Tough Guy: A Hero Club Novel

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  “Good man.” Chance clapped me on the shoulder and herded his team into the area where my three best exotic dancers had just entered.

  I needed to get this fight over quickly before the Aussies drank me into bankruptcy. Wading into the brawl, I separated the frat boys from the other patrons. When they swung at me, I swung back. They went down regretting their actions, nursing a swollen jaw or trying not to puke from a well-placed gut or kidney punch. Luckily, after a few more of the frat boys were shown the error of their ways and the door, the rest went willingly. Aside from a couple of scratches and a few bruises, my bouncers came out of the fight all right. As they drifted back to their stations, I saw a bunch of patrons leave. Fighting wasn’t good for business, but sometimes I didn’t get the choice. Most days I felt like Billy the Kid. But instead of gunslingers coming to test their skills against me, I got college kids on vacation throwing hands.

  I was proud of my reputation as an ass kicker. The tabloids named me a “celebrity bouncer” when I was working the club scene in Europe in my twenties. I had thought it was ridiculous, but one of the club owners told me that reputation was everything. If he advertised that Miles Carvello was head of security, the troublemakers usually stayed home—or more likely, found another club to act up in.

  The stage show tonight had stopped when the frat assholes started chucking bottles at each other. I walked into the dressing room to check on the girls. I used to knock first, but the dancers kept laughing at me. So now, I just walked right in.

  “You guys all right?”

  “Fuck,” Ginny said, hiding the packets of pills behind her back.

  I locked eyes with her buyer, one of the frat boys who was back here hooking up with drugs rather than brawling. “Get out.”

  He must have already been high because I saw the moment he decided to try me. I went up on my toes to pivot out of the way and I planned to smash him in the mouth with an elbow.

  “No,” Ginny said, stepping in front of the swing.

  Cursing, I yanked her back and we crashed into the vanity table in front of the mirror. The kid pulled a knife, eyes wild. “Give me the pills. And your wallet.”

  Shoving Ginny behind me so she wouldn’t get in my way again, I charged the little bastard. He swung his arm back to swipe at me, but I outweighed him by a good hundred pounds. I tackled him into the ground. He hit his head hard on the shag carpet and the knife went flying. Dragging him up by the hair, I marched him to the back door and threw him down the cement steps to the alley. He made a satisfying crash when he hit the garbage bags.

  I toggled on the two-way earpiece I wore. “The frat is banned for tonight. No one wearing their letters is allowed in.”

  “You got it, boss,” my head bouncer said. Highway was a former marine and looked like a meaner version of Clint Eastwood in his day.

  The back door locked behind me as I returned to the dressing room. Ginny was sitting on a stool, posing seductively. Yeah, she was in deep shit and she knew it. She was a busty redhead who knew how to work a room. She had regulars, whom I’d assumed kept coming back to Dalton’s to watch her work the pole to David Guetta. Now I had to wonder if that was really the draw.

  “Where’s everyone?” I asked. There should have been four other dancers back here.

  “Mingling.”

  “Did they know you were selling?”

  “Miles,” Ginny said, standing up. She attempted to put her arms around my neck, but I blocked her, maybe a little harder than I had to, but I was pissed. I had very strict rules.

  No sex in the VIP room.

  No selling drugs.

  Come to work sober.

  Don’t steal.

  Come to me if there’s a problem.

  Ginny rubbed her arms and tried giving me a sultry pout. “It’s only some Zannies and Kickers.”

  “Get your shit and get the fuck out.”

  “You’re firing me?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

  “Leave the pills.”

  “You can’t do that,” she said.

  “Leave them or I call the cops.”

  “You bastard,” she snarled. “You’re going to keep them for yourself.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll tell you what. If you tell me who your supplier is, I’ll let you keep the pills.”

