Page 63 of Champagne & Handcuffs
He threw back his head and laughed. “So what? Tony getting locked up for a few years is all he deserves?”
“Of course not.”
“And you’re telling me that you’re going to go in there and not rip his head off?”
I thought for a moment. Paul was right, Tony needed to be put down. Going to jail for five, ten, twenty-five or so years wouldn’t be enough justice. The problem was that I was a cop and justice was my life. It was what I swore to do.
My phone dinged again with another text from Gabe. “We gotta go,” I said and began walking up the stairs again.
“I’m just asking for one punch. Maybe two. Draw some blood.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I wasn’t sure if I could, but we all deserved to knock Tony around a few times. And Joss deserved to deliver the final blow even if I had to ditch my surveillance camera.
We pulledup to the warehouse. Joss and the other feds were around the corner, ready to move in on my go, but first, I needed to get the birds singing. I knew the plan was to get all of them to talk, but Tony was my main target.
“Thanks, Gabe. Go home to your girl.”
His green eyes looked back at me from the reflection in the rearview mirror. “Will do.”
I nodded to Paul. He got out, then opened my door. I buttoned my black, pinstriped suit jacket and walked to the door where two guards were standing. Bryce had told us that my name would be given to the guards and they’d let me in. Sure enough, when I walked up to the door and dropped the name Michael Wade, they let Paul and me inside. I expected them to search us, but they didn’t. That told me that there were more on the inside packin’. I hoped Paul had caught that, too.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, but loud music wasn’t it. It felt as though I’d just walked into prom. People weren’t dancing, but the men and women weren’t dressed in jeans and a T-shirt either. If I had to describe what the men looked like, it would be pimps. Big hats, fur coats, canes. And there were more than just three of them. I was in a room full of pimps and hos. It was a cop’s dream—or nightmare—however you wanted to look at it.
“I feel underdressed,” I muttered, hoping Paul could hear me.
He nodded.
A dance floor, tables and chairs were set up around the warehouse with a DJ and a couple of bars and a stage. As we moved in, I caught the eye of Bryce. His outfit was purple and velvet. No cane, and no hat, but bling around his neck that consisted of large gold chains and diamonds. Instead of mocking him when he got to me, I stuck my hand out to shake his.
“Should have told us about the attire,” I said behind gritted teeth.
“You’re not a pimp,” he stated.
“What does that mean?”
“This is a Player’s Ball.”
“A what?”
“Every year, a ball is held, and an award is given to the best pimp in town. I’ve won the last three years in a row.”
I smiled, trying not to cause a scene or to show we were talking semantics. “I thought you said it would be me and the other three traffickers?”
“I said they’d be here. Plus, this year is different. Usually it’s just the pimps that bring their girls, and we party. But since Tony has been kidnapping tourists, he’s going to parade them in and let whoever take their pick.”
Still smiling, I gritted out, “I feel you’re jerking us around, Bryce.”
“I’m not,” he hissed and leaned in closer to me though it was probably hard to hear us over the loud music in the first place. “Tony’s going to bring the girls out, and then the pimps will lay claim to them. You’ll have enough proof and can make arrests as they leave or drive away.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but if we moved in to make arrests as the pimps left, word would get around and then all hell would break loose. So we needed to move in and block all exits before the night ended.
“I need to go make my rounds,” Bryce stated and walked off.
The liquor was flowing, and the pimps were mingling. I’d noticed the girls looked at the floor. Not a single one looked up, not even when a person was talking to them. I knew that if they made eye contact with another pimp, they were trading up. How that worked in a room full of pimps was beyond me.
The music cut out, and I looked toward the stage to see an older man grab a mic and start talking. “Welcome to the fifth annual Player’s Ball!”
