Gargoyles in Uniform

Chapter 4: Pop-Up Nightclub

Trent stood on the edge of the roof's terrace. This was one of the nicer spots they'd chosen, a roof people could use but was usually reserved for the owners of the building. He could see Center City in the distance. “Why not?"

“We don't need the money, Trent."

Trent eyed him. “What are you saying?"

“The more often we set up, the more likely it is we will get on someone's radar. Case in point: I was followed tonight."

“By whom?"

“Some woman. I didn't get a good look at her, but she wasn't a goblin."

“I think you're letting all the stuff with Aileen get to you." Aileen, one of their former bouncers, had happened upon a plot by the goblins to derail the election for the Governor of Pennsylvania. Their Manchurian Candidate had been discovered and withdrawn from the race. Aileen had uncovered some disturbing plans, and Deke and his fellow owners—all former military—had agreed to investigate. So far, the goblins had been laying low.

Deke pulled out his phone and showed the text to Trent, who whistled and said, “Another kill box."

“The last thing we need are cops coming down on us."

The nightclub worked on the fringes of the law. They'd never been inspected and didn't have a liquor license. They carefully screened the guest list as only those with security clearances could. No goblins—even if they'd shown up once or twice at the right location. Trent had never figured out where they'd received their instructions. Deke had argued for letting them stay, since it was beneficial to keep them in their sights, given the information they knew about the goblins possibly trying to derail more elections.

“Well, we are an hour away from opening. I've don't have another burner phone with me, so we're going to have to chance it," Trent said.

“Are you missing the thrills of the intelligence life?" Deke asked. “It isn't like you to be this cavalier. What if we are putting people in danger? You know how violent and unpredictable goblins can be."

“I don't think the goblins are stupid enough to kill anyone in the nightclub. As much as they hate us, we don't currently pose a threat. We didn't do anything when they elected a new Goblin King. They don't know what we have on them, and if we suddenly go underground, they'll wonder what we know."

Trent's words made sense, but Deke still didn't like the tingling in his gut. Something was going to go down tonight, and he didn't want to be a part of it.

***

Whitney had stared at the bus as it pulled away, but all wasn't lost. She could still find Deke Turner. She knew the bus route. She also knew where the nightclub was, and he probably wasn't going to throw her out.

The pulse of music emanated off of the roof of the building. A large man stood by the front door. Did she have to show proof she was invited? She walked up to the door as if she owned the place—something an old reporter had once taught her: “Act like you belong, and no one questions you."

The man looked her over, grunted, and then opened the door for her. Guess she passed the test.

She took the elevator to the top floor, then the stairs to the roof. The music was louder when she opened the door, and she wondered how no neighbors complained. When she looked around, she realized this was a warehouse district, set to be converted to apartment buildings. The conversion wasn't complete, but she'd bet this would be the only time Grotesque used this spot. It would no longer be anonymous when the hipsters moved in.

Sidling up to the bar, she slid onto a stool, taking in the whole roof. There was a dance floor, a bar, and some tables and chairs. How had they pulled this off?

A bartender patted the bar in front of her. “What can I get you?"

“Whiskey, neat."

He nodded and left.

Then, she saw him. Deke Turner hadn't noticed her yet, but she'd bet he would soon enough. He'd known he had a tail. He might even know everything about her now. She suspected he was more than just a former Marine—that was just his official internet story.

***

The tingling in Deke's stomach increased, which made him make a loop around the bar. No goblins—but there was that woman again. The one who had tailed him.

This wasn't going to be good.

Now that he took in an eyeful of her, more than just his stomach tingled. She was a looker. Curves that didn't stop, and big, gray eyes that probably didn't miss anything around her.

He sighed. Better get this over with, before any trouble started.

***

Whitney braced herself when she knew Deke had spotted her. She was ready for him. She wanted this story like a shark scenting blood in the water. This could be it, and she had to tamp down the excitement building in her gut.

He stopped a foot away from her. “You."

If she'd been in the bar as just a patron, she would have found him attractive. There was something rugged and dangerous about him. Her father would have hated him. He reeked of the military, and a scar down his arm spoke of combat. He wore his brown hair in a ponytail at the base of his neck. A stray hair had come loose, and her fingers itched to push it away from his face. His dark eyes bore into her, as if just by looking at her, he'd make her wilt.

Not with the father she'd grown up with. There'd been no hugs or pats on the back. She'd earned every ounce of love her father had given her, which made her wonder why she still sought out his affection. Shaking herself mentally, she kept her gaze on this captivating man. He was an adversary in her current situation, but she'd bet he'd make a good friend, too.

“Do I know you?" she asked.

He let out a sardonic laugh. “You followed me—or attempted to." His voice was husky and deep, like aged scotch over sandpaper. It appealed to her on some deep and primitive level.

Refusing to be taken in by his magnetism, she shut off the reptilian part of her brain. Instead, she sipped her drink, her gaze never wavering from his. “I'm here, so if I followed you, I was successful."

A flick of his eyebrow showed her he was conceding the point. The victory didn't last long. “You need to leave."

“Why? I'm not bothering anyone." She turned to the man sitting next to her. “Have I been bothering you?"

“No, ma'am. I'm enjoying the view."

Deke stared down the man, who spun on his stool, as if suddenly, his beer was the most interesting sight in the bar.

Whitney stifled a chuckle. “I'm not bothering him."

“You're a reporter."

Her gaze went up and down his body. “You can Google. I'm impressed."

“Give me your phone."

“Why?"