Page 92 of Brutal
24
DELANEY
I don’t call ahead to make a reservation at the club. I only got in last time because I finagled my way in when I got the tip from one of my fellow investigative journalists that Samson Vexley was going to threaten Preston Darnell. A hundred-dollar bill and a wink and a smile can do wonders.
I can do the same tonight, especially if I dress the part. Last time I wore a black number that didn’t show much. Tonight? Crimson and low-cut, even with the marks on my neck. Gets the job done every time.
I have it on good authority that Samson will be there tonight.
Another reason not to call ahead. If I give him warning, he may decide not to show.
I’m done doing that.
The man at the entrance stops me before I take three steps.
“Members only.”
Smile pasted on. Tits out. “Is Bobby here? He let me in a few nights ago.”
“Bobby’s off tonight.”
I pull a Ben Franklin out of my clutch. “I’m a friend of Mr. Vexley’s. Mr. Samson Vexley.”
He takes the bill and says nothing more.
“Let her in.”
The voice comes from behind him. The guard steps aside immediately.
Nathaniel Vexley stands just inside the threshold, hands in his pockets. He resembles Samson in height and build but is more refined. Hair shorter, with not a strand out of place. And his eyes aren’t amber. They’re green. Strikingly green.
“Ms. Cross,” he says.
“Mr. Vexley.”
He smiles. Sort of. “You’re persistent.”
“I’m curious.”
He furrows his brow. “That’s not always a good thing.”
“For whom?”
“Come in,” he says.
“Thank you.”
The club is busier tonight, probably because it’s Friday. Women are clad scantily, making me feel overdressed in my little red number. I finger the justice pendant at my neck and then jerk my fingers away. Nervous habit. One Samson knows about. I don’t need his lawyer brother to pick up on any sign of anxiety.
Nathaniel walks beside me. “Samson isn’t expecting you,” he says.
“I didn’t expect him to show up at my apartment either.”
“Did he.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer. He knows, anyway. Nathaniel Vexley always knows. I’ve done my research.
He stops near a closed door. “Try not to make a scene,” he says.
