Beyond Paradise Page 8

  “The lights are low, half the people are wasted,” the bartender said. “Nobody knows; nobody cares.”

  “I do.” Jonny ran his hand over the black granite bar. “We didn't pay thousands of dollars for Italian stone to have my hand stick to it. Wipe it down.”

  He straightened the cocktail napkins, threw away the offensive limes, snatched his glass, and settled at the end of the bar.

  He hated the way Frank’s visit rattled him. It reminded him of the large part he played in his dangerous game. Back in the day, Frank came off as his savior. He convinced him of their friendship, influenced him with money, and persuaded him to ignore the duffle bags of small bills that materialized monthly. But there were times like this over the years when the truth crashed in on him, and even the power and money made it hard to deny what Frank was about.

  No trust. No allegiance. He acted like he owned him. Another decoration in the club, like the plush suede booths or the strobe lighting. He’d misjudged his power, but he wouldn’t abandon the chance to have something of his own, no matter what the cost.

  Cheryl and him were trapped in a life they no longer wanted. A situation his gut told him was bad. Real bad.

  “Did you forget about our meeting, Vallone?”

  He started at the harsh voice behind him, then plastered a smarmy expression on his face. “Look who’s here, Brooklyn’s finest, making the streets safe for all the good citizens.”

  Captain Kevin Farrell was a stereotypical NYPD cop with his broad Irish features and ruddy complexion. Only in his early forties, but his sandy-colored hair was thinning, and his big, gut saw too many donuts.

  “You’re breaking the fire codes.” He motioned to the half-lit cigar Farrell chomped on. “This is a non-smoking establishment.”

  “Call a cop.” Farrell pulled at his ill-fitting suit jacket. “Now cut the bullshit, and let's get this done.”

  “That’s why you can’t get ahead in life, Farrell. You’ve got no manners.”

  “That’s ‘cause I gotta chase after lowlifes like you.” Farrell shifted his feet.

  The captain's anger had nothing to do with his high moral character. It was all about jealousy, because Farrell was stuck out in Queens in a small Cape Cod with a fat, frumpy wife and four screaming kids.

  Jonny reached into his pants pocket and slapped a folded white envelope stuffed with hundreds on the bar. He hated the guy, but he loved to antagonize him, so he motioned to the beer gut hanging over his cheap suit. “You oughta take some of this money I throw at your precinct every week and buy yourself a decent suit. You’re starting to look like a slob.”

  “You’re lucky you’re under Frank’s protection.”

  “Are we done here?” Jonny pushed away from the bar. “‘Cause you’re starting to make my head hurt.”

  Farrell mumbled something as he huffed off, and Jonny ignored him. He had no problem paying off the cops. It was the price of doing business, but he hated the cocky sense of entitlement of every crooked cop on the take. Playing both sides and loyal to no one, which made them extremely dangerous.

  What a fucked-up night. First Frank, then Farrell. Too restless to sit, he settled against the railing overlooking the lower level of the club. Watching the crowd ebb and flow into each other usually energized him and filled him with pride but not tonight. Scanning the crowd below him, he spotted Frank at one of the side bars. A few seconds later a woman joined him. Not a surprise. Frank had a flock of women on call, but the curves and the wild tangle of curls spilling halfway down her back were all too familiar.

  He bent forward, pressing his thighs against the rail, straining for a better view. The woman leaned in, and Frank grabbed her closer for a kiss. He straightened, fished his phone out of his pocket, hit the number for the bartender, and waited. He was ninety-nine percent sure, but he wanted to be positive.

  “Who’s with Frank?” he demanded.

  The bartender confirmed what he already knew.

  Angela.

  ~ ~ ~

  It hadn’t taken Cheryl long to get back into the rhythmic routine of making drinks. And making drinks at the Paradise exceeded any of the dumps she’d ever worked. Earlier the head bartender showed her the POS system and where all the basics were kept, and after that, it all fell together. Concentrating on the customer’s wants and needs at the busy main bar kept her mind free of all the static in her brain and made the time pass incredibly fast.

  After last night’s monumental fuck up with Jonny and his girlfriend, she welcomed some mindless work. She probably should have felt guilty getting caught by Angela. But a bitchy girlfriend interested in marking her territory sucked the guilt right out of her.

  Thankfully, he gave up his assault on the bedroom door, and soon after the main door to the apartment slammed. She figured that either he decided sex with her had been a huge mistake, or he was off to hunt down Angela and drag her back to his Upper East Side penthouse for some make-up sex.

  She’d spent the remainder of last night devising her latest plan, and thankfully Eddie agreed to hire her as a bartender. A job she’d always loved and a quick way to make cash. In two weeks she could put her getaway plan back on the front burner. She wouldn’t have as much as before in that short time, but it would be enough for her and Dylan to get out of New York.

  She’d artfully avoided Jonny all night. When he made his rounds earlier, she easily kept her attention on the blender mixing up a batch of margaritas, as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  ~ ~ ~

  Eddie joined Jonny at the railing of the VIP, and they zoomed in on the same couple.

