the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) by Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell Page A
Authors: Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
Ads: Link
I told the SWAT commander.
"I should do that," Hitch volunteered.
"Except I'm senior man," I told him. Til keep my phone on and call you with any intel."
He nodded and I relocated my recently purchased Springfield XD(M) automatic pistol from its hip holster to the small of my back where it was easy to grab. The gun fired 9 mm parabellums with nineteen in the magazine, one in the chamber. I was glad I'd changed weapons.
I dialed Hitchs cell, left the line open so he could hear, then ambled across the street and walked lazily into The Manhole strip club to see if I could get a visual on our triple murder suspect.
Chapter 19.
The early evening set at a strip club was usually a case of the new, the old, and the ugly. It tended to be a tryout session for dancers on the way up and sympathy work for those on the way out. Even so, it s hard to put 011 an enthusiastic show when nobody is paying attention.
Two semi-bored strippers were working poles, hanging like meat in an outdoor market. They spun around lazily, occasionally arching their backs to the four-four beat of the country western music playing through the bad sound system.
The clientele was a bunch of white guys in John Deere hats. Most had sun-reddened complexions, tattoo-laden loading-dock arms, and padded waistlines. Two waitresses wearing black vests, bikini bottoms, and heels wandered around the almost empty club carrying trays.
All ten or twelve people in here would have to be removed before SWAT did the takedown. I'd have to find a way to get the half-drunk guys out without starting a head-butt festival. I didn't see Karel Sladky anywhere and hoped he hadn't been tipped by the bartender and skipped.
The guy behind the stick was an angry-looking asshole with a shaved head and water buffalo shoulders. He was watching a football game on a small TV with the sound muted under the bar top. I was sure he had some sawed-off crowd-control equipment hidden down there a bat or a 12-gauge.
I snagged a menu off one of the tables, removed my police ID from its case, and slipped it inside. Then I took a position on the far end of the bar away from the other customers. When the bartender came over to take my order I handed him the menu.
"Surprise inside," I told him.
He opened it, looked at my creds, then closed the menu and handed it back.
"I'm looking for Karel Sladky."
"Yeah. I got a call from one of your sergeants about him an hour ago."
"Since he's not in here, I'm hoping nobody alerted him. He's a suspect in a triple murder."
"He's back there." The bartender pointed to a curtain.
"Manager's office?"
"There's a cot," he said. "Ever since Karel's old lady threw him out, Brad's been letting him use it. I think Karel and Brad got some kind of drug business going out on the corner. They bag the chronic back there, but you didn't hear it from me."
"Okay. We're gonna need to empty this place without making a b ig deal out of it."
"Unplug the music and close off the liquor," he said. "They don't come for the atmosphere. The waitresses and the dancers, I'll take care of."
"Want to do that for me?"
"No, but I guess I don't have no choice."
He walked over and shut off the music. The girls who were on the poles swung around to look at him, holding on like tree monkeys as they waited for the music to start up again.
"That the end of my set, Lou?" one of them finally called.
"Yep," he said. "Bar's closed." Then he turned to the guys at the tables. "You guys finish up and get out."
A few of the John Deeres knocked back their shots, got up and left. One by one the rest drifted out. I found a place at the back of the bar and, after the dancers and waitresses were gone, I spoke to Hitch.
"Okay, everybody's out. The bartender's locking the register and coming out with me. He says Sladky's in the manager's office."
"SWAT is ready," Hitch said. "The lieutenant watch commander from the Hollywood station just got here, so we're good to go. They want you out. Because of
"I should do that," Hitch volunteered.
"Except I'm senior man," I told him. Til keep my phone on and call you with any intel."
He nodded and I relocated my recently purchased Springfield XD(M) automatic pistol from its hip holster to the small of my back where it was easy to grab. The gun fired 9 mm parabellums with nineteen in the magazine, one in the chamber. I was glad I'd changed weapons.
I dialed Hitchs cell, left the line open so he could hear, then ambled across the street and walked lazily into The Manhole strip club to see if I could get a visual on our triple murder suspect.
Chapter 19.
The early evening set at a strip club was usually a case of the new, the old, and the ugly. It tended to be a tryout session for dancers on the way up and sympathy work for those on the way out. Even so, it s hard to put 011 an enthusiastic show when nobody is paying attention.
Two semi-bored strippers were working poles, hanging like meat in an outdoor market. They spun around lazily, occasionally arching their backs to the four-four beat of the country western music playing through the bad sound system.
The clientele was a bunch of white guys in John Deere hats. Most had sun-reddened complexions, tattoo-laden loading-dock arms, and padded waistlines. Two waitresses wearing black vests, bikini bottoms, and heels wandered around the almost empty club carrying trays.
All ten or twelve people in here would have to be removed before SWAT did the takedown. I'd have to find a way to get the half-drunk guys out without starting a head-butt festival. I didn't see Karel Sladky anywhere and hoped he hadn't been tipped by the bartender and skipped.
The guy behind the stick was an angry-looking asshole with a shaved head and water buffalo shoulders. He was watching a football game on a small TV with the sound muted under the bar top. I was sure he had some sawed-off crowd-control equipment hidden down there a bat or a 12-gauge.
I snagged a menu off one of the tables, removed my police ID from its case, and slipped it inside. Then I took a position on the far end of the bar away from the other customers. When the bartender came over to take my order I handed him the menu.
"Surprise inside," I told him.
He opened it, looked at my creds, then closed the menu and handed it back.
"I'm looking for Karel Sladky."
"Yeah. I got a call from one of your sergeants about him an hour ago."
"Since he's not in here, I'm hoping nobody alerted him. He's a suspect in a triple murder."
"He's back there." The bartender pointed to a curtain.
"Manager's office?"
"There's a cot," he said. "Ever since Karel's old lady threw him out, Brad's been letting him use it. I think Karel and Brad got some kind of drug business going out on the corner. They bag the chronic back there, but you didn't hear it from me."
"Okay. We're gonna need to empty this place without making a b ig deal out of it."
"Unplug the music and close off the liquor," he said. "They don't come for the atmosphere. The waitresses and the dancers, I'll take care of."
"Want to do that for me?"
"No, but I guess I don't have no choice."
He walked over and shut off the music. The girls who were on the poles swung around to look at him, holding on like tree monkeys as they waited for the music to start up again.
"That the end of my set, Lou?" one of them finally called.
"Yep," he said. "Bar's closed." Then he turned to the guys at the tables. "You guys finish up and get out."
A few of the John Deeres knocked back their shots, got up and left. One by one the rest drifted out. I found a place at the back of the bar and, after the dancers and waitresses were gone, I spoke to Hitch.
"Okay, everybody's out. The bartender's locking the register and coming out with me. He says Sladky's in the manager's office."
"SWAT is ready," Hitch said. "The lieutenant watch commander from the Hollywood station just got here, so we're good to go. They want you out. Because of
Similar Books
