Free GUNNER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 5) by Lawrence de Maria

was a bit early for the groin-grinding crowd, so I was able to pull up right in front of Deep Gulag, the “gentleman’s club” owned and operated by the Rahm crime family. Say what you will for the Rahms, they have a sense of humor.
    I nodded at the bouncer inside the vestibule.
    “How’s it going Tony? Arman is expecting me.”
    “Couldn’t be better, Mr. Rhode. Kind of quiet. Mr. Rahm is waiting for you in the back.”
    Tony was 250 pounds of prime Italian-American beef. Formerly employed by the now-almost-defunct Carlucci family, he had found a home with the Russian mob, which has always been broad minded when it came to hiring good help. When business picked up later that night, there would be a couple of other Tonys or Ivans working the door.
    I walked past the large oval bar where one bartender served about a dozen men who were drinking and occasionally glancing at three knockout women in high heels wearing purple G-strings dancing topless around poles. The girls were all young and fresh-faced. Arman Rahm told me that half of his pole and lap dancers were college students, or young professionals moonlighting. The Rahms let their girls keep more of their tips than the other tittie joints on Staten Island.
    “Tuition is a killer, nowadays,” he said. “Besides, I get the best dancers that way.”
    Of the six breasts currently on display, two looked natural. One of the surgically enhanced girls came down off the stage and started walking along the line of drinkers at the bar. Most of them casually pushed bills down her G-string. One man, however, held up his bill and the girl leaned forward and pressed her breasts together with her hands, capturing it. The man took the opportunity to lean in and bite one of her nipples.
    “Ow!”
    “Hey, no touching the dancers,” a bartender said. “If you want something more you have to pay for a lap dance in the lounge.”
    “Who says?”
    “I say.”
    “Cut me a fucking break,” the guy said, obviously drunk. “Whaddya mean, no touching? They let us put bills down their snatch.”
    Two men on either side of him laughed. There was only one pile of money on the bar in front of them so I figured they were together.
    I was right behind the jerk when he lipped the bartender. He started to sit back down on his stool and I hooked a foot under it and slid it away. He fell on his ass, hard, and started cursing.
    “What the fuck you do that for?” he said as his buddies helped him to his feet.
    “Don’t touch the girls,” I said. It could have gone either way, so I added, “Don’t make a mistake here, boys.”
    “Who the fuck are you,” one of the others said.
    “Shop Steward of the Mammary Workers Union. Local 69. You want to touch, go to the lounge. That’s controlled by the Groin Grinders Union. They have a different set of workplace rules.”
    They were all plastered and sat down.
    “Sorry,” the third man mumbled. “We didn’t know.”
    I motioned the bartender to meet me at the end of the bar. As I walked away I heard one of the men say, “Goddamn unions.”
    “What will you have?”
    “Nothing,” I said. “I’m here to meet Rahm.” I pulled out some cash and handed it to him. “Take a ten and split the rest with the girls.”
    “Groin Grinders Union. I love it.”
    Arman was in his office talking to a woman who was wearing all her clothes. I stood at the open door until he saw me. He waved me in.
    “Alton, how nice to see you. This is Veronica.”
    No last names. The blond woman who looked up at me with icy detachment was very beautiful. She reminded me a bit of Cameron Diaz. Her hand was cool when I shook it, her eyes cold.
    “We can pick this up later, Ronnie,” Arman said. “But I think we are in agreement.”
    She stood without a word and left. The room suddenly felt warmer.
    “Jesus,” I said, taking a seat.
    “Yes. She’s something, isn’t she?”
    “An ice princess.”
    “Alton, I’m told that she has the sexual appetite of a