Chapter 2

Standing outside the club, in four inch heels and a dress that cost more than she was comfortable spending, Jennifer Stonewick approached the three story nightclub called Lowrider. She tapped the earpiece she wore once, trying to distract herself from the clicking of her heels across the pavement. She was nervous, and she didn't like to be nervous.

"Tell me again, how sure of this we are?" she said to what seemed like herself, to the casual bystander.

"One hundred percent, Lieutenant," replied the voice on the other side of the connection through the earpiece. "Tremontti picked up a cab outside his hotel. It took him directly to the Low." There was a pause, "Of course Lieutenant, you could have always just asked him... "

The bouquet was a big hit at the precinct. "You're so funny, Hollings. You should be on stage at the Laugh Factory," she replied, "Instead of in the van."

"I'm not the one barely managing to walk down the street in those shoes. Nice legs by the way."

Jen looked around sharply, and then caught herself. "Asshole."

"C'mon, Lieutenant, get your game face on. We know he's there, and it's too coincidental."

"I know, I know. I'm going in now," she said as she approached the main entrance.

Built into an old stage theater, The Lowrider had become one of the Detroit's hottest nightclubs. Out front, sawed in half lengthwise and embedded in the brickwork above the front doors was the white chopped pick-up truck that gave the club its name. The club was ultra-exclusive; you didn't get in unless you looked like you belonged there. Without the dress and the makeup, Jen would have had to make some noise about getting in; make things a little more official than she wanted to at this point. She wanted to know why AJ was here.

"ID" said the massive bouncer. He had linebacker in his history, of the NFL variety. Jen opened her small purse to show the bouncer her ID. Next to the ID was her badge.

"Looking good, Lieutenant," the bouncer replied. "Be good."

She smiled up at him and walked into the club. Once inside, she peered around the expansive, opulent interior. It was divided into three main floors. The main floor was where most people were. There was a massive dance floor, a stage for musical acts, and a number of tables, booths, and bars. The second floor was a half floor that looked out over the dance floor, while the third floor, another partial, was only for the most exclusive of patrons.

Jennifer looked around, and, not seeing Anthony immediately, sauntered over to the main bar.

"Can I get a Cinderella," she asked the barman, a male model looking man she guessed was young enough for her to think of him as a 'kid'.

"Coming right up, ma'am," he replied, and set to making the non-alcoholic fruit juice and ginger ale concoction. He set it in front of her, and she paid him, and sat down on a stool, sipping the drink and wondering to herself what she was doing here.

"You look nice, Jen," came the deep voice to her side, shaking her out of her musings. Her mind snapped back to the last time she'd heard that voice, ten years ago: "I'm losing blood, Jenny. A lot. And I think I'm going into shock." Those were the last words she'd heard him say. And now here he was. She looked over at him.

"Or is it lieutenant?" Anthony said, sidling up to the bar.

"Jen is fine, AJ," she replied, " ... or Jennifer. I left my cuffs at home."

"Y'know, no one's called me AJ in the better part of a decade, and now here it happens twice in one day."

"Coming home tends to do that," she replied, drinking in his appearance. He was impeccably dressed in black Armani, his wristwatch cost more than her last car did, and she was pretty sure from the cut of his jacket he was packing. "How'd you get the piece past the door?"

He smiled, well, half smiled, and looked over at her, "Not just a pretty face, huh? Let's say I can be very persuasive, and leave it at that."

"Okay." Jennifer had a pretty good idea that she was way out of her depth. That she should leave and immediately contact a superior, or... someone. Instead? "The flowers were lovely. I'm now the joke of the precinct."

"Sorry," Anthony replied, and she noted genuine remorse. "I wasn't thinking of that."

Jennifer looked down at the martini in front of her. "It's okay. I'll survive." She looked back to him, to find those ice blue eyes boring into her. "Why are you here, AJ?"

Anthony thought a bit about what to say. As an officer of the law, their history notwithstanding, she could potentially make things difficult for him, temporarily, anyway.

"Here? I'm here to talk to Paul," he said.

"Just talk?" she asked, "Because I'm afraid this is going to turn into paperwork for me."

"Who exactly do you think I am?" he asked her.

"I have no idea, and that scares the shit out of me. I tried to track you down years ago, you know. You're like a ghost. I know you're military, or were at one time, but the only file I could find had so much redact in it it was a joke, and I almost got suspended just for looking at it."

"I'm ... it's complicated," he said, echoing what he'd told Donna earlier that day. "I'm not even allowed to talk about most of it."

"Were you Special Forces?" she asked. "Some kind of black ops guy?"

He chuckled to himself, "Something like that, once upon a time."

"And now?"

"Now I'm more of an independent contractor."

Now she really didn't like where this was going. "Usually that's a euphemism for..."

He cut her off. "I'm not a hit man." His conviction made her believe him, but she also realized that was one thing that he wasn't, but that it left a whole lot of things he could still be.

While she was contemplating that fact, she happened to notice his face change. It would have been imperceptible to most people, but she was trained to read peoples' faces and she knew. She realized this was his game face, and that meant a whole lot of trouble must have just showed up. She followed his gaze across the room, to a rear entrance that led to the kitchen. There were about a half dozen men casually strolling out of the swinging doors that were very out of place. In the lead was a smaller man, 5' 7", 5'8" maybe, that looked Eastern European, as did like the other five men he was with. As for those other five men, they carried themselves tall, while they were not the largest muscle she'd ever seen, they still looked like they could do some damage. Three of the five were dressed in ill fitting black suits, while the remaining two wore long dark trench coats.

"How many people are with you, Jennifer," he asked, his voice so cold it made her shiver.

"Uh," she stuttered for a second, "uh, three of my team, in a surveillance van."

"This is going bad right now. Can you call them?"

She pointed at her ear. "I'm in contact with them now. What do I tell them?"

"Tell them the Russian mob just walked in with two heavy hitters, and someone's about to die."

With that, Anthony slipped quietly into the crowd, in silent subtle pursuit, while Jennifer wondered exactly how the situation had gotten so completely out of control so quickly. She relayed the message to Hollings in the van, and told him to do whatever was necessary. Then, she steeled herself, and set off after AJ.

Anthony was already halfway across the room. The Russians were heading for the upper floors, and were already up one of the staircases. He detoured to the other side of the room, where another staircase lie, and made his way up it, moving as quickly as he could as to not around suspicion. Once on the second floor, he again ascended the stairs to the third floor VIP area, and assessed the scene.