Stingray stepped into the bar with a few musclebound associates, a .38 revolver stuck in his waistband.
The vision ended.
It felt like a memory. A memory of something that hadn’t happened yet. Inevitable.
While the escape to Coconut Key sounded appealing, I’d never get to the truth without talking to Ray. But Ray wouldn’t talk to me by choice.
I staggered from the couch and crept down the hallway toward Olivia’s room. The door was ajar, and I nudged it open. She was sprawled out on the bed like a dead starfish. It seemed the high-octane margarita had gotten to her as well.
I shuffled back to the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge, coming up with a bottle of water. I twisted the top and slugged down a few gulps, trying to rehydrate.
A bad idea brewed in my head. There was no stopping it. The damn thing kept growing.
I fumbled around the apartment, trying, but not trying, to make enough noise to wake her. I figured she could talk me out of it. But Olivia was on another planet. By 9:30 PM, I had grown hungry and anxious—a bad combination.
I scavenged together a sliced turkey sandwich and stuffed my face. That settled the rumbling in my stomach. I was convinced Olivia could sleep through a nuclear war.
After the sandwich, I was still just as anxious and agitated—the bad idea continuing to fester. I left a note for Olivia, then called for a ride share. When the silver car arrived, I slipped out of the apartment, locked the door behind me, and hustled down the steps to the parking lot. I figured I’d head over to the Cool Cat and confront Ray head-on. What was he going to do? Kill me in a public place? His place? No way. Besides, I had a little street cred. I was a murder suspect. That had to count for something. Don’t mess with me.I. Am. A. Bad ass. At least, that’s the attitude I walked in there with.
Did I mention this was a really bad idea?
44
As far as I knew, I had never been to the Cool Cat Lounge before. It looked exactly as I had pictured it in my vision. It was uncanny, but I chalked it up to the fact that I must have been there at some point in time before.
I stepped into the Cool Cat like it was no big deal. The dim bar had Bordeaux walls and black leather couches and chairs. There was a small stage for live acts—the stage was empty tonight. A couple of wall sconces illuminated the area. The bar had a decent crowd of hoodlums. It was in the wrong part of town. Not a place you really wanted to be in the daylight, much less after dark. It was the kind of place where people got shot in the parking lot for looking at someone the wrong way. A few Harleys were parked out front that nobody dare mess with. R&B filtered through the speakers.
My presence drew a few curious stares.
The sharks got their first hint of blood.
I looked around the club, but didn’t see Ray.
I sauntered up to the bar and squeezed into place. It took a moment to get the bartender’s attention. In a casual voice, I said, “Is he around?”
I hoped the familiar tone would convey that I knew Ray.
The bartender wasn’t having any of it. “Is who around?“
“Ray.”
He scoffed. “How do you know Ray?”
“How does anybody know Ray?”
He sized me up, his lecherous eyes drinking in my form. I made sure to push the girls out and keep them on display. It’s amazing how many IQ points a man can lose with the proper motivation. “He’s in the back.”
I smiled. “Thanks, sugar.”
I strutted across the club with a sense of accomplishment, weaving through a few patrons to a back hallway that led to the restrooms, the office, and a storage area, among other things.
A placard labeled the office as such.
After a quick rap on the door, I twisted the handle and pushed it open.
Ray sucked up the last of a line of cocaine from a small glass mirror on his desk. His angry eyes flared at me, and his cheeks reddened. “Who the fuck are you?”
His predatory eyes narrowed with recognition after a beat.
