AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He said, “Why don’t you come with me, and I can show you, hmm?” Now his eyes were hooded as he looked her up and down, and again she was reminded of some hunk of meat draped in a store window.
She didn’t protest, though. She’d received worse treatment from worse men. Plus, it was nice to know that at any moment she could rip his throat out. But at the same time, she needed to get into the club.
And so, she looked him up and down as well. She tried to look sultry rather than surveying. But as she did, she spotted the handgun—an obnoxious .50 cal judging by the bulge near his hip. And also, a knife strapped to his ankle.
She fluttered her eyelashes, wincing a second later at how uncomfortable it felt.
But the man didn’t seem to notice. “You can call me Tito,” he said.
“Carla,” she replied.
“Enchanted, Carla,” he purred softly. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing at the other women in line. One or two boyfriends pulled their girls closer.
Cora had no illusions about being the prettiest girl at the ball. She’d never seen herself as a belle. But she also knew that she wasn’tbadlooking, although her lips were a bit too narrow, and her cheekbones were not as pronounced as she might have liked.
Johnny had found her attractive enough, at least.
But this man was a predator. He didn’t even try to hide it. And predators liked to pick off the wounded, the weak, or the isolated.
To mobsters, the idea of a woman beinganysort of threat wasn’t in their thought process. Instead of offended, Cora was amused. Sometimes, people just handed you an advantage.
And so, she looped her arm through his as he began to lead her towards the club’s steps. She could feel the outline of the item she’d taken from him occasionally pressing against her black dress. Whenever this happened, she winced, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t spot anything.
They took the stairs two at a time, moving slowly. Cora kept her lips tight, smile affixed. She wondered if she should have used more lipstick or if perhaps, she was overthinking it.
But like this, they trailed past the guards, through a golden turnstile, down a walkway lined with red carpet and golden stanchions. All the while, the man named Tito told her all the awesome and wonderful things she needed to know about himself.
“...Yes,” he was saying. “A McLaren. One of the first off the line.” The tall stick figure of a man nodded, his golden hair swaying with the motion.
Given his size and the straw-color of his hair, he reminded Cora of a scarecrow. And though she didn’t consider herself particularly scared, she did feel her sense of unease rising as they descended the stairs deeper into the underground nightclub.
The farther they went, the sound of pulsing music accompanied vibrant patterns of pink and blue light across the ground. She heard laughter from down the stairs, and spotted more men lining the hall, wearing dark suits and sunglasses.
Not just indoors, butdownstairs.The sunglasses made her think briefly of Johnny, and she gave a little huff of air as the scarecrow’s fingers moved from her hand, trailing around to the small of her back.
She didn’t push his hand off, though, preferring to let him lead the way.
“How about you and I get to know each other?” he murmured in her ear, his breath puffing against her cheek, warm and smelling faintly of licorice. “Want a drink?” he whispered.
She turned, glancing up at the tall man, keeping a smile affixed. “I don’t see a reason for a drink,” she said quietly.
He smirked, winked, and this time openly ogled her up and down. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows which were darker than his blonde hair.
He held up a finger as they reached the bottom step. “One second,” he said with a snort. “Just some security stuff. A moment.”
He turned to speak with a big, burly man standing behind a podium. Cora glanced at the man, looked past him. She spotted where the dance floor had been set up. Three different stations. Two on either side of a now non-existent train track. Another dance floor lower than the other twoonthe tracks. But instead of metal rail, a smooth, slick marble floor had been set in place.
Small waterfalls of champagne skipped down from various water features set on either side of the room, making use of the different elevation.
Figures crowded together as they danced with the music, bodies tight, sweaty, and roiling. She spotted some men in black suits moving through the dancers, occasionally extending a black waiter’s tray and offering from a selection of small bags. She thought she spotted pills and the like on display.
Tito noticed her attention and chuckled. “Don’t worry, doll,” he said. “We’ve got some harder stuff back where we’re going. If you know what I mean.” He giggled, a high-pitched hyena cackle at his own joke, but then returned to his conversation with the big lunk behind the podium.
Cora spotted other illicit substances being traded on the dance floor. Others heading to the bar and refilling glasses or ordering drinks. In another section, women—scantily clad—danced about, propositioning both men and women alike, and occasionally, having snared a customer, leading them back behind a bead curtain into a pink-lit room behind the dance floor.
The sweat, the drugs, the sex, the music—Cora supposed she understood why the Planetarium was so popular.
And even as this thought crossed her mind, she realized the namesake. What she had initially taken for bright lights from the ceiling were actually reflections off pieces of glass tastefully arranged in the stucco.
