Zoe could only smile as she left. There was no way to know what was waiting for her at that address.
As she walked on the sidewalk toward the car, her eyes started scanning the darkness. Paranoia was settling in, whether she wanted it or not. Unsure which car belonged to Mrs. Lupe, Zoe pressed the unlock button to identify it. The blinking lights were those of a silver Mercedes, fully equipped, gleaming under the streetlights.
Zoe whistled softly, but there was no time to admire the fine engine. Getting in, she set the GPS and drove off.
The road was easy at this time of night, and she made good time, according to her GPS. The route wasn’t that complicated, either. However, by the sights around her, there was no doubt that she was entering another type of Chicago, darker, poorer and definitely with an air of danger. The feeling reminded her of when she’d accompanied a convoy in certain parts of Iraq. Not visually, but the feeling that slithered inside her gut. It appeared somewhat civilized, but she wasn’t fooled. Anxiety rose, not because of the meet, but because of the car! What if the car was damaged, or worse?
Pushing that thought away after deciding that she could withdraw her pension plan to reimburse it if anything happened, Zoe started checking the buildings. A difficult task as the lighting was scarce, until she realized that the address was probably those great big blinking lights of a tit bar called El Diablo.Great, just great. Finch was trying to get her killed, raped, skinned, or whatever they did in this place. One thing for sure, she wasn’t going to strip.
Parking near the entrance, Zoe decided against locking the doors, it would look like she was afraid. Not that she wasn’t, but...
Walking straight and determined, she headed for the front door. There were loads of bikes and many men at the door smoking, with almost completely naked women hanging from them like monkeys. As she passed by, Zoe heard lewd comments in Spanish, but at least they kept their hands to themselves. Going through the entrance and in front of a stunned doorman, who clearly didn’t know what do to with her, music hit her like a wall, like the smell of weed smoke and cheap sex.
“Well, Zoe, you’re in, now time to find the Hellhound.” She looked around and, at the other end of the place, there was a large bar beside a stage. Strewn around her were old sofas surrounding mini stages with single poles. To her right, was a large curtain where patrons went in with the girls. The walls were a shade of dirty red and half-lit neon lights. The place wasn’t quite packed, but there were still quite a lot of people here. Her phone told her that it was twenty before eleven. But who was Hellhound? After her eyes got accustomed to the flashing strobes, it seemed that the place was mostly frequented by Hispanics, both the men and the dancers. No redheads for sure.
Zoe made her way to the bar that was quite deserted, except for the barman, a man in his fifties, preparing the orders from the waitresses. Waiting, she sat on a stool until the man with the handlebar mustache caught a glimpse of her. His double take was almost comical, Zoe wasn’t in the mood; her self-preservation mode in overdrive. Carefully, he approached and put his elbow on the counter.
“I don’t care what wager you made with your girlfriends,Chica, it’s not worth it. Get out before it gets ugly.”
If only! “No wager, I’m looking for someone.”
“I know nobody.”
Undeterred, she continued. “I’m looking for the Hellhound.” That made the impression she hoped for. The man gaped at her and quickly closed his mouth. Then, he started a string of curses that would have made even Mrs. Lupe blush.
“Cursing won’t make me leave. I have an appointment at eleven, I’m staying until then. And having a drink.” Her mind wandered toward rum for a flash and decided why not. “Rum, please.”
She must have looked determined enough because the barman sighed and served her. Music boomed behind her, and the DJ announced some dancer, followed by cheers and catcalls. The crowd moved like a beast, but she didn’t dare look, her eyes on her drink, swirling the dark liquid in the glass, over and over again as if the meaning of life was in it.
Someone came to stand beside her before sitting down, and she sighed, glancing up at the clock over the bar. It wasn’t eleven yet, so this was only but an annoyance.
“The purpose of rum is to drink it.”
How lucky for her to find Einstein in a strip club. Not even turning her head, Zoe shrugged. “No need to test your pickup lines, I’m not here for that.”
The stranger waited a beat. “If you came here to sell a car, I will be royally pissed.”
Sell a car?
Zoe turned her head to look at the man talking to her. A breathtaking specimen of a man. Definitely Hispanic with deep brown hair combed back and dark, swirling irises. He had quite an impressive built, one she found similar to the soldiers she’d worked with. Not from pushing iron, but from much more strenuous work. His black shirt was rolled up on his arms, revealing honed muscles and ink. A lot of ink covering his forearms and part of his hands. Some of it snaked out of his collar too. He was gang-related, no doubt about it. However, Zoe knew almost nothing about those symbols. She would probably have an easier time telling soldiers or sailors apart by bars and medals than by looking at the man’s tattoos.
“What car? What are you talking about?”
Handsome turned into fury as he bashed his fist into the counter making her jump.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. You stole a car!”
Zoe gaped. “I didn’t steal anything, you dumbass! Now get lost.”
She returned to her glass, tired of being threatened. Instead of frightening her now, it made her want to bash something. Good!
In a swift movement, he grabbed her stool and turned it, so she was facing him. Each of his arms trapped her and his face was so close, it took a moment to make the focus behind her glasses.
“You. Stole. A. Car. Admit it.”
“Stop. Spitting. In. My. Glasses. Moron.” She tried to push the wall of muscle, but he was a brick wall. “I didn’t steal anything and you’re a lunatic!”
“The car you came in with is my aunt’s. What do you say about that?”
