Jack Palms Crime Series: Books 1-3: Jack Palms Crime Box Set 1 (Jack Palms Box Sets)

by Seth Harwood

  As Jack and the Czechs make their way through the velvet ropes, he turns to one of the other bouncers, a short guy with an earpiece attached to his head. “How’d you guys get this place ready to open again after last night?” Jack asks him.

  He looks at Jack like Jack’s just done something wrong, points inside with his finger like he’s showing him the way to go, as if it wasn’t abundantly clear already. He shakes his head.

  Inside, Jack asks the girl at the register the same question. She lifts her shoulders. “I been wondering that myself. Somebody must have some good connections and pull with the boys downtown.”

  “That and some fast contractors,” Jack says.

  She shakes her head. “Most of it’s not even fixed yet. They just put up plastic over the broken glass. People love that shit!”

  “Right,” Jack says, and he thinks about his own connections on the force, wonders whether Sergeant Hopkins would want to know where he is. “There’s no way they’d come bust this place two nights in a row, right?”

  The girl laughs. She smiles while she takes a handful of twenties from the Czechs, and then points them through a set of velvet curtains.

  “That better not be coming out of my cut,” Jack jokes.

  “Oh, no,” David says. “We have for you at the hotel.”

  Jack nods. “Good.” He wants to call Hopkins, find out for sure that there’s not going to be any bust here tonight, but he can’t try making a call now that they’re inside. It’s just too loud.

  They’re coming out into the big dance room. It looks a lot like it did last night—kids and glow sticks, a very similar brand of deafening music, a few people dancing above the crowd on high platforms, the area above them on the balcony level—but now it seems twice as crowded and the people look like knockoff copies of the previous clubbers: as if this set wants to be the ones who were here last night, the people they’ve just read about in the newspaper, and they’re trying their hardest to fit what they imagine those people to be. But with only a day to get their shit together, they look just slightly out of touch, a little behind the others. Jack can see it in their pants fitting a little tighter, their sneakers somehow not looking as fresh; fewer people are dancing. Jack’s not much of a connoisseur of these things, but the extra effort shows around the edges, even to the eyes of someone as out of touch as he’s become.

  Another difference is that with Jack’s deafness, the music seems less loud. There’s definitely something less infecting about tonight’s beats.

  Vlade comes up close to Jack and pulls his shoulder down to speak into his ear. “That man outside. The one who looks different is KGB.”

  “You sure?”

  “I am sure. He is KGB.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Vlade shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I guess it is bad.”

  “Nice.” Jack walks back out through the entrance and to the girl who took their money. Here the music is less encompassing, quiet enough that he can ask her, “Where can I find Tony Vitelli?”

  She shakes her head. “Tony’s around. I seen him tonight. But I can’t say where he’ll be.”

  “He’s here, though?”

  She nods.

  “Then I’ll find him.”

  Back inside, moving through the tight press of bodies to catch up with the Czechs, Jack looks around: Up above them, Junius will probably be on the balcony, and Jack wants to talk with him first to see where he stands in it all.

  He looks around for Tony: The walls of the place are painted black, so with the flashing lights, kids, and the various bars spread around the dance areas, Jack has a hard time seeing the perimeter of the room. But looking for a while, he makes out the few guys stationed here and there with wires in their ears—these are the security. They look far more serious than the bouncers outside, other than the asshole who would only point Jack in one direction. These guys aren’t dressed for the chill air or for clubbing. They wear black, which makes them even harder to see, but they’re there when you look hard enough. Jack counts five.

  He starts to make his way toward the balcony with the Czechs. Up above he can already see that some of the walls are covered with plastic sheets where the mirrors used to be. “You don’t think they’d bust this place two nights in a row, do you?” Jack asks Niki. “That’d have to be bad for business.”