  “You don’t want to do this.” Ginny tried one last seduction, looking at me under long thick lashes. “I’ll be good. I won’t do it again. I promise.” She slinked closer to me, pouting her crimson lips again. “I’ll do anything for a second chance.” Smiling, she sank down to her knees with a practiced ease.

  “Who gave you the drugs to sell out of my club?”

  Ginny scowled and rocked back on her heels. “Are you kidding me? Who cares? I’ll cut you in if you want.”

  “The name or get the fuck out of my club.”

  “Go to hell.” She stood up. Stormed over to the closet and grabbed her trench coat. Wrapping it around herself, Ginny glared. “You just want to corner the market. You think you’re the only game in town? You’re nothing. This bar is nothing.” She pulled out a drawer full of bells and flimsy things and stuffed the contents into her coat pockets.

  “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out,” I said.

  “You’re going to regret this. Biggest mistake of your life.”

  “It’s not even in the top ten.” And it wasn’t.

  She paused in the doorway. “I really liked you. You were a cool boss, until you weren’t. Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” Tossing her hair, Ginny flounced out with all the drama of a pissed-off stripper. And she hadn’t given up her supplier.

  Scooping up the several baggies of pills, I walked through the club to my office in the back. I was going to stow the drugs in my safe until the next time Grier showed up. The undercover cop and I had an agreement. I’d give him all the intel I had on any drugs moving around this side of town and he’d keep the investigation into my uncle’s death two years ago from gathering dust on a desk.

  Uncle Johnny had taken me in when my parents spiraled down into gambling and drugs. He let me sleep in the backroom of his burlesque club when they lost the house. He gave me a job cleaning up the club after school, so I had a place to go. Then the bouncers thought they could use a kid of my size and they trained me. The martial arts lessons paid off and I worked my way through high school minding the door and managing drunks. I should have never left for Europe. Uncle Johnny and his club might still be here if I hadn’t been gallivanting all over world, having one big party.

  I had just opened the safe when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Expecting a fight, I whirled on the balls of my feet.

  Chance leaned drunkenly against the door frame. He held out his hands in front of him. “Easy mate. Whatcha got there?”

  Pitching the baggies into the safe, I said, “They’re not for sale.” Locking it, I turned back to Chance, who hadn’t moved.

  “Not looking to buy drugs, mate. Looking for more girls.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “That I can help you with.”

  Chapter Three

  Jackie Mitchell

  Because I was expensing this trip to Lisa’s account, I booked a room at the Wynn on the Las Vegas Strip instead of one of the budget hotels closer to the airport. I considered it compensation for having to turn down the part in the show. Although after visiting her apartment in New York and having her roommates tell me that Lisa took all her stuff and moved out three months ago, I was no longer thinking that Lisa was just flaking out for longer than usual.

  She’d actually moved to Vegas. Who did that? Vegas was for playing around, doing daring and stupid things, before returning back to the drudgery of your existence. You didn’t live here. You risked having the shine buffed out of the town. I’d figured she was just on an extended vacation, but she’d given up her Brooklyn pad to go live in the desert.

  Alone in my luxury room, I quickly unpacked and then did a few arabesques and pli�
�s because I wasn’t used to having so much room to move. My apartment back in Queens was so tiny that Lisa could touch her fingertips on one wall and her toes on the other. I was slightly shorter, so that was another thing that she did better than me. I wonder what apartments looked like here. Too bad I didn’t have Lisa’s address. She hadn’t shared it with our parents either.

  I called her, but it went to voice mail again. “Hey, Lisa. It’s me. I’m in Vegas. I need to see you. Please don’t make me track you down. I’m at the Wynn in room 1492. Give me a call and we can get drinks or something.”

  I didn’t have any hopes that she would call or text back. She’d gone incommunicado, and I had to admit that even I was starting to buy into my mother’s paranoia. When she didn’t immediately call me back, I decided I better start my Nancy Drew routine. My first stop was the Spearmint Rhino, a titty bar about five miles off the Strip and Lisa’s last known location. I parked my rental car in a nearby garage and walked to the club.

