Aaron’s forearm, but in his current lock on the guy’s neck, no amount of force could budge it.
“Wrong answer,” Aaron said.
The DJ moved away from his music panel.
Aaron turned fast and addressed the wiry man. “Don’t!”
The DJ stopped.
“Sit!” Aaron ordered through clenched teeth as he released the airway of the man in his arms. The DJ dropped and sat in the corner of his little booth. The man in Aaron’s arms coughed and gagged until he got his breathing back under control.
Something loud banged in the bar area.
“What was that?” Aaron yelled. He couldn’t have this fall apart. He needed to stay anonymous because he knew this wouldn’t go over well if his attempted murder trial jury heard about him attacking a strip club and using his obvious talents, yet again, to subdue and hurt members of the public. It would frighten the jury to have him on the street.
“Nothing,” Daniel answered. “We found a waitress in the bathroom. She’s cool now.”
“Okay.”
Aaron forced down a gag at the smell coming off the large bouncer.
Of all the customers they ordered out of the building, one of them would have called the cops by now. He figured he probably had five minutes or less. He needed answers before time ran out. “Tell me what you know. Speak now, or down you go.”
“Okay, okay,” the bouncer said.
“Good boy. Start talking.”
The bouncer cleared his throat. “Fuck you.”
“Wrong answer.”
Aaron increased the pressure of his grip. The bouncer fought hard, his hands clawing at Aaron’s forearm, but Aaron held firm. In less than a minute, the bouncer was out, as if sleeping off a drunk. He released him and stood.
“Your turn,” he said.
The DJ put up both hands in protest. “No, please don’t.”
“How old are you?” Aaron asked standing over the DJ.
“Nineteen.”
Aaron saw a small puddle forming under the kid.
He just pissed himself.
“Were you working three nights ago?”
The kid nodded hard and fast.
“Who was here? What happened? Did you know my sister, Joanne Stevens?”
He nodded again.
“Speak.”
“A rich man with an accent came in here looking for the Weeks brothers. He said he was their friend and said he was told by Frank Weeks to enjoy the pleasures of the dancers that the Weeks brothers used routinely. Your sister,” he leaned away, as if expecting a smack, “and Jan Elliot were always with the Weeks brothers. Both girls were bought for the week by the rich guy. As I understand it, they agreed to a price with the owner here and both dancers left with him. I heard they were taking them on a cruise or some shit.”
“What was the rich guy’s accent?”
“I think it was British.”
Somewhere at the back of the club, Aaron heard another loud crash.
“What was that?” Aaron shouted, frustration in his voice. He felt like he was all nerves. The pressure of incoming police versus the need to find out what happened to his sister made him feel heady with the rush.
“Don’t know,” Daniel shouted back. “I’ll go check it out.”
Aaron stepped away from the spreading urine. “Anything else?” he asked the DJ.
The DJ shook his head.
“Think. What else can you tell me about the rich guy?”
“Nothing. He was loaded. Dropped a lot of cash and left with the two dancers. He had, like, an entourage with him. Two mean-looking guys watching everything. That’s it.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Like I fucking know. You think I memorize everybody in and out of here?”
The kid has a point.
“Joanne’s dead now.”
The kid’s eyes widened. Then they filled with tears. “You serious, man? No way. No fucking way.”
“Very serious. And I think that British asshole did it. Be ready. The police are going to come asking questions because it’s a murder
“Wrong answer,” Aaron said.
The DJ moved away from his music panel.
Aaron turned fast and addressed the wiry man. “Don’t!”
The DJ stopped.
“Sit!” Aaron ordered through clenched teeth as he released the airway of the man in his arms. The DJ dropped and sat in the corner of his little booth. The man in Aaron’s arms coughed and gagged until he got his breathing back under control.
Something loud banged in the bar area.
“What was that?” Aaron yelled. He couldn’t have this fall apart. He needed to stay anonymous because he knew this wouldn’t go over well if his attempted murder trial jury heard about him attacking a strip club and using his obvious talents, yet again, to subdue and hurt members of the public. It would frighten the jury to have him on the street.
“Nothing,” Daniel answered. “We found a waitress in the bathroom. She’s cool now.”
“Okay.”
Aaron forced down a gag at the smell coming off the large bouncer.
Of all the customers they ordered out of the building, one of them would have called the cops by now. He figured he probably had five minutes or less. He needed answers before time ran out. “Tell me what you know. Speak now, or down you go.”
“Okay, okay,” the bouncer said.
“Good boy. Start talking.”
The bouncer cleared his throat. “Fuck you.”
“Wrong answer.”
Aaron increased the pressure of his grip. The bouncer fought hard, his hands clawing at Aaron’s forearm, but Aaron held firm. In less than a minute, the bouncer was out, as if sleeping off a drunk. He released him and stood.
“Your turn,” he said.
The DJ put up both hands in protest. “No, please don’t.”
“How old are you?” Aaron asked standing over the DJ.
“Nineteen.”
Aaron saw a small puddle forming under the kid.
He just pissed himself.
“Were you working three nights ago?”
The kid nodded hard and fast.
“Who was here? What happened? Did you know my sister, Joanne Stevens?”
He nodded again.
“Speak.”
“A rich man with an accent came in here looking for the Weeks brothers. He said he was their friend and said he was told by Frank Weeks to enjoy the pleasures of the dancers that the Weeks brothers used routinely. Your sister,” he leaned away, as if expecting a smack, “and Jan Elliot were always with the Weeks brothers. Both girls were bought for the week by the rich guy. As I understand it, they agreed to a price with the owner here and both dancers left with him. I heard they were taking them on a cruise or some shit.”
“What was the rich guy’s accent?”
“I think it was British.”
Somewhere at the back of the club, Aaron heard another loud crash.
“What was that?” Aaron shouted, frustration in his voice. He felt like he was all nerves. The pressure of incoming police versus the need to find out what happened to his sister made him feel heady with the rush.
“Don’t know,” Daniel shouted back. “I’ll go check it out.”
Aaron stepped away from the spreading urine. “Anything else?” he asked the DJ.
The DJ shook his head.
“Think. What else can you tell me about the rich guy?”
“Nothing. He was loaded. Dropped a lot of cash and left with the two dancers. He had, like, an entourage with him. Two mean-looking guys watching everything. That’s it.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Like I fucking know. You think I memorize everybody in and out of here?”
The kid has a point.
“Joanne’s dead now.”
The kid’s eyes widened. Then they filled with tears. “You serious, man? No way. No fucking way.”
“Very serious. And I think that British asshole did it. Be ready. The police are going to come asking questions because it’s a murder
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