I got behind the wheel of the black Mercedes, took a breath before I pushed the start button.
A hundred scenarios played out, as I drove to the club. She wouldn’t text me unless it was serious.
What if someone spiked her drink?
What if she was being harassed by some dude?
What if she’d been kidnapped?
Stop.
Anna wasn’t stupid. She was too grounded and street-savvy to let herself get into too much trouble. No doubt What’s-her-face was the problem and Anna just needed help in dealing with her.
I pulled up to the corner where the building was located and found a parking spot directly out front, Uber being the transportation of choice for most patrons. The line to get inside still wrapped around the one-story industrial building that had been converted into a nightclub, but I didn’t waste time with that and walked up to the bouncer directly.
“I need to get inside,” I announced myself to a large bald man, sitting on a stool.
I was wearing jeans, a simple t-shirt, the sneakers I’d shoved my feet into, and a lightweight coat. My hair was probably a mess from laying on the couch, but it wasn’t like I was going to take time to primp before my rescue mission.
“Yeah, there’s the line,” the beefy man said.
“I’m Grant Allen. I know the club owner. Make this simple for me and I’ll make it worth your while.”
I pulled out my wallet and extracted a hundred dollar bill.
He eyed it warily.
“You let a young woman in tonight with the name of Anna Flowers, a name I couldn’t make up on my best day. I was the one who made the call to put her on the list.”
The bouncer smiled, revealing a gold incisor tooth. “Yeah, that was crazy. Okay, dude, you’re in.”
I handed him the bill, which he quickly tucked away in his back pocket, and walked through the door he held open for me. The music blasted me like a sonic wave, and I had the dark thought that she better damn well be in trouble for me to have to do this.
It didn’t take me long to find who I was looking for, as they were currently just inside the entrance causing a stir as the inside bouncer tried to handle the situation.
“She’s not going home with him,” Anna was telling the bouncer. Another overly tall, overly buff type, who didn’t appear to be following her train of thought.
“He wants to take her home.”
“She’s too drunk. She doesn’t know what she wants.”
“I waannnnt hiiiimmm,” Claire cried. She was currently sitting in a chair by the door, her head slumped back, her arms at her sides.
Another man beside the bouncer stepped closer to Anna. “Look, Anna, I’m not going to hurt her. I’m just going to take her home. I offered to take you home, too…”
The man speaking to Anna looked familiar. Not in the sense that I knew him, only in that he was infinitely repeatable in any nightclub in Houston. A club-rat. Handsome, slick clothes, a lot of hair gel, rings on too many fingers.
“I’m not getting in a car with a stranger, and I’m not letting you take my friend home,” she said, getting in his face. “We stick together.”
That was my girl.
No, not my girl.
My Anna.
No, not my Anna.
Anna was being smart because she was doing what I’d told her to do and that pleased me. That was all.