  The Spearmint Rhino was glitzy and neoned up enough to be on the Strip, but I’d bet it saved a ton on rent by not being there. The doorman seemed about to give me grief. I wasn’t dressed to impress. I wore a Calvin Klein wrap dress and sensible-heeled sandals. But after a quick look around, he must have decided that it was early enough in the night to let me in. In another few hours, I’d be waiting on line for a miracle and paying a hefty cover charge—if I even managed to get past the guy.

  “Thank you,” I murmured and slipped him a twenty. That seemed to brighten him up a bit. Until I asked about my sister. He just grunted and gestured for me to go inside. I wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news.

  The beer, burgers, and boobies happy hour was still in effect. Not interested in any of those, I sat down at the bar and exchanged a tired smile with the female bartender.

  “Are you lost?” she asked.

  “I’m not, but my sister is.”

  “There’s a lot of that going on around here. Can I get you something?”

  I ordered a glass of wine and paid with another twenty. “Keep the change,” I said, and slid my sister’s headshot across the bar. “Do you know Lisa Mitchell?”

  She looked surprised. “Yeah, she worked here about a month ago. I hope nothing’s happened to her.”

  “Me too. She hasn’t been in touch for a while and my parents are worried. Do you know why she left?”

  The bartender frowned in thought. “I can’t say for sure. We didn’t have a lot of shifts together and when we did, we were slammed. I know money was an issue with her. That and she was always criticizing the dancers, saying she could do better. It didn’t make her very popular around here.”

  That sounded like Lisa. “Do you think I could talk to the dancers?”

  “If you got the money, they’ve got the time.”

  I inwardly winced. “Who would you recommend I speak with?”

  “If you’ve got a hundred dollars, you can probably get fifteen minutes in the VIP room at this hour.” She leaned over the bar and whispered. “Pay cash if you have it.”

  “Thanks.” Great. Just great.

  I caught the eye of one of the dancers who had been doing leg exercises like the ones I had been doing in the hotel room. The only difference was I hadn’t been in my bra and panties. Squaring my shoulders, I walked up to her.

  “Can I buy fifteen minutes of your time?” I asked.

  “First time in a strip club, honey?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m not looking for a lap dance. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

  She looked me up and down. “Most guys like a little jiggle in the wiggle. But you have good muscle tone.”

  I was ridiculously pleased by that. “I’m a dancer, too,” I said.

  Glancing around the empty club, she sighed. “I can spare the time. It’s a hundred dollars and a two-drink minimum.”

  I tanked the wine I was drinking. “Does that count?”

  “No.”

  Shrugging, I said, “Okay, let’s go.” Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a bill and handed it to her. The expense report from this trip was going to be a hoot. I tried to imagine my mother’s face when she saw line item: Stripper-VIP dance. Hey, she’d said not to blow it all in the casino. There was nothing in her warning about exotic dancers. Bribes would also be an equally amusing entry on the ledger. I’d have to give it more thought and get creative to save my mother from having an aneurysm.

  She tucked it into her bra. “I’m Cookie.”

  “Jackie,” I said, following her into a ten-by-ten foot room.

  “Two drinks,” she reminded me. “Thirty bucks.”

  “Jeez.” I coughed, but quickly recovered when she glared. “What would you like to drink?” I asked.

  Cookie considered it for a minute. “Rum and Diet Coke.”

  “Get two. With Bacardi.”

  “Big spender,” she said. “Most of the guys go for the well booze.”

  Placing a hand on my stomach, I grimaced. “Life’s too short to drink cheap rum.”

  “I can get you top shelf,” she said hopefully. “It’s just a little extra.”

  “Bacardi is fine.”

  She came back with two iced-filled glasses. Each was garnished with a cherry. “You’re not going to believe who’s out there,” she said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Chance Bateman. He’s an Australian soccer player.”

