“Aside from Floor to Ceiling,” Kara exhaled tiredly, “he owns Cachoo, Little Minx and The Dream Bar.”
“The Dream Bar?” Salvi asked, straightening.
“Yeah. Know it?” Kara asked.
Salvi nodded. “I went there several weeks ago while working the Bountiful case.” She nodded again. “This is perfect. I’ve been there before. This won’t be out of the blue, and as it’s not Floor to Ceiling, it’s not obvious that I’m interested in that club.”
Ford folded her arms, eyes narrowed, mulling it over.
A thought struck Salvi, though, as memories of her last visit flooded her mind.
“Ask Riverton if it can find out how long The Dream Bar keeps their security footage,” she said to Ford. “Also the street footage outside.”
“Why?”
“Because when I was there, Mitch came looking for me. I was with our suspect at the time, so I wasn’t answering his calls. He tracked me to the bar and came in. Our interaction was very brief and we arrived and left separately, but… we did have an argument outside on the street.”
“Shit,” Ford said.
“They’re only required to keep security footage for thirty days right? This was seven weeks ago. Let’s hope Chaney doesn’t do more than he’s legally required.”
Within moments Riverton had responded. “I cannot ascertain this without a warrant, detective. However, as you say, most businesses only adhere to the thirty-day requirement. You may be safe.”
“‘May be’ is not good enough for me,” Ford said.
“He’ll have no reason to search for me on his past security footage unless I give him one,” Salvi said. “Which I won’t.”
“And if he’s searched for Grenville?” Ford asked.
“But why would he do that?” Bronte asked. “They’d only have reason to if Mitch was showing his face in the clubs now, after what happened with Caine. Then they might be interested in seeing just how much he’s been scoping out the joint. But Mitch hasn’t. He’s stayed away from the clubs.”
“Even then,” Noble said, “if they searched and found him, they can’t be sure he wasn’t just a patron. Cops go to bars and restaurants too. I think it’s a risk we can take.”
Salvi looked at Ford. “Let me try this.”
“Alright,” Ford relented. “We’ll give it a go, but you be careful, Brentt.”
“I will.”
Ford looked to Bronte. “Looks like you got the night off.”
Bronte raised his arms in the air. “Hallelujah!”
Salvi moved along the sidewalk toward The Dream Bar. She saw the blue neon sign ahead on the opposite side of the street; the fluffy cloud imprinted with red lips, greeting her and enticing her within.
She waited for a motorized tuk-tuk to pass. As she checked both sides of the road to cross over, looking back the other way, she paused as she caught sight of the Bio-Lume cross attached to the Church of Connectivity and paused. It was the church owned by Neuricle Corporation, Attis Solme’s company. She saw a figure outside, ushering more wayward souls within to atone for their sins, and wondered whether it was Kevin, Solme’s protégé. Wherever she turned reminders of the damned Bountiful case kept popping up.
She turned her eyes away from the Bio-Lume cross. The last thing she needed while trying to hook Lance Chaney was Attis, Subjugate-52 or the Bountiful killer in her brain. She wiped her mind clear and moved quickly across the street.
As she moved to enter the bar, she noticed the erotic art gallery above it. That fit nicely with her cover. After all, her cover identity, Sarah Parson, had a thing for erotic and exotic art, right? She smiled as she cleared the security and stepped into the dimly-lit electric blue mirrored elevator that would take her below ground to the bar.
When the doors opened, the blue-hued club sprawled out before her. It hadn’t changed since she’d been there last. The long bar was to her right against the wall, the spa-like sunken tables filled the middle space, and a dimly-lit dance floor lined the wall to the left, with sparkling mirror balls glinting overhead. The sexy waitstaff paraded around in flimsy, skintight metallic clothing, and, from memory, the cocktails were to die for.
She took a seat at the bar and looked into the mirror behind the bottles, watching the club behind her. Her memory trailed over her last visit; sitting in one of those sunken tables and chatting with one of their suspects. She recalled the couple at the next table who’d been making out. She remembered the woman had placed something in her mouth, then the couple had practically had sex right there, and she suddenly wondered whether that woman had taken Flyte right in front of her without her realizing it. Had the drug infiltrated this bar too? But hadn’t Kara said it was injected? Maybe for ease of use and sales, it was now in pill form. It made sense, but the woman could have just taken something like ecstasy.
She kept checking her phone, making out like she’d been stood up. Eventually, after a couple of drinks, the barman came over to her. He looked to be in his early 20s, around 6’3, a muscled 200lbs or so, and handsomely blond-haired and blue-eyed to boot.
“Girlfriend or boyfriend?” he asked, titling the glass pane before him to another customer so they could process payment for their drink order.
“Huh?” Salvi asked.
“Who hasn’t shown?” he said, as the customer swiped his wristwatch over the pane. The barman gave him a nod and the customer moved to one of the sunken tables.
“Oh,” she smiled, as the barman looked back at her. “A guy. My date. I guess he got a better offer.”
“Well, now I don’t believe that for a second.” He moved to her and topped up her glass of champagne. “This one’s on me.”
“Really?” she asked. “You won’t get in trouble with the boss, will you?”
“Nah, he’s cool. In fact, it’s what he trains us to do. We’re to treat all the ladies like queens. Keep the ladies happy, they keep coming back, and it keeps
