Guilty by Association (Judah Black Novels) (22 page)

There were more cars in the parking lot than I expected considering how early on in the day it was. Night clubs usually don't pick up a lot of business until the middle of the day. Then again, it was a Saturday and, given the construction of the building, the people inside probably had no idea what time of day it was outside.

Aisling was nicer looking than I expected for a club. The outside was a pristine white washed building with gold leaf trim and plenty of neon that would have made the club impossible to miss in the dark. Big, Gothic style windows lined the front and side of the building. The fact that they were made of stained glass limited the light that would have filtered through. As if that wasn't enough, it looked like there were some thick curtains on the inside. A big sign on the roof advertised the place as a “ladies and gents” club while a winking Tinkerbell held her skirt down Marilyn Monroe style in a series of neon flashes.
Classy
, I thought and found myself a parking space.

I left my gun and badge in the truck. If Reed was right and this was the place to buy and sell anything, legal or not, then I didn't need to tip people off that I was a fed. That was, of course, assuming the people in charge hadn't pegged my mug the day I rolled into town and arranged for me to be watched. If the powers that be in Concho County were as scary as Reed seemed to infer they were then that's exactly what they might have done. If I was a bad guy, that's what I'd do, anyway.

Standing outside the main entrance to Aisling was a living, breathing cowboy fantasy. He was over six feet tall with abs that probably could have had their own starring role in a Zack Snyder film. He was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a red button down shirt with the arms ripped off, unbuttoned, of course. A cowboy hat and cowboy boots, complete with spurs, rounded out the ensemble. He smiled as I came closer. I tried not to make eye contact, not because he was difficult to look at or anything because he wasn't. Should half the men inside look as nice, I might just forget what I came there for. I avoided eye contact because I didn't know what he
was
. This was, after all, a club that thrived on the fact that it featured supernaturally good entertainers.

“Hey, darlin',” he drawled in a genuine Texas-style accent. I thought he was going to stop me and try to make conversation or something but all he did was smile and open the door for me. I stumbled over a thank you and went on inside.

I found myself standing in a lavish lobby with plush carpet and velvet drapery. Two good looking men in immaculate, expensive looking suits stood guard, one on either side of a pair of drawn white curtains with black lace over them. I could feel the slight vibration of bass in the floor,
even though I couldn't hear it.

“Anything to check, miss?”

I turned my head to the left and found a guy in—I swear to God—a pinstripe suit that must've come out of an Al Capone reproduction catalog with the hair to match. My mouth fell open and I gave the guy a really stupid look as my brain tried to process what exactly I'd walked into. “I...uh...” Words. I forgot how to words.

He smiled. Damn him, he had one of those smiles that screamed confidence. “Can I see your membership card?”

Crap. “I...uh...didn't realize this was a members only...thing.”

“Only during certain hours and days of the week. I can go ahead and get an application to my manager if you're interested.”

I glanced back around the lobby, thinking maybe I should have brought my badge in. “I'd actually like to speak with your manager if that's possible.”

“I'm afraid it's not. He's busy tending to a VIP party but if you'd like to leave your name I'll be sure to tell him you stopped by.”

“Black,” I said without thinking. “Special Agent Judah Black.”

I looked back at him and expected to find him sweating or in some state of panic. Usually, when you play the fed card in a place that's doing illegal stuff, the help gets nervous. Instead, young Al Capone's eyes lit up and literally sparkled. “Oh, Miss Black. Of course. There's been a VIP packet waiting for you here for two days.” He sorted through something in the desk he stood behind and came up with a leather bound binder that he held out to me.

I took it from him, even more confused than I had been before. I'd only been in Paint Rock a few days. Hell, this case wasn't more than three days old. There was no way that someone could have predicted I would come out to this place, not unless I'd been directed here by design.
That priest is in on this somehow
, I realized and started flipping through the packet. Aside from a brochure with a bunch of welcome information, the binder included a VIP access card, a coupon for a free lap dance and an envelope with my name written on it. “I didn't pay for this,” I told young Al Capone.

