made him feel dirty. Remy had never got the lure of places like this, even in all his time as a cop, but any of the people associated with Jared would frequent the strip clubs.
“How do you want to play it in here?” Vic grabbed the edge of her jacket and flapped it. “I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb, considering I’ve had run-ins with most of the clientele while I was on patrol.”
“I think I’ll play on their fears of spirits, vampires, and the
loupgarou
.”
“Only Cajuns believe in werewolves.”
“We all have something
avoir peur de
.”
To be afraid of.
Remy palmed his new cell phone. “When I’ve spotted one of his people, I’ll send a text.”
“Once they realize who or what you are, they’ll bolt for the back.”
He typed the text and left it ready to send. “Did you expect them to go anywhere else?”
Before he took a step, she snagged his elbow. “Be careful in there. We don’t have backup to rely on.”
Remy laid his palm over his concealed Ruger. “Got it covered.”
She released him and took her position near the alley entrance. The sun took its last bow and the colors faded into black, letting the constant glow of Bourbon Street take over. Vic melded with the dark.
Satisfied with her camouflage, Remy climbed the few steps and yanked open the door. A darkened corridor greeted him, and as he made his way along it, the smoke, music, and red glow increased. Far as he could see, flesh and grinding bodies were positioned at every angle of the building. Men lined the stage, some leaning on the rails, others lounged on the provided seating. Occasionally a fully clothed woman mingled among the drunk, horny men.
A woman carrying a tray laden with empty bottles and glasses brushed past Remy, gave him a wink and sauntered on to the bar. Swallowing against his tight collar, he trailed her, choosing a stool far from where she leaned against the brass rail giving her orders to one of the bartenders.
Remy palmed a few fifties and kept them cupped in his hand. Either a staged drink or information would come out of it.
The lone female bartender danced around her counterpart and hustled down to Remy. “What can I get ya, tiger?” She tossed a towel over her shoulder.
He grinned. Probably used to the two-bit drunken lines the men gave her, she might not sway to his charms, but she’d be easier to ply than the male—unless he was gay. And, well, Remy hadn’t got the hang of flirting with another guy. “First, let’s start with a Jack on the rocks.”
She cocked her hip and a gleam flashed through her eyes. “Then what?”
One nonchalant shrug and he saw her posture relax. He reeled her in a bit more. “We’ll see.”
She scooped ice in a squat glass and doused it with Jack Daniels. Setting the glass in front of him, she reached for the cash in his hand. When she hesitated, her fingers rubbing the thick layer of bills, Remy gently gripped her hand. She tensed, and his thumb caressed her knuckles in languid circles. A sexy smile in place, she bent over the bar and revealed the peep show under the tight, black shirt.
“You need something more, tiger?”
“Information,
cher
. The kind that will make this poor bayou boy happy.”
“You’re asking a lot.” The other bartender barked at her. She turned, flipped him off, then faced Remy. “Make it fast, Cajun-boy.”
“Anyone here you know associate with a man named Jared Savard?”
She snorted, scowling. “I know the creep. Comes in here sometimes and roughs up the girls. Manager tried to ban him, and the sexist prick pulled his badge.” Worry replaced her anger. “You’re not a cop?”
Remy shook his head. “Just looking for one of his people to
ask
them a few questions.”
She seemed to like his emphasis. “Your lucky night, tiger.” She pointed discreetly toward a curved couch facing a single pole with two strippers dancing around it. “Eddy over there is one of Jared’s pals. Looks like he’s all by his
“How do you want to play it in here?” Vic grabbed the edge of her jacket and flapped it. “I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb, considering I’ve had run-ins with most of the clientele while I was on patrol.”
“I think I’ll play on their fears of spirits, vampires, and the
loupgarou
.”
“Only Cajuns believe in werewolves.”
“We all have something
avoir peur de
.”
To be afraid of.
Remy palmed his new cell phone. “When I’ve spotted one of his people, I’ll send a text.”
“Once they realize who or what you are, they’ll bolt for the back.”
He typed the text and left it ready to send. “Did you expect them to go anywhere else?”
Before he took a step, she snagged his elbow. “Be careful in there. We don’t have backup to rely on.”
Remy laid his palm over his concealed Ruger. “Got it covered.”
She released him and took her position near the alley entrance. The sun took its last bow and the colors faded into black, letting the constant glow of Bourbon Street take over. Vic melded with the dark.
Satisfied with her camouflage, Remy climbed the few steps and yanked open the door. A darkened corridor greeted him, and as he made his way along it, the smoke, music, and red glow increased. Far as he could see, flesh and grinding bodies were positioned at every angle of the building. Men lined the stage, some leaning on the rails, others lounged on the provided seating. Occasionally a fully clothed woman mingled among the drunk, horny men.
A woman carrying a tray laden with empty bottles and glasses brushed past Remy, gave him a wink and sauntered on to the bar. Swallowing against his tight collar, he trailed her, choosing a stool far from where she leaned against the brass rail giving her orders to one of the bartenders.
Remy palmed a few fifties and kept them cupped in his hand. Either a staged drink or information would come out of it.
The lone female bartender danced around her counterpart and hustled down to Remy. “What can I get ya, tiger?” She tossed a towel over her shoulder.
He grinned. Probably used to the two-bit drunken lines the men gave her, she might not sway to his charms, but she’d be easier to ply than the male—unless he was gay. And, well, Remy hadn’t got the hang of flirting with another guy. “First, let’s start with a Jack on the rocks.”
She cocked her hip and a gleam flashed through her eyes. “Then what?”
One nonchalant shrug and he saw her posture relax. He reeled her in a bit more. “We’ll see.”
She scooped ice in a squat glass and doused it with Jack Daniels. Setting the glass in front of him, she reached for the cash in his hand. When she hesitated, her fingers rubbing the thick layer of bills, Remy gently gripped her hand. She tensed, and his thumb caressed her knuckles in languid circles. A sexy smile in place, she bent over the bar and revealed the peep show under the tight, black shirt.
“You need something more, tiger?”
“Information,
cher
. The kind that will make this poor bayou boy happy.”
“You’re asking a lot.” The other bartender barked at her. She turned, flipped him off, then faced Remy. “Make it fast, Cajun-boy.”
“Anyone here you know associate with a man named Jared Savard?”
She snorted, scowling. “I know the creep. Comes in here sometimes and roughs up the girls. Manager tried to ban him, and the sexist prick pulled his badge.” Worry replaced her anger. “You’re not a cop?”
Remy shook his head. “Just looking for one of his people to
ask
them a few questions.”
She seemed to like his emphasis. “Your lucky night, tiger.” She pointed discreetly toward a curved couch facing a single pole with two strippers dancing around it. “Eddy over there is one of Jared’s pals. Looks like he’s all by his
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