Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [73]
It was even harder to move on the ground floor than it had been on the stairwell, and it took a good five minutes to slowly weave my way to the spot on the dance floor where I had seen Vivian dancing. I went through beautiful women without seeing them. The music banged at my ears like a storm. I was as focused as a bloodhound on speed, and I had to do a fair bit of shoving. Not everybody liked it. A tall kid with a GQ face started to object, but something in my expression seemed to discourage him. I caught his eye and held it briefly, but in that moment I had read his mind to perfection: This guy’s a fucking cop. Once you get that look, you never lose it.
Vivian wasn’t dancing anymore when I found her. She was sitting at the horseshoe-shaped bar at the raised center of the dance floor with a drink in her hand. She had her back to me. A tall man in a black shirt and black pants was lighting her cigarette as I sat down next to her. Nick was standing beside me, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I tapped her gently on the shoulder. I guess she was used to people doing that, because she didn’t turn around, so I rapped on her beautiful bronze shoulder with my knuckles as though it were a door. The man in black gave me a hard look that I ignored. Vivian turned around, and her mouth fell open. She glanced at her brother, and about five different emotions went haywire on her face all at once.
She was good, at least as good as Nick, I’ll say that much for her. She jumped off the stool and threw her arms around me while I glared at the man in black over her shoulder. I gave him my best lunatic glare, and his face lost some of its tan.
“Why are you lighting my wife’s cigarette, you son of a bitch?” I asked.
He looked flustered. He was about thirty-five, handsome, and prematurely gray.
“Your…wife?” he stammered. “I didn’t know anything about that. She asked me for a light. Let’s just forget about it, okay?” He held up both hands in front of him like a pair of starfish. He grinned at me as though we had just signed a peace agreement at Camp David, then took his drink and entered the crowd.
Vivian kissed and hugged me like I’d just come back from Vietnam. Nick looked on grimly. I fought the urge to bite her neck and instead grabbed her by the shoulders.
“My God! I was so worried about you!” she said. “I thought you were dead!”
“That accounts for the black dress,” I said, scanning the crowd. “Let’s get out of here. We need to have a discussion. I don’t want to hear any more crap right now.”
Just as I stood up, Nick nudged me with his elbow. I followed the direction of his gaze to the other side of the bar and saw Williams there, his bald pate gleaming dully in the swirling lights. He was looking around. I grabbed Vivian by the arm, but it was too late. Williams had already spotted us. Our eyes locked across the bar, and I thought I saw a smile cross his face. It was the smile of a man who had amputated noses and ears and enjoyed every slice.
There was no hesitation in him. Almost at once he came for us, parting the crowd with his massive fullback shoulders, plowing forward, swimming through people, pushing them aside as though they were stalks of wheat in a field. There were at least a hundred bodies between us, and that should have been enough to delay almost anyone. But they didn’t stop Williams.
“Let’s go!” I said. “Stay with me.”
I got out in front and barreled forward, not making any friends and not caring. I wasn’t as big as Williams, nor as strong, but I had fear on my side. The crowd, like a beast with one mind and many faces, began to sense that a chase of some kind was in progress, and I felt the silent wave of expectation rippling around me as the