Page 12 of Passions in Death
“You go on home now, Pete.” Crack patted his back. “You take yourself another soother or whatever you need, and get some sleep.”
“I’m afraid I’ll see her in my sleep.”
“You saw her dancing on the table,” Eve reminded him. “Put that in front. See her like that.”
“I’ll try.”
Crack waited until Pete walked out. “Gonna mess him up for a while, but he’ll get through it. I’ll get you Wade’s name and all, but I’m saying he’s a player, smooth with it, and sex is his game. Don’t see him killing anybody.”
“Have to check those boxes.”
“Got that. You want Shauna now?”
“I’ll go to her, but I want Peabody with me. One thing. You’ve got a back exit. People can get in that way. No security there?”
Crack shrugged. “We got no cover. Make the scratch on the drinks, privacy tables, and rooms. I don’t care how people come in, as long as they cough up the scratch. When we’ve got live music and a slamming crowd, Big Tiny and I rotate off the door to bounce any assholes out. I don’t bring him in on slow nights.”
“One more. No monitor for unsecured privacy doors?”
Now he sighed. “I got the e’s for that right under the bar, and another in my office. I missed it. Texting with Ro, maybe. If I’d caught it, I’d’ve gone back and spared that boy the trauma.
“You think he came in the back?”
“It’s my most probable at this time.”
“Fuck it. I guess I gotta break down and put a cam on the back door.” He glanced over. “I guess he’s the one to ask about it.”
She turned, watched Roarke walk back to the bar.
“No tampering,” he said, then looked at Crack. “My friend, I know you keep the doors unsecured during club hours, but Christ Jesus, you need better security than what you have when you’re closed. A toddler could get through your locks.”
“Nobody does ’cause they know who owns the place.” His lips spread in a wide, fierce grin. “But we’re going to do just that. How about you work something up for me?”
“I’ll do that.”
“No cams on the front. The bulk of our clientele’s going to find someplace else to patronize we get cams on the front door.”
“Why don’t I work something up that won’t show, even to that clientele.”
“You got something like that?”
“He’s got every-damn-thing,” Eve said.
“You work it up. Want me to take you back to Shauna?”
“Give me a few.”
When Eve rose, walked over to Peabody, Roarke sat.
“Any whiskey in stock that won’t burn through my esophagus?”
Crack smiled again. “I got my private stash of the good stuff.”
“I’ll take three fingers of that, if you’ll join me.”
When McNab joined them, Crack lifted the bottle. “Whiskey? It’s the good stuff.”
McNab sent a longing look at the label. “It sure as hell is. The Scot in me says, ‘Set me up, mate.’ But I’m a cop on duty. I don’t guess you’ve got any fizzies.”
