Wild West Bar and Grill by Pam Uphoff

Author:Pam Uphoff [Uphoff, Pam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Iron Ax Press
Published: 2024-05-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Insurance

Wednesday, October 17, 3738

The door to Blaster’s office, down the hall from the reloading station, creaked a bit as it swung open.

Dammit. I really don’t feel like talking to him tonight.

“You had your warning. You were lucky that time. You won’t be lucky again . . .”

I couldn’t see who was talking, didn’t recognize the voice. But that definitely sounded ominous . . . I stepped into the corner by the stairs and thought invisible, unnoticeable thoughts.

The man stepping out of Blaster’s office was tall and thin. Expensive suit paired with an open collared shirt and gold chains. Glowing, pushing out an aura of menace. He didn’t notice me as he swaggered past and down the stairs.

I followed as he checked out all the waitresses. Touched a couple of them, who immediately retreated turning and smiling . . . the smiles forced as the aura registered subconsciously.

I stayed far enough behind that he didn’t notice as I eased off the unnoticeable.

He was looking over the women . . . a bit of anticipation, there. And contempt. With a “I know something you don’t know and won’t like” sort of smile.

He stopped to take his time looking down Kitty’s cleavage, then walked out.

Kitty’s eyes were still narrowed as I walked up to her.

“Ever seen him before?” I asked.

She nodded. “This is the second time he’s talked to Blaster.”

Oh? Oh, yes! I think I know what that warning he mentioned was. “When was the first?”

She snickered, and nodded to the side, where the younger police detective had turned in his seat to listen. “The day the police mobbed the stage.”

The police are certainly interested in us. Hopefully just raiding a brothel, not . . . looking for someone who forges chips and hacks the Central Bureau Computer.

Or do they know what that fellow was after . . . a gang offering “insurance” I suspect.

I stepped closer to the cop. “We should talk, later.”

The woman he was dining with was eyeing me. Lady cop? They have Execs, don’t they?

“After your third show? Behind the building?”

I nodded and retreated.

Acted like I didn’t hear “You will take backup . . .” behind me.

And headed upstairs.

“Blaster?” I shut his office door behind me. “Do we have a gang problem?”

He looked worried. Nodded. “We can’t pay them! The restaurant and the whores don’t make enough money to keep us up and running now.”

“I’ll chat up those cops that keep hanging around, and let you know if they’re the Vice squad, or if they’re looking into the spread of the gangs.”

Or my stuff!

“Maybe I should sell you.”

“I’m not your property. I’m an employee of the restaurant. The worst you can do is fire me.” I walked out.

Check your records, you fool. Not that you have any of the original certs. But those excellent copies I’ve left in your records show what the Bureau of Registration has on their records.

You own the Wild West Bar and Grill, Inc. The company owns nine women and five children. The restaurant

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