Page 9 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

“Right. So, I did this for months, and he never laughed but he never said nothing, either. Then one day, I heard Daniel talking to his Ma on the phone.”

Axel shakes his head and looks ashamed of himself.

“I found out that Mario was the name of his brother…and Mario died in a horrible accident when they were kids. So, every time I was trying to be funny, I was ruining his freaking day.”

He looks over at me and smiles sadly.

“So, I said to myself I would be more careful with my mouth.”

“And you were planning to start being careful when?” I say before I can stop myself. For a second, I think I’ve offended Axel. Then, he laughs harder than ever.

“Oh man, you’re good,” he says. “You’d have been a riot on the battlefield.”

He starts the rumbling engine, and we roll out. We don’t travel all that far, and certainly not to a better neighborhood.

“Just keep walking when we get inside,” he says, pulling to a stop in front of a condemned building. At least, it looks like it should be condemned.

“Inside where?” I ask. “Does that place even have a roof?”

He inhales through his nostrils and regards me for a moment.

“That you’ll have to see for yourself.”

Okay. Cryptic, not what I was expecting. He leads me inside of the two-story building, which turns out to be a bar. A very run-down bar with only a single passed out drunk sitting at a corner table and a bartender who looks like he’d rather shoot us than serve us.

Axel doesn’t even look at the bartender. He just walks straight across the uneven floor toward a set of thick doors marked employees only. Axel does not even slow down, he just shoves the doors open with his shoulder.

As soon as the doors swing inward, the sound of music and laughter envelops me. Axel leads me up a short flight of stairs into a fog of tobacco smoke. I blink in the unexpectedly bright lights.

When my vision comes back, I find myself staring right at a waitress dressed like a French Maid…well, she’s dressed from the waist down. Waist up, the girls are just hanging loose and free.

“Axel,” I say through gritted teeth, “where in the Hell have you brought me?”

“Just follow me and stay close,” Axel replies. He doesn’t even look in my direction. He doesn’t look anywhere but straight ahead.

I take in more details as we go. Well-dressed men squat around small tables stacked high with chips of various colors. Some of the men occasionally glance at the bare-breasted waitresses when they pass.

Almost no one gives us a second glance. I find myself struggling to keep up with Axel’s longer stride.

“Hey,” I gasp, trying to breathe in the thick smoke. My eyes burn. I can’t believe people willingly put that stuff in their bodies. It’s like the industrial revolution in here. With none of the progress.

Axel thrusts his arm behind him. I catch hold of his hand on instinct.

It’s like holding a bunch of bananas. Christ, his hands are huge.

And heavy as skillets. I guess they'd have to be if he was in the Army.

Those guys are no joke. I did rewrites on a film about their mission to rescue hostages in Iran back in the 80s.

Axel stops beside a roulette table. He leans over and speaks to one of the players. Bent with age, but still possessed of a keen gaze, the player holds up a finger and bellows to be heard over the blaring Sinatra background music.

“Just a sec, kid,” he says. “God-damn, you’re uglier than I remember, Sebastian.”

Axel frowns. “Actually, I’m—”

“Shuddup,” the old timer says. He slaps his arm around the attractive ebony-skinned woman in a sparkling evening gown beside him. “Here we go, baby. You know what the secret to roulette is? Always bet on black.”

The ball bounces into one of the red squares.

“Oh no, come on, rattle outta there,” the old player moans.

The ball stays put. The young woman extricates herself from his grasp like Houdini from a straight jacket.

“Maybe you should have bet differently,” she says, sauntering away.

“Aw, come on,” the man moans. He turns to glare at Axel. “Damn it, Bastian, Harlow said you were a bad luck charm, but I didn’t believe her until now.”

“For the last time,” Axel says. “I’m not Bastian.”

“Wait a second…”

The man takes a pair of glasses out of his jacket pocket and pops them on his bent, oft broken nose. He stares at Axel for a long moment and grunts.

“No, you’re not him after all. Then who the hell are you?”

“I’m Axel. Harlowe said to expect me.”

“Yeah, tomorrow, not in the middle of my hot streak. You just cost me my cab fare home.”

“Here,” Axel says, shoving a wad of twenties into his hand. “For your trouble. Can we talk for a minute? Maybe somewhere we can hear ourselves think?”

“Ah, sure, follow me…hey, who are you, sweetheart?”

The man’s eyes run up and down my body.

“Are you new here? Well, I happen to be the resident new talent inspector. Let’s see them puppies—”

“Mr. Stone, this is my client, June. Please be respectful,” Axel says in a low tone.

“Right. Sorry,” Stone says. “I’ve been drinking.”

“You don’t say?” I reply.

He shakes his head and sighs.

“No respect, no respect,” he mutters. “This reminds me of the first time I had sex. I was terrified, it was dark, and I was all alone.”

“Save it for your stand-up routine,” Axel says, grabbing Stone’s arm. “You were taking us somewhere quiet?”

“Follow me.”

