Page 30 of Rogue’s Mark

Armen shows up. "What did we get?”

"Enough. Voss connects Fischer's shell companies. Same money, same hands, clear documentation."

"Okay. Voss."

"Yeah."

"Sounds personal?" he says.

"Little bit."

He nods but doesn't push. That's Armen.

Vi drops back slightly and I hear her say something to Sting that I don't catch, and then she's back at my shoulder.

"Can we go to the club?"

I look at her.

"I'm serious," she says. "I'm kind of worked up, you know? I mean, we found what we came for and I don't want to go back and sit in a room and think about all of it. I want to—" She stops. "I just want to not think for a while. If you know what I mean."

I look at Armen.

He looks at Sting.

Sting shrugs, which for Sting means yes.

"Looks like we got a majority. Club it is," I say.

Vi nudges me and winks. "So just like that?"

"You asked nicely."

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m a nice girl. If you hadn’t noticed.”

Fuck all. I notice everything about this woman.

The club is twenty minutes on foot. Vi falls into step beside me and stays there. I've got Voss in my head. She's got her father in hers. We don't talk about it.

The club looks different in daylight. Smaller somehow, more ordinary. The man guarding the door steps aside without a word and the moment we're through the back door and the music hits, nothing else matters.

Inside, it's dim, the way it always is regardless of the hour, and the music is lower than it would be at night. But it's there, pulsing away, pounding underneath everything. There are a few other people around, not paying any attention to us, focused on their own thing, just like we’re about to be.

Vi looks around. "It’s a little different.”

"You good with it?"

"Oh yes. I'm not complaining. I'm observing."

Armen takes her hand and leads her toward the back and she goes, glancing at me once over her shoulder.

We find the back room as it always is, with its low light, a wide velvet-covered bench along one wall, and a lock on the door that Sting turns without being asked. The music from the main room comes through muffled, just the bass, pulsing hard and steady.

Vi turns around in the middle of the room and looks at the three of us.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," I say.