The bass thumped rhythmically through the walls of the dimly lit club, a heavy beat that vibrated the very air. Neon lights flickered erratically, casting the dancers on stage in a surreal glow. The room was thick with smoke, the smell of cheap alcohol mingling with the sweat of the patrons packed into the space. Girls in shimmering outfits swayed and spun around poles, their movements slow and deliberate, eyes fixed on the men and women watching them with rapt attention.
Hayes and Wallace stood near the entrance, blending into the shadows as they scanned the room. The club, a notorious spot on the outskirts of the city, was a known haunt for Jonathan Reed's associates. Tonight, they were hunting down Thomas Banning, the missing link in their case. He had disappeared after they'd tried to flip him, and now they had reason to believe he was holed up here, hidden away upstairs while indulging in the club's more exclusive services.
"Banning's here," Wallace murmured, eyes darting toward the far end of the club, where a staircase led up to the private suites. "According to our informant, he's upstairs. Room 23."
Hayes nodded, their eyes narrowing as they surveyed the scene. "Let's make this quick. We don't want to draw attention."
They made their way across the floor, weaving through the crowd of onlookers as they kept their eyes on the staircase. The music pounded in their ears, making conversation nearly impossible, but they didn't need to speak to understand what needed to be done.
Reaching the base of the stairs, Hayes paused. A pair of burly men in dark suits stood guard, their expressions cold and impassive. Wallace stepped up, flashing a fake ID and exchanging a few low words with one of them. The bouncer barely glanced at the ID before waving them through, uninterested in anything other than the stack of cash Wallace had subtly pressed into his hand.
They ascended the stairs, the noise from the club below fading into a dull hum. At the top, the hallway was lined with numbered doors, each one marked with a brass plaque. A thick, heady scent of perfume filled the air, mixing with the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from behind the closed doors.
"Room 23," Hayes whispered, motioning toward the end of the hall.
They moved silently, their senses on high alert. Every step felt like it could be the one that set off an alarm, the one that brought the wrath of whoever was inside the room down upon them. But as they reached the door to Room 23, everything remained quiet.
Hayes pressed an ear to the door, listening for any sounds within. Soft laughter—feminine voices—drifted through the wood, followed by a low, masculine chuckle. Banning was in there, enjoying himself. Just as the informant had said.
Wallace nodded, drawing his gun from his holster. "Ready?"
Hayes gave a quick nod in return, their own hand already resting on the handle of their weapon. They exchanged a brief glance before Wallace kicked the door in, the wood splintering under the force of his boot.
Inside, the scene was exactly what they had expected. Thomas Banning lay sprawled on a massive bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his face flushed from alcohol. On either side of him, two women lounged lazily, their bare legs draped over his body, clearly disinterested in the sudden intrusion.
Banning blinked in shock, his dazed eyes struggling to focus on Hayes and Wallace as they stormed into the room. "W-What the hell is this?" he slurred, trying to sit up but failing miserably as the effects of the alcohol held him down.
Hayes didn't waste any time. They crossed the room in three swift strides, grabbing Banning by the collar and yanking him upright. "We've been looking for you, Thomas," they growled, their voice low and dangerous. "Thought you could disappear? Thought Reed could protect you forever?"
Banning's eyes widened in fear, the mention of Reed's name instantly sobering him up. He glanced between Hayes and Wallace, panic setting in. "I don't know anything!" he stammered, his voice rising. "I'm not involved in this! I swear!"
"Save it," Wallace snapped, stepping forward and grabbing Banning's arm. "We know you've been feeding Reed information. We know you helped him set up the offshore accounts. You're in this neck-deep, Banning."
The women on the bed watched in silence, neither of them making a move to interfere. One of them, a striking brunette with sharp eyes, finally spoke. "If you're taking him, I hope you've got the money to pay for the hour. He's still on the clock."
Hayes shot her a cold look. "We're not paying for anything. He's coming with us."
Banning whimpered, trying to pull away from Wallace's grip. "Please, you don't understand," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I'm not the one you want. It's Reed—he's the mastermind! I'm just a pawn. He'll kill me if he finds out I've talked to you."
"That's a risk you should have considered before you got involved," Hayes said, dragging him toward the door. "You're going to tell us everything you know about Reed's operation, and you're going to do it now. Otherwise, you'll wish it was Reed coming after you instead of us."
Banning's face went pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He looked like he was about to argue, but the sight of Wallace's gun pointed in his direction quickly silenced any protest.
As they pulled Banning into the hallway, the reality of his situation seemed to finally sink in. He sagged against Hayes' grip, his bravado gone, replaced by sheer terror. "I'll talk," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll tell you everything. Just... just don't let him get to me."
Hayes didn't respond. They dragged him down the hallway, through the stairwell, and out into the club once more. The pounding music and flashing lights felt distant now, as if they were in a different world entirely.
As they exited into the cool night air, Hayes felt the weight of the night settle over them. They had Banning. They had a lead. But they knew Reed wouldn't be far behind.
The game was getting more dangerous by the minute.