“It's compliments of the owner, ma'am.”

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed when I opened the envelope and found a check for no less than twenty-five thousand dollars. It was signed by two names: Robbie G. Fellows and Kim Kelley. I pulled the check out and showed it to the coat man who seemed unimpressed. “What the hell is this?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” he said with a smile.

“I can see that, but
why
?” He stumbled trying to come up with an answer and I leaned on the desk. “I don't care what he's doing. I need to see your manager right now. Tell him that he needs to either cooperate with my investigation or I'll get a warrant to search the premises for contraband.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Young Al Capone picked up the phone on the desk and pushed a singular button. “So sorry to disturb you Mr. Fellows, but...” The Mr. Fellows on the other end obviously cut him off because he stopped speaking. “Yes, sir. You did, sir. But you also asked to be notified if Miss Black came in to pick up her VIP packet.” He glanced up at me in silence for a moment.

“Tell him,” I mouthed.

“She said to tell you that, if you won't see her-”

“Immediately,” I added.

“If you won't see her
immediately
she'll get a warrant to search for contraband...Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” He hung up and turned his attention back to me, stepping around the desk and gesturing toward the white curtain. “Right this way, Miss Black.”

The two suits on either side split the curtain in half and pulled both halves aside as if I were royalty. Synth-pop music poured through the open door in a slow, sensual beat that I hadn't expected to hear. Stepping through the curtains felt like I was stepping out onto a stage. I was momentarily blinded by a series of flashing lights in watered down blues and greens. It took a while for the green to clear out of my vision. When it finally did, I realized I was standing on a balcony with spiraling stairs on either side. Young Al was halfway down one stairway. I moved to follow, putting my hand on the railing.

Something curled around my fingers the moment I made contact and I jerked my hand away only to realize that, somehow, a vine bearing beautiful white flowers had wound its way around the banister. Magick, I realized, and it wasn't mine. Someone had gotten a kick out of scaring the shit out of me with a harmless little flower. I ripped the flower away from the vine and tossed it over the side. Halfway down, the petals popped like popcorn, sending a confetti of white rose petals down on a small crowd of patrons, a pretty young thing surrounded by four or five lumberjack types. The girl laughed with delight and spun in the rain of petals.

“Miss Black,” said Young Al from the bottom stair impatiently. “You did say
immediately
.”

I shook the startled cobwebs from my head and rushed down the stairs where a mostly empty dance floor waited, populated by over-sized tables, each one with an iridescent, water filled pole in the center. Lights somewhere in the bottom of the pole changed from blue to green to purple against the beat of the music. Despite the appearances in the parking lot, most of the tables were empty, though the ones that weren't empty were occupied by dark, apathetic looking people with pale skin. Vampires.

At the center of the small mass of occupied tables, there sat the most striking man I'd seen all day. He wasn't particularly beautiful, not like the dancers around him, but he had a presence that commanded the very air I breathed. Clean shaven, auburn haired and green eyed with a good, strong chiseled jaw, he sat at the center table completely alone but for the agile pair of dancers before him, one man and one woman, both working the pole with all the grace of a professional circus performer. He gave me a glance without turning his head, a defiant smirk on his face. I didn't know who he was or whether or not he was anyone of importance to me but I knew right then and there that I didn't like him.

Young Al led me away from the main room, up another set of spiral stairs and to a balcony on the other side where two pretty girls wearing nothing but glitter and a headband with a single white feather manned a curtain. Al stopped so suddenly just short of the curtain that I bumped into him. He frowned at me and adjusted his suit jacket. “Mr. Fellows is in there,” he said and gave me a slight bow before walking away.

“Wait,” I said but he didn't stop. He'd completed the minimum requirements of his job and was off to go stand at his post like a good drone. I growled a curse under my breath and turned back to the ladies at the curtain. They gave me plastic smiles and pulled the curtain aside.

