James shrugged and said, “Some, I guess. They have accents, they look like they come from that part of the world. Good dancers, they have a good time, spend money. Does this have something to do with those shootings that have been going on?”
“We’re not sure,” Lucas said. “We want to look at the security video from your club last night.”
James was looking at Sherwood, cocked his head and asked, “You’re not FBI or DEA. Are you CIA? One of those intelligence spooks?”
Sherwood said, “Let’s go look at that video.”
James said to the bearded man, “Jesus H. Christ, we got CIA in the shop.”
Sherwood looked at Lucas: “Why does everybody know this?”
“They’re criminals. They have a sixth sense.”
• • •
The club hadtwo cameras with wide-angle lenses that covered the main room, and no working cameras that covered a back room, which had two big TV screens on the walls, lounges in a bloodred leather, arranged in conversation pits, and a separate small bar. They followed James and the bearded man through the back room to a door that led to a stairway to the office. The office was a long, narrow space on a low second floor, a jumble of three wooden desks and a half-dozen short metal file cabinets.
The bearded man turned on one of the computers and Lucas asked, “What’s your name?” and the man said, “Noah.”
As they were waiting for the video to come up, Noah said, “The video is black and white because we can get better exposure that way, in the dim light. The camera in the back room doesn’t work, but you can see everybody who comes in the front.”
Capslock said, “The camera in the back doesn’t work because that’s where the jocks get blow jobs and cocaine.”
James: “Why are you such a fuckin’ jackass?”
“I’m not a jackass. I report obvious facts to my colleagues, so they can decide who to arrest.”
“Nobody’s getting blow jobs in the back room,” James said.
“What about the cocaine?” Lucas asked.
“Cocaine is so 2000,” James said. And, looking around, “Aren’t we all adults here?”
• • •
Noah had thevideo up and asked, “What time?”
“Eleven o’clock to one o’clock,” Sherwood said. “We don’t have to watch every minute in real time; run it as fast as you can pick up the people. We’re looking for a tall guy, thin, blond hair and scuzzy beard, leather jacket, open shirt collar. Arrived around eleven.”
“That’s probably not more than half our customers,” James said.
“Just look,” Sherwood said. “We want to see who he hooks up with.”
• • •
Bernie walked throughthe front door at eight minutes after eleven; he was followed, seconds later, by two guys in long coats. Capslock said, “If you closed your eyes, and imagined two FBI stiffs walking into a nightclub, undercover, that’s what you’d imagine. They might as well have gunbelts strapped around their waists.”
Lucas said, “Shut up and watch.”
“The woman will bump him,” Sherwood said.
“What if he goes in the back room?” Lucas asked.
“That’s invitation only,” James said. “He’s not invited. Good-looking kid, though. Doesn’t look like a Russian.”
“Shut up and watch.”
The five of them clustered around the computer screen for an hour, watching the customers come and go; Noah went down to the bar and came back with bottles of cold ginger ale. In the club, there was more drinking than dancing, but Bernie danced more than he drank and was good at it. He spent most of his time hustling young women, dancing but not touching. Just after midnight, Sherwood jerked upright and said, “There! There she is, she just dropped it.”