  “He's hooking up with Angela to screw with me. He’s a psychotic fuck and she’s a vindictive bitch.” Jonny shoved his hands into his pockets to prevent punching something.

  “Just keep your head in the game,” Eddie said.

  “I’m going to my office.” Jonny pushed off the railing and stopped, as Frank moved away from Angela and headed toward the main bar. He motioned to Cheryl, then waited.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cheryl glanced toward Frank standing at the end of the service bar then back to her customer. She placed the perfectly poured Cosmo on the little cocktail napkin, replaced the vodka and cranberry juice and ran the credit card.

  She couldn’t stall any longer. Might as well suck it up and get it over with. Frank eyed her right up until she stopped three feet in front of him. Happy for the service bar between them, she stayed silent forcing him to speak first. Silly but it did give her a small sense of control.

  “You look very professional.” Frank smiled.

  Scariest thing she’d ever seen.

  “Thank you.” He wanted professional, he’d get professional.

  “I need a favor.” Frank leaned in. “There’re some documents in Jonny’s office safe that would be better in my hands.”

  A favor in her book was bringing home milk or loaning someone five dollars, not breaking and entering.

  “You have access to his office. Why don’t—?”

  “Because I’m asking you.”

  “No, I won’t betray him and Eddie.”

  “Won’t do as I ask, or don’t want to go to jail for murder?”

  Her heart banged against her ribs.

  “Wednesday night Jonny will be at a dinner. I’ll take care of Eddie, and with your skills it should be very easy.”

  Except that she wasn’t a safecracker.

  “I’ll text you the combination. Don’t screw up.”

  Frank turned and melted into the crowd. Her phone buzzed in her pocket a few seconds later and when she swiped the message a combination of four numbers appeared. Great. Now she could add burglary and betraying the two people who wanted to help her to her resume.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jon
ny squinted against the dim lighting as Frank talked to Cheryl. He couldn’t make out her expression, but her body language spoke volumes. Caution. Apprehension. Fear.

  “Whaddya think that’s about?” Jonny asked.

  “Got no idea,” Eddie said.

  “Frank looks intense.” He squinted against the strobe lights.

  “Frank always looks intense, but she looks scared shitless.”

  “What could he be saying to her?” A chill shot up Jonny’s spine. “You think he knows her?”

  “Nah, Nicky and her pulled small time shit,” Eddie said. “Way too under the radar to interest Frank.”

  When Jonny looked back to the main bar, Frank had left, and Cheryl was back making drinks like nothing happened.

  Frank and Angela together could turn his life to shit without even breaking a sweat, but Frank and Cheryl together stirred up all kinds of unhealthy emotions. He massaged his temples to ease the ache over his left eye.

  “Ease up. It’ll all come together,” Eddie said.

  As long as it all didn't come crashing together on top of them.

  Chapter 14

  Money, guts, and a little luck created Beyond Paradise, and Jonny reveled in satisfaction as he sucked in a deep breath. The smell of fresh paint, shellac from the hardwood floors, and the rich, heady scent of Italian leather from the banquettes filled him with pride. The thirty-thousand-square-foot midtown space became his whole world. It meant a break from Frank and everything that kept him tethered to a world he no longer needed or wanted.

  “We did it.” He must’ve made his point, because he hadn’t heard another word from Frank, and he wasn’t a man who hid his opinions.

  “Yeah,” Eddie refilled their glasses with an aged Bourbon that would sell for eighty dollars a glass.

  “Permits issued. Inspections waived. Simon Davis really came through.”

  They’d met earlier with the famous club promoter whom they intrigued with their ideas for fixing all the problems left by the former owner.

  “The bouncers the security agency sent looked like a bunch of thugs,” Eddie grumbled. “I want professionals, not guys who are gonna pop at the first sign of trouble.”

  “So call another agency. I want these guys vetted and trained well before we open.” He checked his watch, already anticipating the formal dinner and the chance to promote his own club.

  “Looks good, right?” He nudged Eddie as the construction crew raised the ornate mirror over the main bar. “Even Davis thinks we got a hit.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Eddie mumbled.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re acting like somebody cut off your dick.”

  “We’ve never worked with a promotor before. Why now?”

  “Maybe it’s time.”

  Everybody in the business knew Simon Davis and the clubs he backed in Vegas, New York, and Miami.

  “I just don’t know why we’re bringing someone else in on this.”

  Davis wants to invest in our concept and take it to LA, Chicago, Vegas.” Jonny leaned in. “Do you know what that means?”

  “Yeah, Frank will come down even harder.”

  “Frank was right. We were punks back then, but now we have powerful people behind us.” He sipped the bourbon. “Don’t you get it? Davis and his people don’t want to deal with thugs like Frank. They want to deal with businessmen.”

  “You better tell Frank that ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ psycho.” Eddie gulped at the bourbon.

  “Forget the shady deals and back alley arrangements.” Jonny spread his arms wide. “We run our club like a corporation, with health insurance and pension plans, not like some after thought to wash Frank’s money.”

  “And how do you see this going down?”

