business.
There was no sign of Dewar as Anna reached the main entrance of the club, where large metal security gates in front of the doors were firmly closed and padlocked. Anna traced her way around to the rear-mews entrance, passing large industrial-waste bins filled with rubbish. She could see Dewar’s car parked in the mews with a police vehicle sign on the dashboard to ward away any passing traffic wardens, making her even more irritated that the agent had not waited for her at the front as they had agreed. She noticed a tall black man in his mid-fifties emerging from the open rear fire doors of the club. He was carrying two crates of empty bottles, which he stacked on others that were already outside the premises. He was wearing a dark blue zip-front boiler suit, which was paint-stained, a black wool hat and workman’s safety boots.
‘Hi, I’m looking for the lady who was driving that car,’ Anna said as she pointed.
He turned to her, his face shiny with sweat. ‘Is she the FBI lady who’s come to see Mr Williams?’ he asked.
‘That would be her,’ Anna said, thinking so much for Dewar’s idea of a discreet approach.
‘He’s on his way back from the wholesalers and said you’s to wait for him. His office is straight along the corridor through the doors to the dance area. Go across it to the “Staff Only” door then up the stairs, and his office is on the right.’
‘Thanks,’ Anna said.
‘I’d take you like I did the other lady but I gotta wait for the collections. Can’t leave the empties unattended out here cause the winos come and drink the dregs.’
The thought of the winos finishing the dregs made Anna’s stomach turn as she headed along the corridor, which smelled strongly of beer and wine, and into the main area of the club. It was dimly lit and her eyes took a few seconds to adjust. It was a large room with a number of supporting pillars. There was gilt everywhere, fringed red drapes on the walls and a raised circular stage, with lap-dancing poles in the middle. The stage itself was surrounded by bar stools allowing the clientele to get up close to the dancers. The thought of the place filled with sweaty groping men made Anna cringe.
On the far side of the room there was a door with a VIP GUESTS ONLY sign on it. As there was no one around, Anna opened the door to have a quick look inside, to discover it was lavishly furnished and had its own bar and private dance cubicles.
Anna thought the club felt dirty and seedy and as she went through the ‘Staff Only’ door, she wondered what on earth would attract someone to the premises. Upstairs she found Dewar sitting on a leather-backed chair in Marcus Williams’ office.
‘Thanks for waiting for me, Jessie.’
‘I didn’t have any choice. I parked up out the back and the next thing I knew this big black guy was telling me it was private parking. I had to tell him who I was and he called Williams, who told him to show me up here.’
The office was tidy, very elegant and well lit with recessed halogen ceiling lights. On one side were floor-to-ceiling mirrored-glass windows which gave a one-way view out onto the main floor and stage below. At the far end there were a large modern writing desk, desktop computer and leather-backed executive chair. Behind the desk was a sideboard, on top of which were crystal glasses and decanters filled with brandy and whisky. Above the sideboard, wine racks contained bottles of Dom Perignon, Krug and Cristal champagne. Beside the desk a row of two-drawer wooden filing cabinets were placed neatly along the wall; above them there were photographs of celebrities entering and leaving the club. Anna took a seat beside Dewar.
‘Nice place, isn’t it?’ Dewar remarked.
‘I find it seedy and hate the smell of stale alcohol,’ Anna said.
‘Ah, the rich and famous like to get down and dirty. They have topless waitresses, pole dancers and as we know from Taylor anything goes in the VIP rooms . . . if
Sex Retreat [Cowboy Sex 6]
Jarrett Hallcox, Amy Welch