  Niki doesn’t respond, but Jack is starting to believe in people thinking it’s cool to be at a club that just got busted. For them it’s a major change from the ordinary, the standard weekend and then going back to work on Monday. But for him it’s not cool, more of last night’s mess, and to be on the safe side, Jack takes his cell phone out of his pocket and tries to work the text message feature. It’s not something he’s familiar with—why he would use it other than when he’s in a loud club, he’s not sure—but with a few attempts he manages to find Mills’ message from last night and then the option to reply. He types in just one word, Mirage, and hits “send.”

  They make their way around the outside of the room and to the ramp up to the second level, Vlade and Niki just behind Jack, David and Al hanging back, scoping out the scene, David even dancing a little. Al talks to himself, gesturing in several directions at once, looking like he’s trying to decide who he should start a fight with. At the bottom of the ramp, the security’s tightened up: They have more guys now and a list of names for who can go upstairs. But Vlade steps up and gives the man with the list the twenty-dollar handshake when he tells him their names. The guy actually does a passable job of acting like he scans the list, going on to the second sheet before pretending he’s found the name of their party and then waving them through. Jack gives the kid credit for that, figures he’s probably an aspiring actor, maybe someone with a little actual talent.

  As they start up the ramp, Jack catches a glimpse of Tony: He’s in back of one of the bars on the main floor, listening in on a headset, hard to notice at first because he’s wearing a black suit over a black shirt: the Johnny Cash look. He has a walkie-talkie that he says something into. Then, from across the room, Jack sees him look their way. Tony sees Jack see him, and the two make eye contact, Tony taking his time to look Jack over, then shaking his head slowly. Jack doesn’t change his expression, just stares at Tony like he knows why he’s here, what they’re both doing. Tony winks.

  “Motherfucker,” Jack says, hoping that Tony can read his lips. But Tony’s no longer looking; he says something else into the walkie-talkie and goes through a door behind the bar.

  At the top of the ramp, Jack sees Freeman ahead of them, standing close to another bar, the one that got shot to pieces last night. Where there were glass shelves along the wall last night there are just clear plastic sheets tacked up and dim light glowing through them. It gives the place a very industrial, not-yet-open-for-business kind of aura that Jack can guess is very in these days.

  The big Samoan would never be hard to spot, regardless of the lighting and his surroundings: He’s almost a foot taller than most of the people around him. Thinking that wherever Freeman is, Junius must be close, Jack heads over. When he gets to the bar, he sees the fancy bottles of liquor stacked in boxes on the floor below the sheets; what used to be top-shelf is now like somebody selling drinks at a yard sale. But Freeman’s paying big money for a martini and a beer regardless. He points toward the rail and Jack can see where Junius and his friends have a couch and a table not far away, overlooking the dance floor. Jack nods at the couch and asks, “No waitresses over there?”

  “No,” Freeman says, taking a long pull off the beer that drains half of the bottle. “We have them. They’re just slow tonight, and I don’t like to wait.” He raises the martini. “Neither does J.”

  Jack can see that even up here, the crowd is different from last night: More trend followers and real money than the people who were just here to get fucked up as a precursor to sex. The suits are nicer, the groups larger, and the conversations more involved, like these people are actually talkin
g instead of just feeling the drugs buzz around in their heads.

  Freeman takes Jack over to where Junius and the same people from the restaurant are seated, the same two women still close to Junius, and the two men sitting in chairs at either end of the couch. The guy with the black Kangol gives Jack a wave. Vlade keeps the Czechs up at the bar, telling Al and David that he’s buying them a round of drinks, and Niki comes along with Jack.

  Junius stands when he sees them, takes the martini from Freeman, and waves for Jack and Niki to follow him as he walks away from his friends toward the wall beside the bar. He opens a door that Jack hadn’t noticed—it looks like just a part of the wall—and invites Jack and Niki to enter. They go through it and into another room, a quiet one with gray walls, a leather couch on one side, a large leather chair on the other, and a low black table separating the two. Junius and Freeman follow them in, and as soon as the door closes, the music level drops off; they’re cut off from the pounding beats by a few inches of heavy soundproofing along the walls. Junius sits down on the chair and motions for Jack and Niki to take the couch. The chair isn’t the type you sink into; it has a straight back and Junius looks tall in it, not swallowed up. Jack sits down and Niki stands. So does Freeman.