  “I can’t do the meetings on the docks and skimming money anymore.” Jonny dragged his hand through his hair. “I wake up most nights in a fuckin’ sweat, my heart pounding so hard I think I’m gonna die.”

  “You can’t become a good guy overnight.”

  “Even Frank can’t fight against big corporations and people with real power.”

  “Yeah sure, you’re out popping champagne, and Frank’s popping .45’s.”

  “Why you gotta question everything?” He brushed Eddie off, not wanting to admit he’d had the same concern.

  “Every time I come here, I expect to see it tossed.” Eddie spit out the words as though he’d been holding them in way too long. “Frank’s version of fuck you.”

  Eddie had an annoying knack for looking inside his brain and pissing on his dream. Still, Eddie’s instincts saved his ass more than once, but this time he was wrong.

  ~ ~ ~

  Later that night, Cheryl struggled to keep it together as she poured drinks, ran tabs, and blocked out everyone, but her nerves were as brittle as the swizzle sticks that decorated the drinks.

  Frank called in his marker and made his request. Tonight, she’d do his bidding because disobeying Frank Barnett had serious consequences.

  When Jonny stopped at the end of the service bar, she did a double take. His custom-made tux stole her breath.

  “Hey.” He leaned over the service side of the bar.

  A hot flush heated her cheeks, and she busied herself with arranging the limes and lemons in the condiment tray.

  His hand covered hers, then wrapped around her fingers.

  After an awkward silence, she mumbled, “Hey.”

  Since their night together he’d invaded her dreams and her daily thoughts and now he stood in front of her looking like every woman’s fantasy with just the right amount of quiet thoughtfulness to make her wonder. Was he feeling as anxious as her?

  Still holding her hand, he guided her around the end of the bar until she stood in front of him.

  “I didn’t like the way things ended the other night.” His eyes searching. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

  Wow. Now he was reading her mind.

  “I got an important dinner tonight, but after that, I’d like to see you.”

  Oh sure, right after I rob your safe. Guilt strangled the words right out of her.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Sure.” While he went to his fancy dinner, she’d play a role that came way too easy.

  Thief.

  Chapter 15

  The hotel lobby of the Marquis overflowed with tuxedos and evening gowns. Jonny already spotted the mayor, a senator, and a few A-list celebrities trying to avoid prying questions from the press. Security corralled the paparazzi outside, but they were elbowing each other to get a prime shot through the floor-to-ceiling, plate-glass windows of the entryway.

  He hustled his way toward the elevators taking people to the rooftop ballroom, but it was slow going. Velvet ropes sectioned off the elevator banks, with valets counting off the exact amount of people that could fit in each elevator. They didn’t want the cream of New York society crammed in like cattle shoulder to shoulder.

  He maneuvered himself into one of the elevators alongside an elderly matron squeezed into a beaded dress at least two sizes too small and a skinny, hook-nosed woman who ogled him as though he were a hot fudge sundae. In less than a minute, the elevator ascended the thirty floors. The few seconds allowed him time to smooth the front of his tux and check his tie in the mirrored walls.

  Exiting the elevator, he moved among more of New York’s elite. Some he recognized as regulars of the Paradise, although most averted their eyes. Amazing how when they were guests at his club they jockeyed for his attention. He adjusted the knot of his tie again and wished the whole night was over. Crowds made him claustrophobic, even at the club, he always carved out a little space of his own.

  The room shimmered with tiny lights of green, purple, and hot pink in what
he guessed was a Mardi Gras theme. Centerpieces spilled over with tropical flowers in all colors, and uniformed men and women wore masquerade masks as they circulated with silver trays of champagne and hor-d’oeuvres. It amazed him the ways the rich found to waste their money. People were everywhere, either clustered in conversation or milling around trying to find their table.

  “Jonny?”

  He turned to the familiar voice.

  “I’m sure I’m not who you were looking for.”

  “Angela.” He twisted his lips. “Where’s your boyfriend, Frank?”

  “Don’t sound so defensive.” She fingered the diamond-encrusted necklace clasped around her neck. “He treats me good.”

  “What do you want?” The hard edge of his voice made her eyes narrow.

  “Listen.” She looked over her shoulder, then touched the sleeve of his tux. “Frank’s talking about you and . . .”

  “What kinda game are you playing now?”

  “I won’t deny I would’ve enjoyed you getting a good beat down, but he’s gone way beyond—”

  “And you’re trying to help me?”

  “Just be careful.”

  Angela’s cryptic warning made him uneasy, as he threaded his way to his table, but he brushed it off as another attempt at the drama she loved so much. He stopped to survey the crowd, and the smell of sweet perfume made his stomach curl. The elaborate mirrored bar called to him, but he had too much at stake, and too much to accomplish tonight to let alcohol get in the way.

  “Hey Jonny, over here.” Frank waved him over to a table only a few feet away.

  “Fuck,” Jonny mumbled.

  He let his gaze slide over the table. Frank sat next to some cheap hoods and women that were definitely paid for, except for Angela who nailed him with a steely glare. He marveled at the irony. The deadly and uncivilized masquerading as well-bred elite. Maybe this party theme wasn’t so outrageous.