The room beyond was larger than I expected and held different décor. There was a desk with all the typical trimmings of an office but that was shoved back in a corner. In the center of the room there was a stool where a woman stood while a man took her measurements. She was wearing a black leather vest, black knee high boots with more buckles than a belt shop and a short purple skirt with petticoat ruffles, also black. Her hair was an impossible flame of cherry red with blue streaks. It looked like someone had set her head on fire. She regarded me with disinterest as I turned to address her tailor. “Mr. Fellows?”

The tailor looked up and shook his head. “No. And be quiet. I'm working.”

“That's enough, Basil,” said the woman in a British accent and she hopped off the stool. When she turned toward me, I realized she didn't have a shirt on under her vest but, hey, she had a tie. I guess that counts for something, right? She gave me a flirtatious smile and a wink. “Don't be mean to our guest.”

I couldn't help myself. I'd had all the confusion I could take for one day. “
You're
Mr. Fellows?”

“Miss, as it happens at the moment.” Basil the tailor gathered up his tools and walked by me in a huff. Miss Fellows waited until he was gone before she started peeling off her clothes, starting with those boots. “God bless you, woman, how
do
you do it?” She dropped her skirt and marched over to a wardrobe against the far wall.

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” she flicked a wrist at me while she sorted through a closet full of clothes, eventually settling on a pair of leather pants. “Go out looking like that. It must be so liberating, not caring what you look like. It's so much pressure, being a fashion icon. You can't just go out in jeans and a t-shirt. The paparazzi would eat me alive.”

I couldn't decide if that was a veiled insult or a genuine statement of jealousy. It seemed more like the former but with the day I was having, it was hard to tell. “You're a fashion icon? I've never heard of any Mr. or Miss Fellows.”

“Obviously.” She said rolling her eyes. “And it's Robbie. I don't like it when women address me that way.”

I waited for her to get changed in awkward silence. “So, um, you're going to have to help me. I'm a little confused about the whole Mr.-Miss Thing.”

“Humans!” she exclaimed. “Always so hung up on the outward display of sex and sexuality. You're dogs, all of you. But, if it clears things up for you...” She lifted a hand above her head and snapped her fingers. As if someone had simply rolled out a new version of Robbie Fellows,
she
changed into a
he
. All those feminine curves shifted, the weight redistributing from the hips and chest to the shoulders and arms. The slender, feminine neck suddenly had an Adam's apple and the tight leather pants Robbie had put on filled out in completely different places. He smiled at my surprise and lowered his hand, leaving the other resting on his hip. “It's called a glamour, honey. It's my number one sale here, as long as we're being honest. People love it when they can come in and order up whatever they want.” He walked over to sit on top of his desk, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands on the top knee. “Now, what can I do you for, love?”

I held up the leather binder. “You can start by explaining this and the check for twenty-five thousand dollars inside. How'd you even know I'd come here?”

“It's a logical conclusion that you'd come eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, I had no idea when you'd show. I honestly didn't think it would be so soon but I know the rumors are out there. Aisling,” he spread his arms wide. “Where everything's for sale, no dream too big or too small. That is why you're here, right? Someone somewhere told you that we were selling more than sex and booze downstairs?”

“Is it true?”

He lowered his head a little and smirked. “Oh, totally. If people wanted to get laid, they could go anywhere. If they wanted to get drunk, they'd go to any old bar. Aisling sells fantasies as reality. People come here because they want what they can't get at home. They come here to escape, to feel strong or helpless or powerful. Whatever you want to feel, I've got someone here that can make you feel it.”

“What about drugs?”

“Aisling has a very strict no drug policy,” said Robbie in an official tone. “Although I can't be held responsible for where people go and what they do before or after they arrive. I'm not going to turn away a paying customer just because he's had a little PCP. I can't drug test everyone who comes in here, love.”

I stepped closer to Robbie's desk. “Cut the crap, Robbie. I'm not here for a shake down. You heard about Elias Garcia? I'm chasing a killer, a killer that had access to a very special drug. One that cures werewolves.”