Free If The Seas Catch Fire by L.A. Witt Page B

“All right. You wanted to talk.” He paused to make a sharp gesture at the bartender. “Cough up the cash and talk.”
    “Not here.” Dom swallowed. “Someplace private.”
    Those slim lips pulled back across straight, gleaming teeth. “That can be arranged, but”—the stripper winked—“I charge extra for that.”
    Dom suppressed a shiver. He was here for business. For information. Not for a chance at putting his hands all over that slim, powerful, lithe—
    He cleared his throat. “I’m here to talk. Nothing more.”
    The stripper’s expression suddenly hardened, all traces of humor gone so quickly Dom wondered if he’d imagined them. The bartender materialized and set a bottle of water in front of him, then disappeared again, but besides picking up the water, the stripper gave no indication he’d even seen him. “Look, I know what you are.” He eyed Dom. “My boss doesn’t want your kind in here, and I don’t want to do business with you unless it involves—”
    “I’m not asking you to do business.” Dom leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “But we’ve met before, and I need to know what else happened that night.”
    He didn’t get defensive. He also didn’t get nervous. Dom did, though—this guy wasn’t stupid. He knew what night Dom was talking about, and if he knew who and what Dom was at a glance, then he know he was in a dangerous spot. But he held his gaze like Dom couldn’t have intimidated him if he’d wanted to. No fear whatsoever. Just icy indifference.
    The stripper sighed with theatrical boredom. “What happened that night? I rubbed my ass all over a couple of dicks. Some Italian guy showed up in the alley with blood all over his fancy suit. And I rubbed my ass over some more dicks.” Another shrug as he brought his water bottle up to his lips. “Isn’t much else to tell.”
    “I doubt that.”
    “That’s all you’ll get from me.”
    Dom sighed. “Look, I’m not leaving until we talk.”
    The stripper lowered his water bottle and narrowed his eyes. “First, we are talking. Second, I’ll see your cocky attitude and raise you several bouncers who take shit from no one.” He gave Dom a derisive down-up. “Especially not your kind.”
    Dom was probably the mellowest guy in his entire family, and even he was struggling not to strangle this jackass. “I need to know what you saw.”
    “You know as much as you’re going to know.”
    “You can tell me or you can tell the cops.”
    The stripper laughed. “A Mafioso talking to the cops. Does your uncle know that you—”
    “Enough,” Dom growled. “All I’m asking for is a few minutes and some information. And then you can get back to more”—he nodded toward the stages—“lucrative pursuits.”
    The kid glanced at the stages, and then rolled his eyes and slammed his water bottle down. “All right. But we’re making this quick.”
    He didn’t wait for a response and started walking. He led Dom down a dark hallway and out into the back alley. It was another hot, sticky night, the breeze off the ocean doing nothing to counter the lingering heat from the California sun.
    Dom peeled off his jacket and draped it over his arm. “You got a name?”
    The stripper snorted. “Small talk? Really?”
    Dom shrugged. “Seems like introductions are a customary way to start a conversation.”
    “A polite conversation, sure.” He folded his arms tightly across his bare chest. “Those rules don’t apply to this one.”
    Dom blinked. This kid was something else. He didn’t show even a hint of that subtle wariness that Dom’s kind had cultivated in the population at large.
    And damn it, that should have annoyed the shit out of Dom. While he didn’t particularly like the way people cowered or moved to the other side of the street when they saw men from the families, sometimes it did make these “I need some information” conversations a hell of a lot shorter.
    But this kid intrigued him too. He wasn’t afraid of