Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
"How did you know this is my first—you know what, never mind. It's not important. I think I'll like 3a."
"Excellent choice, Ms. Preston. Now we just have to settle the matter of payment. Would you like to put it on your family account or would you like to make a separate payment?"
Family account?
Has William been here? I do my best to hide my disgust.
"Separate would be great."
"Very well," she says. "We can take payment at the end of the evening. Follow me."
I trail her from the room, using a different door than the one I entered through, and it opens up into a long hallway with rows of doors. Despite the width of the area, I still feel a little claustrophobic as we make our way toward the door she opens for me.
"Would you like any refreshments while you wait? We need about ten minutes for your menu item to be ready."
I can't help but wonder if refreshments are also code for something like drugs or more delinquent additions to my selection.
"No," I say, stepping inside the room, but I reach for her arm before she can turn to leave. "I want to make sure that employment here is... ethical."
The woman's smile softens as if she was judging me this entire time.
"I can assure you, Ms. Preston, all employees are here of their own volition. We're compensated very well. We even have medical insurance, including dental," she says, showing me a bright white smile of straight, well-cared-for teeth. "We also have a retirement plan and 401(k) that the company matches at one hundred percent."
She doesn't say anything else as she backs out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Chapter 9
Ace
"Is there a problem?" I ask as the guy at the door stares down at me.
His eyes narrow on the driver's license in his hand. Other than a sack of money and that license, I left everything else in the car, knowing they'd search me. Despite never having been inside many of these places other than the times we take one down, I know how they work. They don't want anyone to get any information on them that can take them down, and they're more than willing to rough someone up to prove that point if they have to.
"No problem, Mr. Wiedman. Have we seen you here before?"
"No," I answer. "Can I come inside? It's fucking cold out here, and I'd prefer it if the neighbors didn't get me on camera or some shit."
Despite this being an elite club, where most of the customers I've seen coming and going over the last two days are politicians, they have to get some folks that are just a little rougher around the edges. That's my role as Anthony Wiedman, the character that Kincaid created for this particular job.
Instead of telling me to kick rocks, the oaf of a man takes a step back, handing me the license back.
"There's a ten-thousand-dollar application fee, and then an additional fee based on your menu selection."
I hold up the bag a little higher so he can see it.
Unsurprisingly, he guides me to a room with lockers where I have to take off my watch and leave it with my driver's license.
"Check every bill," I tell the goon when he takes the bag of money. "Make sure there aren't any counterfeits."
He remains as professional as he can manage, but I can tell by the twitch near his right eye that he isn't impressed with me.
"Right this way, sir."
I bet having to say that all night to guys like me makes him hate the world. Either that or he is just as particular about his needs as guys like me and he sees me on some level as competition.
"It'll be just a little longer than normal," he says as he opens the door to a small room, allowing me to walk past him to enter. "We don't normally get cash."
"Helps with anonymity."
"We're very discreet, sir," he says, before backing out of the room.
The door isn't closed for longer than a minute or two before it's opened again, and a pretty girl, I'd guess about twenty or so, walks in with a wide smile. "Anything to drink, Mr. Wiedman?"
"I'll take an IPA in a bottle. Unopened, please."
Like a flash, Ann is back with my beer, and I thank her, turning the bottle upside down to prove it hasn't been opened, before untwisting the top and taking a long pull. I normally don't drink beer, preferring whiskey over anything else, but it would be too easy for someone to dose a glass of whiskey and too suspect to order an unopened bottle.
The room is as non-descript as I'd expect, and I know without getting up and looking around that I probably wouldn't find anything more than one camera on me right now. As discreet as the big man claimed to be, I know places like this also have the potential to record everything that happens from the time someone walks through the front door until the minute they leave and everything in between. Just in case they might need the evidence or proof later.