Page 28 of Hunt for You
I straightened so Art was between us again. “He looks… interesting.”
Art snorted. “That’s one word for it.”
“Exactly what kind ofshitis he into?”
“He’s working over atVigorí,” Art said, waggling his eyebrows at me.
I sat back, surprised. “Really?Him?”
“Really,” Art said, beaming because he got a kick out of surprising me.
I leaned past him again to take a second look at the guy, but nope. “Someone needs to tell him the eighties called and they want their punk back.”
“You tell him. He doesn’t strike me as the type of dude who has a feedback box.”
Me either.But my mind was still turning over this new puzzle.
Vigoríwas a club just a few blocks away, but one that was definitely not for public consumption. Entry was by invitation only—and you could only be invited by one of the Doms who worked there, or by long-term members. There was no signage. No website on google. No indication that a business even existed there. It was literally a door in a blank wall that anyone would walk past a hundred times without a second look.
I’d been inside many times, but not for over a year.
The thing was,Vigoríwas the kind of place where menus didn’t have prices, and the offerings were generally human in nature. The Doms called their pastimesart,and everyone else either watched, or participated.
And if you didn’t participate on your very first visit, you weren’t invited back.
“He just doesn’t seem their type.”
Vigoríwas run by a woman named Valerie, which was the most interesting thing about her. The club catered to people with money. Rich housewives, bored executives, and their trust-fund kids. Valerie told me she’d chosen to locate on the shady side of town because rent was cheap and it made it seemedgy.
“When people have money, the whole world is available to them,” she said in her smoking-for-thirty-years rasp. “It’s not just hard ons that elude them. Any kind of thrill is hard to find—no pun intended—when all you have to do is point and whatever you want is given to you. Coming downtown makes them feel like they’re in danger they can’t control, which is a new experience for most of them.”
Unaware of my meandering thoughts, Art shrugged. “I guess he’s been in DC, decided he wanted to come west, and he’s very… skilled.”
“At what? Stonewashing jeans?”
“Look, I don’t know. Not my circus, not my monkeys. But I thought of you as soon as I heard, because you’re into that shit. And after last time—”
“Last time I was drunk. We shall not speak of it again.”
Art gave me a look. “I gather our friend over there likes gagging people too, so you two will get right along,” hegiggled.
It had always taken me aback when he did that. He was such a massive man—ruthless and dangerous when he needed to be. Intimidating in the extreme when you didn’t know him. But the longer I knew him, the less surprised I would be to find out he played Bingo on Wednesdays and was learning to crochet. The man was a study in juxtaposition.
“He mentioned gags?” It wasn’t really my thing, but the world only existed on two planes in Art’s world: Things/PeopleArt Liked, and Everything Else. I had learned early that asking a lot of questions was important if I didn’t want to stumble into some extremely unpleasant situations that Art knew only enough about to be dangerous.
Art shrugged again. “Nah, he just said he works atVigorí, but I mean, that’s part of the whole Dom thing, right?”
“Sure, sure,” I murmured, frowning. “So, why does he want to talk to me?”
“Oh! So, last time, you were talking about looking for someone who wanted to hurt you, so I did some asking around and his name came up.”
Not what I meant, but bless his heart.“That was… very thoughtful,” I told him.
Art rolled his eyes. “Look, I know he’s not what you were looking for. But he obviouslyknows people,and he’s looking to make connections, you know? Those kinds of people are always helpful. Besides, I thought you might enjoy checking the place out.”
Art didn’t know I used to be a regular atVigorí. But it had been a while since I visited, and if they were using dudes like this now, maybe it wasn’t the place I remembered. Maybe Valerie died.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” I said, hopping off my stool and starting across the bar. “Thanks, Art!”