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“I understand, but I also need to find out what happened to my friend. I want to see your camera footage.”
His eyes flicked to Tommaso, who had casually moved next to the desk. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I promise you, Signore Michaels, it’s a very good idea. Because I intend to review that footage by whatever means necessary.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “I don’t have cameras in the lot. Only inside. So if something happened as he left, it won’t be there.”
That was disappointing. “May I ask why not?”
“We’ve never had an incident here. The bouncers escort the girls to their cars.”
“I’d like to see the indoor footage, then.”
“What time did he come in?”
I looked at Tommaso. “Around ten-thirty,” my guard said. “The last video he recorded was a little after one-thirty.”
Clyde studied me and it was like I could see him weighing his options. “You’re associated with Benetti?”
“I am.”
“Twenty thousand.”
That price was exorbitant, and this wasn’t a negotiation. Did Clyde think he had leverage over me? “I’ll give you ten and this remains friendly.” I gestured to Tommaso, who took out the agreed-upon amount of money and dropped it on Clyde’s desk. I said to the owner, “Now, show me the footage.”
After stashing the money, Clyde began typing on his computer. He worked for a few minutes, clicking his mouse and pressing the occasional key. “Here.” He spun the monitor to face me.
I edged closer. There were eight video streams showing various parts of the club. “You take the left four,” I told Tommaso. “I’ll take the rest.”
I watched my four tiny screens, looking for any sign of Gaetano. The time stamp started at ten o’clock, so I knew it wouldn’t take long.
“There,” Tommaso said not long after, pointing at one square. “There he is.”
“Stop. Enlarge that camera,” I ordered Clyde. “Let’s follow him and see what happens.”
Clyde did as I asked and we began tracking Gaetano at double speed. He paid for a few dances, watched the stage, and drank his beers. People walked through the camera, but no one stopped to talk to him except the girls. We continued to watch the footage until Gaetano left. “Wait to see if anyone follows,” I said.
Three men in motorcycle cuts followed a few seconds later.
“Merda,” Tommaso muttered. “Didn’t he notice them earlier?”
Not if the place had been crowded. I looked at Clyde. “I want to see the camera with those three men.”
Clyde worked quickly, clicking the mouse and pulling up the camera on the bar. The three bikers were huddled there, their backs to Gaetano. I knew their cuts, though. These three were Red Raiders.
One of the bikers turned to face the camera and I peered closer. Recognition hit me. “That one right there? He’s part of the construction crew who worked on the cottage,” I told Tommaso in our language. “That motherfucker was in my house.”
“Cazzo madre di dio,” Tommaso snapped. “That is how he knew who Gaetano was.”
“What’s this man’s name?” I asked Clyde in English, pointing at the screen.
“That’s Jimmy Tate. Local kid. They call him Tater.”
I ground my back teeth together. What the fuck had Benetti been thinking, letting these MCs hang around his town? They treated the girls here like shit and now one of my men was dead. “Where can I find them?”
“Mr. D’Agostino, I don’t want any trouble.”
“So you said before. Let’s agree on this: I’ll ensure that a few of my men are here from now on to keep an eye on the place. In exchange, you will tell me where to find these three Red Raiders.” I lifted my chin at Tommaso. In response, he dropped more cash onto the desk. “And,” I told Clyde, “you will install cameras in the parking lot.”