Death Blow (3 page)

Lila put the car in park. She’d found the garage fine, and
by the time she got there, many of the floors were already full. Her heart was
racing, pounding in her chest so hard that the sequins on her dress bounced a
bit in rhythm. She rubbed her palms, slightly sweaty, on the steering wheel.
You’ll
be fine
, she thought.
You’ll be fine.
She was worried about looking
out of place, worried about being incompetent, worried about Cassandra taking
one look at her and laughing her clean out of the Club.

She pulled out her phone. 10:59PM. She pulled up Cassandra’s
box.

-Here! Code? :)

Almost immediately, the bubbles popped up as Cassandra
responded.

-Right on time, good girl ;) Code 2nite is #4377

-Thx! See you soon!

Cassandra sent a kissy face in return, and Lila giggled. She’d
never had many friends, partially because of her busy schedule and partially
because she’d just never learned how to fit in with the other girls at school.
Lila’d always guessed a mother taught you that, and her father hadn’t been much
of any kind of parent. But Cassandra felt like a friend, like what a girlfriend
was supposed to feel like. Lila liked that feeling.

She stepped out of the car, throwing her sweater into the
passenger seat and taking only a small, cheap clutch with her. Being careful
not to scuff her heels—she still couldn’t believe those shoes were on her
feet—she headed to the service elevator and waited for it.
You’ll be fine,
she
kept repeating. The elevator dinged open, and Lila got in.

It was a two-doored elevators, fairly big and standard. The
button panel had a keypad at the top, which she assumed was where she entered
the code. She typed in what Cassandra had sent her, #4377, and immediately, the
bottom button lit up, bright red, and was the only thing that did: B3, the very
last button. Lila took a deep breath, punched it, and leaned against the cool
metal of the back door. The quick chill that sensation sent through her bare
back was enough to wake her up a bit, get her ready, clear her mind. She could
do this. She had to.

As her confidence peaked, the elevator dinged at the bottom
floor, and the door at her back started to slide open. Immediately, the quiet
of the elevator was shattered by a cacophony of sound. Before Lila turned
around to see it, she could hear it all: screaming, shouting, cheering, the
thwack of flesh being hurled at flesh. Lila watched in horror as her eyes took
in the scene—impeccably well-dressed patrons packed into stadium seats laid out
tightly around a small, well-lit arena. Hands flailing in the air with money,
faces of beautiful, up-done women tight and strained with a primal, guttural
enjoyment of the violence before them. The throng seemed to move as one, swaying
side to side, pressing forward at the same time, falling back in unison,
despite being seated.

Before Lila could take in much more, a thick forearm flew
down in front of her. She hadn’t even seen the two enormous bouncers standing
watch at the elevator doors.

“Ma’am, can we help you?” one said to her, curtly. He had a
crisply cut flattop and an enormous beard. She couldn’t see his eyes through
his sunglasses.

“Oh, uh, yes,” Lila stuttered for a moment. Not a great way
to start.
Get it together, Collins,
she thought. “I’m here to meet with
Cassandra.”

“We’ll see,” said the other one, the bald one, absolutely
not convinced. He put a finger up to his earpiece and speaking lowly into his
cuff. The first bouncer watched his partner for the response. Lila tried to act
as cool and casual as she could.

She saw the eyebrows of the other bouncer fly up over his
dark glasses. He motioned the other guard’s arm away, and invited her inside
with a flick of his chin.

“Head to the bar,” he told her. “The bartender will take
care of you until Cassandra is available.”

Lila thanked them both with a forced smile, and stepped past
them. She took a better look at the ring now, focused on the very clear image
of two enormous men beating the shit out of each other. As Lila walked to the
bar, she saw it in slow motion—the bigger one, dark-haired and kind of evil
looking, jumped at his opponent from across the ring, foot up, fast moving, and
planted his sole right in the chest of his fair-complexioned opponent. The kick
rung out in the arena with a sickening crack, and half of the audience went
crazy with celebratory cheers, while the other half loudly and ruthlessly booed
him.

“Kill ‘im, Trevi!” A blonde-haired woman with soft pink
lipstick and an expensive-looking dress shrieked at the dark-haired fighter.
“Rip his fucking face off!” A strand of her bouffant fell into her eyes as she
punctuated her supportive scream with a shake of her head.

