Grave Consequences by Aimée Thurlo

sliding his half-empty beer away. “Shall we take a climb?”
    â€œWhy not?”

 
    Chapter Five
    They stood, pushed their chairs in, then walked toward the stairs against the far wall. “No security?” Gordon asked as they neared the steps.
    â€œProbably at the top. Uninvited guests are easier to control when they have so far to fall,” Charlie commented.
    â€œMakes sense.” Gordon nodded. “So I’ll go first—lower center of gravity.”
    There was a chest-high wall instead of a railing on the outside of the stairs, which meant anyone below would hear, but not necessarily see anyone falling down the flight.
    Charlie was several steps behind Gordon. When Gordon reached the top, a buzz-cut goon in a tropical guayabera and tan slacks saw the little guy. The goon yawned and strolled over. Gordon was forever underestimated, which gave him the advantage in a hand-to-hand situation.
    The guy looked at Charlie coming up behind Gordon and stopped, realizing he’d not only lost the height advantage, but the numerical one as well.
    â€œGentlemen,” came a surprisingly soft voice, “this is a private lounge. Who is your host tonight?”
    Charlie could see into the room, illuminated by recessed ceiling lights and a large-screen TV playing what looked like soft porn. Seated on comfortable looking leather-look sofas were a half-dozen or so men and women, paired up and snuggling seriously.
    â€œAt least they still have their clothes on,” Gordon commented matter-of-factly, a big grin on his face. “Hi, Guido, we’re here to talk to Mike about a mutual client.”
    Charlie, who’d been watching three people clustered together across the room, saw two of them stand up—one of them a tall blond that fit Mike Schultz’s description.
    â€œMike, can we have a word? Up here, or maybe outside, if you prefer?” Charlie asked, loud enough to be heard above the gasps and groans coming from the video.
    If it came to a fight he didn’t want any hookers or horndogs injured, and by giving Mike a choice it was a concession, of sorts. It also reduced the number of potential witnesses or participants.
    â€œKeep your voice down, please?” Guido’s expression making it clear he wasn’t really asking. He moved his hand to his front pants pocket, where the outline of a big folding knife bulged.
    â€œLike anyone else up here is interested in the dialogue,” Gordon muttered.
    Mike was tall, lean, and clearly fit, with an overly pretty face, but he had the eyes and expression of a predator. The goon who’d accompanied him was a little shorter, about Charlie’s height of six one, but outweighing him by maybe fifty pounds. His low forehead suggested the guy was all muscle and no brains, but Charlie knew that believing in stereotypes could be dangerous. The worst ass-kicking could come from the least likely direction, and, at the moment, Charlie was grateful for his own training and experience. Then there was Gordon, who was worth two superheros, maybe two and a half.
    â€œWhat can I do you for, friends? If you think we might have business to discuss, the parking lot is just fine with me. More privacy,” Mike offered, sounding amused.
    The two goons exchanged glances, something Charlie knew Gordon had caught as well. There was going to be trouble, and Mike was going to watch. He’d probably already seen the movie.
    Charlie gestured toward the stairs. “After you,” he said to Mike, thinking there was no way the guy would put his back to them. He and Gordo would have to precede him.
    â€œFernando—” Mike glanced over at the guy who’d first greeted them—the one in the Cuban shirt. “The back lot, please. M á talos afuera. ”
    Fernando took a step down, turned, and motioned toward them. “ Bueno. Follow me, gentlemen.”
    Charlie spoke three languages, Navajo, English, and Pashto from