  “So, Jack Palms,” Junius starts. “What brings you down here? You really after a discussion tonight?”

  Jack starts to respond, but Junius cuts him off. “You know,” he says. “This meeting is a little better than the last one, because you called, but it’s still not what I’m looking for here. I’ll indulge you, but we don’t normally do this.” He points to Freeman and himself. Freeman finishes his beer and tosses the bottle into an industrial-sized garbage can against the wall. Then he crosses his arms.

  “Spare me,” Jack says. “I’m here to help your ass and talk about what’s been going down with your boy Tony, the one who sold you out.”

  Junius laughs. “You think Tony sold me out?”

  Jack looks to see that Freeman is still reserved, standing in the same place. He’s not sure what to say next, but having started into his bluff—trying to scare some form of truth out of them—he may as well keep going. “Tony wants to supply this town, his clubs, with his blow. And his X. You probably know this, but you’re not admitting it to yourself yet.”

  Niki looks concerned. He has his hand near the lapel of his coat, but Jack knows he doesn’t have a gun because nothing went off when they came through the metal detectors. Maybe he knows some martial arts from his time in the KGB, but if he’s thinking about whether he can take Freeman, he can’t like his chances against the big Samoan.

  Junius shakes his head. “Jack, you have to be grasping at shit here, my man. How do you know I’m not supplying Tony myself?”

  “Are you?”

  Junius shakes his head. “Motherfucker. Now you want to know my business? What you think this is?” He looks at Freeman like he can’t believe what’s going on, then looks hard at Jack, his eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re talking about here, or not?”

  “You didn’t hire the Russians, right? But you’ve worked with them in the past.”

  Junius nods. “I known a few Russians.”

  “But you didn’t have them kill Ralph.”

  “What? No.” He waves his hand in front of him. “I don’t care enough about Ralph to have him dropped.”

  Jack’s cell phone starts buzzing inside his jacket, vibrating against his chest. He jumps at the unexpected feeling.

  “What’s wrong, man, you got the shakes?” Junius and Freeman both smile. “Don’t tell me you still stuck on that H kick.” They laugh at this, and in their moment of distraction, Jack takes out the phone and sees that he’s received one message. “Sorry,” he says. He pushes the “view” button and sees a message from Sergeant Hopkins: Just heard: Mirage going down. Don’t be there.

  “Shit,” Jack says.

  “What’s up?” Junius asks.

  Niki looks expectant, Junius and Freeman still relaxed, enjoying the comment about Jack having withdrawal symptoms from his old drug addiction.

  “The fucking cops are coming down on this place again.”

  “Impossible. I’m here to do business with Tony V. himself. You think he let the pork in here when he making a move?”

  Jack stands up. “I think he will if he wants to get you locked up.”

  Niki says, “Last night we barely got out.”

  “Ho!” Junius does a double take, looking at Niki. “Quasimodo speaks. I didn’t even know you had a tongue, my man. What you say?”

  “Who you supposed to meet with tonight? Alex Castroneves? Tony?” Still trying to get Junius to tell him something to make things clear, Jack says, “I have a cop friend who just told me they’re busting this place tonight. My guess is Tony called it in to get your ass pinched, just like he tried to get us and Alex pinched last night. I’m saying he’s trying to take you down.”

  Junius stands up, drains off what’s left of his martini in one long swallow, and fishes out the olive with his fingers. He shakes his head clear and looks at Jack. “This is what you really think?”

  “Shit.” Jack’s feeling it now, and he lets it go. “I think Tony popped Ralph and tried to have Alex and maybe me killed in here or busted by the cops last night, and now he’s trying to do the same to you, or at least get you arrested. That’s what I think.”