Lila tried to take in other details of the place. The Club
was amazingly sleek and dark, almost exactly like Lila had pictured it. Lots of
accent lighting, a stark, bright white with the occasional flash of red
somewhere. The bar, opposite the fighting ring, was a beautifully lit
rectangular orb, its glow switching rhythmically from white to blood red. The
bar stools were plush red velvet and chrome, and the enormous floor-to-ceiling
mirror behind the bar had the letters CM engraved on it in enormous, florid
lettering. The shelves were lined with alcohol, and extensive. Lila saw bottles
of things she’d never heard of before.

The sound of another brutal impact hit the air and Lila
jumped a bit. The dark-haired behemoth had felled his opponent, and judging
from the blood pooling on the floor of the ring, he’d done it with a swift and
fatal blow to the face. Half the stadium seats erupted in raucous support,
standing and stomping and throwing money at the fighter, while the losing half
sat dejectedly in their seats.

“Hey, you Lila?”

Lila’s head snapped back to the bar, where a pretty, petite
redhead was smiling at her.

“Yep.” Lila closed the distance to the glowing bar top,
holding out her hand. “Lila Collins.”

The girl grinned wide at her now, showing a row of perfect,
white teeth. “Cassandra told me about you, said great things.” She held out her
hand, slim and soft with sequined nails. “I’m Raechelle, one of the regular
bartenders here at Club Malevolence.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lila caught them carrying the
fair-haired fighter’s body out of the ring. She tried not to focus on it,
taking Raechelle’s hand and smiling. “Nice to meet you, Raechelle.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Now get back here.” Raechelle
motioned to where Lila could get behind the bar, and she walked over to meet
her there. When Lila could see her full body, she realized that Raechelle, too,
was wearing a slinky sequined dress and—yep, there they were—a different pair
of Louboutins. Raechelle caught her staring. “Not a bad work uniform, eh?” she
grinned.

“Not at all,” Lila smiled.

“Okay, so, put your purse down there, that’s where we keep
our stuff—don’t ever bring too much, you won’t need it for one thing, and we
don’t want it here for another.” Lila put her clutch in a box in a bottom cubby
behind the bar. She liked Raechelle already, and a part of her was surprised to
realize that this atmosphere, though violent and jarring, made her feel
excited
.
“Tonight we’re just going to have you running drinks, to see if you can handle
yourself”—Raechelle winked at Lila—“and then if we like you, we’ll move you
up.” Lila nodded, rubbing her hands together and inspecting the crowd. It was a
big one, but not unmanageable, and Lila knew she’d be busy but not overwhelmed.
“Now, we’re at a break here, which means…?” Raechelle looked to Lila, to see if
she’d picked up on the tempo yet.

“Drinks, drinks, drinks,” said Lila in response. She flashed
a smile and cracked her knuckles. “And I’m ready.”

Raechelle held out her hand for a high-five. She was very
cute, despite being all sexed up by her attire, and her wavy red hair gave her
a childlike manner. Her hazel eyes were sharp and peppy, and she had a button
nose that gave her face a sort of doll-like finish. Lila’d liked her instantly,
and she imagined everyone else did, too.

“Great, Lila. Let’s do this.” Raechelle began furiously
making drinks as she talked to Lila, who stood and watched on amazed. She’d
never seen a bartender wield bottles so effortlessly and so quickly. “The great
thing about this place is everyone here’s a regular. We know what they all
drink. They know what it all costs. They know who we are and we know who they
are.”

“That’ll be a nice change,” Lila laughed. “The place I work
at now, even the people who’ve been coming there for years give me a hard time
about the beer prices, and we’re talking Budweiser here.” Raechelle laughed,
finishing off the third drink in front of her with a lemon twist.

“Great news, Lila—
this
is the place you work at now.
These go over to that threesome in the corner, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Boudin and
their daughter, Deidre.” Lila scoped them out, spotted them, and nodded. She
picked up a small cocktail tray, put the drinks on it, and inspected them.

“So this is a lemon drop, a mojito and—what kind of scotch
is that?” Lila asked, pointing to them as she named them. Raechelle took a
beat, then cracked a huge smile and smacked Lila’s ass.

