Page 46 of Trip Through Your Wires

But as I look back to the man, any reservation and hesitation fades, as an eerie calm settles over me. Like the moment you reach the top of the lift on a rollercoaster before the car plunges down the tracks. Whatever waits for me I’m ready.

When you run from something as long as I have, there is always that kernel of a possibility it will one day catch up with you. If it is time for me to be held accountable for what I did last summer, and I walk into that building and never come out, then so be it. It’s better than a lifetime of looking over my shoulder.

I make my way toward the steps, keeping a safe distance from the gap-toothed man, and when I reach the top, bright lights and cool air greets me. A tall, bald man, worked out to the point of absurdity greets me, and motions for me to come inside.

I cross the threshold and when I do, my mouth falls open as I take in the space around me. A black lacquer floor, polished to an impossible shine, extends as far as the eye can see, and the ceiling is made up of mirrors, cleaned to an impossible clarity. A gentle bassline drifts out of a speakers mounted and the smell of cigars and whiskey linger in the air. It’s a club. All be damned.

“Come on,” gap-tooth creeper snarls as he leads me past a sleek bar, coming to a stop at a booth with black leather seats. “Sit, Richardson will be out momentarily.”

As I sink down in the booth’s smooth seating and look around, I’m reminded of a rumor I’d heard once in high school. About a place whose location no one could pinpoint, yet details of what went on inside were whispered as if witnessed first-hand.

A red velvet curtain that ran along the back wall was the backdrop to a stage in the shape of a horseshoe where girls danced and money rained. While a sleek infinite bar, with bottles lined up like jewels, was staffed by bartenders that poured drinks freely.

This had to be the place because what I’m seeing is those whispers brought to life. But who owned it, and furthermore, how on earth did a place like this exist in the middle of a swamp without anyone knowing?

“Ms. Miller,” Langston Richardson’s voice curls around my curiosity. “Glad you could make it.”

I turn around quickly, surprised to find him standing next to the booth. But the man I see now, is a contrast to the one who came into the store earlier. He’s wearing black slacks, button up shirt, and a gold Rolex, and his hair is slicked back. It’s a far cry from the Elmhurst dress code of polo shirts, chinos, and deck shoes.

Sliding into the booth across from me, he drapes one hand along the back, while tapping the index finger of his other hand on the table. “How was your drive?”

“Long,” I reply crisply, wanting to cut to the chase. “Why did you bring me all the way out here?”

“Now, Ms. Miller, I did not bring you out here. You came, willingly, of your own volition.”

“Screw you,” I bite out. “You know what I mean.”

He dips his head back and laughs. “Such fire,” he smiles when he brings it back up. “You will do just fine here.”

“I won’t take that as a compliment, seeing as I do not plan to be here long.”

Richardson looks up at the gap tooth man, who is standing next to him at attention. “Dane, please fetch the folder I requested?”

Toothy flashes him a broken grin. “You got it, boss.”

“Dane?” I laugh. “Isn’t that a dog?”

He narrows his eyes and starts to respond, but Richardson holds up a hand, stopping him. “Now.”

He nods but says nothing, and I think about what toothy called him. “Boss?” I arch a brow. “So you run this place?”

“I own it.” He looks around admiringly.

“A club owner?” I roll my eyes. “How novel.”

“It is not just a club,” he corrects, turning his attention back to me. “It is an empire.”

I press my lips together, unimpressed. “And it’s all the way out here why?”

“Discretion,” he says matter of fact. “Our clientele requires the highest level of caution and security.”

The way he says it makes my skin prick. I look around again, taking note of the gleaming barware and lush fabrics. This is a place for those who like the finer things, including those who grace that stage in front of us.

“A gentleman’s club,” I say with confirmation.

He snaps and points. “Give the girl a prize.”

This man is a louse. Scratch that, this son of a bitch is a piece of shit, just like his son. I push up, ready to tell him as much, when Dane the Dick returns, holding a folder.

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