  Junius looks at Freeman and then back at Jack. Jack has the sudden feeling that he’s said more than a mouthful. But now that he has it all out in the air, it actually sounds more than half believable.

  Junius stares. “You know this?”

  Jack figures it’s time to come clean. There has to be some honesty in things for people to believe you. “Part of it is I know this,” he says. “Part is me trying to put things together the only way they can go.”

  “No, no, no, man,” Junius says. “Sit down. Let’s talk this back through again.” He sits down on his chair. “First of all, fuck the police, like NWA say. They come in, they won’t even know there’s a room here. We got time. Talk to me about Ralph.” He points at Jack and then brings his finger down, presses it against the table. “The first thing I want to know is why he’s cutting around me and going to Castroneves.”

  “That’s a good question,” Freeman says, stepping closer to the others.

  “Because that’s enough to get popped right there.” Junius points at Jack and Niki now. “And then trading with that fucker after, that’s another thing that might get someone fucked up.” He raises his eyebrows, moves closer.

  “Hey,” Niki says. “Ralph connected us to him. You want to sell us more?” He holds his hands at his sides, his thumbs pointed out, and curls his fingers toward him, waving for Junius to bring it on. “We will buy.”

  “Ho!” Junius and Freeman exchange glances. “Okay, my man. We can talk business.” Junius laughs. He points to Niki and says to Jack, “Your boy talks big. Is that safe?”

  Jack looks away. He wishes he had a drink or something he could throw against the wall, a bad reaction he probably learned from Victoria. “You don’t get it. All this means is we have to get out of here.”

  “Because there’s a problem.”

  “Tony’s the problem.”

  “Oh, he is? Let’s call him in here.” Junius brings his phone out of an inside pocket in his jacket and flips it open. It makes a beep sound, like the walkie-talkie phones do. Into it he says, “Vitelli!”

  “Yo!” Tony says back. “Jack Palms is here.”

  “Jack’s up here. Says we got a problem.”

  “On my way.”

  Junius closes the phone and looks at Jack. “See that? Not so hard. We can resolve this all right now.”

  Jack leans back on the couch, pats himself down for his cigarettes but doesn’t find them. He nods at Junius. “Got a smoke?” Junius takes a pack out of a jacket pocket and flips it onto the table. They’re not Jack’s brand, but they’re not menthols, so they’ll do. Niki steps forward to give him a li
ght. Jack takes a puff and leans back on the couch. He’s not sure if Tony’s going to come with the police, his bouncers, a Russian army, or what’s going to happen.

  Junius says, “So tell me, why would Tony pop Ralph?”

  “One,” Jack says, “he wanted to deal to his girls and these guys.” He nods at Niki. “Two, he figures if he can make it look like you’re the guy who did it, he can get you off the streets, get your spot, and deal your share too. I’m betting on this guy as a ladder-climber, trying to make it to the top. He got a new supply line and wants to make good.”

  Sitting down next to Jack, Niki takes out a cigarette and lights it.

  Junius shakes his head. “Shit,” he says. “Dog eat dog is the only world I know. We all trying to eat each other out here.” He takes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it himself. “But Tony buys from me. He’s strictly middle.”

  Jack takes a shot: “You supply him with the X he sells to those kids out there?” He looks around for an ashtray, but the table’s empty and there isn’t one around. He ashes on the floor.

  “No, man.” Junius frowns. “I don’t do that techno shit. Shit be all technologized.”

  “Then who is?” Jack looks at Junius and knows he has him. Someone’s selling the ecstasy in this place, Junius has to realize, and if it’s not Tony through him, then Tony must have found a different supply.

  Junius’ brow furrows. He leans back in the chair, takes a long drag off his cigarette, and exhales smoke straight up into the air.

  Tony comes in with two bouncers holding Alex Castroneves up by the arms and a third in tow. Castroneves looks like they’ve been using his head for a soccer ball. They drop him on the ground in front of Jack and Junius.