When I hit the main room, there’s a new act on stage and she’s just ripped her top off. Bills are thrown at her.
At one table sits a group of rowdy young guys—possibly a bachelor party, or maybe they’re frat boys from the local university.
The place is crowded with standing room only, and I make my way to Maggie.
Rounding the corner of the bar, I find a guy hanging all over her, and she’s uncomfortably trying to inch away from him.
“No thanks, I have a drink,” she says, but he leans over her, boxing her in with an arm on the bar.
I grab him by the collar and haul him off her. “You heard the lady. She’s not interested. Now fuck off.” I fling him into the wall.
“Hey, what the fuck, man?” His eyes drop to my cut, and his swagger disappears instantly. “Sorry, man. It’s cool. I didn’t know she was with anyone.”
I take a step toward him, and he takes off.
“Come on,” I say, taking Maggie’s hand and leading her toward the hallway to the office.
“Well, that was an experience,” she says. “I didn’t know where to look and not see naked boobs.”
I can’t help the grin I give her. “Sorry.”
A dancer comes out of the dressing room and passes us. She’s covered in gold glitter and not much else.
My eyes barely flick over her as she moves past, but Maggie shoves my arm.
“Eyes straight ahead, mister.”
“Six, she’s got nothing on you.”
“How would you know? You’ve never seen me naked.
“You’re right. We should remedy that,” I tease.
“Keep dreaming.”
“And maybe you should cover yourself in gold glitter. Strictly for comparison purposes.”
That gets me a slug to the arm.
I grab my bicep. “Ouch. You’ve got a mean right hook.”
“Yeah. Remember that.”
We come to a stop at the office door, and I look at Utah. “What’s the word?”
“There aren’t any license plates, but Rock and Darko keep replaying the tape, hoping to spot something.”
We stand in the doorway, and when Rock straightens, Maggie and I can see the laptop screen. She watches it intently, like I do, and I think I see her frown before Rock turns and spots us.
“You should go on and take her home, Keno. We’ve got this,” our president says.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yeah. If I don’t text you, meet at the clubhouse,” he says.
“You got it.”
“Oh, and Keno,” Rock says, stopping us both in the doorway. “Bring her to the party tomorrow.”