  “Yeah?” Smiling, I remembered that Lisa had had a crush on him. There had been a poster of him in her bedroom. “I don’t suppose this girl is with him?” I showed her Lisa’s headshot.

  Cookie squinted at the picture and snorted. “She wishes. No, it’s a bachelor party. They were here last night too, but they left early. So we’ve got to make this quick. I need to be part of that action. They tip large and are real easy on the eyes. Do you want me to take my top off?” she asked, sipping on her drink.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m looking for my sister Lisa. She worked as a bartender here about a month and a half ago.” I handed her the picture so she could get a better look.

  “Oh, that bitch.” Cookie sat down and crossed her legs. She took a deep pull from the drink.

  Yeah, that was Lisa. I waited for an elaboration, but Cookie just frowned at her glass.

  “I hate that they water the drinks down,” she said.

  “I figured they’d overpour to get the customers to spend more freely.”

  “Exactly.” Cookie pointed a long red nail at me. “But that’s not until later when the guys with the deep pockets come in.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes, unless you want to pay for extra time.”

  “Do you know where Lisa is now?”

  Cocking her head, Cookie frowned. “I think she went over to Dalton’s on Flamingo Road.”

  “Dalton’s?” I searched on my phone. “It’s another strip bar.” And it didn’t look half as upscale as this one. “Why did she go there?”

  “Because she bombed her first night on the pole and Nick wouldn’t let her back on stage.”

  I blinked at Cookie in disbelief. “The pole?”

  Putting her drink down, Cookie walked over to the stripper pole in the room and did a graceful, lovely circle around it. Coming to a stop, she said, “Your sister was a shitty stripper.”

  Miles Carvello

  I watched Chance doing his Magic Mike impersonation up on the stage and couldn’t decide if I should hustle him off or take blackmail pictures on my phone. It was the second night of his friend’s bachelor party and they were bar hopping all over the place. They’d just cruised in from the Spearmint Rhino crocked out of their minds.

  Highway raised his eyebrow at me, and I shook my head. Chance was attracting a crowd that was throwing money and buying drinks. After the fiasco last night with the frat boy fight, I was willing to let Chance entertain the masses while my girls made some real coin on lap dances and private shows.

  I saw out of the corner of my eye tha
t a woman was approaching me hesitantly. I was prepared to ward off a horny pass from a customer. I could see how watching Chance could work some women up. But when I turned, I knew right away that this chick was in the wrong place.

  She had short blond hair and a killer body that was covered in a bland dress. She moved like a dancer, but was out of her element in the strip club. When she saw me watching her, she stumbled and then blushed. When was the last time I saw someone blush? Definitely not around here. But then Chance’s gyrations caught her attention. Her jaw dropped and she stopped dead in her tracks to goggle at him.

  That pissed me off for some reason. I wasn’t the greatest looking guy in the world, but I wasn’t about to get upstaged by a pretty boy Aussie. I got between her and the stage. She had to crane her neck to look up at me.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” I asked.

  “Is that Chance Bateman?”

  “You watch Australian football?” I scoffed in disbelief.

  “No, but my sister bought a calendar with him and his teammates on it.” She tried to crane her neck around me, but I moved with her. “Let’s just say February was a popular month in our house. I thought he was at the Spearmint Rhino tonight?”

  “Are you a stalker or a reporter?”

  “Neither.” She tried to peer around me again.

  “Weren’t you looking for me?” I growled, blocking her line of sight.

  “Oh,” she said, visibly shaking herself. “Yes. I was. That is, if you’re Miles Carvello?” I saw her look at my tattoos. “Of course you are. The doorman said you might have a moment for me.”

  I glared up at Highway, who was grinning at me from the door. He knew I liked sassy blondes. “Depends. Who are you and what do you want?”

  “My name is Jackie Mitchell. I’m here to find my sister, Lisa.”

  “Feel free to look around,” I said, reluctantly stepping aside.

  “I will, but I was wondering if you could tell me if she’s taking a shift tonight.”