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“Occupational requirement. Follow my lead and you’ll be okay. But do me a favor and don’t look so disgusted if approached.”

“Shit to all hell,” I mutter under my breath.

As promised, when we drive up to the entrance, SLED’s undercover bartender, Sam, is waiting with the doorman. We present our IDs and are swiftly led to a VIP area upstairs.

Sam remains stoic, ensuring we have all we need before going to the bar downstairs completely in view. The open floor plan gives us direct visuals to the entry hall, the two bars, an expansive dance floor surrounded by high-top bar tables with stools, and six other VIP sections similar to ours. Each of them is set up for the night, with a private waitress preparing for guests to arrive.

While the place is mostly vacant, Kelly and I take a walk around the downstairs, scoping it out. One of the owners, Ray, meets us and shakes our hands a little too eagerly before insisting on leading us around the viewing areas. Down a dark hallway, we’re shown several rooms flanked with furniture I assume fits the lifestyle as Kelly called it. I may not be an expert, but I recognize all the traditional props lined on the walls, and several shelves of equipment. What does catch my eye is the seating area in the rooms where spectators can watch what plays out in front of them.

Then we’re led to a group of smaller rooms with no seating areas, just the basic equipment. Lastly, there are three doors for private rooms. These are decorated softer, lacking the massive amounts of toys, but still have beds and other elements. We’re told one of these is ours for the evening.

Ray takes us back to our area and pours a drink, continuing to boast about the success of the club and the discretion of the members. Kelly and I share several glances, communicating silently that Ray has no clue his place is possibly being used as a meeting ground for drug dealers.

After an hour, the place starts to fill up with patrons, and he excuses himself.

“Finally, I thought the guy was going to stay all night.” Kelly exhales and puts his ear bud in, testing the frequency.

I do the same and play with my watch until I’m satisfied Kelly, Ross, Collins, and Oliver all have communication.

For the next few hours, Kelly and I sip on our drinks, watching the club fill up by masses. All but one of the VIP sections are full.

People mingle back and forth from the back hallways, some gone for a few minutes, some for longer.

“Head’s up, we have three men, each exiting a different car, coming in,” Collins announces.

I stand and go to the railing, crossing my arms and trying to stay in the darker shadows to view the inside entrance. One by one, the men come through, and I use the camera in the watch to snap pictures, which immediately transfer to the computer Oliver is using for face recognition.

The men all climb the stairs and go directly to the last empty VIP space. Their waitress greets them with drinks, then excuses herself when one of them whispers something in her ear.

“I’m up.” Kelly straightens his jacket, pops out his ear bud, and follows the waitress. When he gets close enough, he brushes against her, placing a bugging device on her dress, then passes by to the bathrooms.

Now, we wait. I lean over the railing, scanning the room below. Cocktail waitresses scamper around trying to keep up with the high volume of tables, the DJ starts playing music while a few people gather on the dance floor, and the bar is slammed as the bartenders try to serve everyone.

My eyes zoom in on two ladies perched on one end, sitting facing each other, sipping on martinis. One of them has strawberry blonde hair that falls in layers to her shoulders and is wearing small square-framed glasses. The other has long brunette hair that is swept to the side and held in place by a large jeweled butterfly clip. She’s also wearing glasses, these with thin black frames. I don’t recognize either of them, but there’s a familiarity that nags at me.

I continue to keep an eye on them as Kelly rejoins me and sits at our table.

“Two more men headed in now. Different cars, both alone, both wearing thousand dollar suits,” Collins speaks into our ears.

I take my stance and snap their picture with the watch when they walk thru and are led straight to the other three men waiting.

“All five are together. We may have our crew. Stay sharp.”

“I’m working on identifications now. Can you get some shots of them together?” Oliver asks.

“It’s pretty dark, but I can try.” I throw my arm out and pretend to fix my sleeves as I point the watch in their direction and take some shots.

“We’ve got audio,” Ross announces, signaling the bug on the waitress is working.

“Sit back and relax, guys. We’ve got this,” Oliver assures us.

I shift to sit across from Kelly, keeping my eyes trained on the women at the bar who are now talking to Sam. He serves them another round, and a knot forms in my gut when I catch the lemon peel in one of the glasses.

I jump to my feet a little too quickly, our waitress rushing to my side. “Is there something you need, Mr. Miles?”

“I’m going downstairs.”

“Would you like me to escort you?” she asks in a low, suggestive voice, flashing me a seductive grin. The meaning in her tone is clear; she thinks I’m ready to participate and she’s offering herself.