I move along the first level, past booths and tables, past waitresses dressed in skimpy outfits. I take the stairs to the second level, where the booths and tables have been replaced with plush beds. People lounge on these beds, drinks in their hands. I walk to the balcony and stare down at the dance floor, then glance up at the ceiling which is a mirror reflecting the flashing lights.
I start to head up to the third floor but decide to go back downstairs instead. If Xerxes is here, he’s in a VIP room or another level I’m not able to access.
I make it to the first level without any problems. A guy wearing too much cologne and too much gel in his hair approaches me. He has a drink in each hand. He hands me one, asks if I’d like to dance.
“No thanks,” I say, handing him back his drink.
He calls after me, his voice rising above the head-pounding music, asking what’s wrong, baby, don’t I want to party? I keep walking. Past the tables, past the booths, past those skimpily clad waitresses. Down the corridor past the bar, twenty feet from the exit, fifteen feet, ten feet, when suddenly two men in suits place themselves in my path.
“Excuse me,” says one of the men in English. “If you wouldn’t mind, please come with us.”
In French I tell them I don’t speak English. I tell them I was just leaving.
The man steps closer. “Don’t make this difficult on yourself, Miss Lin. Mr. Xerxes would like to have a word.”
In French I tell them again I don’t speak English. I raise my voice, hoping to draw attention.
The other man, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, places his hand inside his suit jacket. He pulls it out, only slightly, to reveal the butt of his gun.
I glance past them at the exit, only ten feet away. I think about Nova and Philippe waiting outside in the sedan. I think about witnesses. I think about how many seconds it would take the man to fully bring out his gun and what all I could do in that time. I think about my reason for coming here, how I wanted to see Xerxes, to glimpse him, and how now I’ve just been given a personal invitation into his quarters.
I smile and in English say, “All right then, fellas, lead the way.”
Thirty-Nine
A private elevator takes us up to the fifth floor. The suit who showed me the butt of his gun was the one who frisked me. He’d spent a little too much time around my ass and crotch and breasts and when I told him that would be twenty dollars he muttered fuck off.
Now when the elevator doors open he’s the one who steps out first and motions me forward.
The first thing I notice is that the room is large and sparse. A few potted plants, a bar in the corner, and in the middle of the room three plush chairs. Sitting in one of those chairs, right in the middle, is a black man in his forties. He has a handsome face with a sharp goatee.
The second thing I notice as I’m pushed from behind by the other suit is that the floor is glass. No carpet, no wood, no concrete, but glass. It’s broken up in square segments by the steel frames keeping this level supported, and as I walk I remember looking up and seeing only a mirror that reflected the flashing lights and the images of the people on the dance floor.
Despite the head-pounding music playing downstairs, it’s quiet up here. The only sounds are our footsteps on the glass as we approach Xerxes. He watches, a drink in his hand. It doesn’t appear like he’s going to say anything, so I decide to break the silence.
“Nice two-way mirror,” I say, looking down at the club below. “I didn’t take you for a voyeur, but I guess it’s not surprising.”
He wears black dress pants and a pink collared shirt. Not many men can pull off pink, but he manages it swimmingly.
Xerxes keeps watching me for another moment, then smiles. When he speaks, I’m surprised to find he has a British accent.
“I’m glad you approve. I hope my men weren’t unprofessional when they stopped you on your way out.”
Besides the two suits behind me, three other men are stationed around the room. All keep their eyes trained on me.
I jerk my thumb back at the suit behind my left shoulder. “This asshole was a little too fresh when he patted me down. Just so you know, if he ever does it again, I’ll break his fucking nose.”
Xerxes smiles. He glances at the man and raises an eyebrow. “Do you think she has the ability to break your fucking nose, Richard?”
“Who,” the man says, “her?” and as he steps forward and touches my arm, I spin around and jam the heel of my hand into his nose. My intention is not to kill him, so I don’t hit him with my hand raised up which might send bone particles into his brain. Instead, I keep the hand straight, popping him just enough to break the cartilage, and then he’s down on the ground, his hands to his face, blood running down his suit and spreading on the floor.
Already the three men stationed around the room move forward. The suit to my right grabs me.
“You cunt!” the suit on the ground shouts, his mouth full of blood. He starts to stand, reach for his weapon.
“Enough,” Xerxes says loudly. “Richard, she gave you fair warning. You were stupid enough to test her. Now get out of here. You’re making a mess.”
The man keeps one hand to his face, glaring back at me. I can tell he wants to ignore his boss, pull out his weapon, shoot me in
