“Storage.” He took the purse from her lap, opened it, lifted the top off the Styrofoam box, slid the crab in the purse, and fastened it.
“What on earth are you doing? Why are you putting that poor crab in the purse?”
“When you travel to Oz, get a grip and hold on tight.”
O’Brien managed to find a parking spot two blocks down from Oz on Washington Avenue. He said, “Okay, it’s show time.”
Barbie said, “Are you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“I know this is a really weird date thingy, but you said you’d pay me. Can I get it before we go in? It’s not that I don’t like trust you. You seem like a very nice guy, too.”
O’Brien smiled, “You’re right.” He opened his wallet and counted out the money. She folded it, dropping the cash in her purse.
“I need you to carry this purse, too.” O’Brien said.
“What if that crab jumps out? Besides, don’t you think it would look weird for a girl to carry two purses?”
“Barbie, no one’s going to be looking at your purse or purses. Now, here’s the plan. The line is too long for us to wait. So I want you to walk to the front of it, I’ll be right behind you, and tell muscular fellow in black that you really need to go to the ladies’ room. Weak bladder and all of that. When he agrees, tell him your boyfriend is an old friend of Sergio Conti’s, and Sergio wanted him to see the club but he couldn’t call personally because he got tied up.”
“What’s the guy’s name again?”
“Sergio Conti.”
She whispered it, closed her eyes a second and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
As O’Brien walked with Barbie down Washington Avenue, two Hispanic men in a convertible Lexus rode by, reggae music loud, and one yelled, “What a fuckin’ ass!”
The line to get into Oz stretched far beyond the velvet ropes in shiny gold-colored stanchion hooks. O’Brien followed Barbie walking by the tanned bodies that had spent much of the day on the beach, now freshly showered and dressed in whites and colors of the Caribbean. O’Brien smelled the perfumes mixed with a hint of marijuana.
“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Barbie. “It’s the best club on South Beach.”
“Just keep walking.”
“Everybody’s staring at us.”
“They’re staring at you. Nobody sees me.”
“The crab is moving in the purse. I can feel it. So help me, Ken, if that’s your real name-if this thing sticks one of its claws out and pinches my butt, I’m going to scream loud enough for them to hear me in the Port of Miami.”
“Just keep smiling and walking,” said O’Brien.
As they approached the head of the line, Barbie smiled, waved a perfectly manicured finger to the doorman and stepped to him. He looked at her swelling breasts. Barbie worked everything she had in the dress to subtle perfection. The doorman nodded, looked behind her to O’Brien who smiled, and he waved them through the door.
They entered the corridor of lights, opening to a massive room filed with hundreds of gyrating people on the dance floor and others tucked away in nearby smoked glass VIP rooms. Barbie turned to O’Brien and said, “So this is Oz.”
FORTY-SEVEN
The deejay shouted into the sound system, “You’re not in Kansas anymore people! It’s time to party like you’re in Oz!” The deejay stood behind an elevated platform spinning his body like an orchestra maestro conducting the last seconds leading into a crescendo.
O’Brien and Barbie walked past a waterfall lit with blue lights. They followed a winding yellow acrylic floor that disappeared around a huge artificial tree. From where O’Brien stood, he counted six bars. The light system sent a rainbow palette of colors over the entire cavernous club in a wave pattern. Stylized images of a lion, scarecrow, tin man, and dueling witches, dressed in black and white morphed behind a fifty-foot curved Plexiglas screen near the ceiling.
On the second level, O’Brien could see a dozen or more VIP rooms looking down on the dance floor. Silhouetted figures moved behind the smoky-colored glass resembling shadows on the blinds.
A fashion model moonlighting as a cocktail hostess walked by with a tray of drinks. O’Brien asked, “How do we get up there?” He pointed to the VIP rooms.
“See the hostess over there in the black dress.” The waitress pointed to a woman standing behind a lime green podium near a bubble glass elevator.
O’Brien and Barbie approached the podium, stepping on a tiger-striped woven rug near the base of the dais. The woman in the short black dress wore a wireless earpiece and gray microphone. O’Brien said, “We’d like a VIP suite.”
“The name, sir.”
“Conti.”
Barbie looked at O’Brien and smiled.
“Would you like to leave a credit card imprint to reserve it?” asked the hostess.
“It’s early. I bet you have a few available. Matter of fact, I’m tall enough to see one that is vacant up there.” O’Brien pointed to a dark suite.
“That’s reserved for one a.m.”
O’Brien slipped her a twenty and said, “We’ll be gone by then. In the meantime, we’ll enjoy some of your best champagne in that booth.”
The hostess smiled. She spoke into her microphone. “Sheila, we’ll be having guests coming up the lift. Please show them to the Opium Den.”
The glass elevator, shaped like a hot-air balloon, moved very slow, giving O’Brien time to canvas the club as the glass orb rose above the packed dance floor.
Beyond the lights, thought O’Brien, behind the facade of Oz, was the real wicked wizard. Somewhere one of the dark alcoves led to the spot where an evil wizard hid behind a curtain pulling human strings. Somewhere in the building was Jonathan Russo’s office. The key was to find it. But as O’Brien stepped from the elevator to the second floor, he saw a curtain being drawn in a VIP suite.
And now he had a better plan.
FORTY-EIGHT
Barbie sat on the leather couch and said, “We sure don’t have any sofas like this at the club where I work. Look at this place! Real fur. All these pillows. Soft lighting. Plants and a little fountain flowing over there in the corner. It’s even got curtains. This is nicer than my apartment. Let’s dance, Ken.”
There was a tap at the door.
“Come on in,” said Barbie.
A woman wearing a short white toga dress stepped into the suite. Her dark skin was in contrast to the white fabric. More high cheekbones. No tan lines. She had a regal elegance to her movement. She sat on the couch near them, crossed her legs and said, “I’m Nikki. Welcome to Oz and your suite-the Opium Den. I’ll be your server. I have a staff to assist me, too. We can get you anything you desire. Award-winning food and drink to even a back
