Against the Night. Kat Martin

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      Three

      Johnnie arrived at Cisco’s Cantina a little after eleven the following night. The bar, decorated in a south of the border style with cactus painted on the walls and leather-covered tables and chairs, was crowded. The clientele was mostly white-collar, lawyers and secretaries, corporate types and office assistants, a lot of men in designer jeans. The drinks were only moderately expensive and at this time of night, the lights were turned low.

       Johnnie was there to meet DEA special agent Kent Wheeler, who had been working for years to build a case against a high-level drug dealer named Carlos Ortega, one of the major players in the San Dimas cartel. Over the years, Johnnie and Wheeler had helped each other a number of times and tonight was no exception.

       “I appreciate your call,” Wheeler said, joining him at the bar, a lean, athletically built man with slightly receding brown hair and a pale complexion. Johnnie had left a message on the agent’s cell phone that he had information Wheeler might need. “What have you got?”

       “Might be nothing, but my guy’s pretty reliable. I had Ty Brodie helping me with surveillance on a guy whose wife wanted to find out if he was cheating. According to Ty, turns out the husband wasn’t screwing around. He’s into some major shit with the San Dimas cartel.”

       Wheeler whistled softly. “Got a name?”

       “Joseph Pandaro. Ty picked up on some of the guy’s conversation with a couple of lowlifes down at The Cave. Heard them talking about a big load of coke coming into the San Pedro docks the end of the month.”

       Wheeler was nodding. “We’ve been hearing rumors, nothing specific.”

       “He didn’t get a date, but it’s sometime in the next few weeks.”

       “Anything else?”

       Johnnie shook his head. “I pulled the kid off the case. He’s ex-military, tough as nails, but he doesn’t have the street savvy to deal with thugs like those.”

       Wheeler took a sip of his drink, nearly as untouched as Johnnie’s beer. “Thanks, I really appreciate the info.”

       “Just remember where you got it. I may need a favor sometime.”

       It was quid pro quo, and both of them knew it. As a GS-13, the highest rank in the DEA, Wheeler was a powerhouse and dedicated to the service. At the moment, Johnnie didn’t need anything from him, but there would likely be a time when he would.

       From Cisco’s, Johnnie climbed into his black Ford Mustang G.T. and fired up the powerful V-8 engine. He’d just bought the car, his pride and joy, a couple of months ago, black leather interior, 412 horsepower, 5.0 engine. Plus, he’d had a mechanic friend of his soup it up even more. The beast could really move. The car and his Harley Sportster helped him do his job and have a little fun while he was at it.

       He eased the car into the traffic moving down Sunset, taking in the crowds prowling the sidewalks and the laughter and music spilling out of the clubs crowded together on each block. He wasn’t ready to go back to his apartment up the hill. Not yet.

       His destination lay ahead. Just past La Cienega, he turned into the parking lot next to the Kitty Cat Club and slipped the car in one of the empty spaces. There was something he needed inside and it wasn’t a bottle of beer. Though he’d probably have to settle for that again tonight.

       He climbed out of the Mustang, locked the car and sauntered toward the door leading into the club. The music was blasting, a steady hard-rock beat. The redhead he had seen the other night was dancing onstage. He glanced around, spotted his quarry even before he reached what was lately becoming his regular table at the back of the room.

       Angel’s gaze collided with his and she nearly dropped her tray. Damn, she was cute. Johnnie winked at her and smiled, sat down at the table, leaned back and waited.

       Amy forced her legs to keep moving. She felt like an idiot. One glance at the man in the snug black T-shirt and she turned into a bumbling fool. As she walked past Babs, her friend raised a hand and wiggled the tips of her fingers.

       “Still owe me that five bucks, kiddo. Tonight, I intend to collect.”

       “Okay, I owe you, but that doesn’t mean he’s here tonight for me.”

       Babs just rolled her eyes and kept walking. Riggs was sitting in Amy’s section. There was no way to avoid him. She took a calming breath, forced a note of cool into her demeanor and started toward his table in the back.

       She pasted on a smile. “Welcome back to the Kitty Cat Club, Mr. Riggs. What would you like to drink?”

       A corner of his mouth edged up. He had the sexiest mouth. “You know my name. That means you asked. That’s good. It’s even better if you call me Johnnie.”

       Her mouth went dry. “Johnnie. All right, what can I get for you…Johnnie?”

       “Bud Light.” His gaze slowly took in every inch of her body. Her stomach swirled as she turned and walked toward the bar to get his beer. She delivered drinks to a table on her way to his, then set the Bud Light bottle down in front of him.

       “Thanks.” He tipped his head toward a girl named Ruby, who gyrated in a G-string, performing a lap dance for a customer sitting at a table not far away from his. “You do lap dances?”

       Amy’s hand trembled and she had to take a better grip on her tray. “No…I’m, uh, I’m kind of new at this.” Tate had suggested she wait until she was more comfortable with the customers. Her plan was not to do them at all.

       “That so…? How about doing one for me?” He was leaning back in his chair, those powerful arms crossed over his massive chest. He could have been wearing sunglasses for all she could read in those dark, dark eyes.

       “They…umm…cost fifty dollars,” she said, hoping the price would dissuade him.

       “Private costs seventy-five. That’s what I want.”

       Her breath stalled. “That’s a lot of money.” The dancer got a percentage, a way to make extra cash.

       “Think you’re worth it?”

       “I don’t…don’t know…”

       His smile came slow and easy and it made her skin feel hot. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I think you’d be worth every dime.”

       Her legs were shaking. “Even…even if I said I would, you know you can’t touch me.” There were rules about what she could and couldn’t do, how far she was allowed to go. What the customer could and couldn’t do. She wasn’t a prostitute, after all, she was a dancer.

       Well, actually, she was a kindergarten teacher, but he didn’t know that.