,” the chick said again.
“See—that’s where you’re wrong, bitch,” I told her. “This guy needs to meet with Micah, a special—private—meeting. I’m just making sure he doesn’t try and get out of it.”
Just then, I heard another bike coming toward us, and I knew it was the boss. Whoever this chick was, I hoped she was wrong about working for the big boss. It didn’t make sense that Micah had hired someone I didn’t even have a clue about.
I held Chris up against his car while Micah turned his bike into the parking lot, pulling up to where we all stood. He took his helmet off, put the kickstand down, and shut off the engine, looking at all three of us.
“Get inside—all of you,” Micah said, shaking his head. “Before the 5-0 come around curious.”
I let go of Chris and gave him a hard look, but I could tell that he wasn’t about to try and run. Who the hell even is this chick? I gave Chris a shove as I stepped back from him and started toward the back door to the club.
I knocked on the door; instead of the chick’s furious pounding, I used the code knock that would tell anyone on the other side that I was one of Micah’s employees. She can’t have been working for him that long if she didn’t even know the knock, I thought to myself. The door opened and I walked through it, heading directly for the stairs leading up to Micah’s office in the back above the club.
All the way up, I couldn’t help thinking about how weird the night was going—why wasn’t Chris out of town the way he was supposed to be, why was some chick working for Micah now—but not as a hooker? What the hell was going on—and how could I make the most of it.
I didn’t realize right away that Micah wasn’t right behind us. For a moment me, Chris, and the chick just stood at the landing in front of his office, waiting for him, and I thought I hadn’t had a more awkward moment than that since I’d met my last girlfriend’s dad and realized he was one of the girls’ clients.