Stone leads us through a glittering curtain into a dimly lit area with soft carpeting and numerous curtained off booths. Judging from the sounds coming from behind them, more than just lap dances going on.

“I’m so sorry,” Axel says, looking mortified.

“You sure take a girl interesting places,” I reply with a shrug. He seems shocked by my cavalier attitude. “Oh please, Axel. I’m a Hollywood film producer. This is tame compared to some of the parties I’ve been to. I take it Mr. Stone here has some information we need?”

Axel blinks, and then nods.

“Is there somewhere a little more private we can go?”

Stone shrugs. “You said quiet. This is quiet. Let’s get a booth.”

Inside the booth, the sounds of passion are somewhat dulled. Stone turns out to be an old acquaintance of Harlowe’s father. So, basically, a criminal of some sort, though I’m not sure what type of venture Stone is into.

Instead, the conversation focuses solely on Moorcrock and the kidnapping.

“Nah, I don’t know his real name either, I’ve only heard whispers,” Stone says, knocking back a shot of scotch he clearly doesn't need. “I do know that at one point he supposedly worked for the state department. Some high level hush-hush shit that would turn you white.”

“I’ve done some high level hush-hush shit for the state department too,” Axel says.

“Yes, but you’ve done heroic stuff for the good of the country, without violating the Geneva conventions,” Stone replies. “Moorcrock’s…different, or so I hear. Don’t underestimate him.”

“His real name’s probably not even Moorcrock,” I chime in.

“Of course not, nobody uses their real names. You think my real name is Chip Stone just because that’s what it says on my passport?”

“Chip Stone? Really?”

“It’s easy to remember,” he replies. “All I know is, not two hours after you left the airport, the woman you collided with? Dead. Found on the side of the highway, and it wasn’t pretty.

She’d clearly been tortured for info, and then for fun before they decided to show her some mercy.

The triad obviously wasn’t happy with her when they found her.

Ming Xa and the Chinese Mafia branch she represents are really, really pissed.

Might start a war between them and the folks this Moorcrock fella represents, whoever the hell they are. ”

“You don't know?” Axel asks. “Harlowe said you knew just about everyone.”

“Yeah, well, Harls is flattering me, and the keywords here are ‘just about.’ Even I don’t know all the players, kid. I know it’s not much, but the two are connected. Wish I could give you more.”

“You’ve given us a great deal, Mr. Stone,” I say, handing him my business card.

“What the hell is this?” he asks.

“I am willing to bet your life would make an intriguing screenplay…with names changed to protect the innocent, of course. Give me a call, we’ll do lunch.”

We take our leave of Mr. Stone, and the hidden casino.

“Thank God, I can breathe fresh air again,” I gasp, staggering outside. “We don’t know a lot more than we did.”

“It’s a start. I’ve never heard of this Ming Xa person but I’m willing to bet Dane or his sister Harlowe has. We’ll network with them, but for now we need to get you somewhere safe.”

“I really need to go home,” I say. “I have to get my backup laptop. I have business to conduct. I can do most of it remotely, but I can’t let this situation slow down the momentum I've worked so hard to build.”

Axel’s nostrils flare as he tries to stare me down.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” he says in a huff. “Did you not hear what he said in there? About Moorcrock? He’s a spy. A killer! The Geneva Conventions forbid torture. Moorcrock’s type knows how to do it anyway and leave no evidence to implicate Uncle Sam.”

I can’t suppress my shudder.

“Like water boarding?”

“No,” he says, his jaw set hard. “Not like waterboarding. I once came across some handiwork of one of Moorcrock’s ilk. Or what was left of him. The prisoner had been strapped to a dentist’s chair, his mouth held open with clamps.”

“My god,” I whisper.

“We only knew that because of security footage. When the Spook was done with the interrogation, he jammed a live grenade in the prisoner’s mouth and pulled the pin.”

“What happened to the security footage? Did you turn it over to the government?” I ask.

“We did. Never heard what happened after that. I kind of don't want to know,” he shakes his head. “This is scary stuff. I don’t want you getting hurt. It’s my job to protect you, and I’m going to protect you. Period. So no going to your place.”

Anger flashes inside of me. He’s probably right. It would be really stupid to take the risk of running by my place and honestly, I can do most of my work on a regular laptop anyway. If I am being honest with myself I just wanted to go so I’d feel less homesick.

“Okay, it makes total sense for me not to go home.” I heave a long sigh. “But we have to go somewhere, don’t we? Should I get a hotel room?”

“No need,” Axel says. “I have a place in mind. Nobody will think to find you there.”

“Where?” I ask, a bit anxious, “Not that hole in the wall we just came from.”

“No, my place.”

I give him a look.

“This isn’t going to be another gross bachelor pad, is it?” I ask.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would take you to a disgusting hovel?”

I arch my brows at him.

“Yeah, on second thought, don’t answer that. Seriously though, trust me, you’re going to love it.”

I’m not feeling all that reassured, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he did save my life.