“You precocious little shit!” she laughed. “I love it.
That’s Macallan 18. Bet you can guess who gets what as well.”

Lila swept the tray up into her hands and winked. “I’ll
figure it out when I get over there.” She turned and walked in the family’s
direction. She felt amazing. She’d never expected herself to drop into this
environment so easily, but now that she had, she never wanted to leave. She
weaved in and out of the patrons, all of them looked like millionaires, and yet
she didn’t feel small among them, not like she normally did at the Dirty Pint.
A man in the ring mopped up the blood and prepared the arena for the next
fight, he looked up and caught Lila’s eye and nodded at her. She nodded back.
She could get used to this. She really could.

She arrived at the family, suddenly realizing she hadn’t
asked about any protocol in terms of speaking to patrons, but she tried not to
let it show on her face. Professional, she decided, go for that. She had a
split second to decide which of the women got which drink. Here went nothing.

“We’ve got a mojito for the Mrs.,” she said, putting it down
in front of the wife, who smiled enthusiastically.
Nailed it,
thought
Lila. “A lemon drop for Deidre here,” she set the ornate glass down in front of
the daughter. “And finally, the Macallan 18 for the father of the household.”
100% success rate.

“My, my, a new girl!” said the wife. “What’s your name,
dear?”

“Lila.”

“First night?” asked the father, not really looking at Lila,
but past her, to the ring.

“Can you tell?” Lila joked, bringing her voice down.

“Not at all. Thank you.” The daughter, Deidre, dismissed her
rather coolly, but it was time for Lila to get back to the bar anyway.

“Wave me over if you need anything else,” Lila started to
turn.

“Will do,” said Mr. Boudin. He raised a hand up to take
Lila’s. “Welcome to the Club,” he said. She felt something slide from his hand
to hers—paper, definitely folded up money.

“Thank you, Mr. Boudin,” she said, walking away without
looking at her hand. Once she got back to the bar she checked discretely…and
almost fainted right then and there. Mr. Boudin had slipped a $100 into her
hand.

“Oh god, what’s wrong?” Raechelle asked, not pausing in her
vigorous shaking of a drink.

“Mr. Boudin just…” Lila trailed off.

“Ah, yeah, he’s a good tipper,” Raechelle smiled, pouring
the concoction into a high-stemmed glass. “Careful around him, though, he gets
handsy after a couple, and it’s really uncomfortable with his daughter around.
Did you figure out the drink orders?” Her eyes gleamed mischievously.

“You’re goddamn right I did,” said Lila, folding the bill
back up. “Why do you think he slipped me a hundred?” She wasn’t quite sure what
to do with it yet.

“Hah! You think he slipped you a hundred dollar bill for any
reason other than your ass looks incredible in that dress?” Raechelle set a few
more drinks down in front of Lila. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, eyeing Lila’s
uncomfortable holding of the bill. “You can just slip that in your purse. They
don’t take stock of how much the patrons give us and no one’s going to steal
from you here.”

“I don’t know, I heard bad things about redheaded
stepchildren,” Lila jabbed playfully.

“Hey!” Raechelle yelped. “I’m very sensitive about my hair
color!” The girls shared a laugh together. Lila really liked Raechelle already.
They were going to have a lot of fun working together. “These go to the two men
sitting over there,” she pointed, “and then these two go to the man and the
woman in the top row, right over there,” again pointing. “Rich and Andy are the
two guys, the appletini to Rich—I know, I know—and the Jameson rocks to Andy.
Lisa and Tory are the women, and let’s see you guess again.” Raechelle winked
at Lila and went back to slinging drinks. As many people as there were still
sitting in their seats, there were tons at the bar now, laughing, reenacting
the fight, trading money, lamenting the loss. Raechelle handled the crowd like
a pro, never seemed harried, always chatted with whoever she was focused on
then.

Lila headed off into the crowd. The ring was clean and
clear, and two new men were lining up to fight. She forced herself not to look
at them. Lila felt flustered looking at the gigantic arms of the last two
fighters, their muscular chests, and the number of muscles she could see in
their defined abs. It’d been awhile since she saw a really raw, male body like that,
and for a girl who hadn’t gotten laid in months, it was a lot to handle. She
couldn’t afford to get distracted; she had to keep it together right now.