Messenger of Death by Alex Markman Page A

intimidating all. Journalists had been talking a
lot about how their power and influence seemed to be increasing, as
well as how the police department seemed unable to cope with them.
Camilla had not, however, seen anything that frightening. With
Stanley, she felt very safe; who, after all, would threaten such a
powerful man? He seemed smart enough not to endanger his life, nor
to harm anyone without a specific reason.
    When he came to
pick her up, she felt nothing but pleasant excitement. On the way
to the club, when the car stopped at traffic lights, they exchanged
smiles and occasional kisses.
    “Please don’t
close your eyes when I kiss you,” she said.
    They entered a
quiet street.
    “Never mind,
we’re here,” Stanley said. His sleek Mercedes rolled up to a
sliding gate that was built into a fence, which ran from both sides
of a weird two-story building. There was no entrance door on its
front, but nothing else could be seen through the tall, brick
fence. The gate began its slow slide to the right, giving way to a
large parking lot. Only three cars were inside; the remaining space
was taken up by shiny Harley Davidsons. A man in a biker’s vest
waved Stanley to a vacant spot. Camilla noticed two Rottweilers
running along the inside of the fence. They were on leashes
attached to a cable by a metal ring, which limited their movement
to a narrow path along the fence.
    Zigzagging her
way between motorcycles, Camilla noticed the entrance to the
building. It faced the parking lot, where a back door was supposed
to be. Stanley led her inside, through a small lobby and into a
spacious hall with a long bar along the opposite wall. The crowd
around it sent up a roaring cheer when Stanley appeared at the
entrance. A man in his middle forties, with a neatly groomed beard
and short hair, blocked their way. His well-fitting blue shirt and
pants emphasized his athletic shape.
    “This is our
president, Willy,” Stanley said, and then, turning to Willy, he
added, “This is Camilla.”
    “So, here she
is,” Willy nodded. “I’ve heard about you.”
    He shook
Camilla’s hand with a rather strange look on his face: His lips
stretched in an inviting smile, but they contrasted with frozen,
suspicious, piercing blue eyes. A moment later, the wrinkles on his
forehead smoothed out when his eyes took a quick rollercoaster ride
on the feminine curves of her body.
    “Have fun,” he
said to her, waving his hand toward the bar. “We have plenty of
everything.” He gave Stanley a brief hug and winked at him in
recognition of his choice of girlfriend. Stanley led Camilla
through a short corridor to another spacious hall. This one held
plenty of cozy chairs and coffee tables, mostly arranged along its
walls. All of them had been taken, but one was vacated as soon as
Stanley stopped by.
    “It’s a weird
place,” Camilla said.
    “Why?”
    “All windows
face the parking lot; none look out on the street.”
    “There is
another set of rooms, whose windows face the street,” Stanley said.
“You have to go through that door to get there. But the door is
locked.”
    “Why?”
    “Just a
precaution.”
    “Precaution
against what?”
    “Never mind.
What would you like to drink?”
    “What do you
have?”
    “Everything.”
    “Baileys,
then.”
    “Just a sec. I
will be right back.” When Stanley left for the drinks, she listened
to the crowd. Splashes of laughter and agitated shouts soared from
time to time above the murmur of many conversations. She decided to
sit down and look around.
    A few guys had
the unpleasant look of hoodlums, but the majority appeared to be
quite normal people. She wouldn’t have singled any one of them out
as a suspicious or unwelcome guest at one of her medical school
parties. Four men wore formal biker vests, with patches on the back
showing all the insignia of their club. Women hustled about,
drinking and smiling, talking with men nearby, excited by the very
fact that they were there. Some of them