Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [79]
When I straightened, I feigned surprise at seeing the sexpot. “Oops, sorry, I didn’t notice you. I’m Julie.”
“Maddie.”
I skipped the “nice to meet you” bullshit as I’d focused all my attention on Tony, gifting him with a sultry smile. “I won’t bug you. What time will you be home tonight? Should I plan dinner?”
“No. It’ll be late.”
“Mmm. Too bad.” I gave him another long kiss.
“But I’ll wait up. See you.” I sauntered out and didn’t look back.
Kim was wrong. Lots of things made me happy. In fact, I was feeling much happier already. 280
My cell phone jolted me from deep sleep. I mumbled, “Hello?”
“Julie. It’s Big Mike.”
Big Mike? What the hell? Big Mike never called me unless Martinez was unexpectedly called out of town. Not again. “What’s up?”
“Bossman wants you to come to Bare Assets.”
I yawned. “When?”
“Ah. Now.”
“What’s he doing there instead of Fat Bob’s?”
“Business. He wants to see you.”
I waited a beat. “Why?”
Silence.
“Christ. Is he pissed about me showing up at Fat Bob’s earlier? It was supposed to be a funny payback after what he did to me! Why should I—”
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“Don’t bite my head off. I’m just doing what I was told.”
“Why isn’t he calling me himself if he’s so hot to see me?”
“Because he’s occupied with another matter.” Big Mike paused, staying calm in light of his boss’s girlfriend’s bitchy attitude. The clock on the DVD player read 11:10. My
gaze swept my darkened living room but I couldn’t remember why I’d fallen asleep on the couch rather than my bed. Waiting for Martinez, probably. At least I was still dressed and sober. I swung my feet to the floor. Cold air bit into my ankles, clearing the fuzziness from my brain.
“So, can I tell him you’re coming or what?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”
Big Mike expelled a sigh. “Good. Park in the private lot and come to the back door. About half an hour, then?”
“Roughly.”
He hung up without another word, mimicking
Martinez’s phone manners to the letter.
I grabbed an extra pack of cigarettes and a Diet Pepsi before I bundled up in my subzero coat and winter wear. Damn arctic weather. I’d gladly welcome global warming when the thermometer on the porch displayed a glacial four degrees.
No moon made the sky an inky black. The absolute stillness in the air defied logic; the wind always 282
blew in South Dakota, but I was grateful the windchill factor wasn’t in the forty-below range. My boot steps made a squeak rather than a solid crunch as the thick tread of my sole broke through the snowy crust. Took forever for my truck to heat up. I was so damn cold I didn’t even fire up a smoke on the trek into Rapid City.
Bare Assets was hopping on a frigid February weeknight. The second I stepped over the chain separating the private lot from the alley behind the bar, Bucket materialized from the shadows.
I gasped like a horror movie queen. “You scared the crap out of me!”
Bucket looked like the Grim Reaper, acted like him, too: silent, watchful, and deadly. Black skullcap. Black trench coat. Big black boots. He carried at least one gun under the duster and probably a couple of knives. A Taser. The shudder rolling through me wasn’t entirely from the cold.
Bucket didn’t utter a peep—nothing new for him. He merely beat on the door four times with his gloved fist. The door swung open and Big Mike popped his
head out. His warm breath cut the night air in a cloud of white steam. He and Bucket exchanged a nod before he thoroughly scanned the parking lot. “Come on upstairs.”
Bucket followed me inside, securing the service entrance behind us.
Big Mike unlocked the steel door to the staircase. 283
Being a big man, his heavy footfalls should’ve echoed down the short hallway as loudly as a buffalo stampede. But his boots made a soft shush shush on the Berber carpet. Why did the sounds seem magnified times ten?
He stopped in front of the door to Martinez’s private suite and knocked, four solid raps, just like Bucket had done downstairs.
Weird. I’d never seen anyone on this level of the club, let alone anyone near Martinez’s residence. Why didn